Listening Devices

It is my daily routine to open the computer & check favorites & newsy blogs. I saw the “update” button on the power screen, that tiny orange malevolency indicating such a highjack coming soon. I hit it last thing last night, hoping it would be over by morning.

But it wasn’t over, it just ran out the battery. I plug it in to 18% completed but “Still updating…don’t turn off your computer.”

I believe it’s true that Bill Gates introduced the idea of getting a “virus” & this requiring periodic “updates.” My best guess is some AI team in Nevada or Arizona, sitting in an underground room where (if they breathed) they could see their breath. I see their lighted silver fingers walking through my files. What will they do with poetry & prose, with editorial letters & preachy emails? Will they yodel to discover fiery youtubes about health & wealth & mankind’s skirting the lava plane of an active volcano? Will their tiny lights grow brighter? I’m still at the back of the threat line, yeh?

20%

I am rambling around the point of this blog but arrival is at hand.

20%

What, exactly, is happening to my computer? And how can I get to the point where I simply pluck information from the ethers as do so many of the folks I follow? If I can’t get the goods on creation from this vivid mountain air & this exceptional light, why do I hope to glean it from a machine?

The laptop is snuggled up to my leg like an indoor cat. I glance at it as I read my book. It is not an alive thing. It’s a package wrapped in brown paper, left on the peeling porch.

22%

This computer (embarrassingly code-named “mylove”) [which name seemed foolish even to me until I saw a friend had named hers “beloved.”] must be given over to the nerdy A.I. in training, the one still needing corrective lenses to connect to humans.

The person who said “Three’s a crowd” had that practical wisdom thing going. I am speaking here of a machine, essentially a toolkit / file unit. It’s a comm device. Why would I not be comfortable wondering if nascent Big Brother knows he has a crowd reading over his shoulder?

(Sitting in that large warehouse room in a form-fitted, chilled cubicle, its green eyeshade canted just so to filter my frontier light, bionic fingers fluttering along a narrow, inky tape of my efforts to stay informed…)

22% still.

Indigo Child

I got here just as the world was shifting inter-dimensionally & surfed in on that new wave. I am called an Indigo Child. Except that I have renounced the child on occasions, I did a good job staying in touch with my core reality.

In the World of Exactly Today, I am a changer & a chronicler – even unwritten, this life will be indelible on my consciousness. The more so because I recognize it; familiarity being a trait of mine.

I came across the word this morning of “Reparenting”. I did not recognize it immediately, so it sank a little deeper when I did. When what I was reading caught up with my immediate perception of an Inner Child concept base. Specifically, mine.

“Here’s another area for reparenting. I need to provide for myself the missing experience of bondedness.  No sense waiting for the outside world to do it for me; I need to assume the adult side of me and reparent the wounded child.”   – Steve Beckow (www.goldenageofgaia.com)

The pattern of my childhood was that of the singleton & it has not discontinued. I have many ways of coping & promoting & being aware & reacting. These are as practiced as any Yoga or T’ai Chi regimen.

My Inner Child was such a solitaire that she is still sitting & walking in places alone. She came loose when I was free from other obligation. She is stirring now & peeking out between the blinds because she sees I’m not so busy as I was.

This is the Indigo Child. She leads armies on her empty paths. Her mind is quick & responsive, just likely not synced with your particular thoughts though she nods & listens. This child knows what it is to be overpowered emotionally. This emotional bullying was done regularly but who cares since it was only a pattern repeating, laying down a track that is there if I choose to follow it. Indigos do not stay on any track usually; they move from topic to topic, devoting the same attention span & vigor to each. They sample the steam table of life, seldom oriented to the salad bar. Indigos are unlimited though they get their toes stepped on. They never stay underfoot long enough for real damage.

Many cycles of time have passed on this assignment. The edges are wearing thin, I am seeing through what used to be solid. I’m going back to talk with Little Carol who brings me visions & will never leave the beach.

Making friends with her again gives me a companion in the house. For Indigo Children grow into Indigo Adults. Attitudes assumed early will out. I am a leader of a ghost army of me’s, crowding around for attention, but settling in once I choose.

If think of it poetically: I came here to be an immovable rock, a bulwark, a warrior for the incredible Lightness of Being. I am worn to a pebble on the beach. I shine in the knowledge that from all the abundance here, Mother God will exclaim over me & put me into her pocket. Later, she will place me among her treasures. How could she not? She will rub her thumb over all my flicks & imperfections & love me regardless.

Minyan

We’re lucky to realize & recognize the reality now presenting itself for inspection. It is being made to look uninviting but inevitable.

The reality is that we are already past that doorway – what seems like such a transition is actually being done from 20-20 Hindsight.

For me to renew, or perhaps obtain, compassion & empathy with no attachments, I am here, now & naked. I feel like I’m moving forward but who can say for sure unless I say it first?

For some while the physical trauma of what I experienced has been assimilating within; I keep an eye on it. Ideas help it to reform me after infiltration. Pain & sheer goldurn inconvenience inform me now.

