Entering the Dance of Blessing

It is now time to bring that reality to pass, in all you do, in all you say to each other and to yourself, in what you eat, drink, in whom you love and when, in the work that you do, and in the games that you play. It is the time of transformation in more material ways that you ever thought possible in your pretend self, the one who made up all those pictures whose burning light created the glory of the self you have allowed yourself to see. Let it all come to pass. Let yourself love unashamedly. Let the tears come, let them flow. Let the laughter fall out of your mouth. Let the ears pick up the innuendos of acceptance and admiration, and let the eyes see all levels of creation in its great beauty. Let the song of creation within the human mind and heart travel to its apex, to begin the second phase of becoming who you are.

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One of the most powerful downloads I received in past years was a transmission of instructions as facilitator of my local gathering to mark the Harmonic Convergence in 1987.  I have wanted share it more broadly, but have not done so yet, embarrassed, frankly, to have let so much time go by. My embarrassment led me to rationalize that it could not possibly still be relevant.

But that’s small thinking, and entirely dismisses the nature of eternity, our matrix. I asked about this today. Here’s what I received:

Once received, no matter how sequestered, a message never loses its relevance. There is value for the student of history, for objective study and for appreciation of the idea, even if the idea’s vibrational magnetism pales in the stronger light of a more contemporary message.

You hold in great reverence and tender memory the directions we gave you at the time of the Harmonic Convergence and again at the Harmonic Concordance. Those messages still hold power, and entering their dance blesses the dancer.

The times now are as to that time and those directions as is quantum physics to the Law of Gravity: a multidimensional multiplication of a basic principle.

If you have been opening yourselves to the continuum of the increasingly evolving frequency to which you have access, you will have increased your capacity to hold paradox, treasure, and possibility beyond what you would have believed possible 20 years ago.

No: you would have believed it, but not have been able to project its trajectory. Now, with patience and careful recall, you could track your evolved ability.

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I would appreciate knowing  to whom I may attribute this image.If you are or know the artist, please contact me.

 

You can now hold in one hand what once felt like a moving, often invisible web pulsing over your whole being.

Here are the original  instructions I received for the Harmonic Convergence.

Way long, He ‑ ya‑ hey, tell the fishes and the trees that all is light now, and there is no more fire to fear. He who is watching is here in the form, the way is clear for the fishes and the trees. The way is open for the babies and the worms below, for the insects and the birds to become one in their longing for each other.

The way is open for all the fire to descend into the hearts of the yearning, for the flow of the river to quench the burning of distress. You are one with us, and your mouth is our mouth. Your hands are our hands, as our heart is yours. The eyes see what they need to.

Is there a message I can share especially at this time which will bring great joy and beauty?

Three yarns spin around each other, forming one. The rope thusly formed is stronger than the greatest rift, formed in the deepest oceans, the highest heights. Each of you is a carrier of the rope, for in each of you there is a strand as close to you as your own genetic code, as far thrown from you as your dreams have allowed you to see, and constantly thrumming you toward the next person, toward every next person ‑ he whom you see on the street, she whom you try to avoid in the public place. Every next door neighbor is your cosmic mate, the one who could set you free.

If you could only see this there would already be such planetary peace that the universe would spin faster, the balance of nature on all planes would be like a spider’s thread, weaving quickly a net of ineffable beauty in which all could walk without getting caught. The message to heed now is:

Do your best. Don’t be nervous. The time is here. Accept what you have done, and see it in the best possible light. Nothing is lost. Regret will only make the hurt worse, and forgiveness, wherever it can be found and applied, will bring a song to even the tightest lips and the coldest heart.

Everywhere the tolls have closed, the gates are open.

See this image in your meditations and your plans. See the gates, the tollbooths, as open, no more tolls, no more fines, the police have declared a holiday. Those who will commit the crimes have already been jailed by their own acts and fears. Those who are left are singing and dancing in the streets. Hear the jubilation as every heart unfolds its cautious wings.

It may take a while, but gradually you will see all with whom you come in touch manifesting this.

flame-181271__340Picture yourself before the fire of all that has been. It carries your own personal history, showing you in fire‑ pictures those scenes from your life that you would like to be free of. The fire is a bonfire, lit through love, and you have thrown into it only those insensate old pictures which you have no more use for. Old hurts, gone. Old relationships where the growth stopped a long time ago, have turned into photographs, now curling and disappearing painlessly.

