Shambles. Wednesday, after Joshua left, I had a dream that he would do this. As usual, the dream was viciously true, painfully accurate. In the dream, he made a lame excuse why he was not going to track a whole 2 miles out of his way off the highway to come say goodbye before returning to Atlanta. You can take a wild guess who I just got off the phone with and who will not be coming by. In the dream, his friend Billy told me, "Don't take it personally Mary, that's just how he is."
Mary. Why did they have to meet me the one night of the year I was dressed as myself? Now they knew exactly what to call me to speak to the right part of my soul, to turn me to Jesus mush.

The only light that didn't fade was Billy, the light, reassuring me in a dream. Otherwise, I would have taken it way too personally and fallen further into mass rejection. 5 minutes before Josh called, I heard him concocting a bullshit excuse to worm out of the promise to come back. I hate being telepathic, I hate it. It's just as invasive to me as it is to them. Soon after hearing Joshua laughing about the lie he is preparing to tell, while in a trance, through my third eye, I mentally see him picking up the phone. 2 seconds later, the phone blares about my four purple walls of zen. I spring up, well aware the clone of the shady Staley kid is calling to try to be polite, but ditch me in the same breath.

"Billy has to work in the morning and we are strapped for gas. I just wanted to update you and tell you not to worry, but we're going straight back to Atlanta." He claims rapidly. He had to fight to not think of the hour long kiss the other morning of temporary splendor, I detected the internal war to not let the extension of the kiss enter his very hormonal brain.

Even though I saw and heard it coming, I still felt all of the wind come crashing out of my lungs. Somehow I managed to hold back reactive tears as the delicate pieces of my heart began to fracture into particles so tiny that not even God himself could sew them back together. I didn't know what to say. I knew he was lying and I didn't want to confront him. I detest it when men call just to lie, it's beyond lousy. Controlling my temper and the integrity of self-respect were at odds and so I smartly went with self respect. Fuck control, I am a redhead, there is a reason people are warned about me.

"I heard you making up that excuse five minutes before you called, I heard you." I said surprisingly removed from emotion, in tone that suggested I was sipping a cup of calm tea even. "It's your life, so that's fine, just go. I know you're in a cool time in life where you have a ton of freedom, I can't stop you."
I didn't know what else to say. It was identical to what I used to unload all over the last Aquarius male who got freaked out by our cosmic closeness and once made similar shitty excuses to avoid me in person. With the other man, Jason, it reached the point of me snapping, "It's your life, if you don't want me in it, it's your choice to dick over nice people and use women like blow-up dolls." What else am I supposed to say? Congratulations, I tried to love you, you omitted the part about having a girlfriend, and yet you slept with me, and mind fucked me back to singles hell??? Way to go!

Back to the current tryst gone awry. Joshua didn't deny it at first but said shocked, "There's no off switch to that thing huh?"

"No, I wish there was so I wouldn't have to know when someone is trying to let me down easy." I asserted softly, tapping my fingers on my teeth to fidget away the burning urge to wail into a weepy pool.

His voice grew deep, so deep I thought I could go scuba diving in his soul. "It's not like that Mary, you don't understand, try to understand." Wait. Why does that sound so familiar? "Try to understand me, little girl." -Layne.
I smiled and relaxed a little, only at the thought of Layne floating over my shoulder laughing at me, but I wasn't going to give him any girly material to condemn or use to make me the crazy one. I let the dead line grow so sharp that I nearly heard my twisted smile stab him in the ear.

"I know somewhere you understand." He continued peacefully. Somewhere. Did he know exactly what Layne dream had been running through my head? I dared not to pout but it was useless, the pouting outweighed the humor.

"I understand Joshua, I am just disappointed." I tried to preserve maturity, while maintaining what was left of honesty.

"I'm disappointed too." He didn't let a beat brush by.

Bewildered, "Why are you disappointed?"

I heard his mind begin to rush, trying to think on his toes, but he came up empty. No, he wasn't disappointed at all, he was more than likely relieved. Relieved I didn't start screaming at him like I wanted to and relieved he had avoided me, thereby neglecting to fall further into real love. I know damn well he felt it too. Because he was 23 and I heard him telling Billy, "I can see myself marrying this girl," ---alone time with me translated into scaring the devil out of him because I was a threat to his playboy lifestyle, to his free floating penis, to his juvenile love affair with the flesh. Ding, ding, ding, what do we have for the psychic, Johnny?

Billy and all his light, light into Josh in a short muffled argument.
"I really like Mary, she's a nice girl and you just used her and blew her off! We could have been staying with her and saving money the entire trip! She offered to open her home to us and feed us for free, but you wouldn't listen to me!"

Thank God for Billy. I heard heard Billy all last week trying to reason with Joshua, "We need to just go back to Jacksonville and stay with Mary." Joshua refused because he knew he was developing feelings.

"I'm coming back Jess, I'm coming back the first week of December." Josh said hastily. "Are you going to be around?"

He lied. Why shouldn't I lie? I grinned, happy the upper hand had shifted in some manner. If he didn't want to see me now, why should I make it sound like I will be available for him to use again later?
"I don't know. I am going to try to go to the Bahamas and blow off some steam, I might not be here then." I glossed my voice over to sound as if I were already on the imaginary yacht.

"The Bahamas? How do you just go to the Bahamas?" He was interested only because he wondered if I had the expendable cash to take him to the Bahamas with me. I could hear it nine miles away.

"I just hop on a boat and go. If the crew is in need of a stewardess for a charter, I get on a boat and I'm gone. It pays $200 bucks a day and I have a kick-ass vacation in the process."
Billy was jabbering away in the background, backing up my potential alibi.
"Yeah man, that's how the industry works, I was a hand deck on a few of those cruises she's talking about." Thank God for Billy! I love you Billy!

