No One is More Important Than The Beloved

We are the holders of hope until those who have hands can take our sweet burden which is never a burden at all from us. We are the whisperers of allah’s perfumed garden, the justifiers of the right to be happy.

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As time went on in 1980, the downloads from my expanded consciousness were more focused, and I needed less and less to be aware of the mechanism.

In honor of our upcoming day of love, here is a thread of transmissions, just as I received them, about love.

9/22/80 (The importance of love)
In affairs of the heart, no one is more important than the beloved. The beloved is not only the object of affection – the person who is loved, but is also the yearning inside to love, the small hot space of movement and direction toward the light inside that is satisfied only by the act of loving.

To be loved in return is not even as satisfying as the act of loving. He for whom we wait in attendance ( I had received some prior information about the idea of an immanent Messiah, or World Teacher) , as I am now attending thee, is such a lover as those who love indiscriminately, loving the feeling of love inside.

We are doing the equivalent of tenderly stroking the beloved’s face and neck, gently preparing the beloved for the reception that will be his to put forth. Every act we do should be characterized by the underlying “imaginary” act of stroking in this way.

Getting angry at a child, resentful of another adult, any negative thing can be balanced by the intent over-all to love, and the keeping in the heart of the desire to feel this most wonderful of all gifts of creation. It is for this reason that we have brought you again into our active circle. Your statement that you are a lover was the key. It is heard and reverberates, literally, in the air.

flags

The prayer flags of the orient are effective, as is the spoken word. The silence of the thought makes itself known in the intent to create, and in the realm of thoughts being made manifest, but nothing is as strong as the spoken word releasing its vibration to the universe.

10/80 (a blessing)
We love you. Sister of souls past, lover of the divine love within, seek the directions where love is most evident, leave behind the clutter of hardened memories for others, iron-clad, to ponder. Not for you is the battle field with its terror of meanness, but more to the sunlight and souls in flower. The balance is well fed. The times to wander in are those which nourish, not challenge, thy soul. The cow that gives the sweetest milk is she who has grazed in the sweetest fields resplendent with lush flowers thriving under the rays our lord sun and the gentle mists and baths of Leiche (pronounced /lye-kee/).

Peace to you and to all those who nourish thee, sweet sister, lover divine, and mother of hopes. We have missed your kind company and long for your recognition of our dwelling places, so we can communicate on a more conscious level with thee.

I asked, “Who are you?”

We are the holders of hope until those who have hands can take our sweet burden which is never a burden at all from us. We are the whisperers of allah’s perfumed garden, the justifiers of the right to be happy.

Author: Leiah Bowden

I was born and raised in Schenectady, NY. Lived in New York City for three years to see what kind of grown up I was, traveled around the world, and moved back to Schenectady, where I lived for the next 44 years. I stayed because Mom was still here, on the planet, in this small city where she had lived all her life. When I was 60, she told me I should leave, because she knew I'd wanted to go someplace where the intuitive work I did would make sense to more than a few people, and the yearning I had to be among my kind -- wherever that might be -- would find release. I stayed because I preferred to stay rather than go and then have to come back when she would eventually need me. She died in 2010. My only child became a father in 2012. I retired, put my house on the market to live near my beloveds and be an active Nana and once more, an active mother to my grown-up son and his wife. When the house finally sold in the summer of 2015, I said a tearful goodbye to my close friends of more than 40 years and drove West. I felt nervous and excited and free and extremely, gratefully, privileged to be able to live this fabulous life. And now I am in love with my new community, am welcomed by new friends, and set myself to the task of being not only Nana, but my self, my Self: artist, writer, she who raises arms and heart and mind and opens as completely as possible to the divine

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