Channeled: 3/26 by Anita Merrick/Crystal Wind
Ah so many new pages I am frantic to write all, the records; hurriedly, I must transfer all quickly onto papyrus even as time passes below, so seemingly unnoticed.
Yet, here, where I sit in my Hall of Records, above, with stylus at the ready, I shall await the song’s first sung notes, the tales of woe from below and stories whispered or cried with delight.
It all shall be written upon the pages that become the Akasha or Books of Life (Tomes). It is my pleasure to dip my sharpened stylus into the sacred ink vessel, which holds a dark crimson ink that becomes indelible upon drying due to the recipe of its making: equal parts of blood, sweat, tears mixed by vibration from a living drum; the rhythmic beating of a human heart).
To write after awaiting the first vibration from the singer’s throat, the newest tale of woe from a mother’s lips, stories of small delights emitted from lips of children; and of fires ever igniting by a single breath of life and hope.
It is not my own wisdom that delights my work; indeed, I rejoice I the wisdom spoken that reaches my ears, spoken in the face of the unfathomable fear rampant across the world below.
The wisdom that delights my heart the most comes bundled in the prayers spoken and lifting the hearts of the speaker even for only a moment or two.
We heed well those who cry out, cloaked in fear and darkness, illness or besought by transgressions by all its many labels; welcoming, too, the brave teachers who offered guidance and wisdom regardless of their age, name, or title for all are so utterly needed on every level now.
We do not forget the animal kingdom, beings we gently guide and care for whether furred, feathered, scaled or many-legged, finned or flippered.
I hesitate in my recording this day for I have watched as fear, despair and a dangerous evil darkness has once again risen as a cobra that has been poked with the sticks wielded by many who seem utterly misinformed, selfishly impatient and wear their greediness like badges upon their chests.
We can only observe as there are furious crowds, protesting rightfully but perhaps without the wisdom in face of the injustices thrown at their feet, but we fear consequences will reach far beyond their intent for the virus is still the most rampant hunter of this time.
I have paused this day’s recording to ponder over the this the dark rage I see in the angry crowds below. I see their need and seeking of justice but fear the crowd-minded ways will be more dangerous even as they desire rightfully.
Oh, I shall record what comes, I must; yet my hope in pausing will produce an echo of what has been the Earth’s Great Pause and their fury be tempered by wisdom and from compassionate hearts aware of the likelihood of dire consequence other than what they seek as justice or legal reforms.
I muse over what even I cannot foresee yet know I must record the moments as they change, develop and restructure intention, dreams, and expectations even before I can complete the words or punctuate the sentence change races to beat even my mind there.
Aiwa, even a neter dreams, ponders and wonders … so I stop to breathe and gaze upon my unfinished page.
Ah so many new pages I am frantic to write all, the records; hurriedly, I must transfer all quickly onto papyrus even as time passes below, so seemingly unnoticed.
Yet, here, where I sit in my Hall of Records, above, with stylus at the ready, I shall await the song’s first sung notes, the tales of woe from below and stories whispered or cried with delight.
It all shall be written upon the pages that become the Akasha or Books of Life (Tomes). It is my pleasure to dip my sharpened stylus into the sacred ink vessel, which holds a dark crimson ink that becomes indelible upon drying due to the recipe of its making: equal parts of blood, sweat, tears mixed by vibration from a living drum; the rhythmic beating of a human heart).
To write after awaiting the first vibration from the singer’s throat, the newest tale of woe from a mother’s lips, stories of small delights emitted from lips of children; and of fires ever igniting by a single breath of life and hope.
It is not my own wisdom that delights my work; indeed, I rejoice I the wisdom spoken that reaches my ears, spoken in the face of the unfathomable fear rampant across the world below.
The wisdom that delights my heart the most comes bundled in the prayers spoken and lifting the hearts of the speaker even for only a moment or two.
We heed well those who cry out, cloaked in fear and darkness, illness or besought by transgressions by all its many labels; welcoming, too, the brave teachers who offered guidance and wisdom regardless of their age, name, or title for all are so utterly needed on every level now.
We do not forget the animal kingdom, beings we gently guide and care for whether furred, feathered, scaled or many-legged, finned or flippered.
I hesitate in my recording this day for I have watched as fear, despair and a dangerous evil darkness has once again risen as a cobra that has been poked with the sticks wielded by many who seem utterly misinformed, selfishly impatient and wear their greediness like badges upon their chests.
We can only observe as there are furious crowds, protesting rightfully but perhaps without the wisdom in face of the injustices thrown at their feet, but we fear consequences will reach far beyond their intent for the virus is still the most rampant hunter of this time.
I have paused this day’s recording to ponder over the this the dark rage I see in the angry crowds below. I see their need and seeking of justice but fear the crowd-minded ways will be more dangerous even as they desire rightfully.
Oh, I shall record what comes, I must; yet my hope in pausing will produce an echo of what has been the Earth’s Great Pause and their fury be tempered by wisdom and from compassionate hearts aware of the likelihood of dire consequence other than what they seek as justice or legal reforms.
I muse over what even I cannot foresee yet know I must record the moments as they change, develop and restructure intention, dreams, and expectations even before I can complete the words or punctuate the sentence change races to beat even my mind there.
Aiwa, even a neter dreams, ponders and wonders … so I stop to breathe and gaze upon my unfinished page.
