Hello dearest readers,
During my breaks at work, I walk around the office complex parking lots and buildings, where I encounter the busy lives of squirrels, chipmunks, blue jays, mockingbirds, robins, finches, hawks…as well as lichens, an abundance of moss, holly trees, azaleas, boxwoods, and a variety of other trees. Confession: I talk to the moss, the trees. All of these beings are my family. In the mornings with the rising sun, a confident bird sits atop one of the taller hollies, singing her heart out to the sun. Standing to watch her, my heart was so inspired.
And just a few days ago, my amazed eyes followed a flying bird ringed with an aura of brilliant blue. In wonder, I asked myself: Is this real? The bird was a robin, not blue at all…but I definitely saw an outline of electric blue surrounding the bird in flight. Grateful for the unexpected sighting, the brilliancy of the color outside of the realm of usual possibilities.
As I move out of survival consciousness to intentionally vibrate at a slightly higher frequency, I feel my body, my mind, and my heart shifting and changing several times each day. Tones buzz in my ears, my eyelids flicker and tremble, my muscles in my calves or feet zing or ache. Imploring the unseen inhabitants of the realms I know teem all around me, my heart aches to be as the songbird atop the holly who continued to sing and chortle with such a powerful voice, even competing with the Mexican groundskeeper’s gas-powered leaf-blower. Such confidence, such power.
When I think of my own whispery voice, bundled in the basement of the tendons and cartilage of my throat, I urge myself to call forth some of the joyful spontaneity of the sun-worshiping bird. And so I made my rounds whistling, no competition for the throaty projections and tuneful frequencies of my bird mentor, but as an emerging voice into play I began to have some fun, not caring if any coworkers might see or hear me. And I realize that my survival consciousness “little me” doesn’t often laugh or have enough fun. Too busy being responsible, needlessly worrying, and taking care of others.
Today, I made a decision. Set an intention to feel lighthearted, and to find freedom and joy. To play. I asked for help. An amusing ascension video with Kira and Sri starts off with a simple but lovely mantra to help aspiring lightworkers to call forth guidance.
I am here. I am open. I am ready. Guide me.
Repeating the words with a few additional pleases and thank-yous of my own, I saw in my mind’s eye first a wing, then a towering bird with brilliant blue feathers. I asked for his name, and he said it is Cenxt. He took me up onto his broad gleaming back, and after I managed to suppress my fears and was securely holding on, we soared into the air.
We landed in a magical place. A lush valley, where the grass was supernaturally silky, fragrant, soft. The air was full of multicolored birds. Tall, lush tree canopies created shadow, surrounding the meadow. Cenxt showed me that I too could fly, and he assured me that I would not hurt myself even if I were to fall. Practicing this new skill, I bounced off my toes, bounding into the air. At first gingerly and awkwardly, then with confidence, I began to allow myself to progressively gain altitude. Eventually, I took flight over the tree canopy. As I flew in my human form, I overlooked a striking waterfall, behind which I found a crystal cave full of amethysts and a lovely shallow pool. Breathing deeply in front of the downward sparkling waters, a need for sleep began to slow my mind and muscles.
I managed to return to the meadow and curled up in the grass, falling into a deep restorative sleep. When I awoke, I was brought back to Earth. Suddenly, I knew I needed to bring my children to this magical place. Myself as a preschooler, perhaps three or four years old, accompanied by my son, Lucas, also a round-cheeked youngster in the vision. Hoisting them both up on Cenxt’s sturdy back, we rigged an off-white cloth around the children to hold them in place as we took off. So much old pain had created a slight barrier between myself and my son when he was little, and I still hold regret and sorrow to have withheld from him what I could not give to myself – a purely joyful, unconditional, warm and full presence. I have been a good mom, but there has always been a piece of myself alone in a room where no one could touch me, not even myself.
When we landed in the meadow once again, my inner littlest me needed a bit of reassurance, but Lucas’ confidence buoyed her up, and they both gleefully bounded and leaped around the meadow. When we took to the skies and headed for the waterfall, the children immediately wanted to bathe in the pool and to taste the water, which was fragrant and sweet as blooming lilacs. It had not occurred to me to taste, smell, touch, and, as always, I learn so much from children. How to play, how to live in the moment. How to be creative. After much play, we returned to the meadow. Cenxt provided us an oversized nest lined with soft, white feathers. We all climbed in for a nap.
When I awoke and stretched my body, I noticed two stunning blue wings had sprouted from my shoulder blades. My humanity melted into birdness, my form shifting into a plumed being with beak and claw. Cenxt and I gazed into one another’s eyes with recognition, and understanding permeated my consciousness. Here was the partner for whom I have been waiting, for whom my solitude found an explanation. I looked into the nest for the children. My small self was no longer there, and I looked around wildly. My eyes probing deep into the wooded area, I saw the elegant but fading form of my adolescent self, dissolving into the forest. From the nest, Lucas arose, nearing manhood. Small sapphire wings emerged from his back, swiftly reaching an impressive span. Rising and stretching his wings, Cenxt and I proudly observed him as he prepared to take flight.