To find uniqueness in the matrix of how souls have overlapped each other (they were not keeping an eye on things) is to live in “threads” & “sound bites” – we live in underscores, not the fullest expression of life, but  our version, so it is in us, embodied,  We get snippets of stories where we get anything we’re not our own selves making up at this point. The individual took over the collective by a long shot…yet because it is defined by that, it still participates, telling itself it is individual.

This part ongoing now, this tsunami of undirected energy, is the part in the Biblical story where God says, “Go find Me ten good men.” We are looking carefully at what is ours to work with. But we have only ourselves to work upon, long-run. Was God saying Find me a Minyan; then we may pray? I can sure see that. At that time, & likely just in that location, there were too few able to pray in at the power to change the world; so that world as it was had to go. It was rendered, parsed up, mythologized with real bad weather & the knowledge of hard times ahead. It was given a name that would become a mark against mankind (“mainkind”). A skull & crossbones of a warning name.

Few roads are entirely straight. We seem to have meandered back there somehow. But we would find ten good persons within ten feet, did we have to seek today. The Universe seeks to extrapolate information from us; it is insatiable. What am I telling it? I seem to be getting a broader range of information incoming, but it is not on an intellectual level exclusively any more.

I need to keep an eye on my Prayer Quotient. I’m fairly sure it is ticking upward, so this is ideal. So, right now, all I can do is light it up for me. It’s up to others to seek their “what comes next.”

Remember, these are just writing exercises I have here. This is me, practicing scales. If you’re here,  you’re tuning up a bit by touching another psyche. We said in Unity no candle ever lost by lighting another.

My life improves in a step by step pattern. It is a newer dance designed about allowing more fragility. That which was broken has healed with new memory. Somehow, I now have my Minyan. Step by step allows the impertinence of the step just before to pass unnoticed. It is interesting to watch the pace of others from the places where, like any good Trailblazer,  I’ve stopped to look back.

Returning to Prayer

So, a time or two ago, I was able to tune into prayer as being that tiny generating engine behind my energy. While I’ve been making my changes, it turns out so has Prayer. What I was told was a technology has become solid as such.

I’ve learned “What were you thinking?” is not a rhetorical question. With the thought police increasing every day, it can now be an accusation. But I feel a potential sifting through: Alchemically, a potentiation sifting through, taking root around me, binding me down while nourishing my wings.

I see a “Next Level” sign blinking overhead.

I see big flakes of me, psychic flakes, pulled off & scampering down the sidewalks of other places, more geographic places.

Every once in awhile, I think I am pedaling backwards; slack; no traction. Then I just arrive, because Spirit has already done all the arranging while I was sightseeing. On tour may mean “On To Our” or “onto our”.

The wind that pushed us steadily forward has turned into a gusty go at us, sidling in or full-frontal. We emerge again & again. We arrive at our truest selves repeatedly or our repeated selves more truly. Even (& perhaps most accurately), we get to the ones who started out compliant, but are now rattling the chains back at the gang. The closer we get to ourselves in the Silence draped upon us, the more Powerful we become.

Compliant to Complaint is moving one single letter.

Digital Alchemy

I believe this would work well as a name for massage therapy salon. My first practice was called “Angelhands” in my own mind, Then it wound up that I mostly worked for spas & so did not even need a name. Yet it lives on, emerging into this timeline every once in a while.

I remember how awkward massage therapy was for me in the beginning. Before my hands learned the language of the body outside the formal frame of school. Before I knew the patterns my hands twine into on the client’s body. I love the way it has evolved & continues to evolve.

After I broke my arm recently I thought I had retired from doing massage. It seems I cannot stay away & I am once more in the lotion.

If I had a business now, I’d call it Digital Alchemy. For years, a shamanic friend of mine kept me in touch with a familiar name: Merlin, yes, of Arthurian fame. Merlin urged me consistently to use alchemy. He implanted the word so I react to each mention or exposure. Years after he & I no longer shared spirit-time, he had me on watch for a word.

Recently, I got the rest of the story: I figured out the magic travels through my hands whatever format it comes through. The hands have it, aye.

My injury has added a subset of emotion to the soundtrack I follow when doing massage. I plan to keep the reverence going.

As I shift, everything else does too. I am watching small cities I have built crumble.

Right now, the sacred instant demands prayer. Totems appear; one came to me recently as another left to be a wild thing again after many years. We got away from each other at the end there. My bull elk probably got most of what I accomplished done for me – at least the heavy lifting part. Now another energetic force is needed.

I began seeing dragons, moved beyond lower earth to an energetic stream beyond (Behind? Below?) 3D. Now I understand this totem is here to help with healing in all stages of my current life. She is an embodiment of my fire element.

The woman I sold my massage items to I work again, using my own tools more than I did at home.

One beautiful client held my hands after her massage, blessing them to God.

Just like everywhere else in life, growth happens. Sometimes this takes place in spurts. I am getting a feel for what I am being called forth into: it is more healing work.

Feels good to have a dragon involved.