Mid-morning graces the landscape; a few white puffy clouds wander across a very blue sky. A light breeze quietly plays with the seagulls. The ocean chants, in a still, deep voice, a solemn mantra of being. Here, by the western shore, we sit upon a grassy ledge, one hundred feet up from the sandy beach.
The Child gathers little stones, sticks, and feathers in a pile. We ponder an empty seashell left by some creature that grew and moved on. It is what we need to do. We know we must set our own shell down: bless it, honor it, release it, and walk away. It won't be easy, but at least it is ours to choose.
We build a cairn of pebbles, in preparation for tossing them off the cliff's edge. One for each bit of letting go. One for each tap of the past that has kept us jumping at the slightest shadow, the least noise. One for each piece of glass held so tightly in a fist so small that it has become a part of our being. One for each person, each event that caused so much devastation that we have yet to cry. We will toss just one a day. And rest. Be still. Heal a bit in God's hand. And then, toss one more.
The Gateway waits patiently behind us. It will not let us pass until we are ready. Until we have let go all our past attachments. Until we free ourselves from shame, hate, fear, grief, blame, anger, and the comfort of illusions. Our will must overcome our fear. We must step empty-handed through the Gateway: this towering rainbow arch of pulsating energy that opens onto our future. The portal itself is only large enough for one - or maybe one, and a child. There is no seeing beyond or through it. The passage requires trust and faith, free choice, and no baggage. No carry-ons. No weapons. Nearby is a sign that reads, "Check your fear at the door.". And so we will.
We are going to camp here on the grass, build a small fire, and have tea. We keep an extra cup for whomever may show up, be it an archangel or another survivor. So, if you wish, you may join us. Later, we will tell you our own story, as we lie beneath the canopy of Creation's stars.
11/1998
Trinity Star
MPD Slam
My MPD Virtual Photo Album
Prophetic Remembrance of the White Room
My Own Heart-song
The Puzzle-Box (a Remembering)