The Rapture

I seriously do not know what was going on tonight. Metaphors, metaphors. Zakary crapped out on me. Not in the F.L.O.W. but instead Shanta called me back from Monday and we talked until my battery died. It was good. I was exhausted, but my mind was in that new space, newer than new. I’ve lost all my anchors, all my stars. I was concerned about navigation. A metaphor from work, I knew that the compass, the maps weren’t going to be much use. I’m reading the declination wrong. The compass is wonky, and my own electromagnetic field is interfering with the bearing. How am I ever going to do survey? ACK! I was wondering why I couldn’t think about triangles, the 3,4,5. What has been in my head all this time? This thing I hinted at last night. The oneness. The funk, the juju, the sparkle…. mmmhmm, what is it? How do I explain?

If you build it… they will come.

So apparently I am supposed to build this colored sand zen garden here alone. I don’t even know where to start!

So I was seeing through the eyes of strangers. I couldn’t sleep. The sky was still light, lighter than when I went to bed. I got online to check space weather and moonrise. Before the moon came up over the ridge I imagined I saw green auroral borealis curtains. Then the moon came up, not a full moon, but when it first crested the ridge it was dazzlingly bright, frighteningly brilliant. It took an on an anthropomorphic form as though it were an angelic or a star being come down from the heavens. I was mesmerized even while I was wishing I could fall asleep.

Then, oh then, this morning I was all dreamy, samadhi, out-of-body. Slowly stretching into my day, waking my brain back into operational connection, seeking perhaps breakfast and coffee, preparing for work, returning to the project that Shanta had interrupted…. Where do I get the sand from? I can’t imagine the logistics. I need an engineer. I’m just the dreamer and the doer. I am a terrible planner.

I found peace for awhile while I was working, but then it became this intense pressure.

We’ve set sail. I am only the navigator. Please, I need a crew.

What is going on? I wish I had more friends like Shanta who got it, who get it, who I can talk to about these things. But can I even talk about this? I was surprised by the depth of my own emotions.

I am blasted off to wherever that mooncreature came from.

At least now, when I explode, I reintegrate much more quickly. This spring I must’ve made dozens of leaps. I think I am going to throw up.

I do want comfort. I do.

I always wanted to be a trailblazer right? So if I can ground back down and figure out this sand thing…

And that frequency…. 174 Hz probably. The foundation frequency. It’s all pervasive. Everything is singing it, to it.

Oh, I am shaking. Shaken.

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