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Aurora Aura

There’s been a rousing in my inner sanctuary. A call, beckoning me to paths long ago forsaken. Forsaken with a broken body, mind and soul. The path of manifestation.

It all started as a running theme. Every book I picked up, every card, they all seemed to be about the law of attraction. The words ‘abundance’ appeared everywhere in tow and I saw abundance contains the word ‘dance’. I felt it would be a dance rather than a trek. This time I would not be shattered. Bones of glass trembled at the thought of treading that spiritual rat race once more. I’d sworn I’d never step foot again. Why now?

In trust I simply listened, watching the literal abundance pour in with my yoga career. My classes doubled and I started to turn down jobs. Incredible feedback on my work poured in daily and the abundance simply could not be missed. It was like the universe was showering me with love. My heart opened to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I would walk the manifesting path once more. Only this time I wouldn’t strive. It had to be grace or nothing. Not completely trusting my ability to not pedal that hamster wheel, I only visited it briefly in my mind, and only when fate brought it to my door. That all changed the day I saw the aurora. From then on I dove into the mystical waters of intent with an open heart.

The aurora was an energy of many colours I saw swirling around people. It wasn’t an aura and I didn’t see it with my physical eyes like you would an aura. I saw it in my minds eye and it was as alive as the ocean, swirling and rolling. It felt like infinite potential. Fullness of life. Creation unmanifested. An intelligence. A part of God, like a rolling breath. People were surrounded by it. I was mesmerised by it’s colours. Each hue had a different feel. Healing, peace, love, joy, wisdom. The qualities of life we yearn for. I kept thinking ‘If only they knew it was there, they couldn’t feel so alone’. They daren’t let go of their grip and rest, thinking they’re surrounded by a void. So they never stop moving. Driven. They never taste the sweet nectar of letting go of their life to find true surrender. Something Jesus spoke of very clearly. They never find enlightenment, the lightening of the load when you realise you are part of something greater and we are all held in the web of One. They’d know all they have to do is lean and dream and their dreams will manifest. It would hold them, just as the ocean. It’s force just as tangible in the unseen realms. It made me feel so safe watching it’s dancing solidity, always near, always moving. There was nowhere it was not. I could literally lean in any direction and it would catch me, birthing my heart thoughts into form. It was a divine womb and we were surrounded. There was no failure, only more options for creation. Often, when manifesting, I used to get terrified of ‘doubt and do without’. Doubt being the key cause of manifestation failure. Fear being it’s root. It seemed such a crazy system. Fear of doubt and doubt causes fear. So I walked away from that vicious cycle years ago and relished the peace that ensued, leaving the whole topic well alone. Life had other ideas.

The next miracle came the day after I’d seen my first inner aurora. Awaking in bed, fuzzy after a long sleep. Distracted from challenging dreams. I had the clearest urge look on audible for something on intention. Wayne Dyers book appeared and the free sample took my breath away. He spoke of an energy that Carlos Castaneda called intent. He said it’s a force separate to us and very much alive with infinite creativity. He also called it God force. He said this intent is always near us. We are never without it, we just need to connect to it and all things are possible. Intention isn’t something we do, it’s something we connect to. No effort, just lean. It was my aurora.

A few days later I kept getting the sense of angels. That everything has an angel, not just a force of intent. That the aurora wasn’t impersonal, it was characterful. They call it the ‘law’ of attraction and liken it the the law of gravity. Play by the rules or fall on your face. I saw the colours in the aurora as beings. Angels. Individuals with a will. Love. That the divine had chosen to personalise this force of intent. Each colour had a different quality.

One day I heard the words “you are surrounded by angels of mercy”. It made absolutely no sense to me. I pulled an oracle card and it spoke of an archangel whose role was mercy. I nearly fell off my chair! ‘Do qualities have angels?’ I marvelled. This was a few months before the aurora, before intention was being mentioned. It felt like mercy was opening the doors to huge abundance. Left to my own devices I would stay small. Small was safe, comfortable, warm. Mercy wanted me to have it all, regardless of my story up to now. Like Cinderella who is gifted with a fairy Godmother. Wide eyed I wondered if I would be carried on thermals to a new land of being. So what colour would mercy be? The soft, lovely colour of forget-me-not’s perhaps.

 

So…

If you have a dream,

exhale and lean.

