Stream of Consciousness: Apocalypse of the Daughter's Daughter, Revelation Chapter 33

 

"Rock of Ages"

With a deep sense of intrigue and admiration for the bible's Book of Revelation (The Apocalypse of John), tear down with temperance and build again with love...

My eye.  My eye is waxed over by a caul of opaque white.  A familiar voice over my right shoulder instructs, "Light a fire and get high on the incense and ether of Grace." She speaks without flesh. The veil is cut away by The Grand Mother's wit, a double edge blade with a silver point. It pierces and sears yet there are still trickles of blood lining the triangle left where my hair meets my face.  I apply pressure to its center with three fingers...my fore, middle, and ring.    In her rapture is a place where peace does not move.  Darkness comes and time crumbles and folds.    

I am awake.  I am awake and find my right hand touching the apple of my cheek, my palm washed by morning tears.  My heart admits that the ending of the age is bitter and will only later reveal itself to be sweet.  I love her.  I love them too.  But I temper my minds longing to sit on Grey's pew next to Lot's wife.  An old habit takes time to break and fall.  My heart breaks.  His love falls to its knees and is bludgeoned to death by each down beat...rum-a-tum-tum-tum and the underside of the Reverend's sole steps over its heave-less breast.  In the stands...a multitude of bee-stung lips underneath blond wigs with hats of thorn.      

I am smiling.  I am smiling and humming "chariot, coming for to carry me home" while swinging my legs from an amber square.  I think of her...I think of her...I think of her.  I am a child with muffle jaws seated on her lap.  The Grand Mother blows a cool breeze into the rams horn and below the pendulum the temple is former and has been laid to waste.  My hands are clean and glow as obsidian flecked with ten cloaks of gold.  Her cool breath rises, carries on up-a-yonder to kiss The Great Black in the sky.  He misses her as a groom waiting at the threshold.  But for now he is contented as my angel and with a crook in his voice he pulls then lifts, "Hear me and receive...within the break, the fall, the waste lays the rejected rock.  Accept it and with it you begin life built anew.  Kum ba yah, kum ba re!"    

I am heir.  I am heir and a royal priestess with a peculiar capstone balanced upon my collar bone...loosed and raised from the mire and expanse of dust.  I walk and hold my own mind as chief.  Rum-a-tum-tum-tum...cadence and incantation.  The choir's chant, a refrain and trill of "pull pit pull"...confounded and brought to a flat E.  They grasped my heel, attempting to swindle me out of my birthright but I have an angel who does not apologize for his machete...a pile of hands at his feet.  He speaks in all authority, "You will not cast your crown to pay the ransom of fear.  The blood on my iron is your currency."  Upon the ninth tier of severed palms, I am upright with my left leg readied on the next.  Born again...Grace's wit held firmly in my fellowship hand.  I was blind...I was blind...I was blind but now I stand watching God transmute bitter to sweet.  The Grand Mother's train billows as a flag in the midst, "This place shall now be called Shabakshu, Praise the Wind and the Breath.  The Sun rides victoriously over the underworld."  A new day is here.  The New Age shines and clefts for me.

  

 Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
    for his steadfast love endures forever!

 Let Israel say,
    “His steadfast love endures forever.”

Let the house of Aaron say,
    “His steadfast love endures forever.” 

 Let those who fear the Lord say,
    “His steadfast love endures forever.”

 Out of my distress I called on the Lord;
    the Lord answered me and set me free. 

 The Lord is on my side; I will not fear.
    What can man do to me? 

 The Lord is on my side as my helper;
    I shall look in triumph on those who hate me.

 It is better to take refuge in the Lord
    than to trust in man. 

 It is better to take refuge in the Lord
    than to trust in princes.

 All nations surrounded me;
    in the name of the Lord I cut them off! 

 They surrounded me, surrounded me on every side;
    in the name of the Lord I cut them off! 

 They surrounded me like bees;
    they went out like a fire among thorns;
    in the name of the Lord I cut them off! 

 I was pushed hard, so that I was falling,
    but the Lord helped me.

 The Lord is my strength and my song;
    he has become my salvation. 

 Glad songs of salvation
    are in the tents of the righteous:
“The right hand of the Lord does valiantly,

    the right hand of the Lord exalts,
    the right hand of the Lord does valiantly!”

 I shall not die, but I shall live,
    and recount the deeds of the Lord. 

 The Lord has disciplined me severely,
    but he has not given me over to death.

 Open to me the gates of righteousness,
    that I may enter through them
    and give thanks to the Lord. 

 This is the gate of the Lord;
    the righteous shall enter through it. 

 I thank you that you have answered me
    and have become my salvation. 

 The stone that the builders rejected
    has become the cornerstone.

 This is the Lord's doing;
    it is marvelous in our eyes. 

