Wednesday, October 28, 2009

When Cars Collide

It's a half hazy, partly cloudy day. Vast and endless frosty clouds of gray and black extend as far as the eye can see. In Florida there is a saying, "If you don't like the weather...wait 20 minutes." So perhaps the sun will win the bipolar climate battle before it retires for the evening. If the day were a smell I imagine it would wreak of vinegar and motor oil. Not the type of day that penetrates the house inviting one to frolic and pick daisies outside. My Aurora love has fallen sick, very sick. Six other children in her class are out with the same illness. Monday it was nothing more than a mild cold and now it is something much worse. She's been throwing up all day and running a high fever. As a mother, these are the most dreadful days of life. All one can do is pray, nurse her child with liquids and love, and offer sympathy. For the past two days, I have been mindlessly alternating between standing guard over her and running around with wet cloths, cough syrup, and cups of water and Orange juice. While I was sitting on the edge of her bed, she dug her tiny hand into her purple comforter, and I seized the moment to confess to Aurora, "Honey, if I could snap my fingers and heal you, I would do it, in a heartbeat, " and Mommy snapped nine times in a row.
I don't know how any baby can be as cheerful as Aurora, mid-puke. I was holding the bucket for her and in between heaves she said, "Mommy I have to tell you something...blaaaahhh" sniff, sniff. "Mommy, at the end of Monsters incorporated, the one eyed....Blaaaaaah" Cough, cough. "Mommy, the one eyed monster in Monsters Inc said to the little girl 'Go throw up now little girl!'" Aurora erupts into laughter, breathing heavily, and then the laughs are broken up by more coughs and heaves.
She is napping now. Just as sleep is a distraction from her illness, poetry and dreaming are my distractions from a mother's worry over what I am facing here.

And so I orchestrate my after thoughts into some kind of symphony leading up to a dramatic goodbye--for the day. Acid goodbye and bad eggs fried... (Dr. Seuss on drugs comes to mind) I have consorted with the sweetness of the sunshine, I met it in a dream last night. The angels and my ascended masters enjoy reinforcing modded themes through dreams (yes, I return there all the time.) People wonder why I dream like this, how I can take it seriously, but if they were wise, mighty they ought to wonder a little longer. When your eyes are closed, you don't have to think about all of the graphic bullshit happening in the outside world. You don't have to think of sick babies, of children getting killed as they walk home from school, you don't have to worry about bunk shots, about diseases,-- you don't have to watch the drama unfold. On any given day, the world is nothing more than a giant car accident and most of us can't stop watching. We are enshrouded in the ramification that will never fully be cleared away, it's like waking up to a living junkyard. John Lennon said of death, "I'm not afraid of death because I don't believe in it. It's just getting out of one car, and into another."
I saw two different cars in a dream last night and the quote is the best interpretation I could come up with. For a few blocks, I was walking around in New York City, looking for a different car after I had left my car behind. Sleep is something like another car. Sleep is the only time you grant yourself unflinching permission to stop thinking of the car accident that is the world is and THAT to me, is peace. I am not telling anyone to censor or downplay the significance of current events. Volunteer, donate to the Red Cross, write letters to congressmen, do whatever you feel called to do to make your voice be heard, but just know that it's every man for himself at this point and sometimes turning off the TV and dreaming up a different reality--is divine power.

And so, rambling on to nowhere as my child tries to dream off her flu, I come to open up the mermaid music box for you. I lack a spectacular starting point, other than picking up in the middle of my favorite dream scene of the week, not part of what I saw last night...I think this was a Sunday dream.
I was not on a beach, but just out of his reach, standing inside a cozy living room. Beautiful hardwood floors--either cherry on mahogany...they looked near maroon, but being I am no wood expert, they could have been pine. The floors were dark, but bore a tint of whiteness from the light drizzling in through large open windows. It was heavenly light...not a trace of smog or fogginess. Cream curtains danced in the breeze as the wind hurled around me, flipping my hair as if I were walking on a beach somewhere, by an ocean with fish to spare. It was like a white chocolate commercial--- the girl standing in a never-ending hallway with a utility fan blowing a long white sheet behind her, making the air appear more expensive and ambient than it is. No, the crispness said we weren't in a tropical climate, but I sure did fall into paradise as I lingered in his blue eyes! Only when I'm asleep do I not have any needs, yet they are always met in superabundance. Like being a walking trinity. In related news, I have spoken to God, he said he likes redundancy. Why are we redundant creatures? Is the message always so concise? To love thyself as thy God and love another just as Jesus made it right, or else henceforth suffer at your own price.

