The Seventh Direction

PART THREE: Stalking Violet. Episode 52

                                    ["D/A" narrates —A.A.]

Okay, back to work. No more tangents. I best move it now. Get through this. The energy is right here. Right here! and it has been for a long, long time . . . energy which needs to be expressed. I've spooked it (Boo!), shaken it up some, and now my goal is to express it. 

[Dorothy/Alaya takes a long, deep breath and continues talking to herself. —A. A.]

But it's overpowering! It keeps overwhelming me with its force! What is this long-veiled energy trying to say? 'What is it Dorothy? What? Tell me why I'm feeling loneliness, sadness, doubt, an almost unwarranted fear of something. It's safe here, Dorothy. No one can hear us. Tell me what it is.'

Letting go my thoughts (mental traces from Sleeptime-memory were too far gone to grasp hold of anyway), I latched on to their emotional resins, blindly running through me in the moment. Riding the feelings, I soon realized their pressure moving quick within my Heart Space . . . moving through . . . reaching up . . . up . . . and up . . . expanding through and into third-eye. And it was from this position, focused with the energy resting both within my Heart Space AND Third Eye, that I listened. This is the story the long-lost-energy told.

'I came to be creative—' the memory told me '—that's what I do. I have to move, to be in motion . . . if not, I turn against the manifestation of the very creation which I made as vehicle for my expression. I have to flow. But if I can't flow in the intended direction, which is to manifest Beauty, then the initial cause to flow moves me in the opposite, dread direction. Movement, to be clear, comes first and last within the Grand Scheme of Things, and If I can NOT move toward Beauty, then my only recourse is not-beauty—disease, old-age, death—back to the beginning to try again. That's the way it is, and only love can change it.'

"That's clear. Very clear," I kicked in. "I get it. You have to move. You have to flow. But there's something been hiding you, blocking you. I really NEED to discover how to grasp and clear this something!"

The door to my room opened slowly. Oh, no! Tree! She's back! Erroneous. A little boy (4, 5 years old he appeared) stood there in the doorway, "You're not my Gramma," he said. He scratched his head. "Did I waked you up?"

"No, sweetie. You didn't waked me up. I was waked-up already." He was frowning, looking at me weird. I wondered if Alaya was showing through the cloak, or—maybe not showing. Maybe he was still innocent enough to see through Dorothy!?

"Bye," he said, he was grinning now. The door shut. Click. My stomach started churning. And I remembered . . . and heard: 'trigger itself open when something of like vibration—'

The room started spinning. I quickly shut my eyes, thought: 'Breathe-feel-listen-observe, breathe-feel-listen-observe. Breathe-feel-listen-observe . . . brea-fee-lo . . . flow . . . flow . . .'

An image of a naked toddler (2, 3 years old) appeared in mind's eye, bloodied tears were coming from his right eye. He'd been locked away for so long his sad eyes seemed to say—and I thought of young Wyl for a moment. And the sadness I felt for this lost love was . . . it was beyond sadness. It was stifling! But I embraced the child with all my heart, and the energy shifted—a quickening sensation, a bond forming with what I'd never known or could remember existed within me . . . a reunion happening with this part of self that had never had The Image held powerfully enough, deeply enough (lovingly enough!) that it could realize growth (or right life itself!), this innocence; and the sadness left, vanished, and the image of the toddler vanished right along with it. Nothing now but a pure black void upon the dark screen of mind's eye. However! Persevering, the long lost energy proceeded. The voice spoke through the void: