White Spectral Worldbridger 12.15.17
This is it. The sensing comes clean and fresh as falling snow, first of the season, marking winter here even before solstice. Walking, movement, thoughts come unstuck, shake loose from the bushes they’ve been caught up in. To burn away doesn’t mean you’ll never burn again, it means that the burning allows space for new experiences served to come through::maybe they’ll be burned one day too, maybe some, maybe not. To burn away doesn’t mean you’ll never burn again. Fire ally is there to care and tend to what you bring to the flame. Burn free, burnish. Burn to cinders, cool to coal. Coals are great for drawing with. Write with the coals of you.
This is it. Woodpecker feeds from hollyhock, apple, sumac. Flies away into the woods. We walk too though a cold wind is percolating gently. Cheeks bloom, noses bright red, fingers numb. Snow trickles into a crevice on the dragons spine. Usnea hangs from apple branches. The creek flows under ice, watery circles moving below. What’s below shows above. The above story comes from below. Interrelated. Musing on the path, how many pinecones, big ones and tiny ones, are thickly nesting in pine needles right down the middle. Plush in pinecones this year. Frosted sap sticking to the big ones. It feels glorious to be on the path.
This is it. My privilege, being mother to these blossoms. Three coming. One going, trucking sturdily to the pipes to stomp on ice. To play. To be outside listening for coyotes and owls. Two coming toward me, one carrying the other for a while. I’ve walked miles with these blossoms, from seed to shooted rooted seedling and sapling, to bud. We come together, in snow in sun in wind in rain in joy and laughter in sadness and pain. Apple, sumac, usnea, hollyhock. Medicine. Woodpecker. Friend.
This is it. All the bits of word that come, though there are days I want to get down on the ground and open my maw to swallow whole words, scratch them from the earth and consume them before stretching up on two legs to send them rolling out anew, arranged inside in some formation, a formation unknown to me, unheard unseen until it spills out.
This is it. I’m outside communicating with stars. They tell me something. Does it matter whose doing the telling? For instance, when starspeaking, I’ve received communication in summer, of a certain nature involving balance, adjustment, scales, horses flying around. I’m clear as to what’s been shared. Based on my ‘knowledge’ of ‘names’ I interpret the transmission as being related to Ashwini and Libra, coming from the two, even though at the time of year it came the parlance would indicate Cancer . . . transferring this to a star-transmission and calling it beings from Cancer talking would be false when it isn’t, yet when I read publications on star being transmissions they unfailingly, invariably plot themselves against a sequence of signage, whether sidereal or tropical, that has this overlay on it . . . how come? Feels like it’s being fitted into a box and sequence, rather than simply share the transmission with or without the sequencial overlay::here’s what was shared, receive it how you do, none of the degrees or signs involved?
Again, this baffles me, has me questioning the clarity of the interpreter more so than their impeccability, which may be pretty keen even when the translation is not . . . reminds me of communicating with usnea before knowing the name Usnea was what humans call it::Usnea doesn’t think of itself as Usnea, any more than Virgo thinks of itself as Virgo, or Pine thinks of itself as Pine. The communication has nothing to do with it’s name. But my understanding of it may be skewed by my naming and thinking of it:: so I could be receiving transmissions from a tree, name unknown, in which case I have no reference to color my hearing with. Or I could believe it to be Apple, hence my thinking could color its communication based on what I think it is and all that I think that Apple ‘means’. DO you see? However, even when this is the case, communication is two way, in which case I’m emanating my understanding back at the tree, the one I think is Apple. Though it doesn’t think of itself as Apple, it’ll receive my emanation and sense that it’s off and somehow it finds a way to shake me free of my misnomer and redirect me toward what it is since this obviously effects my comprehension. Thus one day a branch drops on my head and I see what I’ve missed, this tree is not apple but hickory, and even though it shouldn’t matter as far as soul-spirit-talk goes, as a human I’ve built up this database of association so as soon as I know it as Hickory it changes my perception of the tree, as well as what it’s been communicating.
Once upon a time, before all the names, this wouldn’t have been an issue so to speak. But with time and vocabulary and names and the meanings associated with them it has come to pass that unless we know the name, we may very well sit on the cactus even when somebody calls out not to sit on that round bulging thing and there’s another round bulging plant or rock around, which we think is what they’re talking about; so the name does help with identifying certain things in life but sometimes it causes miscommunication or misunderstanding when improperly applied! Of course, one could say that to call cactus a round bulging thing is poorly communicated to begin with, even without the name, for cactus has other features that could be sounded out and anyone ought to be able to know what you’re talking about in the field . ..such as the round bulging green being with long sharp spikes or downy prickles, but that implies the knowledge of all those defining words too. Baffling. Language.
This is it. Clearly, I’m okay with being clearly baffled. It’s sort of like walking into a maze and knowing instinctively that however long it needs, there is a way that leads back out. It’s sort of like a tangled skein of yarn, stick with it and it does eventually come untangled. Somewhere in here there is this:: astrology is one thing, starspeak another, possibly they overlap. Maybe it’s the same thing::I do::mixing them up together. Or maybe it’s nonsense that’s for shaking out to serve experience in relationships. Juicy stuff, apple juicy, sweet and crisp with hints of rose and floral notes making musical love when drunk.
This is it. Sliding toward solstice, with solemnity and joy to sojourn. There’ll be burning. There’ll be song. The night will be long. There’ll be turning. There’ll be rites. We are warriors of light.
May all blessings shine through, be served, be received brightly!