So yes, redundancy, I come twice-- different day, the same unfinished dream. I stood next to an entertainment center, my fingers over a dial, tinkering with the frequency of a stereo. "Fine tuning" Archangel Gabriel says. I was too preoccupied to care for intuitive blare though, for in a dreamer's stare, I thought I looked into love. Darling, darling, paces away, there he was. After I got over the initial rush, I flashed him a promiscuous grin and dared to walk over next to him...again. I am comfortable dreaming alone, but let's be honest---where is the fun in that??? Play or go home. And so, by the wand of a telepathic dream Godmother, I was not downtrodden in the honey stickiness of my own sin. Rather, a piece of heaven let me in-- in the consecrated form of him. One of those forbidden living men. Well maybe not forbidden, that can't be the right word! He's not married so I guess it's a free for all--like those loony sales in malls that only happen really early on black Friday.(I am not literally comparing him to the nutty compulsive shopper chaos, i just felt like illustrating country club wives, beating each other with overpriced purses and fighting over periwinkle cashmere sweaters)

I am breaking my own rules even talking about it, about the year of ravenous cosmic rendezvous's. Only last spring, in the midst of our nocturnal fling, he said to me, "I had a dream about you." And I believed him too, oh how believing him imitated the right thing to do. But how long? How long does the novelty of a dream stay in bloom? If he has a name, it is not his name i fall for or broadcast, but dreamer darling alas, we found togetherness and prayed prudently it would not come to pass. I felt the halo of his hands roam over my skin and I cried inside because I knew it wouldn't last long enough and soon would come the acid goodbye. I wanted to tell him, I wanted to confide, but my boldness grew legs as fast as my speech died. So I mumbled softly to myself, I choked on the air and finally expelled, In his arms, I want nothing else, I have a happy place to be alive.
"You're quiet today." I heard him say.
"I want to share the stillness with you." I warmly proclaimed.
"You are are not the the are not the same."
"It's not the world I obey, and in this way, no, I am not the same."
He laughed and didn't look away but buried his head into my hair and then I felt his kisses everywhere.
Don't wake up, don't wake up. It's okay to dream yourself into love.

He's an adult, but there is a childlike caress in the devout way he desperately needs to feel love. Maybe in this light, we are much, too much the alike. For only with each other, in dual dexterity do we halt the search for fleeting fame, there in the content of these dreams we share. We approach with neutrality, yet with the utmost care. For a time we reside in the same world, in the same space. In these most delicate of moments, I see an identical look of vulnerability on our face. But... in the real world, we live in two very different worlds, yet both worlds are flooded by mistakes and sometimes the rafts we cling to are the devices the past used to hurt us where trust would betray. I wanted to snuggle with him and build a sanctuary in a cavalier choice to stay, but the clock was ticking, ticking and tearing me away. Before I am done writing, that damn old clock says it will be too late, so I rolled further into him and held on for dear, dear life until the dream diabolically drove me away. And early, early as the morning came, I checked for evidence of the trip, to to see if his fingerprints were pressed into me like red roses on white hips, or maybe I would find the faintest taste of salt from his lips....but there was only love. Love goes back and fourth like this in a splendid poet's text for how long? How long? You tell me when. Maybe after our cars collide. Then and only then, I pause to to write a story too good to believe. Car passes car, star passes star, all the while my seed out grows a dying tree. Procreation does not create relief. At last, after all the seeds and leaves leave me be and the last car has been cleaned, a voice of solace came to heed, "I'll dream in you if you dream in me." And while tomorrow is an elusive day, for now it seems only a in dream can we be as real as we want to be...

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Gifts wrapped in Bells and Dreams

They say the greatest gifts in life are always unexpected. Unplanned babies, meeting someone special right after you'd pledged to remain single forever, or finding a lost relative you didn't know you had. This is how I come to make and know dream friends. You can't let anyone negate or the legitimacy of dreams or the relationships we forge there, any more than you should allow the outside to minimize the importance of loving God or loving your own family! There is a way of loving and knowing God through your dreams, this is an irreplaceable gift that has the potential to arrive when we least expect it!

And so, we reembark on our dream saga. While I am enraptured to call many living people dream comrades, it is the living ones that haunt me the most. The deceased allies pose no threat because they cannot spring back to life and bitch slap me or tell me to fuck off. So I beg pardon to my living dream peeps before I say, one of my most unanticipated friends on this adventure, has been Layne. Allowing Layne to come and go has become somewhat voyeuristic, but at the same time, I could use someone to get naked for.
IN all seriousness, the piece of Layne's life that thunderstruck me the hardest was not anything he did on stage. It was a statement he made several weeks before his death. While giving what would become his final interview, Layne stated that he felt he was here on a "spiritual mission."
The severity of Layne's addiction was not taken seriously...until it was too late. A very humorless adversary to pangs of perseverance. Don't wait to take people--their suffering or their dreams--seriously! Not only are there are elected who act as earth angels, but dreaming yourself healthy is a built-in tool of perseverance. Through the faculty of dreaming, Layne has been able to continue the mission to whatever fraction we are able to draw encouragement. Before and after the shower curtain of death, we draw encouragement from the most unimaginable sources! Don't let the reality confiscate the source of happiness you derive from your dreams! It is the only location we have left that isn't regulated by our government!!!!!!!!! There is something to be said of this truth! Verily, verily, I say to you, the Truth is home. In the same way the law is love, the truth is home.