Arms surround you,

feathered wings,

colours dancing

as they sing,

‘amen’ to you

‘let it be so’

You drift and float

just let go.

 

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The Dance Of Ink

‘There’s a time for everything under the sun’ ancient wisdom once scribed. It was her time of great magic. A portal seemed to have opened, drawing her in. Within. It felt like the universe was whispering it’s mysteries to her, like a long lost lover. She found it hard to tear herself away. Food lost it’s excitement, even books lost their thrill. Adventures paled compared to this enchanted inner landscape, emerging day by day. There was nothing she would rather do than sit and listen. If she wasn’t listening, she was writing.

Over the years strange and brave stories had grown into her world. Things happened to her that held no place in the everyday. She grew to love these mysteries, but if she didn’t remember them, their light would dim to an ember in this heavy, earthbound world. There was only so many times she could tell their story to keep them alive. They named her ‘storyteller’ but not many invited such things into their world, so she read. She would keep her magic alive by reading about others magic. Her embers would ignite in recognition. This sufficed for a few decades, until one day she found her pen and herself.

The pen belonged to a group of Shamans who found her wandering one day. She never knew where she belonged since the magic seemed so big. It refused to be enclosed, bursting out of systems, even those as ancient as yoga. Something in her longed to teach yoga but she had no idea why. After all, she knew she couldn’t live by it’s system. The bigness of her magic wouldn’t allow it. So what would she teach? That’s when the shamans arrived.

A shaman teaching yoga crossed her path as she skirted the edges. She recognised his light. He spoke her power words to her, offering them as a gift. She gasped. Words that had never crossed her lips but blazed within her daily. No one could have known those words but one intended for her journey. Without a second thought she joined his path. He made her a teacher of yoga and her classes were known as ‘spiritual’ although she often had no idea why. She hid her magic from classes that would not accept such things, but still they felt it somehow and warmed to it’s glow. If she were to reveal it’s entirety a marvellous collision of worlds would erupt. A breathtaking display of creation, ‘like the big bang’ she mused with a smile. Maybe better leave such explosions to a time where i’m led to unleash. Until then she allowed a steady glow.

The man teaching yoga, the shaman, had his roots sinking into unseen worlds, his branches reaching out to the earth. Balancing seen and unseen with equal devotion. One day her alarm rang without being set. She wondered what she was being alerted to. She knew she was being called, she felt the bigness of the magic. That very day she was called to shamanism for the first time, by the man who had taught her yoga. She was called to deepen her roots and lengthen her boughs. To find balance in that ancient magic. The call was as deep and as ancient as a horn blown to the sky. This was her time and the magical door opened wide. She crossed it’s threshold into a whole new world. He called it ‘a wake up call’. In that moment she knew why they had chosen to ring her alarm. The alarm that wakes her up. Clever. This was her world. It may be unseen but really there was no doubt. The shamans were calling her in, magic and all.

They taught her how to see without eyes. They would blindfold her and teach her how to travel within. She had been doing this for years, but with their unique magic hers became more vivid. Inner worlds, she had witnessed all of her life, erupted into visual clarity and form. It was like climbing into a book. The characters were as real as any person she passed on the street. They asked her to write her stories, calling them ‘journeys’. She found her pen, her shamanic tool for capturing the formless and sharing it with whomever had ears to hear. It danced in her hand, as alive as a flame. The shaman said it had it’s own spirit. It certainly felt that way. She wouldn’t call the stories ‘hers’. It felt like they already were, in that other realm, like they used her as a bridge to enter our earth. She gave them ‘form’ with her pen. A mother of stories.

So now she collects her stories from the corners of her mind. Some barely alive from lack of love and attention. She blows on them gently, the kiss of life. Whirling them into a dance of passion with her pen until they are happy to be told. Immortalised in ink they breathe a sigh of relief. No good story wants to be disembodied for long. It longs to hold the hand of human souls and creep into their hearts. Warming them from within, opening their eyes to invisible mysteries, giving them big magic. Magic that can change worlds. Faith can move mountains. Creation has started it’s rolling wave, not through a big bang, but the dance of stories of those who dare to journey within. Those called to awaken.

As I sit here I am marvelling at the magic of life. People think I have a good imagination to write what I do. Actually, my fact is often stranger than fiction.

