we can handle the truth

6/19/2013

Reminiscing: Puff, the Breeze (or wind…?)   nine years old, one month before my 10^th birthday; a school play. Mother made the costume from directions sent home by the teacher. I recall vividly the mood of the performance and the onus of responsibility upon me, the lead “dancer”. It was a follow-the-leader situation…the other girls mimicked my movements. one of those girls, I think the last one in line, glared at me with death-ray intensity as if angry and I didn’t know why. My sole intent was to move so that we looked breezy, yet make my movements easy for the others to follow. Most of all, I remember that girl’s hateful stare that deferred smiling. And so it has been throughout my life. I’ve often suspected jealousy at work…and I can’t tell you what anyone has to be jealous of me about. I’m pondering that query now that I’m enjoying my septuagenarian years. I’m beginning to think it’s just more of the conditioning aspect of Othervision preparation. We do need to put effort into our inner journey to reinforce intent.

Happy Mothers’ Day!

                                                           9 years old :)

6/19/2013

the inner exploration is a singular experience. the freedom is all-encompassing…from religions, dogmas, cults, belief systems, supernatural and paranormal practices…everything man has created to attempt compatibility with the great unknown. we can’t handle the truth, yet. it doesn’t surprise me that no one is interested in what I have to say since most of us fear truth or don’t want the responsibility. no problem…I know what I know, I’ve done what I’ve done; the culling is intense now and a door is unlocked that was closed to us before. change is coming in due time.

The Clay Personified

I AM A VESSEL.

Pour into me what you will.

I've been molded, shaped, pounded,

pummeled...lined...stained...

cut, smashed, formed...

caressed into being.

I've been glazed in the

intense heat of hell.

I've solidified.

Not hardened, mind you, for that

implies unyielding, unfeeling.

I AM A VESSEL.

A container for your soul's residue.

Pour into me what you will.

Empty me, discard the wastes.

Wash me in cleansing tears.

Dry me with soft touches.

I stand ready to receive

the next offering.

©2013 gryfyn flynn mjh