When at last we spoke in the language of dreamers, Layne was talking very passionately about God, affirming with that Leo conviction of his, and though the assistance of various ornamental omens, that God was his identity. On more than one day, as I was doing channel work with Layne, I heard him talk about the way he used drugs as "Medicine." God was the only medicine he really needed. Humbly, Layne understood that he alone had been the culprit of withholding eternal peace for so many years by substituting substance abuse in place of soaking in spirit. Addiction can appear glamorous, the yearning to swim with a like crowd or be included in a crowd at all, acts as a very crafty hook, but the errors of this reeling perception prove to be detrimentally costly in the long run. If you do not advance, your soul retards. Drugs comatose one to the matter of life at hand. Layne, my Lazarus of dreaming, is proof that the "damage done" does not have to be permanent!! Just as there is a chance for life, for victory, there will always be a chance to heal! Despite how solidly or heartlessly other people may have condemned Layne, it was his discretion to no longer condemn himself that alleviated his suffering and rectified the self-inflicted grief. It's not only the angels who ask us to replace our addictions with Christ, with God, but it's souls like Layne who learned the hard way, these missionary souls appeal to us as well. Self-destruction was my worst addiction. More than the content of my cheap romance novels about being visited by the ghost of Layne Staley, what I learned from his spirit was to replace my self-destruction with God's master plan for community building---the opposite of solitary demolition---divine blueprints for the whole. I need no further convincing of this, Layne's never given me any reason to doubt him and he's always done me the favor of telling me exactly how it is--when not many other living people would.

So, there we were, back inside Layne's condo again, only the air wasn't nearly as heavy or depressing as it had been on our other dates. Layne's soul has the sauciness of an Atlantean, a spice that is seldom understood, but a taste I know like I know my own soul. He smiled generously in a vivacious way that illuminated my the contours of my face. I let him wrap his hands around the back of my neck, his physique all but devouring me. A peculiar warmth was surreptitiously imposed all around us, but echoed as though it emanated from right inside my own body and was somehow corded into Layne's chakras. His face was no more than four inches from my own and in the closeness, I debated on how long to hold him and lose myself in his eyes, in his words about identifying with God. I envied him for all the right reasons. I didn't covet the feeling of Layne, I wanted to feel a sense of having an identity in God, in the law, in a way he confessed to knowing. I can always smell Layne in a way I can't smell anyone else in under the illustrious dream sheets. Just as I was trying to commit his scent to memory, any felicitous way to keep him with me after I woke up, inexplicably, Layne vanished into clear air, evaporating in the same way angels fade obscurely into the sheerness of the atmosphere. Still, in the power of disappearing, they remain translucently engaged as careful watchmen. As Layne drifted away from me and became one with the celestial vapors, I began to aim my focus to the windows. The rectangular shape of the glass reminded me of in the interior of my second grade classroom-- a large panel of black paned windows, constricted by three solid cream walls. Anytime a classroom appears in your dreams, the angels ask you to pay careful attention to any lessons or messages transmitted within the environment and apply them where needed upon waking. The collective lesson being that learning is the wise heart of God's identity. WE are God's identity! He wants us to learn for the sake of of making his law of love--our only true identity. That is such a valuable lesson, so I will reiterate it. Make the law of love your true and supreme identity! "I am the law of love."

Layne wanted me to share the lyrics and song with you, I heard him (or someone) mention the song in my good psychic ear! Originally composed by Bob Dylan, Ring Them Bells is one of those extraordinary songs that combines harmony and poetry into a form of musically soothing gospel.(My favorite type of music!) Dylan of course, is one of the greatest musicians ever, a brilliant poet and peacekeeper in his own right, whom I respect and admire more than I can say. Around 1993, Heart invited Staley to lend his voice on what proved to be a very awesome cover of Dylan's idea.

Ring them bells yea heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bells from the sanctuaries cross the valleys and streams
For they're deep and they're wide
And the world's on it's side
And time is running backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells!

Ring them bells Saint Peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
That the rush hour is now on the wheel and the plow and the sun is going down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells

Ring them bells Saint Martha for the poor man's son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep where the willows weep
And the mountains are filled with little lost sheep
Ring them bells for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells for all of us who are left
Ring them bells for the chosen few who would judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells for the time that flies, for the child that cries when innocence dies
Ring them bells Saint Catherine from the top of the room
Ring them bells from the fortress from the lilies that bloom
For the lines they are long and the fighting is strong
And they're breaking down the distance between right and wrong

Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells!

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Somber Sonnet to Heavenly Horses

Into the garden of green life
snuggled under the jasmine vine
for a moment I was pacified
azure, unopened
tight-lipped Alice flowers
The fall crippled us
for a time traveler's hour
I am devious
for all the right reasons
but men still get me all wrong
i am old
but still too young
for the institution of song
I care for him
but I am still unloved
mortality is a nightingale
said the redhead, waking pale
whiter than an eye
colorless emotions
feathered over her faceless sky
forming what?
a game of charades heathens wrung dry
confined by life on a Saturday night
too weak and overexposed
yet in a grave of the unknown
destiny made her apologies
as faintness fasted on a smile
i walked to wonder a labyrinth mile
and two more days
a camel and an olive
pointed me in the right way
for a moment i was pacified
as splendor was magnified
shadows of the earth finally died
I had no where left to dwell
except in me
imbued, submerged in the watery well
immortal melody, i send above
wondering, wondering
where is my heavenly love?
I would offer the world to you
but the saddles are all hung up
the world is but a horseshoe
pales in comparison to the Mustangs
tame fleeing horses above
come swiftly to get me
heavenly, heavenly love

(C) Jessica Robbins

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Get Born Again

Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.
Nicodemus answered and said unto him, How can these things be?
Jesus answered and said unto him, "Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things? 11 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness. If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things? And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God."