There is no sacrifice, but only the joyous discarding of the old, worn‑out, ill‑fitting, out‑dated imaginings. With each picture that you see burning, you see its new form emerge, in beautiful colors, from the top of the bonfire. The phoenix of love carries each old, discarded bit of human energy up to its newly evolved, useful, and beautiful form.

As you watch the fire you recognize these new forms opening their hearts to you, as they float slowly and gracefully towards you. You take each one into your heart, and you become lighter. With each new hope, new possibility, with each phoenix‑transformed future, you become lighter, until you are literally hovering around the fire.

You raise your arms to embrace all that you have allowed to come to pass, all this beauty and promise, and you touch the hand of he or she who sits on either side of you. You notice that the touch of your neighbor is the touch not of skin, but of sun‑warmth, and it vibrates with a song that your hand carries up your arm, down into your heart, and which sings its way through your circulatory system. As it makes its way through your being, you sense it as it adapts in clarity, style, and melodic patterns to each section of your anatomy, bringing cooling refreshment to parts of your body that need cooling, and bringing warmth and vigor to those parts of you that long for stimulation and expansion. You can feel your very molecules changing for the better, adapting immediately and joyously to this instant medicine of cosmic love and harmony that you have brought into yourself by virtue of having been willing to let go of the outdated, useless, and tired pictures of your life.

In your new state, you ask yourself to see the path that lies in front of you. Immediately there is a flood of light, sound, loving and sensual touching that leads you and is in fact the path you were born to finish. This is the last path you will have to travel. It leads directly home, where you can continue to play and serve as you wish. You may take as long as you like to travel on this path, or you may fly there right now and reach your very greatest and most beautiful dream at once.

As you move through your path, you are aware of all those who share it with you, and you feel their great outpouring of love illuminating and refreshing you, as your natural energy in this state serves and delights them in exactly the same way. Now observe those others on your path, and see how gradually their arms, legs, wings, hair, eyes, all shimmer in a transformative orgasm and become melded into the one being that you are.

You, the cosmic one, are traveling along the path you created with your perfect love at the moment of your imaginings, the moment of the awakening into your creator dream. You see the shadows of the future of light which you have created for yourself, and you weep with the joy of recognition, as you see your soul’s home, you hear your soul’s music, and you are transfixed with the unutterable and exquisite sense of pure being.

This is the life you bring yourselves at this time, and this is the destiny you decided on in your creator self. It is now time to bring that reality to pass, in all you do, in all you say to each other and to yourself, in what you eat, drink, in whom you love and when, in the work that you do, and in the games that you play. It is the time of transformation in more material ways that you ever thought possible in your pretend self, the one who made up all those pictures whose burning light created the glory of the self you have allowed yourself to see.

Let it all come to pass. Let yourself love unashamedly. Let the tears come, let them flow. Let the laughter fall out of your mouth. Let the ears pick up the innuendos of acceptance and admiration, and let the eyes see all levels of creation in its great beauty. Let the song of creation within the human mind and heart travel to its apex, to begin the second phase of becoming who you are.

Your guides are at your right hand, holding all the tools you need. Your teachers are ahead of you, checking your progress and dropping hints in your life path whenever you seem to have lost your balance. All the music and people and food you have ever loved are still nourishing you, and the ideas which brought you hope are becoming real in many ways on the earth plane, as your earnest and loving labor brings the earth plane closer to its vibrational source, to the original vibration out of and through which it was created.

You are the glorious instruments of this salvation. You are those who have volunteered your energy and created bodies to be the levers and rakes, the machines of divine creation into the next order of creation available to this plane.

You approach the higher planes even now, as you celebrate among friends new and old. Every moment of your life, especially from now on, you are in partnership with the divine.

The angels look to you for guidance. Your orders are paramount.

Your will has been imbued through your willingness to sacrifice and your insistence on justice. Use your wonderful selves well, as you go through your commencement.

Begin.

What I know now is that planetary transformation took a huge, noticeable leap in 1987, and it’s not so much that we began, but that we tumbled along as best we could. The energies rising from the center of every smallest particle of being. swirling around  and within us, are still transforming life on this planet. In 2017 we are calling it chaos and wondering what really is happening.

Gates: another voice

First of all, I must comment, lest anyone think that I live under a rock, that I do know there is a disturbance in the force. A volcanic rumbling. I’ll get to this in a few paragraphs. And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

This is the fourth in a series of posts which I began a few months ago, initially to share the roughly 40 years of uplifting downloads I have been receiving from the expanded part of my multidimensional array that I call the Divine. As I looked at the accumulated pages documenting these flows, I realized that I wanted to present them to be both truthful and helpful. Helpful, I wondered … helpful to whom?

