Acting in the Original Sense

True acting is a natural living of the dream. It is when we ground in the evolved unquestioning divinity of the aqua glow of our 4th and 5th Chakras, in a love sourced communion. It is the authentic state of Being.

Our default state for untold millennia, as a race attempting to remember our original agenda, is to React; To ground in the red conditioned fear of the unknown. Our 1st Chakra has had us anchored in fear for a long long time. Not behaving at all like the gods we all are.

We are now in a state of cosmic based ascension. The window is wide open while the dark forces attempt to slam it shut with a carefully orchestrated pandemic of fear.There is nothing more effective than fear to lower your immune system and shatter your faith.

True faith is knowing your own absolute divine power. It creates an impervious frequency protecting every cell of your body.

There are two kinds of acting going on: Those who decry ‘fake news’ while actually creating it, and those functioning confidently in harmony with the magical benevolence of Source. To do this we cannot question our Oneness, or the dramatic difference in reality generated between the fear based ego-mind, and the love based heart mind. Our slave masters would have us question anything that might actually liberate us in the best and Entirely Possible manner. It is the core of Western thinking that paralyzes us with our own chains.

So are we acting or reacting? Understand that by this I do NOT mean reading from a script.

There is a divine script within us written in a universal language. We don’t have to read it because it is who we actually are. To live so is to reap the rewards of that mystical and poorly understood word called ‘Faith’; it is an automatic knowing without questions. It does NOT involve thinking, though if we are that evolved a great amount of trial and error thinking was probably involved.

Faith and fear are like oil and water, and you may know what happens when a compromised head gasket allows water into the oil. It happened to my truck recently, and the result was a poor running violent shaking truck with embarrassing smoke coming out the tail pipe.

To be an ‘actor’ rather than a ‘reactor’ begins with making that choice. Which first requires believing that Both states are very real. ALL reality is belief based. If you doubt this you have just joined the greatest personal sabotage of all time.

 

A Rhyme Crime

Deep into the mystery,

Every moment new,

Some bills are ever due.

 

Catching wind that blew,

Some sail without a crew,

Or dine on mulligan stew,

Play-act without a cue,

Prepare a savory roux,

Drink all kinds of brew,

Harvest what they grew,

Go swimming in a slough,

Get shots of living flu,

Sometimes forget to chew,

A dripping slice of honeydew,

And ignore the flies they drew.

 

All waiting in a queue,

Follow rules without a clue.

Some sleeping in their pew,

We sneeze we go ah-choo.

Some folks love to sue,

Devoid of proper rue,

Except despicable Gru.

 

Volcanos belch and spew,

The ocean’s filled with goo,

The morning damp with dew,

We’re all One, not two,

Though a buck is not a ewe,

And a dove is not a cockatoo.

 

Lovers make woo,

Owls go hoo,

Doves go coo,

Cows go moo,

And dogs go poo,

Just like a gnu,

A kangaroo,

Or a kinkajou,

Just to name a few.

They never use the loo,

The world is a zoo.

 

Only one thing to pursue:

Love is the only glue;

Even a nail or screw.

 

A rose’s beauty true,

The sky a deeper blue,

The grass a greener hue,

I know that I am part of you,

Apache, Creek, or Sioux,

Hindu, Muslim, Jew,

Inuit or Kickapoo,

Ibo, Fulani, or Zulu.

Or Desmond Tutu.

Perhaps in a different shoe.

 

Some rhymes are never through,

Though we all love Winnie the Pooh,

Lash LaRue,

And Christopher Robin too,

Though I think he never flew.

 

Deep into the mystery,

Whether it happened or not,

Are you sleeping a lot?

We call it history.

Does tomorrow ensue?

What is it you eschew?

Is your axis askew?

So who am I,

And who are you?

A wish come true?

An ingenue?

It’s what we do,

Or at least construe,

Or misconstrue

What we must imbue,

And of course…Boo.

Whew!

 

I’m sure I forgot more than pursue, Purdue, Cailloux, Yahoo, Uncle Stu,

and many other sacred Beings.  My apologies. (For all of it.) Too.