Maybe you are familiar with the passage from the book of John. One of my personal favorites. I don't want to say it's obligatory to bear witness to the truth of spiritual birth--- but if the truth is inside of you and you do not speak it, then how can you be true? We are at spiritual warfare with the flesh favoring, it is imperative to reveal the progressive nature of our birth. The reality is that we are surrounded on the outside by the kingdom of flesh and are unmercifully bombarded by vanity-loving who would declare themselves kings of this temporal domain to appease their own puritanical hypocrisy. Now more than ever, the only royalty we need serve is the prince of peace. If you aren't in service to the spirit, you are more than likely serving the flesh. The only alternative to these is that you are the one being waited on by the servants, which means you are the enemy.

Flesh and false idols are in a loathsome harmony. Picture the Nazis chanting "hail Hitler" and storming through once placid villages, ransacking homes and tearing families apart, then stripping the Jews and ordering them to "take showers" in gas chambers, leaving few alive--all in haunting precision and orderly unison under the chain of obedient command. This is why instilled or slowly learned obedience is so hazardous to the human race. Where else in everyday life do we find sequences like this? Maybe not nearly as morbid, but inspect it for what it is. People watch the news night after night to stay informed. Why? Is there any good news lately? Or does General Electric, the mother of NBC, not want to share the knowledge that someone has discovered a breakthrough in free solar power to illuminate an entire household without the use of a light bulb? Why on earth would they want to throw that invention in a vault and pay off enough people not to broadcast such an affordable solution to the energy crisis? Look carefully at this website and all of the services offered
Why I am targeting GE? They are charging us for the fucking light. Who was it that made the whole 'Let there be light' statement? I'm sure for the life of me, I cannot recall. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe it isn't GE I need peel apart. Perhaps it's the socialistic obedience it in the way people in the crowd sing a particular song together, never knowing why they sing, other than because they rehearsed the words over a hair brush as a child? Or could it be the similarity found in the way loyal citizens pledge to the flag or sing the national anthem at sporting events? All too often, in these subtle ways, the will of the idol becomes unanimous with the will of obedient servant---sometimes known as "countrymen" other times considered "fans." The self-entitlement and self-glorification agenda of the person on the pedestal, has a bad habit of pervading the fan's belief that said famous figure is entitled, can do no wrong, or is deserving of unreasonable privileges based on name, appearance, or credentials. Like a child that is tempted by candy from a stranger, the fan is lured in with the incentive of what most people in this world crave the most: Acceptance. Slanted strokes of recognition from the person dancing on the pedestal.

Fame fools the famous into thinking there is not enough to go around. In fear of this limey shortage of zenith seconds, the greedy spirited want nothing and no one to detract from their own spotlight and are often unwilling to share or give proper credit where it may be due. Many of the false idols I am talking about here are casualties of the "me" generation. If they do not gain the obedience from the follower that serves the "me" in ego, they dispose of them like used condoms. Regrettably, some of these followers have been so brainwashed by the media over the years, they are now nebulously convinced that a transient thrill under the shadow of the pedestal, is worth compromising or avoiding the whole truth. Instead of speaking up for universal principals, they promote a single persona, all the while, fanning further idolatry, simply because they do not want to become the next used condom in the trash can or risk being cast out of the castle of pretty singing sculptures.

If you find yourself unsure if you have been dazzled or wooed by the wrong person or cause, ask yourself why it is you are loaning your support. It is a loan, you can cancel it and shred the contract at any time. Is the loan in service to the spiritual or the flesh? Does it glorify an image or the truth? The idols demand that their worshipers keep a separate identity from their stoneware, where as the formless truth wants to be your identity, making you a spirit and sacrament of the truth. By making an identity as a fan of so-and-so, imagine what you could be could be missing a chance to foster a formula for independence.

So where does the Jesus man come into play here? EVERYWHERE! In the dictation, Jesus is insinuating that he is not going to heaven, as the grieving so say of their lost loved ones --'they went to heaven.' Jesus is revealing that he was already in heaven before, but only he came down and entered into the flesh after preexistence in the celestial plane. He shares these heavenly things so we may awaken to being the heaven born. Slightly frustrated, he speaks almost disdainfully of the worldly where the people accept his interpretation of the world with little to no skepticism--because humanity can see ingest things of the world through the five simple senses. Many reject his recollections of heaven because the thought alone exists on a frequency of oddly different sense. We are summoned to to adjust our behavior, to clean out the temple of any evil that hinders our own harvest.

