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Queen of Doves June 23, 2017

Posted by wimynspeak in General.
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QUEEN OF DOVES

Once upon a time, when Earth was still but a tender infant, a call went out to the great queen, asking for her blessing for the emerging new life on the blossoming little planet. The queen, delighted, put on a cloak of white feathers over her ruby-heart gown, unfurled her strong wings, and flew across the universe, ready to shower the infant Earth with her most potent star-shine and breath of love.

But the queen, being immune to the particularities of time, arrived an eon or two too late, for duality had already settled onto the tiny blue orb. The great queen was saddened to see this and cried bitter tears, for she believed her gift would not be accepted in the face of such reality. Luckily, magick was still alive and well, and the queen’s tears became a flock of doves that flew about her head, beseeching her to grant her blessing in spite of the seeming futility.

Appeased, the queen agreed to hand over her blessing to the doves, who, in turn, vowed to share with any who were ready to listen. The queen’s words of blessing were as numerous as the stars: kindness, compassion, unity, wholeness, and so on. When the doves had collected all her words, the queen again donned her cloak of white feathers and flew back to her distant realm … and the work of love on Earth began …

VIDEO

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∞ Chrysalis July 1, 2015

Posted by wimynspeak in Collaboration, General.
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Link to the video: ∞ Chrysalis

 

I sleep and dream the passing of time,

stars and worlds arising in an unremarkable march of eons,

destiny’s static hum.

And then . . . and then . . .

The awakening,

and consciousness is punctuated at last

by one thought like no other,

moving slowly along the continuum of infinity,

its seeds carried on celestial winds

to the cataclysm where chaos reigns.

 

Life paints with a palette of impossibility

and emerges from the imaginal soup

into the garden of the Universe,

the still-point of passion.

The container, fashioned from the contained,

spins back on itself in fertile mutation.

Caught in a star shower,

it regenerates in the empty center,

filling it with before and after:

the solidity of form.

 

I am both the watcher and the watched,

caught in the watching

as the march of eons converges with the dream

and I dissolve once again into the still-point,

the cycles of eternity.

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