It was important to me to provide for others opening to their expanded awareness what had not been provided to me: reassurance and confidence. When I began receiving the first spurts, sometimes stories, sometimes phrases repeated over and over – waking dreams demanding attention in the middle of the day – I thought I might be going crazy. So I’ve shared a number of them in this blog, along with descriptions of how it felt to have words pouring into the top, side, or front of my head and my sense of the instructions I was receiving. It felt as if someone had turned on a faucet and my mind was being flooded with content I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t scary once I no longer feared insanity, but was uniquely odd.

Here’s a typical entry from 1974, not one of the earliest, but a good example: “fifty million times a day I knock on the door of her consciousness and fifty million times a day she covers me up with her goodness and her joy of life, but I get in there sometimes in moments of weakness, in moments of expectation, of depression and insecurity, of frustration, and she feels my helplessness and goes crazy a little. She can’t deal with me, she feels it’s not her, that it’s someone else and she writes about me in the third person. It’s all in facets, in all in the same mold but another side, it’s all there in one soul.” And it goes on.

This particular excerpt from my journal was part of a course in intuitive training in which I was learning how to identify and integrate three main aspects of my consciousness: my intuitive self, my rational self, and my connection to the divine. This course both grounded, reassured and lifted me. I learned that the voices I felt and sometimes heard in my head were part of the natural order of an active mind  alert to the vastness of what I could  mine through the imagination. I learned techniques to encourage and moderate communication between my intuitive self and my rational mind through sensory and mental processes, and to free and revel in my connection to the divine. I learned a short prayer with which to send up for guidance. After the ask, and after the flow of the response, I learned to say, “The action has stopped. The flow has ended. May the rain of blessings fall.” And then my mind would be still.

By the late 70’s, my inner chaos subsided and  I was ready for the next steps that I’ve chronicled earlier in this series.

And so – back to the present – I was intrigued the other day to feel in my mind the long-absent persona of third person commentator, this time appearing as a world-weary, cynical woman in her  40’s or 50’s, standing in a doorway, weight on her left hip, leaning a bit on the doorjamb.

“Well, it’s certainly all helter-skelter, with no rhyme or reason,” she comments wryly in my outlying mind. I immediately know she is referring to the growing panic among the American, and even global, populace appalled that Donald Trump will soon take the oath as President. Post-election disbelief has bloomed into pre-inaugural horror. So I wonder at the “no rhyme or reason”. The helter-skelter panic makes a lot of sense to me. But I can’t ignore her completely. She is part of my authentic array, though certainly not the home into which I rise at my best.

She sits far above all Terran tumult and reminds me of the Olympian gods, unmoved by human consternation. She does not vote, because she lives in all time and all space, where nothing is elective and every moment is a pure, instantaneous reflection of consciousness. She’s heard the din but not been concerned enough to turn from her left side to her right. (Yes, the visual image I receive as part of this communication changes so that now, instead of standing nonchalantly in the doorway, she’s an odalisque on a couch.) Now she lifts her head and angles it over her right shoulder. She’s seen this before.

She doesn’t say these words, but I know that what’s she’s thinking is, “And that’s what we have here, in this spec of what we call time: a spreading fury, a bad itch over the skin that holds us all together.” She can see the multitudes gathering at the gates – some are on fire, figuratively speaking, outraged at what they know is the immanent fouling of the White House and the nation. They are burning to stop what they see as an encroachment, a shanda, a hideous travesty of the electoral process, this most unmodulated purge of inconsistencies spilling over to feed a foaming mob careless of shredding the veneer we called America.

She cocks one mild eyebrow, the verbal equivalent of which is “Why is anyone surprised?” The foolish luxury of self-delusion, I think, the soft blanket we under its comfort have pulled up over variously jutting, quivering, chilly chins since – when? How far do we have to go back to see the beginning of complacency? To Adam, who takes Eve’s apple, no questions asked?

My response to this voice carries me further into the choppy water through which we now must navigate, sails tattered and winds blowing in patterns we have not anticipated into territory where dragons surely lie.

And elections, I continue to muse,  were they ever properly impartial, anywhere? The foaming mob has always been with us and has included my ancestors and probably yours in one revolution or another.

Other ones, the ones like me, the ones not rushing into the streets either literally or figuratively, we’re making small movements. Anger doesn’t fuel me, it stops me, makes molasses of my blood. I’m giving even less attention than is my norm – never much – to the news. What can I do. Note the lack of question mark: the inner inflection is not interrogative. It’s a quiet mumble.  I want to take walks, play with art, let these words out. Friends used to grazing daily on all the news they can find are having heartburn, furious and confused all at once at their inability to digest all this fire.