This particular parable is also hinting at psychic powers and telepathy if we so choose to read deeply enough between the lines. While the turmoil in Germany was brewing, the Jesus-loving psychic, Edgar Cayce, gave a reading which implied even Hitler had the chance to use his power for goodness---if he made the choice to serve the people rather than exterminate them. Hitler was not born as evil, he had a conscious to choose to employ his position for the betterment of all, or employ darkness. The dark nature of his supremacy, free will, and a need to be praised by his peers, messed it up for a lot of good people. Even if the idols of today are not killing others, if they have power and are fallacious to any degree, they are a danger to society.

Speaking of "deeds being reproved," Jesus makes a direct reference to karmic justice. A deed with impure motives is bound by admonition and will be addressed by the authority of karma. The flow of the speech becomes an aqueduct of provisional acceptance of spirit by becoming one with Him, thereby breaking the cycle of bad karma and replacing it with salvation protected under the law of grace. We are all laboring to give birth to the mother spirit. The labor takes place cooperatively with God so we may achieve being born again, this the only door that opens to true cleansing from within. Turning the knob is a portal to the timelessness of true grace.

Furthermore, He is instructing us not to concern ourselves with the evildoers because they hate God--therefore they hate us and they will continue to hate for the sake of hating anything that confronts their bad behavior. Evil is a cancer, when given places like the Internet to breed, it only spreads faster. Jesus is saying he does not want the black veins to encumber anyone being delivered or prevented from manifesting wonders into the world. Baptism by fire and water is advised because water restores spiritual radiance and the fire burns away the falseness. This is why Jesus says he came to set the world on fire.

Mother Mary was selected to be the holy mother not only because she was an Aquarius, capable of stabilizing Jesus with her detached yet humanitarian qualities, but Mary was also chosen because she was pure in spirit, the best candidate to house and rear the spirit born. Mary Magdalene was also praised and favored because she had become pure in spirit and sought spiritual understanding, away from her extracurricular activities. Magdalene is the surviving exceptional example, not just of His unconditional forgiveness, but of being born again because she had been tainted by the evil dark energies that Jesus was weeding and casting out. Demons made Mary sick, demons from which she had essentially caught as result of consorting with carnal bound. The other secret here Jesus wants us to dissect, has to do with the notion that by surrounding ourselves with Idols or carnal craving, our chances of becoming more like them are increased indefinitely. We are vulnerable to irreverently falling further fixated and profanely contaminated by the finite flesh. Unless we are trying to heal the others by being a living example, we are putting ourselves in jeopardy of merging over and over with a mirage.

We have to be so wary and guarded because the flesh and spirit are at odds with the other, squabbling until they find a way to immutably coexist. In the end, the spirit will be victorious after the need for experiences in flesh dissolves completely. Ask any recovering addict and they will admit how easy it is to swan dive off of the wagon. Souls are the same--some returning to the physical again and again with little breathing room because they love the inhaling the flesh more than the spirit. The spirit knows it is (I am) and should become solely AND SOBERLY spiritual. A byproduct of relevance is the internal warring so many teenagers and young adults go through as their psychic abilities begin to develop. Because they are conditioned to deny or categorize something as "occult" or stack a gift under the label of supernatural, in result, it is viewed as being more unnatural than what is generally accepted as natural, normal, and/or healthy. A battle between the programed mind and the suppressed spirit ensues as the individual tries to come to terms with the integral role of divine birth. Teenagers almost have to deprogram themselves after being exposed to the various schools of thought over the years. The education system commonly, but quietly, demands the spiritual or religious be excluded from the curriculum. In the exile of the spirit from public school, students are under exposed to spiritual subjects. A daily yoga routine meshed into physical education courses could very well be the remedy to prevent school never know...we should at least rally our school system to experiment with theorized solutions.

In conclusion to these seeds of thought, the gist of what the Jesus man is saying in the scripture is--Here, I showed you what you are truly made of (spirit) I provided you with the right way and will be a medium for you to have God-- either you believe this promise of heaven born inside of you, you believe I have come to share this gift in the Spirit of Truth--or you don't believe. You cannot have the kingdom of God if you neglect the munificence of God or postpone "entering" into holy alliance in order to perpetuate evil in the world. If you do not believe the kingdom of spirit is born inside of you, you are pledging to the flesh, which is death, and are only condemning yourself by falling further into the cycle of darkness. As the wind blows, make a ready home for the spiritual birth to manifest inside of you because you know not when the wind shall blow inside of you.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

"Wish You Were Here"

dragon Pictures, Images and Photos

A few short weeks ago, while wandering around in yet another scrupulous dream, a dashing older man beckoning me with a cad smile and a finger curl, invited me to hop up next to him on a hospital bed. There was no reluctance or distrust, it was mutually understood I was there to be eye candy and help him in recovery, and so I hoisted myself onto his bed--no questions asked. He picked up a stringed instrument resting beside the bed, began strumming and singing the Pink Floyd song, 'Wish You Were Here.' The joy on my face couldn't have been captured, it was the last song I expected him to play for me, but undoubtedly the most appropriate for the message being conveyed.