I want to share with you the true story that inspired the Buddha and the bird Soul I’ve just published.

It’s peculiar, sitting here in a cafe, thinking about the magic of my life. I look so ordinary (apart from the fact I’m in an office dress with sparkly wellies on 😂) that’s another story. If you were to look at me you would never suspect the peculiar things that happen to me most days. Sometimes I even wonder if I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up one day and realise it was all a cosmic dream and the ordinary is all that’s left. Still, a 40 year dream isn’t bad going.

It all started of an evening as I was waiting for a yoga client to arrive. Candles lit, incense burning and the mood was soft. I found myself gazing at my Buddha picture. His face serene. As calm as a napping cat. I felt such love for him in that moment that I traced his lips with my finger and then kissed them. It wasn’t the kiss of a lover, but of a devotee. My mouth spoke with such depth of heart and earnest petition, “please, guide me”.

I looked down on myself in that moment and wondered ‘what the heck am I doing kissing and talking to a canvas?’ It felt like a portal had opened to another realm and I had a direct line. Not something I understood with my head. It felt as natural and logical as talking on the phone. Maybe there was a direct line in that pivotal moment, for heaven knows what reason, because the next shocking thing was I heard a voice reply.

It spoke to my inner knowing saying words to the effect of “Feel free to use my path as a guide, but only to find your own. Don’t follow me. Mine was about going within, yours is to find the higher light. We all have our own path to find and follow and they all intertwine. Together we are the infinite faces of the one pillar of truth. You are my teacher as much as I am yours. Teach this. I am with you, truly”.

The moment of wonder dissipated and I was left with the most beautiful jewel of a message. ‘What just happened?’ I mused. My client arrived and I forgot all about the Buddha until the following morning when a friend messaged, accidentally calling me Ananda. He felt to google Ananda and found him to be the first cousin of the Buddha, called the Buddha’s mouthpiece. I had kissed his mouth! It said he was his devotee until the day the Buddha died. Ananda was by his side until his last breath, in devotion and deepest attachment. I really had felt like I was utterly devoted as I spoke and touched.

I decided to pull a card to get some clarity. The card spoke of past lives. I know nothing about that. For a fleeting moment I wondered if I had been Ananda, but then I considered that there was no way for me to know that right now and knowing it would serve me no purpose. Unless I was clearly shown I would drop that thought. The key, to me, was in the message. Don’t be a follower and don’t encourage followers. Only be a guide so others can also find their own true path. Your students will also be your teachers. All paths are intertwined.

The synchronicity of Ananda showed me that something spiritual had truly occurred that night. I really had heard something from a place of deep wisdom. My fact is often stranger than fiction, and I often feel I am not the only one underneath my skin. Things I do and say are often not my own. I’m happy with this inner dance. Unseen partners moving me with grace and strength. My inner Ananda embodied for a few brief breaths. Mysteries. All wonderful, sumptuous mysteries.

There once was a girl who lived in a room. She called it her womb. It enfolded her, that tiny space, full of soft muted life. A window with a table and chair made of wood. Her favourite perch to drink in the light, the height of tree tops. She almost felt like she was soaring as she watched the joyful acrobatics of birds wheeling and dancing, often together. Still a mystery how they never collided. Nature has it’s mysteries it holds tight to it’s chest. It keeps us young to have some wonder. Google is a gremlin to the vast unknown, blurting out facts without knowledge. Knowledge is grown by watching the world with open eyes. That’s the way of old. We have forgotten how to drink in our world, to become wise. But not the girl. She understood not everything needs to be known to be understood.

Her room was like her life. It had lots of space. She didn’t own much and was in dread of drowning in too much ‘stuff’. Space and time were her two treasures. The less she owned, the more she had of these. Her walls were simplest white, refracting the rainbows her window crystals painted. She loved to watch them dance. A peace lily with huge leaves cleansing the air and a set of tiny orchid twins who seemed to take it in turns to bloom and rest, bloom and rest. A palate bed on the floor, untreated grains exposed. She would trace their lines, their dance most nights and wonder what caused their curves and swirls. Don’t we all meet obstacles that twirl our path a new way. So too with trees. All they want is the light. They don’t bemoan the shadows, they just twist and reach until they find the true light. The girl understood trees. People she didn’t. Newspapers, TV, gossip and novels all rolling in the darkness. Each story more grimy than the next. She just wanted the light. To be enlightened. To dwell forever in the light. She looked at the one picture in her room. A huge canvas of the Buddha. She smiled at his calm serenity amidst the madness of his world. He understood. She knew she had a friend in him. He fitted her room perfectly. She didn’t think anyone could understand her more than he.