Yes, of course, I am writing letters, making phone calls, making sure that if numbers are being counted, my scratch will be there just in case it might make a difference. Most of all I am honoring the clear instruction I have from my balanced cohesion to take care of myself, to act only in and stepping forth from my deepest truth.

Find the singing self, the poems ebbing and flowing whether written or not. Sleep in the sunshine.

And I see again for the second time an unpainted painting in my head called Heaven’s Gate. Or Heavens’ Gate. A canvas — two canvases, each a theology differentiated from the other by an apostrophic placement, filled with pastel suggestions and wispy birdswing arcs, the kind of paintbrush sighs so lovely for my hand to make and my hearteyes to see.

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And then the inner observer withdraws.

I am still in a pre-inaugural-shock reverie, still part of the dynamic of this intuitive activity that is part download, part inner exploration, part navel-lint examination, to be sure. In the inner scene, I find myself at the well, the quiet well, the deep well.. Those who have come here say nothing. We move slowly, taking ordered turns to draw up what we need. We watch the surging frenzy and look into our cup. We take a sip. A friend has saved a place for me in this march, and though others are rushing, it’s OK if I walk slowly, not carrying, but being my own sign.

And now my mind is still.

I’ve spoken before of experiencing the levels of awareness as a castle, the rooms of which offer a variety of voices I hear with my inner ear and images I see with my inner eye. I’ve found that when I am unafraid to enter as many rooms as possible, both my equanimity and the flow of intuitive gifts increase, enriching my life beyond anything I ever imagined.

I want to take this opportunity to thank my friends and writing buddies, Ayin Weaver and Terri Moon, for the support and clarity each has brought to our sessions and my writing of this blog. And especially to Reb Irwin Keller, who encouraged me to blog the downloads I have showed him as spiritual leader of my congregation, Ner Shalom, in Cotati, California.

With Gratitude

These early transmissions, as I called them, thrilled me, showering me with glittering inner movies of angelic and elohimic beings, in which these bright, shining ones whispered, sang, chanted, and shouted beautiful words into my inner knowing. My mind was blown so often that I think the apparent top of my head must really be just an illusion.

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Most of all, of course, I am grateful to have lived long enough not only to know my grandchild, but to look forward to being part of her life.

If I had been born well before the date I emerged, embodying the same physical configuration that felled my maternal grandfather at age 45, I would probably have not have lived this long, with the expectation of many more joyful, appreciative years ahead.

So first, thank you to All That Is for this timeline.

Thank you to my family, friends, and everyone I have ever known for anything and everything you ever said or did in my presence, whether it was intentionally for me or not. I saw, I heard, and have been incorporating the unedited flood, becoming my whole self, and I am not done.

With respect to this new online publishing enterprise, 40 years in the making, I send my thanks to the buoyant soul I knew as Karen Stone, who wrote to me in an email in 2000 or so, “I have just returned from the lap of the gods, aka Taos…” That phrase, “in the lap of the gods” captivated me, moved in, and became the caption for a stream of communication from the divine that I opened to in 1980.

These early transmissions, as I called them, thrilled me, showering me with glittering inner movies of angelic and elohimic beings, in which these bright, shining ones whispered, sang, chanted, and shouted beautiful words into my inner knowing. My mind was blown so often that I think the apparent top of my head must really be just an illusion.

It occurred to me to publish what was pouring through me, but I knew nothing about publishing. I’d go into bookstores and see that others were publishing the part of the stream in which they stood — J.Z. Knight, Barbara Hand Clow, Barbara Marciniak, for example, and I’d think, oh, good, I don’t have to interrupt my life to do this. Someone else is taking care of getting the word out about our multidimensional nature, about Earth’s transformation, and about how we can be in touch with the greater, non-material portion of all being that hovers at our closed lids.

Decades passed. I retired. I moved to the other side of the country to be with my family. I thought I’d be lonely and have lots of time to  pull my writings together into something a reader could hold in her hands. I was wrong. Turns out it was more important to me to embed myself in a community that would wrap itself around me, so that’s what I did.. I found a new community, made new friends — while missing my old friends and maintaining precious contact with them — and found lots  of reasons to avoid the enticing work I’d anticipated as the core of my new life.

A year has passed. One of my new friends, a spiritual companion with whom I have occasionally shared some of my old transmissions, suggested I publish them in a blog.

And here we are. Now — will I discipline myself to add pages to this blog? Time will tell.