There were other critical components and mystical characters within the dream, but I'd just assume leave them nameless. It was another gracious "response dream," spawned and visualized only after long and heavy prayer--candid discussion with God. Some people may pray with the wrong mentality, for they don't pray in anticipation of a direct response, or most mistake the response will always arise from the external. I do expect something to happen---whether it be a feeling in my heart, a twinge in my tummy--- I count on correspondence with God because I know it's always coming and cascading into the world through unsuspecting vessels. This reliance is a pinnacle test of permeating faith. It may not always be instantaneous, but I am happy to say there have been several moments I started praying and in a very undeniable and vivid way, God responded mere moments later. This particular instance, I had asked God how he interpreted my actions during specific sections of my life---if he frowned upon certain behaviors or if they were motive for his mission through me. I question that sporadically, but enough that the dreaded questioning is never subdued completely. Am I acting in a manner which pleases God? Is this what God wants me to do or am I rationalizing something I shouldn't be and using my small mind rather than relying on the divinity of the more Godly loyal portion of my soul? Faith is as purifying as forgiveness. Is it not faithful purity enough I risked everything to come back down here again? It's the unproductive hesitancy and indecision and worry of this throughout life, in the midst of malignant inquiries, which prove to be my greatest foe and energy contender. My vice and remedy for this disability, is of course, dreaming. I derive an incorruptible sense of solidarity in the dream mecca, as if it were my real residence. There is no room for lack of decisiveness inside a dream. Your only options are to go with it or wake the fuck up. In this sense, life is the same. You either go with it or you fall the fuck asleep at the wheel and crash into certain disaster.

I'd be lying if I said I fit in here. As Jesus has reminded me so many times, "You are in the world, but you are not of the world." I cannot reiterate that enough--He sure does. I am exceedingly grateful he provided me with psychic ears to truly hear Him when it counts the most. His counsel is a very underused resource, yet it is the most accessible. Nevertheless, it makes Jesus happy there are so many ligthworkers here, sharing their own stories in corrective fashion with an honorable intent to heal the real "listeners." There is wisdom of the world and then there is wisdom of heaven. After being forced to learn of worldly things and abide by the civic rules, often which do nothing more than regulate ignorance, I woke up one day and realized----this world is not for me in the same way some people want the world.

Back to the dream mecca, as I heard my friend strike the first few chords of Wish You Were Here, the song took on all new meaning and sentiment. If you will recall, the first line in the song challenges, "So, so you think you can tell heaven from hell?"
Could that be part of our purpose while we are alive? To discern the difference?
It wasn't merely the chance perhaps the man singing it to me, wanted me to be "there" in reality, to figure and provide proper answers to all the clandestine riddles in this classic tune, it was that God and the angels wish I were there in the celestial sense, the multidimensional sense I knew before taking a leap of faith into the vacuum tube of gravity. All souls are displaying and exercising their faith by trusting they shall be in this world for a time, then gracefully transition back to occupying a state of eternal in "here." The object is really to be conscious of the fact that we never truly left. On the magnanimous journey to final discovery, we are united by our leap of faith into the fish bowl. Enjoy the swim!

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Yellow is the Color of Friendly Flight

yellow Pictures, Images and Photos
"He who understands nature walks close with God." -Edgar Cayce reading 1904-1

There are days I feel like a tiny yellow butterfly. It's not the most beautiful or impressive flying creature, and because it's yellow, most privy to the symbolism in colors of roses, may even associate the yellow butterfly with a token of friendship. Relationship hunters lose more romances to platonic friendships than countries lose citizens to wars. It's happened to me, maybe it's happened to you too. In this loss, after enough tears have been cried, you are further prepared for victory. Victim hood does not serve anyone, prevailing and rising from the ashes as a servant is the greater wonder. Jesus was not on the cross shouting, "I am a victim! Woe to me I am the victim of satanic acts and insults!" No. Rather He said "Father forgive them, they know not what they do."

I didn't document my dream today. I still remember it perfectly. I simply wasn't in the mood to mess with it this morning. A yellow butterfly fluttered past my window, through my wilting garden, and I watched in buttery distraction as it danced over the last traces of blooming flowers. If I am functioning at an optimum level, I try to do yoga in the early light and imagine I am the serious responsibilities aside from pollinating the flowers. Sunlight is a super beneficial vitamin to drink in the mornings, but today, after the butterfly flew from sight, I settled for mid-morning kick boxing session in the kitchen as I was waiting for my coffee to finish brewing. Kicking the air helps me to clear it. I'm an air sign, commonly confused with a water sign, but I hear Jesus was a Pisces, so I'd be happy to let a fish swim into my jar of water anytime. I suppose I bear the water so I can bear the walk.

