The Seventh Direction

PART THREE: Stalking Violet. Episode 54

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

'—return and make new connections to the Heart. Involution before evolution . . . search the situation for the solution.'

The messages burned deep (—branded). And I realized, sure enough, that I had regained a place of raised-vibration with which I might soon come to grasp some likeness of clarity with my situation. But had I brought all my stuff with me? Consciously? The causes of Dorothy's demise and her aging process? My blocked energies? My shit, my baggage, my conditionings, beliefs, concepts, attitudes, anxieties, doubts, fears, so that these things themselves might rise up, grasp also, and be brought nearer to clarity?

Cellular-memory holds the key to this frozen world, doesn't it?—to this shadowy portion of self long-stagnated, steeped in illusion, and which is oh! so difficult to see through when immersed within its vibration. "And this petrified feeling—through resonance—seems to be here with me now, calling out from its imprisoning cell. It needs to be raised up, too! It needs raised-vibration. It needs love. It belongs to me still!" Still, the feeling seemed too far away to be embraced, lurking cold-frozen in the shadows.

"FIND ME!"

Find me—with more potency now. And with urgency. But the shadow of all of Dorothy's and my "stuff" made like the Shadow of Fear, and its will upon the surface of mind was much, much too cumbersome. I could not escape its grip. I could not go! I could not FIND! That fiery-energy rising through me, not without higher purpose, had formulated my conglomerate-blockage into one large, ungainly Shadow which had settled itself upon surface-mind, where it found safety in freewill! And I felt the fear and could not get clear. Baby steps forward, I do recall. Go forward girl! But the truth is, I wanted to stuff the Shadow. I wanted to put it down. Down. Down. But that would not be a step. That would be a dread leap backward!

I had to act fast. I had to speak to the Shadow with the hopes of raising it into Truth. If not, well, if not Truth, then I might never again make good the path that would lead me on my search. Now (for if ever there was a good time for Remote Dreams [Sleeptimes, number one and two] to begin their flow up and into consciousness it was now)—now I had some convincing to do. Somehow I needed to commandeer, appropriate, usurp (—hijack) the Shadow standing guard over its place of rooted-fear—in reality, truth be known, the Shadow of Fear squirming in the far-depths of The Purification Flame. 'Fire, know it well.'  Somehow the Shadow needed to understand before it would give over. Dear God. And from Inner Mind the words came up. But I had no idea as to where they might lead (—lead us). But I spoke them anyway. 

'Good luck.' 

"Thanks, Dorothy, but you're gonna help me."

                  Dear Shadow:

"Is it unreasonable to suggest that a GREAT SPIRIT reigns and is over and above all? That IT is in and through all things, as we are in and through IT? That all universes, worlds of form, dimensions, planes of existence, higher Grades of Light, and human-beings, reside within ITS existence? Can we not, dear Shadow—can we not yet give credit its due and name Great Spirit responsible for our very ability to move? To lift a finger? To think? Imagine? Learn? Grow? Express? And is it really so difficult to envision a being who has traveled a similar cycle as we now travel, that perhaps he or she has come full-circle—has near perfected-self and now stands as a creator? And could that being  then, a way back when, through the free-use of the Ever Present Great Spirit (—and as vehicle for that Omniscience), could he or she, I don't know, have created this universe, the solar system, our planet, us—that long silvery-bearded personage (—if it were a he) whom we call God, sitting on his throne in the heavens, whilst Great Spirit remains above and beyond through All? And if so, did not that creator (—doubtless) accept, take in, and wholly WORK an image born of Great Spirit—that same Image in and through and by which he was created (—born), though maybe in a different world? And did he (—as creator) similarly set to motion, through The Void, that Image from which we were born? If so (—if she or he did so), can we, like s/he, also cast our ideas, thoughts, images, desires, dreams into the Void, watch them grow to fruition and then participate WITHIN them? You bet we can! Yet have we forgotten what is behind it all? Not you, nor I, nor the being that became a creator, but always, always, always Great Spirit."

