4.26.16 Reflecting White Mirror Wavespell
Silvery streams of light spread through the windows, beams sweep over the floor and ceiling before moving room-to-room; pouring over beds as a brightly ethereal blanket then out doors into the passageway. Moon shines in our abode, silvery blue, silvery pink, silvery sylvan; she touches each of us where we lay dreaming under stars twinkling and sparkling outside and beneath our closed eye lids. I watch her as she goes about her rounds, I watch her flittering . . .
There she is in Starweed’s white inflorescence, disciples listening to Jack where he extols and expounds importantly to their eager attention. What is he talking about? I lean in closer toward him, give him my ear, and hear him speaking with his cape bustling behind him,
“Let go yourselves my dears, you’re tender in years; dance take a slim chance and send out star seeds, it’s what this world needs, hold back nothing I say! Nothing, give it all away, and watch love’s sway sprout out and about, kissing and caressing lover’s at play! But be aware to give care to where those star seeds go when you show and are free, listen and see that your needs you meet while sparkling you greet the day in bliss for there are those who’ll test you and strive to best you. To be as you are you must aim close yet far, indeed it is in acts that you’ll find to what is given mind, for words alone can be shallow, useless, and callow, hollow, empty, and false. Listen with your heart and do your part, now say with me, I Am. I Am.”
And the flowers all repeat one after another until they’re singing in unison,
“I Am. I Am. I Am. Aum.”
Silvery wisps of light filter in through a blue dream, rivulets rest on Michael’s forehead, on his rising chest; permeating his breath the silvery rays enter his chest and flow with healing energy suffusing him with vitality and well being. He’s enclosed in a chrysalis of six protective Tulip Polar Mothers, their feet carpeted in soft emerald moss drawing on cleansing energies that fill the air. Their trunks form a cradle for him where they stretch out toward clear blue skies amidst a clearing of filigreed leaves, green and pink streaked rocks, greening lime scented spicebushes, the curvature of creamy mushrooms interrupting the lines of fallen logs, succulent starweed twinkling gems smiling from below, ferns fiddling their way into the open, and cohoshes with their tight nippled buds waving beside open yellow flowers, sundrops, all a stride away from gurgling water where bullfrogs emit a croak in the forest.
Sunshine spills in spirals mottling the Mothers barks in light and dark patches; a mosaiced honeycomb embrace that’s tender and sweet yet strong. They grow in a circle of three pairs in an alcove of their shaping; where two more may have stood: an archway, a door to step out, be born, take flight. He’s in the limelight, he’s all that is in an infusion of roses and rose hips and rose kissed berries and hummingbird fluttering so fast he’s invisible, and all around kin come together in song, a multitude of voices in unison vibrate one tune: I Am I Am Aum, I Am I Am Aum reverberates through the forest, ethereal threads instilled with love and all blessings weave their way into his chrysalis and imbue him with vitality, kiss him with health, bless him with joy in all ways in all the minisculest of cellular particles and molecules and atoms that have conjoined to shape him, Michael; until he nibbles his way through and emerges whole and glowing in communion, ready to breathe life into his dreamsong.
Jack nods his head and continues from his pulpit, glorifying the virtues to his throng of intent pupils. I hear him say,
“The same behavior won’t give new results you hear! When you want new results then your approach must vibrate, whirr and whizz and hum buzz friccksaroo with a new frequency, one that resonates with the outcomes you want to seed and grow, hmm? Remember, the old gives old gold, sometimes has nothing left to give once you’ve found a vein and mined it away yet it has it’s own value and chord that’ll keep, but the new, ah these unexplored realms ask you to approach from your interior realm with fresh curiosity, to be a newcomer in new territory . . . . what’s that? Should you navigate with the old compass? Well, if you’re going to go in search of a new compass by the time you find it and are ready to explore it’ll be an old compass won’t it? Unless you’re questing for a compass, in which case carry on, now I was postulating under the condition being one in which you have a working compass to apply to a new adventure . . .”
Oriole flies into the thicket of roses, “Come and see,” he calls. I walk on with Oriole leading me; past white water cascading over blue rocks where I receive a glimpse of a sprite at play, she’s splashing the rushing water in a hundred thousand rainbow droplets all around her and dancing in their spray with complete abandon. My heart swells with joy and I marvel at its spaciousness, surely it’ll explode and spill honey everywhere! It’s a balloon without limits to how much it can hold, borders infinite! Oriole’s quiet now, rainbow beads are raining around me, iridescent glimmering, touching me with bursts that come together in smaller bubbles where they land.
I am Rainbow Woman; I tiptoe lightly and twirl. My clothes shake themselves off and I spin, my hair has turned to watery strands that shimmer and shine in suns rays sending out seeds of liquid in a shower of pearls in all directions. Sprite skips over and kicks up rivulets of water with her toes, bathing me as she circles around with water cupped in her palms, tickling water with her fingers in upward sprays then scattering mist from her fingertips to kiss my eyes. I am Rainbow Woman; on tiptoes I twirl and sip cold water feeling fresh. Sprite slides down the flows and into the pool below rocks where she disappears from sight with a gurgle and the creek ripples on downstream.
I sit on the embankment where Nettle is showing, shiny and spiny black marks on her upright stems. Glistening by her feet are purple jewels and the twisting staircase of slender leaves on sticky stalks that is Cleavers. Bee is buzzing nearby amidst burgundy and gold petals; their ends hooked with tiny barbs as they wind around and overlap in layers salted with crystals to form the crowning glory above a skirt of elegant leaves.
I am Rainbow Woman and I am thankful for every blessed moment of this precious life I’ve been given, for waking moments and dreams, for this abundant luscious Creation, for the ground under my feet, for clear air and fresh water, for birdsong and frog call, for bubbling springs and skunk cabbage, for watercress, chickweed, and violets, for trees and wood and fire, for a warm hearth and kindled hearts, for light that guides me to follow my bliss and navigate true, cuckoo cuckoo burrra burra burra, for peaches, strawberries, and wine plump cherries swollen with juice staining lips lush and moist, for kissing, for arms to hug with and legs that squat, walk, run, tiptoe lightly, for All of the All, I am thankful winging through all that I Am thankful for where I lay in bed with Jasper’s head on my arm, his pillow, stars under my closed eye lids . . . .
Silvery streams of light spread through the windows, beams sweep over the floor and ceiling before moving room-to-room; pouring over beds as a brightly ethereal blanket then out doors into the passageway. Moon shines in our abode, silvery blue, silvery pink, silvery sylvan; she touches each of us where we lay dreaming under stars twinkling and sparkling outside.