Just as His walk offers us comfort and guidance, so too does nature furnish us with divine guidance and displays of angelic affection. We only need be properly tuned in to conscientious observation. A cloud that forms in the shape of a totem animal, a single bird that flies over your path, the way the water rushes around an immovable rock in the stream---all emblems of heaven. My angels wouldn't send me a spunky yellow butterfly as a slap in the face that I often get demoted to the status of being a casual friend rather than a storybook lover. No. They were merely reminding me that they are the only friends who don't fall spineless to fair weather. At the end of life and a long day, most friends are fair weather and will exclude you when it suits their purpose or caters to superficial comfort of judging you. It gives their ego an injection of worth to feel as though they are more superior in some way. In feelings of superiority, we lose the structure and blessing of equality. What the anointed savior is, I am and you are. This is the embodiment of equality---becoming the teacher after enduring the long suffering contained in doses of life's lesson. In these classrooms were are granted harmony of compassion towards all of the worlds pupils.

God and the angels will never ostracize you or withhold intervention when you need a miracle or understanding. We all succumb to rotten phases in life, go through funks of sadness, or have days when our dreams don't even seem worth recording, but all in all, if the dire lessons are avoided or downplayed, they do not go away. That is a lesson all must recognize. The lessons we ducked and ran away from will continue to return until they are processed in a manner that glorifies God. This is why reincarnation is an option for all souls. By turning our backs on what we are here to learn on this equal holy ground, we are denying the sacred contracts we have incarnated to fulfill. The holy land is not a place in Israel, it is wherever a child of the light is. His lessons are sure to follow. Enjoy learning, don't view it as a daunting task but an exciting rite of passage, like the journey of betrayal in the garden that lead to carrying the cross. Had this Cross not been lifted, neither would His soul been lifted on the third day. By postponing what God asks us to learn, we are only stalling our own Ascension into the truth. Don't live as though God will come later, don't turn away from reconciling your crosses, but live as though he is here, learning with you now. You don't have to pass your tests in a single step; pause frequently to watch each tiny yellow butterfly so you may understand that some creatures are only granted three days to learn how to fly.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

I fell asleep to avoid crying
but sleep offered little escape
a little fishy was late
to school
a hopeless mommy was late
because she's a man's fool
integration went down in a pool
I'm not myself
The first is last and the last is first
or so he said over dessert

i think my soul is nothing more
than a faulty ink blot
my light body isn't here
the purple got caught
in cryptic dreamers tape
like a mermaid trapped in a net
i saw a man upset with life
my cheeks were still wet
Kleenex boxes of regrets
why can i still see him when i close my eyes?
cheap story of a path denied

he wrote a letter
like a lover hiding from his wife
devoid of nuptials
the Communion was dry
another moment i allowed to float by
girl on the dream side
The pew didn't move, but i sure did squirm
knowing he will never learn
i chewed the bread before a hypocrite passed me the wine
will there ever be an opportunity to make it right?
not in this life, not in this life

will there ever be a dream that won't hurt?
not under this sky, not under this sky
I can't stomach a God
of a man that beholds me
astral rays of a mind that strays
only to condemn me when I'm awake
I'm not even a person
I'm just a lyrical mistake
i saw him flip through the pages and sob
"How can one girl be so lost?
maybe she should just die and fuck off
it isn't up to me to save her
maybe it's just easier to hate her."

he hugged me goodbye, but he didn't really leave
it isn't fair because it isn't up to me
I drove to the cliff, the moon let me grieve
a spider tried to comfort my empty needs
i wanted to be the string that tied him to his deeds
the past was torched by an old apple tree
nothingness profited from a man who couldn't see
fallen good fruit reduced to bad seeds
or so goes the story of a telepathic dream
waking loveless indeed, dying loveless reprieve

-Jessica Robbins (c) 2009

Friday, October 9, 2009

Audacious Prayer

Crying through broken verses and vacant metrical sense, I resorted to doing the only thing there was left to do--> Pray.

"God, I don't ask you for much and I know it is against your rules for me to be able to see my own future, but please, just show me if I ever get proposed to. Don't show me for my sake, just show me for my husband's sake so I won't miss him if he arrives."

It was a basic prayer, maybe not selfless, but direct. I don't beat around a burning bush with God, he's my most reliable therapist, so I unload all doubts and reservations of petty as they may be. I quickly recited the Lord's prayer, tacked onto the husband request, as I began to slip further into slumber. It was the type of slumber that plays tricks on your restless mind and won't permit a numbing dream to start too soon. There was tossing and turning and in between the wrestling of the sheets and fluffing of the pillows, I was alone in my pondering.

Ponder, ponder, subliminal is this life. Confessions to myself are like water from time to time, my own subliminal messages from my higher self come in a guilty Morse code that taps on my brain, demanding total honest about the reality I face when I am away for the answers in my dreams. I am guilty of falling in love with ideals more so than actual men. I seesaw between extreme romanticism and being intellectually objective. My limitations in love stem from self-preservation and desire for independent emotional security. I never questioned my self-worth or suffered from self-esteem woes prior to placing excessive trust in abusive, controlling partners, but afterwards, once the bloody dust had settled, I found myself as a single mother, a young daughter observing my every move. If I cry she wants to know why. If I am alone, she wants to know why she can't have a daddy for Christmas. If I cringe when I look in the mirror, she catches on like a catcher guarding home base at the World Series. For my daughter's sake, I knew loving myself was the right thing to do, if only so she wouldn't inherit learned self-resentment from me at the cost of her own a stable and self-confident future.