 This is the day that the Lord has made;
    let us rejoice and be glad in it.
~Psalm 118: 1-24

When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem.  In the temple courts he found people selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money.  So he made a whip out of cords, and drove all from the temple courts, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables.  To those who sold doves he said, “Get these out of here! Stop turning my Father’s house into a market!”  His disciples remembered that it is written: “Zeal for your house will consume me.”

  The Jews then responded to him, “What sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?”

Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”

They replied, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and you are going to raise it in three days?”  But the temple he had spoken of was his body.  After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said.  Then they believed the scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken.
~John 2: 13-22

Woman Behind Him

Shug:  More than anything God loves admiration.
Celie:  You saying God is vain?
Shug:  No, not vain, just wanting to share a good thing.  I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don't notice it.

~The Color Purple


I don't know you as I know the women of my blood.  But I do see you.  I've watched you.  I have caught within my sight the micro movements of the muscles in your legs and arms as you internally wrestle down the Ghost.  But what I know, if I know nothing else of you, is that you did not have premeditated intent to crush her of life.  It was a slow loss.  Locking eyes.  The first date.  Meeting his sisters.  Bended knee.  Then his name edged out yours.

Now you syncopate your steps one pace behind his because he is fashioned from clay to lead and you are makeshift.  This Sunday I glanced at the almost imperceptible droop in your irises... clouds of overcast.  You have grown accustomed to withholding... done it for so long that no one is the wiser.  No one seems to take the time to peer past your bare lids and lashes... naked of makeup yet stingy in their reveal.  But I've seen you.

I  watch you sometimes as you scurry behind him contenting your belly by nibbling on the cake crumbs that fall from his hands.  I can tell that you are force feeding yourself the life he chose... swallowing down modesty as boulders.

What happened to those thighs that jumped from your mini skirt?  The red sass of your lips?  When did you exchange two upright breast in a snug tank top for a slouching spine in a draping blouse?  Why did your reflection become so virtuous... an image without scrapes from the fall of a free run?

Sometimes I catch within my sight the tiny twitch near your band finger as you turn all of your cards over to play match with photographic memory to his beliefs.    You pretend to be happy, smiling with a curl.  While others sway with joy, your laugh is controlled like the stiffness of a dry bone.

I am sorry for your loss.  I don't know you.  But I sometimes see glimpses of her Spirit struggling for the room to move...beside him.          

 

Growing Up, Up on High

An email response I wrote a few months ago...

The more I grow...the more I realize how much more growing I have before me.  I'm learning to see beyond the SEE in at least one area.  I'm more accepting of my human side, acknowledging all emotions and faults as well as glorying in my divine side as a woman created in the image of the Most High.  So in a nutshell I'm enjoying being  dread-locked me :)  

And I'm enjoying the immense freedom that comes with accepting that everyone has a right to live life from their own perspective, their own set of beliefs even if they are in stark contrast to my own...their God given free will is not mine to usurp nor harshly judge.    

The Most High is the only beholder of ultimate truth and I acknowledge that I do indeed "see through a glass darkly."  I am not God.  I'm thankful to the Most High for this lesson...self righteousness (a lack of tolerance towards myself as well as others)  is a sin just like any other.  I've learned that sin is anything that impedes life...the right to joy, live freely, and grow.  It is a challenging lesson but only because of my own resistance to it.  I'm grateful for my pruning :) 

God has allowed me to SEE the imperfect beauty, the human and divine in myself as well as in others.  In this, the Most High reveals the layers within one of the highest commandments, "Love your neighbor as yourself."  So I am loving myself...walking in my own beliefs without apology and respecting others rights to do the same.  I am learning to reverence the Most High's creation with greater degree.

...and the Creator recently brought it to my attention that I gravely needed to review this lesson.  Growth is lifelong and often a cyclical process!

“With humility comes the willingness to stop trying to control or change other people or life situations or events ostensibly 'for their own good'."

 ~David R. Hawkins

Stream of Consciousness: Watching God in the Night Sky

I realized a while ago, over a year ago that I was out of balance.  I realized that I was attempting to create my own norms in a bizarro world...

a universe that bends upon itself without allowing my galaxy room to breath.  Fallacy.  Dark matter masquerading as a cohesive star system.  Gravity pulls but love invites with no string theory attached.  I couldn't expand.  So I exploded instead...Super Nova.  And my luminous dust will lay as a horizon.

I am.  Home is not where the heart is...my heart is my home.  And if you peered into my window you would see cloven fire in my soul.  Why?  Because a while ago, over a year ago the Elect Lady of Equilibrium told me that my home weighed heavier than her plume.  Contentions.  I separated...I sifted...I let what didn't serve my joy fall away...cascade below.    I still myself at the speed of light.  Ecstasy is upon me.  It travels from my chalice...up my spine...and smiles in the house of the ram.  Meri had a little lamb...sweetly followed her to church one day but it was against the rules.  I laughed and played anyway...hide and Seek.

I consummate with the Sun.  And we become The Apex.  Twinkle, Twinkle...little star...little star...little star.  Like a Diamond...   