 

I promise I had nothing to do with this post.

 

It Could Be a Sacred Parachute Ride

God the Mother-Father shrine at EdenLight Garden

As I jump down out of my head, I choose to perceive and receive my benevolent universe from the perspective of my destination: my heart.

I respectfully use the the word ‘my’, not from the manipulative ego mind, but from that awesome awareness of Oneness. That’s important: both the ‘my’ and the reverence for the combined State and Source of my experience, encompassing of course gratitude for the gift of the Whole Thing, and how I fit within that.

The true answer is something Infinite. Driven by choices both Divine and Egoic. That is both the path and the journey. The Alpha and Omega dwelling within each of our atoms is the fabric where we find our threads, our weaves, and our patterns.

Until we realize we Are the Whole Cloth.

Mining the Gems of Creation

From eye level and higher, the ten branches of the Bay tree that is anchored on the edge of the creek bank below, and who I know as Guindemere, either rise in a long slow curve to the right before reaching the sky, or they have grown back gracefully upward toward the sun, creating an elegant S curve.

One branch, or trunk, is particularly pleasing to look at, so I found myself analyzing why this is so, while assuming it was a but a metaphoric expression of how we connect with things. Especially if we expect to ascend with our wondrous planet.

I felt a sinuous living beauty. So I looked at a different tree with a perfectly straight trunk. Less captivated by this outer form, I was no less in awe of its unique manifestation of the life force that I was understanding through the filter of raw love. Enough to be in a state of reverent respect.

A piece of art has a life force that can vary infinitely based on how much the artist was not getting in the way of their own creative flow. Some art subsequently is effectively dead though it may have been ‘executed’ with great skill and discipline. Especially if the driving motive behind the creation was financial gain. Add a throbbing current of joyful cooperation to that skill, and masterpieces are born. Or perhaps by ignoring the skill and just being a divine tool!

I feel this throb in my solar-heart chakras when in an unhindered love-driven creating mode. But that feeling is extremely similar to when I come upon a wild Iris high on a semi-wooded hillside, that is a striking color and form break from its more typical co-gems of creation.

We were all created to be that kind of miner. Being now in the Fourth Dimension offers all the tools we need, though they were never denied from our hearts.

The current pandemic of fear has been designed to distract us from our already perfect tool kit.

 

Oh, Me

 

Oh, little mouses,

In your houses,

With your spouses,

Wearing blouses…

I hope your larder is full.

 

Oh, little sparrows,

Fly like arrows,

Over barrows,

Through the narrows,

From anything that harrows…

I hope your nest is safe.

 

Oh, little frog,

On the fringes of the bog,

Unflappable in fog,

Ribbiting on a log,

In nature but a cog…

I hope for you clean waters.

 

Oh, tender hearts,

The most genuine smarts,

Soaring off the charts,

Enchanting all the parts,

That self absorption never starts…

I hope all hear what you have to say.

 

Oh, little flower,

Sublime, or a wower,

You love an April shower,

You assist the passing hour,

Your beauty is your power…

I hope to always pass your way.

 

Oh, mighty Sun,

Since before the world’s begun,

You shine upon all fun,

Brighter neighbors there are none,

You too are of the One…

I receive you every day.

 

 

 

 

 

Wild Iris this March in Novato

Orange, a Wonderful Secondary Color

California Poppy

Scarlet Pimpernel

Abutilon

Belgian Hybrid Clivia

Gaia is Still Alive !

Mission Bells

California Buttercup

Milk Maids

Western Hound’s Tongue

Yesterday, walking along the the Bahia Trail at Rush Creek Preserve, lined with Milkmaids, Buttercups, Hound’s Tongues and Mission Bells, I couldn’t help telling Gaia, the divine female spirit embodied as an actual planet (ours), how much I appreciated walking upon her face. Or shoulder maybe.

It’s all my face, dear child of mine, part of which always faces your father.  Everything else in inside. Like most women, I place some value on my looks. And my health. I don’t enjoy my bleeding scars. The melting glaciers are my real tears returning to the salt sea. My mascara is bound to run a little as well.