....sending you a calm ocean....tropical, beautiful lagoon with really cool little blue fishies...warm..soothin...very safe...i;m floating on my back looking at a really really blue sky and there's a wispy kinda cloud moving by.....oops I just swallowed some sea water....okay I think floating on my back is not gonna work to well....but you;re here too, divin to the shallow white sand bottom looking for shells...you found some good ones already....interesting because you don;t seem afraid of the water right now....but now you want to go make a fire on the beach so thats where we;re going now....
sometimes it just feels good to write; sometimes it just feels better to write; there are lots of stuffs going on; lots of processes, processings; but the surf seems gentle enough this evening as the sun sets off that beach with the blue fishes; evening falling but no turbulence to the breeze; maybe, way down deep,yeah, turbulence; but that's always been there; that's why cannot be still too long... draws that turbulence right up to the surface... and we don't need that ; not yet; but it's quiet on the beach, and the sand is still warm; and there's a windbreak above the high tide line where i can lay on a blanket and watch the stars come out... you can come sit and watch, too, and listen... i don't know what a pelican sounds like, but i know dolphin and porpoise and humpback songs, somewhat, and seagulls of course, and the osprey... and the sandpipers that run back and forth chasing the things the surf covers and uncovers...
how do you do that... resonate so well... i feel pieces of me... children of me... the ragtag army that is me... listen to you... try to fight against a truth that seems right... scared of healing maybe... scared of tricks maybe... and yet... sometimes... there is a crowd on the beach around the fire near the surf wherein the ocean live the blue fishes... and we are not afraid that you are there in our world... but much is confusing about it... and we have journeyed long times with different people but none here... but we know that some of us... will fight rather than surrender and sometimes we fear for you, as much as some fear you, as much as some fear to be actually present and so present a target, you know... and then, me... who hides behind shadows of creations that protect me.. hides behind the brave ones... hides behind the warrior... hides behind a gift of creating, drawing, manifesting Others, to keep me safe... when will i meet you... for real... in the same dimension... ever? or will i ever create Others to be me?
izzy says the knife that slices, slices both ways; the cut that goes deep crosses all dimensions; the rape with flesh and steel and ice and fire seals the womb like a tomb and does not allow for the birth of oneness that exists in spite of all; she is the final guardian and no one passes; and the irony is that she is me; my mirror, my edge, my hope, and my death...
I think of those tsunami's that are described as only about 6 inches tall....and wonder perhaps it will stay little like one of those kind...that just laps up a bit onto the beach...bringing with a bottle, with smoked glass, something could be in it...we should take a look and see....wonder where it came from....there's a branikle on it..its old...and a cork with a wax seal.... also aside from sea weed washing up...something else has....guess what it could be?
evening falls. the sun is setting. the fire is quietly lighting the area where we stay. it's almost time for marshmallows. i poke the fire with a piece of driftwood, playing with the sparklies. you point out to the shoreline where something that looks like a bottle has washed up onto the beach. i lay the stick down and go for a look. it is a quiet evening - a few gulls singing is all, counterpoint to the shushurring of the ocean. i pick it up, and realize that it must be very old, being a bit encrusted with barnacles... or at least have been on a long journey (do i have barnacles?). it is a smoky, dark glass with tarnished silver wire wrapped around an old, pock-marked cork. it must have journeyed a long way to come here. without intent, but what the gods or crones of fate have in mind. there is an old wax seal on it - dark red, like burgundy, with the imprint still visible in bas relief. i suspect it is a wine bottle, and so we can have our own new moon ceremony - with wine and cookies. it strikes me as funny, how Spirit takes care of me - of us. nearby, half-buried now in the shifting watery sands, is a small box - and i know already what it is... followed me here... unfinished business... the Resurrection box, within which the key remains... quietly, patiently, waiting for me to use it... the key to unlock my heart... someday...
(ok, so that's the experience journey; as a postscript, i go to the beach often at night in order to find a peaceful place to sleep; in a sleeping bag with a netting propped up so i can breathe without little critters coming to join me; up against the outcropping of basaltic rock maybe 50 feet from the high tide mark. i know you sit elsewhere nearby to sleep or watch or jsut be, and this is all cool... and very real... in a sense few very would understand; thanks)
thanks, the bottle is pretty much how i saw it too....and the journey fills in some blanks...i think it cool the way spirit guides me to say certain things to you which seem to help and build on the journey's
last night i climbed the basalt outcropping on the beach of blue fishes and found a small flat grassy area right there to sit and look out at the ocean, and stars, and slept there. yes, you climbed too; the other side, and sat against one of those oregon coast trees that like living near the ocean.
i remember going to the beach; going out to the edge of the surf… and then listening to the songs of the humpback whales nearby out to sea… I found myself on top of one, by her invitation, and we cruised the ocean in that area… singing with the stars and the moon and the sea and all… and she went out past the seven-mile horizon limit, so that the forever-flame was no longer visible, and asked me to trust her… because everything was so dark… and there was nothing but ocean forever… and the whale beneath me…
but, the money is a distraction from the healing journey... perhaps there are powers (little 'p') that would wish me to just give it up in this world of dualities ... i "heard" you call it a "distraction" when i went to the beach a couple nights ago
and then last night (or so... i keep forgetting to keep track), i went to the place where i am trying to unweave the simulacrum, which then started wrapping its weaving threads about my wrist to stop me, as if knowing its "death"... and i was puzzled, concerned, worried - not just for my self and my selves, but for the simulacrum and what it represents in its own sentience... and i again "heard" you say - "it's all from the same original source"...