REFLECTIONS FROM A FLOAT TANK
Who is that being, behind the shell, and what does she want?
Who is that voice, singing to break free?
The heart beats loud, then soft, the only seeming remnant of who I am.
Or is it, who I was?
Death, a friend I met on a journey long ago, taught me what it means to live.
But ego, she still wants to take root. She resists letting go of an identity. The illusion of separation still hovers in her mind's eye.
But I know the old stories too well. Her own and countless others.
I won't give them life.
I simply acknowledge their appearance as I bid them farewell.
I see the vastness of a humanity clinging with bloodied fingernails to the sinking ship the ego constructs. The ship filled with pain, oppression, disease, unhappiness, misery. The ship that - despite its beautifully ornate facade is nothing more than cleverly gathered dust.
A blasphemous squandering of life's force.
The spirit, the goddess, the divine, paints light with broad brush strokes.
This moment, this awakening, is an urgent call for the Ascension of light beings. It is, our illumination.
An urgent call which can no longer be ignored no matter how hard we try.
This was agreed upon long ago, that we, the carriers of the Divine Feminine flame, would break through. We would break free. We would be willing to do what it takes to keep the darkness of separation from holding us down. And we are.