IN THE CENTER OF THE STORM
Missive #75 - Transcribed Poetic Dictation with Vision
[What a time to be alive. It has been the better part of a month since a missive last came through to be shared. I am just now returning home from a little over 2 weeks on the road — a there-and-back-again to/from the southwest corner of this land (Yuma/Joshua Tree, to be exact). To meet with beloved friendfamily, to experience the vastness of this place, its people. To see what might be seen. To feel what might be felt. To open what doors might appear before us. And, to come back again, the wiser. Perhaps surprisingly, I don’t have any writings to share from the road. I must have been fully engaged in the moment-to-moment, getting from here to there, there to here. Losing pieces of myself along the way. Discovering others unknown, new. Old. It is typically a journey that opens the door. What have we moved through in the last 3+ weeks? So much. What world are we in right now? What is needed of us in this now? There is extreme pressure on all sides, as many are reporting. I’m sure all of you are feeling whichever facets of it have been entrusted to your care and knowledge. It took me several days to recover myself upon returning to my home in the Dawnland. Today I sat, still, and in the stillness — in the quiet of the stillness. I was able to experience the quiet as quiet, for the first time in some time. And in that quiet, an outpouring. IN THE CENTER OF THE STORM; SMELTING; BLUE CRYSTAL. Visions began jumbling in on top of each other. Bounding. Visions of celestial wars, triumphs, desert sands, crumbling cities, melting landscapes, shining blue crystals, forges. Many visions that are familiar to me. At this point, familiar too to many of you. Visions are a language, as we know. One that reaches across borders and boundaries, and speaks through lineages, translations in time. The pain is searing loud for many of us. Perhaps all of us. Even the ecstatic moments are not without painful awarenesses. I am here holding it with you all. Holding you all with it~ ] Received 3/6/25 | 1-1:34pm
Listen to the Recitation:
IN THE CENTER OF THE STORM
We are, the center of the storm
Is the pain a promise
Will the pain become promise
What is it the pain promises
To us, in the quiet of the night
In the stillness before our sight
"More will be taken
"More will be lost
"Every attachment will be dashed,
Before the end"
Scintillating loss
Karmic release
The hat which covered you for 12 years
Is gone — good riddance!
There are places one must walk bare
Expose yourself to the one above you
Bend your knee, and receive
From rage, to wrath
The storm gods sing
And cast apart the flaming bolts
To a door burst open,
Never before opened
The holy tiered city is exposed
And the ranks pour in, unbidden
The angels stroll before them
As if leading the chaos.
They smile
Shiva sits between Michael on either side
Mirrors of the one
Repeating:
Om namah shivaya
Om namah shivaya
Om namah shivaya
Long into the night
Through the day
The stone buildings crumble and burn
The steel bends and breaks
The waters dry and spoil
The air grows dim and dark, thin
And the light, filtered
Hope has transformed into something unknown
Streaking bright purple through the clouds
Almost horrible, save for one small grace
Which lit upon the edges
Shone clear to those who knew
As Enoch knew, and Adam, in the days of old
And Enoch, after Methuselah was born,
Walked with God for three hundred years
Begetting sons and daughters, and was then
Raptured — taken up with God, after a mere
365 years, to birth more mystery, and beauty,
And tradition — some lost, to context won,
In wonder way before the achen path
The queen of heaven grins in her play
And extends a flat hand before her, as if slicing
And the clouds break, and the fires extinguish
And the tiers come down in the holy city
And the temples come down in the holy city
And the people break down in the holy city
Until all are bent and broken, humbled in the dirt
Which had before been paved and fitted stone
Now dirt, and sand, and dust.
And the angels bowed and stepped forward
Into a single unbroken line
And their forms began to change, into inhuman
Things, eyes and wheels, and winged beasts
And geometric forms, pyramidal cubic tesseractive
Lines and shapes and non-euclidean becomings
And colors, scents, proprioceptions at the edge
Of knowing, of feeling, of sensing — becoming
Mere fleetings, memoried conjurations, expressions
Of divine will, movements of spiritfume, fumigations
Of Spirit. The queen became a king, who became
A monarch, triarchal, triumphant
Presiding over the Devastation, in their glory, in
Their valor — in honor of Them, and at their decree
The wind blew gusts of sand, which took away
Every edge, every substance, every structure, every
Bone, body, brim — until only Ash, until only dust
Swirling in a vortex, still in the central Vertex, the
Everythingness which danced in nothingly stride
And tapped, tapped, tapped in the deep places
The hollows in the dark, in the shimmering vast
Beneath what could be seen, in the farthest within
Where all are brought, and brought to heel
Together, in communion, we blink open
Somehow open, somehow blinking
Before the three thrones which are one throne
And the row of angels, which are none, save
The extension of one upon us, upon the world
And the throne itself vanishes, and the stage
And the hollow, and the shimmering vast,
And the nothingly stride, and the dust, the sand
Reassembles the edges, the structures reform
And the floor of stone, and the tiers, and the unbreachable
Gate, unbroken — it all returns — and with the memory
Of its being taken away, the effortless Devastation
Humorless, remorseless — we all come up to one knee,
The knee that was taken
And look widely upon the plain of each other
Grimacing, but also: awe
At our being, awe
At our blinking. Awe
For the world before us, returned to us
And awaiting our declaration.
this one had me blushing, Cybele. love to you for existing and for sharing your visions with us.