Night time was her favourite. The time to dream. The time where faith had a paint brush to dance across the mind, giving form to things as yet unseen but in seed. She would glide between her covers of purest white. Lace and wool, satin and fleece. So many textures layered upon her nest. She loved to feel. Fairy lights surrounded the bed, twinkling dreamily with their golden glow, enticing daydreams and sweet dreams, like fireflies on a summers night.

One night, smiling as the warm breeze kissed her skin, she heard a voice. With mild surprise she realised the voice was hers. It had risen from a deep place of mysteries. A place she could not remember but knew was real. It simply said ‘Please, guide me’. She knew her voice was speaking to Buddha, across time and space. The canvas like a portal. No stranger to her in that moment than a telephone is to you or I. She peeled back the covers, slipped out of bed and softly, slowly, padded to his face. The soft caress of her finger following the line of his mouth, and then stranger than all, she kissed his lips.

The kiss was not one of a lover, but of a devotee. She knew no more, no less. Tears sparkled in her eyes and she held the moment long in her heart. Night time has a place for such mysteries. Turning, she walked softly back to her nest, sinking into the lavender scented sheets, and wondered at herself, ‘what was that moment?’ She trusted herself enough to allow such things. The dance of synchronicity often appears strange until hindsight makes it wise. She’d had many such dances.

Gazing at his face in wonder she heard another voice. This was not hers, it was ‘other’. Was it Buddha? Across the ether, from heaven knows where, into her tiny room, a voice from beyond spoke thus. “Taste of my path, if you will, but forsake not your own. Use my path as a guiding light, but only to illuminate yours. All paths intertwine. We all have our own. Teach this. Let your students use your path, but only to find theirs. Everyone a teacher, everyone a student. I never wanted this.. people following me. I was only a guide. A guide to help you find your own truth. All truths intertwine. We are like a pillar of truth together, with a million faces, with endless sides. Not right, not wrong. My path was to go within, yours is to find the higher light, firefly. Find it within you and fly. I am with you. Just remember, don’t follow me, I will guide you. You are as much my teacher as I am yours, and I am yours, truly, always.”

The voice had the soul of a bird. Light. No heaviness of attachment, belongings, needing others to believe. It was free. It was fresh. It was love. As clean and as crystalline as a dewdrop on the petal of a flower. Sweet and new every morning. She inhaled the truest breath she had ever breathed, a breath full of wonder and mystery. She felt empowered yet she also felt like she was six again and all things were possible. So little was understood.

Let the magic dwell in your heart this year. Remember to leave room.. for mystery, for time and space, for finding your unique path. You are never alone x

Star Song (Part 2)

The older the red fox became, the less she needed. The less she needed, the more she became. Her life was full.

Time ticked on and her fur grew full. Bright eyes held layers of knowing most didn’t understand. They thought her a dreamer until one day she birthed something none could deny. All saw it with their very own eyes; minds reeling at the improbability, the implications to their reality. Star just smiled. She’d been seeing these things for years. This was her world, now she could share it with those who had ‘eyes to see and ears to hear’ as the Great White Stag would say. ‘Most have eyes and ears, but not all use them to truly see or hear. Looking, they don’t see; listening, they don’t hear’. She understood him in her heart. The key was to understand. That’s what makes looking into seeing, listening into hearing, and that took heart and time.

She loved him. It was he, more than any other, who taught her how to love. He was so wise, so deep, so powerful yet utterly gentle. ‘Be as shrewd as a snake but as gentle as a dove’ he would say with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Contrasts sat so well in that vast demeanour. In him was fullness of life, she was sure of it. When she found him she found a treasure so precious she would sell her life for it if needed. She was home. He taught her to be at home in her own skin, in her own mind, in this scratchy old world. He had ways and they worked. Making the rough paths smooth, the valleys would lift and the mountains would bow low under his teasing wisdom. The only thing, great as he was, no one had seen him but her. Her and her pool, that is.