The flow through Inner Mind ceased. And The Shadow was gone, for surface-mind was ...................gapped. But where The Shadow had gone, and for how long surface-mind would remain open, this I did not know.

'—the past only knows what it knows and seeks its comfort there; and the surface-mind is often full of it, the past, and has typically little or no desire to move itself beyond and through its conditioned-comfort and evolve. It has yet to understand.'

I wondered if maybe The Shadow HAD understood. But I didn't wonder long.

I fled through the Gap..................back through some strange composition of time, back through the foliage of my very being (—back through some personal hell!), I think so, and stopped still but hovering before the gloom, dead-chill of a thicket (—our thicket! "Don't be afraid, Dorothy), a petrified, gloomy thicket wherein a frosted, vaporous steam was rising slowly and fell in a mist to the ground, and formed, and a ghostly-white phantom drew out, its fearless yellow-eyes beckoning me: 'RIVER.'

'River?' 

"Yes, Dorothy, river."

A cold. cold atmosphere, briefly. Then we fled through dreamscape, ran for the river, chasing like a hungry wolf, chasing time, chasing back through the halls of memory, back along the River of Time . . . back, chasing an energy, an energy alive. Alive! "NO TIME" for this energy that had been locked in here for some 90 years, or longer! No time like "I" knew, in this strange realm of NOW,  till we came to a sandy shoal. There, all alone and hovering, teetered a nervous nebulous-sphere, a cloud-grey bag bobbing inches from the gritty surface (—vacillating, erratic!) trying to move itself, to flee it appeared, while a dim light flickering within held it in place. Here at River's End (or its beginning?) the Sands of Time personified a noxious, smoldering consciousness recoiling through the bag, raunching heavily the air. I felt at cross-purposes. Wolf was gone now and fear loomed round about. 

'. . . and fear was closing in!'

I snatched the bag (what potential energy must be in there!), though it had strapping dead weight (and knowledge?), and raced back (forward? "yes, Doe,") toward Inner Mind. Memories came partially apparent, flying by as I neared present Time: 'Knowledge and acceptance,'  Mother Earth spoke (spoke?), as a recent memory decelerated (slowed down), and a familiar scene of myself (of Alaya) kneeling at River's edge, looking into black waters, appeared (surreal). I came to a screeching halt (wicked-nasty burning rubber!). "Knowledge needs acceptance!" (Our own truths do! "Oh, they do, Dorothy—so they might be raised-up, through unfoldment, into greater understanding!") And I/we raced on, you might say, though we were flying up the overgrown-trail, south (which seems kinda weird. Isn't it usually "up" north? "Usually, "Doe,") . . . then the thicket once more, re-quickening before me (us). But it was still frozen, still dead as ever. Crap.

'CRAP!' 

"Exactly, Dorothy!"

Wound-up with my "shit" now (I could feel and smell its rank foulness playing upon the clarity of my view), I uncoiled, spinning, hammer-throwing the dead-weight "bag" into the field of my perception, and it imploded, bursting— "What motion! What feeling! There's no fear here!" —brightly! And the very center of self cracked open.

Such a sight! Such innocence!

'YIKES!' 

"Mm-hmm . . ."

Suddenly I felt empowered, my numbness displaced by a smooth vibration felt through every cell of my body. And I looked upon my lost innocence, anticipating, breathed in and began to feel fully. Rapt (on the outside looking in), I observed as within and beyond the thicket the freeze-dried Forest melted into a vision-in-motion largely too colorful to describe. But this is what I heard: 'It used to be . . .' a ways off in the distance, I heard it. And the words came slowly. Not exactly echoing. But as if deep from within a hollow. Then Hawk, suddenly. She screamed a long one, a shrill one, a crippler, and I was quickly magicked away—to Wood's End, where I watched the goings on. 

It was beautiful moonlit, starry night.

'Is this real? Metaphor? Or magic?' 

"Yes, yes, and yes, Dorothy. But we're really talking innocence here . . ."