"When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.  On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and [the Magi] bowed down and worshiped him."  

~The Book of Matthew 2: 10-11

Losing Henry

When I was a child I had a debilitating fear of the dark.  I was convinced that my room was a doorway for the likes of malicious spirits that desired my untimely demise.  They stood over me with red eyes lurking and seemingly casing my soul.  I was convinced that I could feel the burn of their breath on my neck like a searing blade.  And I was afraid of being severed, losing my head.  And just as my adolescent imagination was running dangerously amuck, teetering on the brink of parallel worlds as my ears entertained disembodied musical refrains in dissonant chords Henry would close the door.  And the music would stop.  And the dragon’s breath upon the nape of my neck would cool as a daytime breeze.  I was safe.  I was cared for with the gentle balm of his fuzzy paw upon my forehead.  He assuaged the craze of my girlish woes, fallen angels and garish ghost.  Henry, my best friend.  Henry, my guardian host called from the ranks of a store shelf to shore up the gap like a seraph standing at the post of life.  Love brought him there...brought him to me.  And one day Love would take him away.

One day Henry was here and then one day he was gone.  My room became warped and ruled by darkness again.  There was no fuzzy paw to bless my head and bar the dimensions of evil imaginings.  There was no one there to sit with me in darkness...sit upright at my bedside.  There was no more floppy eared friend to keep watch for me in the bewitching hours.  There was no one there but me.  And I quickly realized how lonely darkness is when no one else around you is seemingly awake.  I spent most nights wildly evading rest, quivering in a quilted cocoon.  And I did so well into adulthood until I turned the age of thirty-three and willfully decided to peek out, pull the cover from my face and sit up with my shoulders squared at my own bedside - bringing my right hand to my forehead in homage of Henry’s anointing touch.


Thank you Mom and Dad...
Thank you for summoning Henry here to prepare the way.  Thank you for sending him away so that he would not be a stumbling block along the path. Having him allowed me to be comforted, to accept my humanness.  Losing him allowed me to see my truest self as divine.   You gave me a space of my own...a dark room, the room to grow into the knowledge that I am in fact my own light and the illusory power of darkness is revealed in the slaying of fear.  My dear parents, you did not fail me in this.  There is no failure in Love.  Thank you for such a remarkable, wonder working gift...Henry.

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. [She] that feareth is not made perfect in love.” 
 ~First John 4:18

 
     

Stream of Consciousness: Portal to Remembrance

A recurring dream...

I am hiding in a cave.  I am afraid because Nicaea’s Master of Ceremonies has decreed death to all who attempt to shear his rayon wool.  He will eat me alive if I am not careful to stay quiet.  I am still...then I hear the gurgling whispers of a civilization that once found its glory above level of a dark sea.  They are drowning in an abyss of lies but they want me to breathe for them.  They want me to draw them in as life then speak.  I see inside myself.  I have papyrus for bones and in the distance a mob is progressing forward with torches aflame. What they could not submerge in murky water they want to scare with fire.  I see my brother’s charred body running in a forest...they are after me.  My brother runs...and runs.  He is petrified...then rendered brittle and crumbles.  His body scatters and is carried away by the west winds.  The elder wind of the east blows its word in my ear, “When the stars align with the three gates YOU MUST, you must gather up his ashes, stir him as molten, and resurrect the corner stone.  Oh Daughter of Nehemiah, fear encamps about you.  I give you my word of power...SHABAK.”  Its last utterance echoes.  As I run I wonder...If there is no one there to hear me scream among the standing dry rot does it make a sound? 

I am now here in a lair.   Each corner is filled to the brim with cheap California cigars, Freshman's concave footballs, and cut out hearts made from the pressed pulp of pews.  Each ninety degree angle is cluttered with things.  The windows are covered by something red and the doors are whitewashed shut. The something red looks soft but when I make an attempt to push it aside the lead-heaviness nearly consumes me.  I long for the sun to kiss the center of my forehead.  My head feels cold.  I try again to uncover the windows but the air inside is stuffy and thick like smoke.  I am unable to draw in ether, a wisp of life to prevent my knees from buckling under the work.  I waver and collapse against the something red.  Surrender proves to be the action needed to bring on the shift like the tumble of the first domino. Only a sliver of light is invited to pierce the air inside.  I grab hold of it, pull it to my nose, and I breathe in.  I can see inside myself.  I watch the bronchi of my lungs turn from an inflamed green to a free flowing gold.  And I breathe out, my belly deflates.  A child is born.  A child is born.  A child is born. The gurgling whisper returns, “The age of alignment has come.”  I awake, sit up as a throne and shout with a guttural cry...

SHABAK   

  

  

Do You Remember
Back In The Spring
Every Morning Birds Would Sing
Do You Remember
Those Special Times
They'll Just Go On And On
In The Back Of My Mind
Do You Remember The Time

~Thank you, Michael