Time by the pool had peeled back the layers. Layers most would not even think could be peeled. It’s stillness and clarity infused her soul and she started creeping out of her skin, like a bird emerging from a cage. That’s how it felt. At first just a tentative moment outside her normal bounds. Knowing a thought another was thinking just before they spoke their mind. Dreaming a situation days before it arose. Thoughts were not as internal as most believed. They seemed to be like invisible bubbles that floated in the air, drifting in and out of heads. Her quietness meant that she ‘saw’ and ‘heard’ them in her still pool mind. She wondered if trees had thoughts. Did they feel? If there was a way of connecting to these gentle giants she would find one. They had been her silent companions for a long longing time. And the stars, their radiant vibration that ran through her veins on certain nights. She was sure they knew her somehow. Others would laugh at this, but then they would laugh at seeing others thoughts. She had proof of the thoughts, but what about the stars? Something in her motioned that if she felt them, then they could also feel her. That they could also feel her Star song.

It was on a blazing night, sat by her pool, the sky clear and her lofty diamonds in chorus above her, that she saw the first ripple that ever graced that pool. Breath caught. It was almost as if time had wrinkled and buckled, folded slightly to let a shard of light through. That shard was a Stag. When she looked up from the water there he stood, gazing at her, as if he had always been there. Like he had always known her. For some reason she felt the same. She felt home.

He was no ordinary stag, seeming to have light for skin, or rather beneath his skin. It was hard to decipher. His form seemed to shift, like a shimmer in the dark, ‘almost like a star twinkling’, she thought. ‘How beautiful’. In time she learned his soul name, Melek, or Melchizedek in full. Having many names and many forms, this one would suffice. He was one who travelled the terrains of time. Form shifting. Finding his own. Gathering them like scattered star dust from the many edges of the cosmos.

He often spoke to her in thought bubbles, not needing to move his lips, teaching her that thoughts also sing like stars. They are birthed by you, or sometimes through you, but they have a vibration like all things do. It is their song. He taught her how to make beautiful thought songs. Showed her how others smiled as they felt them, not knowing Star was singing silently to their soul. She learnt to do it with plants, teasing them into growth and happy bloom. Their vibration catching hers, making their song all the sweeter, their flowers yet more fragrant. Her life became a never ending song. How could she ever feel bored?

One dark day in the forest when the rain thrashed wildly and the sky snarled lightening, like fire in the sky, she marvelled at the the raw fullness of life being danced, not wanting to miss a drop. Somehow the dance felt pivotal, like an eternal stake was being thrust into the ground. Suddenly a flash.. boom.. quiet thud. A primal part of her knew true fear for the first time. It felt like something had dropped out of her world which still belonged. Cold crept into her bones, her gut, her very breath as it caught, refusing to flow. She ran, not stopping until her feet had dragged her to the place they longed to go. The place she felt the void. At her paws was a body without life force. Burn marks surrounding the ground yet the body seemingly untouched, as if asleep. Eternally asleep. Star wondered if lightening had danced this life away in it’s wild dervish?

The song inside of her welled up and out in all innocence and purity. All those around her wailed and howled, Star sang. She sang life, she sang of coming home. She sang of breath returning its dance to those tiny little lungs. She sang sight to the unseeing eyes. She felt her life reach up, reach out, just at the tree line and catch an unseen paw, drawing it down to return to the body it once owned. More than anything she felt love. She was on fire with the brightness of the sun as it greets each new day. Warmth crept into the body at her feet and the tiny lungs heaved, their first dance of many. The tide of in and out, yin and yang, sun and moon. A single tear escaped Stars eye as she felt the life all around her pour into that body before her. The trees sang, the grass, the daisy’s it lay on. They all sang it home.

In that moment she knew we are all one. When one leaves the whole changes. Those who have ears to hear and eyes to see can sense it, but all are in it. The dance of life. The dance of one.

The tiny hedgehog, once lifeless, got to it’s feet, stretched like he was waking from a very long sleep, blinked and smiled. He came to Star and touched his nose to hers in silent gratitude. In that touch, that moment, she knew that he had seen what she knew. He had the timeless song of the great White Stag, of the Beautiful. Where had he been? What had he seen? He had the stillness of the pool, not a ripple graced his demeanour. Star had found a friend. The one thing she lacked until now. One who understood.