The infatuations of the past that did not come with black and blue price tags, included men adorned with wandering body parts. Is this nature at work and over play or did I fail as a woman in some way to captivate their fancy for a significant duration of time? I loved being a redhead for so long until all of the comparisons made me feel it wasn't a gift, but a curse. Did these men suffer because of my curse? I may never know, but if I have to ask questions like that, the relationship needs no further time investment on my behalf. When it comes to relationships, diamonds are not a girls best friend--time is. The best thing I can do is neutralize these experiences so they cease to have any leverage over my present and future. It isn't fair to any man if I were to drive a u-haul truck of self-loathing and baggage into his world and pray it could be concealed or downplayed under novel and fuzzy feelings of a fresh, clean-slated love.

No, I just assume drive that old loaded truck over a bridge and leave the scene as quickly as possible. What I will carry are theses precious lessons I've collected along the way...with faith that in the end...these lessons are as weightless as my soul, the only sign and soul marks of this life God will afford me to take with me once I make the grand exit through the right door. Where is that door? People talk about heaven being a distant fairytale place on the other side of a whirlpool galaxy, but what if this isn't true? what if heaven is right inside of us? What if heaven is the substance our souls are made of and has gone virtually ignored by the ongoing quest for wasteful space exploration? Ever heard of astral travel NASA?

Dreaming is just another way to explore this ideal of heaven...the only ideal that is truly safe for me to fall in love with...the all-encompassing cosmic Christ. I don't know where I fall as far as maturity, but I know that I welcomed Christ to grow in the temple and He has never truly left. I'm playful, but I take falling in love very much so that I have come to the decision to not even date anyone I haven't dreamed about. What is the point of trying to fall in love with someone your higher self hasn't set you up with in dreamland?

You're higher self doesn't want you to be controlled or manipulated by another human being, it safeguards against it...with the blessed thing that is a warning dream or your own priceless intuition. I rarely if ever dreamed about my former boyfriends and in retrospect, wonder why I exhausted so many awful cycles with them which ultimately proved not to be a ring leading to marriage, but a bike lock that needed to be broken so I could ride away as fast as possible and end the cycle for good. Thankfully, that's all stuffed away in the aforementioned u-haul truck now and isn't worth revisiting further.

So back to this husband chat with God. I had no preconceived ideas of who God might want me to end up with, but there he was, becoming more vivid in my dream with each breath he took. I heard him ask about a redhead...I embedded myself to the silence and sat expressionless on a bed, like a throw pillow, sipping his conversation about a quest for a redhead. He finally spots me, glides over, and sits down on the bed, shoulders square and his eyes locked on mine.

"We could be just like a real couple." He promised me with his blue eyes shimmering like sunlight over the sea.

I didn't know what to say. I am pretty sure my tongue slipped into a coma and refused to cooperate. In all the concealed passion I had harbored for him, for the ideal man that he is, I could find nothing but the gesture of repose in a hypnotic stare of happy agreement. I knew God was responding to my prayer and was astonished he would respond to me with the answer in the face of this beautiful, charming man....who is very much alive and well in the world. I wanted it to be real. In my heart, I wanted to wake up with my hand still slipped between his fingers. For a few moments, I was flying. My heart pounded so hard against my ribcage, I awoke in a furious sweat. I hated waking up and as soon as my eyes met the darkness of my room, I wished they had never parted from the light in that man's eyes. I was alone again and left only with the fading image of the way he'd looked at me and the echo of his voice, convincing me to believe and have faith that we could be a real couple.

Relationships in any form---dream or otherwise--- should not lead to entrapment or jail cells-- they should involve helping our lovers to build wings and fly beyond the simplicity of loving on a human level, reaching higher towards the totality of understanding in loving unconditionally under God. That love is unrestricted and limitless and the idea is to share it, not control it or leash it. I can't say if I will ever share anything with this man beyond a few remarkable pages in my dream journal, but in the gracious awareness that we both reside in this limitless world, while I'm tucked in and fast asleep under stars that get wished on everyday, it fulfills and thrills me to even be able to explore the possibilities with the dreamy version of him.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Poem number 219

I come to you today as a flawed and humble sinner
My sins are not my soul
(still a beginner)
but like scars and birthmarks
sin enhances character
nudity stark
fresh with individuality
played fetched with a life that won't chase me
everlastingness comes to hither
heaven was born in my soul
as the outside withered
(still a beginner)
my love is a frosty winter
barren white
bears hibernate, but the cubs just hide
from nakedness
covered only by a canopy of faith
the bass are swimming up God's lake
as I pull back the dark rain
tired of playing this murderous game
isolated recluse
am i learning from all these mistakes?
free will so badly abused
no sustenance in a lame excuse
i heard an angel agree
as Jesus went fishing for me
the hook made the final decree
absentee bears no guarantees
for my vote will never be cast
i'm just the last drop of lust
in the devil's flask
i learned the lesson
but left long before the aftermath
never look back, never look back

-Jessica Robbins (c)