Microcosmic Magic

I am losing height. I refuse to say “shrinking.” I say, instead that I am “condensing.”

The saying about the teacher appearing when the student is ready & v/v takes on a new depth of character when I impose upon it my idea that an avatar is a teacher. Avatars are icons, a ton of activation lies under one button, one that responds to heat.

A legend exists powerfully around Eagle & Condor. There is much information available & it is an Old Tale carried forward in all cultures on some level or another. Could this be an equivalent logic for the “lion laid down with a lamb” that we see so familiarly?

A teacher is now represented by an icon or a logo, activated by touch. When the teachers determine it is time for learning what can only be pursued under the guise of teaching, they start pushing buttons. My lessons need to continue; now they come by offering to teach. This is the time to build on new glory: not rely on old laurels.

Teachers all. Students all. Who am I to ask for the youniverse to line up just with li’l ole me? Who am I not to do so when I’m assured it IS all about me? Your God & yourself should be at least synonymous, if not twin-headed. Avoid symbiotes here, at all costs. The only worth-ship is Equality. It is said worthship=worthship.

Last Monday, a friend & I drove to Socorro, taking the old road. We stopped at the Bosque del Apache where I beelined to the gift shop & bought bookmarks of beautiful shots taken in the Bird Sanctuary by a worker. Saturday I found a Mexican bobbler, which I believe, a representation of a condor. And something eerie about that white-painted head. Vultures are the clean-up crew. You may not want to know where its head has been.

The energetic environment shifts around me as I do minimal rearrangements of what is already here – acquisition of a black n white lamp triggers a scene including my Unity White Stone Ceremonies. I suddenly “see” the shift & make it so. That this is in preparation for my own shifts, I know.

(A short aside: I picked up a cloth elephant at a yard sale, putting it in my living room. Two days later I realized I had put an elephant in the room…and the day after that, I realized no one had said anything about it. That point made, I gave it to Rain’s granddaughter at the Farmer’s Market yesterday. Now there’s eagle & condor? A language of avatars is coming to age here.

First Rung

The thoughts sometimes gang up on each other, yeh? I catch myself in the  midst of one even as another is waiting offstage, tapping a toe. So many analogies can be drawn: the next wave in the ocean when I’m still tumbling from the last one.

I live near the Rio Grande, a handy river from wherever you look. Come, drift with me awhile. Hook your arm through mine or maybe catch onto the rope of my innertube… where you going in such a hurry anyway?

I had two monkeys worth of weeks lately – let your imagination punctuate that. A double trip to Hillsboro, my former neighborhood, close-knit & off-road. Dipping in & out of that energy was enervating to Spirit. Each foot of height in the road lifts all of me together.

An Aside: My client is an 89-year-old woman celebrating 90 this weekend. The family gave her the “easy job” of selecting the photos for the family collage. But, 89 is 89 & more inclined to sitting with a good radio program…than to sort through thousands of photos. Now I ask you, ‘was that fair’?

You know, there is a story around everyone, like the tail of a comet passing by. As I learn these, I can tell them well. I’ve written years ago about writing Truth. I have a habit of telling people, go look at my blog, & then if anything happens with them I want to document, guess whut [sic].

Well, those eddies spun me away from the stream! Are we still threaded together? There is, of course, always more.

The longer story I love to jaw with friends disappears at times. I am acquiring a reputation as being curt, abrupt with some; especially in a business transaction. But business has blurred in practice, hasn’t it? When not otherwise actively engaged, I turn into “Officer Carol”, my Libran balance kicked in the shins by the singular impoliteness of a worker on her phone in lieu of hired duty.

These situations rush by me now differently because they no longer rush. Circumstances & situations have slowed down to a manageable pace. I am practicing hard to embody mindfulness – also far past due. It’s arrived with an entourage as well as a flourish.

So, I’ve designed a line of postcards. Plain white, 4 x 6, unusual fonts, thoughts from mine own mind in writing for all to see. I am calling these “Subtitles” since they are the part of the interaction which runs a stealth program under that mindfulness. Diversions. “Somethings Shiny” to use the proper pluralization.

Déja vu … My life in two words.

Do Angels have Tattoos?.

My roommate said red rocks are just sunburned.

I need to invite in the audience for this line of cards; most traffic here is after the memory evoked in a photo & we have umpteen terrific photogs in town. My cards are spare, kinda Art Deco pieces, each one a standalone for sending a friend, making a bookmark, propping on the bedlamp… How much will you pay for a relevant thought?

Meanwhile, I’ll start sending them to my friends all over. How many pictures of them will be taken before they arrive – & after? I can only think in these terms since I believe this line to be captivating & mostly funny.

Well.

Hey, thanks – this is my fork right here … see ya next time. Downriver, right?

Wolves

Going up the stairs is so different from coming down.

The wolves at the door watched, silent, as I left

Growling as I returned

My stare equal to the threat.

There is a way around this

Yet to be found.

So I enter the waking day through the Door of Dreams

Destinations unknown, glowing in the distance.

œ

If all dreams come to Truth, and all wishes are granted

You will come to love me again, or never quit…

The day for that may choose a future I do not.

I travel towards Heaven by nightlights, kind deeds, by song lyrics.

I smell roses – their scent lighter than air.

I flick through sturdy white promises

Made on different days.

I drive a chariot with blind horses

Whose eyes glow green at night.

I give no order to gallop:

The whip is still, more antenna than goad

A bit of me is still impetuous & unguarded

Shall I free the harness, or leap?

œ

I want you to burst within me like fireworks:

I contain your color, your fantastic shapes, your dragons with emerald eyes.

I want you weak as putty in my arms with barely the strength left to hold me there.

I am the womb that can contain you –

The Stargate you wish to transform into; fluid with mystery.

There are no flaws inside of me where only essence reigns

Where mirrors matter less than a sigh.

œ

Somewhere is a life I lived loving someone

Without giving myself airs; I held a hand; we walked together.

I slow-danced with one man in a tidy room

I offered my face for kisses

As he held me tighter to comply.

Somewhere we ran together into cold ocean

From hot beaches

Laughing at being touched by water

In places we touched by hand

Or planned to.

That somewhere is not my place

That time is not my now.

My choices bring me to Silence

In peace & a kind of purity

I rest my one wild life.

œ

Montana Mind

However, this is the Gila Wilderness in one teensey spot.

Dear God,

Help me remember it all – the strife, the conflict we so no longer need. I think we’ve established that, yeh?

Let it fade to a shudder of bewilderment, almost amusement, at the future festivals to Remember Old History – or the 5D rendition of it. Let it never be re-enacted.

Show me how to open my mind/heart to all I experience today. move me into laughter & joy & help me set Anchor there. both

Help me better understand I am somehow She Who Once Was, with She Who Is now in charge. I accept both with Libran equanimity (tho I mostly ally with the latter.)

Thank You,

Love,

Carol