In that moment, as time and breath stood still, the forest creatures gazed at Star with new eyes. No more a dreamer to them, she became wise.

Star Song (Part 1)

Once upon a very long time ago. In fact, I can’t really say long as it wasn’t in our time. Time dwells in realms and this one wasn’t ours. Let me start more traditionally and perhaps that’s why fairy tales start this way. Once upon a time, there was a little red fox called Star. She was so named because at the exact moment of her birth a shooting star blazed across the sky. A mothers knowing told her that this child would be different. Born to blaze a trail, to burn a path for others to tread. All the trail blazers she had ever known had burnt out young. Passed on before their time. Their light too bright for these days. She wondered sadly, as she gazed at the stars, babe nestled close, if her little Star would blaze for long. She made up her mind to drink in every moment, to notice every peculiarity and treasure it in her heart. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she would outlive her cub and she accepted her fate. Some hearts were never meant to stay too long. Long enough to sing their song, to leave the notes hanging in the air. Star song.

Mother expected a courageous cub, a will-full explorer, impossible to control. Surely that was the stuff of trail blazers. She was baffled that her child was so still, so quiet, so introverted. She swore that child saw and felt things others couldn’t. She never seemed bored, containing a world of her own, often smiling at thin air, marvelling at what others would consider nothing. Stillness was so becoming to her that mother thought she could almost see roots sinking down from her cub when she was still, sinking into ancient wisdom and drinking it up. Maybe she should have named her Willow instead. Her nature as dreamy and soft as the willows by the pool where Star would often sit. That girl was a mystery indeed.

Star loved her forest. She loved her mother, the way she watched her intently, absorbing her like a rare delicacy. It made her free to be herself, uninhibited, without judgement. Truth be told, her favourite thing was very simple. She didn’t understand why everyone wasn’t drawn to it’s sumptuous depths. It was simply to sit by the pool. Tucked away she was always alone there. No one else seemed enticed to it’s mesmerising tranquillity. This place gave her chance to feel. Star could feel everything and her senses made her full. She rarely felt alone.

If you were to ask her specifically what she could feel, she would struggle to answer you. Some days it was like she could feel the trees growing. Other times she could feel the ancient ones that came before her, the ancestors. Sometimes she could feel a presence all around her that wasn’t ancient, it felt timeless. She simply called it ‘beautiful’ and that was it’s name to her. Others called it God. God sounded too solid for such a breath of mystery. She didn’t want anything that sounded like a container. In her short life she had experienced no boxes or boundaries, so her gentle spirit was careful not to go near this precious one with anything that would make it less in any way. Her mother had taught her well. Devotion and trust gives the object of your love complete freedom. In the quest for understanding we create walls, bounds. Understanding is overrated.

Strangest of all she could feel the pool. It felt magical, like a gift from another realm. A portal between worlds. When she sat near it she could feel so much space, like she could escape her skin. She became as vast as the universe and knew no limits. The world around her quested for space. They coveted bigger dens, more room, and yet they never thought to come to spacious places or to find the space within. They thought she was different, but to her they were unfathomable.

That was not the limit of the pools effect on her. The most precious of it’s gifts was the feeling of purity. No one ever wondered why it was always icy cold, repelling contact; crystal clear, never a ripple grazing it’s glassy surface; nor a drop less or more water despite drought or flood. That pool drew her in. She could gaze into it’s depths for hours, like gazing into the soul of a lover. Each time she would leave feeling cleansed. Purity was the energy of this place. Each time would make her more sensitive, like layers had been removed that covered divine nerves. It got to the point where she could hear star song. At night, as the sky was ablaze, she would watch their beauty reflected in the pool and feel their resonance within. She could hear them singing, their vibration coursing through her veins, purified and amplified by this ancient pool. Little did she know that the pool also purified and amplified her soul, her song. Star song. This was the pool of the Great White Stag. She didn’t know it yet, but she was one of his, hence the draw to his pool.

In trust she descended, falling, like Alice down a rabbit hole to Wonderland. Only Red didn’t expect Wonderland. This was a leap of faith. God only knew what dragons she’d find. Memories are tricky things. Unlike most predators they creep up on you from within and devour you from the inside out. She did her best to steer clear of their subtle knives. Dream time was the glitch in her armour. They always found her in her dreams. That was their realm.

She had been prey to their tooth and claw dance for 3 weeks now. Every night running frantically in her sleep, waking up distressed and exhausted. Every shadow from her past shifting forms and pursuing her. That was the reason for her journey to the woods. It was time to face them head on. No more running. Who were they, these memories? Time to make them reveal themselves and cast them to the light.

Nothing was as she expected as she closed her eyes. The first wave to greet her was a memory of the pure white light. She had no other words for this living entity. It had intelligence, felt all encompassing, like God. God was not a word she used lightly anymore. People had taken that word and messed with it so much. It was left as a freaky, distorted teddy bear, arms and limbs everywhere with a plastic smile. Dismembered more times than should ever be allowed and put back together so confidently that all the creators declared that form as ‘absolute truth’. They shaped their heart around it and wondered why they felt broken. In her innocence of child self, she could see that often it’s leg was on it’s head. Again, the twitch of the lip as humour licked her shore. She used to cry a lot at the state of ‘God’, of what they had done to that most beautiful of beings. Now she laughed. She saw the humour in it all.

The memory snaked through, caressing gently. It was of a time when her cat was ill. Too ill to eat or move without stumbling. In her devotion she had called out for help. ‘Please, either show me what to do or please heal her. I love her too much to watch her suffer’. A yoga class was booked so, reluctantly, she left her cat. As she flowed through the waves of moves, listening to the teachers words, they always felt like a light guiding her forwards, deeper. She loved being taught. In hindsight she knew that class was needed as a break, a chance to let go of her decree to the unseen. When you make a wish it’s best to let it go so it can float to where it needs to get to. She knew, in all reality, there was no ‘distance’, but to earthly brain it helps to understand a wish like a balloon floating to heaven. It’s always caught, unless you doubt, which is like popping the balloon, or snatch it back so you can worry about the issue rather than releasing it. As she flowed in yoga she naturally let go. It was caught and this is what happened. It changed her life.

Sitting in a cafe after class, the urge to close her eyes dragged her within. Immediately she saw pure white light. She felt complete and utter love. That light was God. She was a stained glass window. She was made for the light. The light poured through her and she painted rainbows everywhere. No effort on her part. This was what she was. What she was made for. She felt ecstasy and peace in equal measure. Her heart was fit to explode from the current of love pulsing through it. This was life in all it’s fullness. Jesus had once said that was the reason he journeyed to Earth. To give us the proof of life in all it’s fullness. To teach us we are one with God. In that moment, as the light poured through her, there was nothing but the oneness and she felt the truth of his words. ‘Thank you’.

Then the image changed. God was electricity and she was a cable it poured through. Again, no effort on her part. She was made for this. At the end of the cable was a light bulb. As God flowed through her the bulb lit up. It was beautiful. It wasn’t just light it was life. Fullness of life. She knew the bulb was her cat. She turned around. She wasn’t just a single cable, she was hundreds of cables attached to all of her loved ones. There were even cables attached to loved ones who had died. She felt the purest love power flow through her, from God, to them. They lit up. She knew then, in that moment, that love is not just a sentiment or an emotion, it is a force. It heals. It is fullness of life. She could have stayed there forever.

Eventually she had to open her eyes. She was in a cafe after all. She even had food in front of her getting cold. She’d dwelt in heavenly realms. She’d seen God. More importantly she’d felt God. No mutilated teddy bear was this. It was a life force that could be sat with until she died. Just sitting and gazing, never reaching the end of the fullness it brought. Boredom is an emptiness, an itch, that drives you to fill yourself up. There is no boredom in heavenly realms because there is no emptiness. She was utterly captivated by that light. Like a moth to the flame she searches for nothing less. When she goes to church and they display God with a plastic smile, tell her to be nice and call it love, she shudders at the creepy replication they have created and walks out sad. If only they knew. If they knew she’d see it in their eyes. The vastness of wonder that only God can evoke. That is a church you would have to tear her from. Pews and pews of stained glass window souls, effortlessly, ecstatically painting rainbows. Healing the sick with their shadow. Jesus was right. ‘Greater things will you do’ when you know the one you are one with. She’s seen what is possible. When she got home her cat was well. True. Utterly true. She had been healed.

The wolf felt the shift. He stirred in his slumber. A wave of warm fullness rolled through his being, igniting his heart like the flames humans create. His world would never be the same again and he drew closer to the source.