None of this was a lie. I used to be a full-time stewardess on a motor yacht, that was my way of life, I could run off to the Bahamas with no more than 20 minutes notice---Florida one day and Paradise island the next, no sweat. I could always return to it, he did not know that I wasn't technically or immediately going to. In a way, I was reliving an old chapter of my very exotic life that has been closed for a year. But seriously, he had no way of knowing it was closed and I will be damned if I sit helpless on the phone, on the verge of tears, with a 23 year-old boy and act like I don't have tropical alternatives.

I let the silence do the talking after that point. Finally, he filled the air with the heavy voice again, "You can stay on the phone as long as you need to."

I advocated my own wind pipe to not to gasp out loud. He had offered the condolence like a police officer who had just informed me that my child had been killed in a car accident. Fuck, why does he know how much this is killing me?

Soon after, I granted the inevitable goodbye. Moments later, in more impatient telepathic feedback, I heard Josh say, "She and I have our whole lives to figure it out, it's fine." I'm glad he feels that way because I felt like ending my life after I got off the phone with him. The figuring is hell.

This is one of my favorite videos courtesy of humanity healing.

 

As usual, I have plenty to say, but I don't feel like writing now and I just wanted to share a smile with you.

Below all of the rambling mess I have prepared for you today, are two songs the angels played for me in the car yesterday to keep me from spilling out into a soggy mess. The songs also serve in reminding I'm more than the object men would turn me into for their own motives. This story might help you gather why I would feel like that. I don't expect anything except the Spirit of truth to reign in and over me, but I do not want to be treated like an object anymore, the truth is not an object. I just want someone to stay longer than the time it takes to flip through a Playboy magazine and I really don't think I'm being audacious to mentally conceive that a man could attempt to fall in love with the portion of God inside of me and make frequent emotional deposits in the redheaded dream teller. Recently I came across a singles ad that read, "redheads, don't even bother." Sometimes I wake up feeling that way because my resolve is burdened in knowing there are people in the world who think I should not even bother. I get that there is always going to be another woman before and after me and to most, I am just "some girl." And Wilbur was just some pig and a spider who can spin letters in her web is just some spider and Jesus was just some Christ. In actuality, I'm God's girl. I imagine I'll be a pretty cool wife at some point in time, that is, if the idea of marriage does not die before I get to experience it.

But before that day comes, there came the most recent calendar Monday, a day I woke up resolutely distraught in missing Joshua and feeling like I may never see him again. Joshua...aka...Jesus from Halloween. Tragic and ironic--- but life. Powerless to influence it, with the exception of planting ideas in the heads of men and letting them believe the thoughts are their own, I cried for a better or worse portion of the day and let Joshua think it was all his idea to come to me. Meanwhile, I prayed and prayed, "Please dear God, let me see Joshua again." I'm either a redheaded dream angel or every man's worst nightmare. Or I should just not even bother trying to be either.

I'd only been removed from Joshua's energy for two weeks, but thought lovingly on him during that time frame, all the while being a party to cosmic exchanges with him, or his higher self...certainly with his angels. At a low point of singularity, I got online and began researching hotels in Savannah-- a nice half way mark between Jacksonville and Atlanta. I intended to wait until Friday to finally give in, call him, and run by the idea of a rendezvous in Savannah... sometime after New Years perhaps. I didn't want him to suspect I'd give anything to see him the next day.

By Monday evening, I was on my way to dinner when old grumpster Cornell comes on the radio singing "Show me how to live." I think I have finally made peace with the lost cause bitch thing, so I will spare all of us the tawdry details and limit recounting the implausible Cornell nightmare. Let's just say there is a reason Chris's house flooded in real life, there is a reason insurance does not cover human stupidity or karma, and there is a reason I saw myself graduating in the dream series, where as from Cornell's view of the dream, he saw himself falling off of the school roof and dying to the learning process. I believe greed, manipulation, and the blanket of self-entitlement are all forms of suicide in their own right. You cannot save someone from their addiction to being a pathological liar if they do not want to be saved and if he wants to hurt himself by lying and ripping away the dreams of other human beings, then he's just as lost as I am.

Forgive me for sidetracking. It's only the song that need be cited here really. To me, this particular song, has always been a span of lyrics that aided in building a bridge between God and I. So I pray meticulously during the song, asking God to show me how to keep on living and allowing His will to manifest through me and the choices I make--- no matter what--that we may all be humbly victorious. On the road to holy glory though, I pray God will allot snuggle time with the yummy creature known as Joshua. I have had a few blurred dreams of Joshua, they are blurred more so than the others because I am not garnished the liberty of seeing my own future as clearly. He could be a fiber of my future, if I were to be so blessed. In one of the dreams, we were born on the exact same day, only Josh was born at 10 Am. 10 in dreams represents a beautiful beginning between a man and a woman. However, I checked with Josh and he was indeed born at 10 Am! Other pieces of the dream consisted of a painting turning into a bat, which means the unconscious is becoming the intuitive conscious. It could also mean that love is blind as a bat, but nevertheless, bats posses remarkable instincts and are one of the only animals who can see through blindness by the gift of natural knowing.

So after I was done making temporary peace with the voice of the anti-Christ, no more than 5 minutes later, my phone rings. It was Joshua, explaining to me that he had an "emergency."
"It's kind of urgent" he says, then explains he has been plotting to come back down and see me.

Briefly, I believed him and tricked myself into thinking a beautiful man was coming down here--- just for me. But naturally, most men act on behalf of themselves and their own unpredictable, compendious pleasure, so no surprise, Josh rolled in after 5 am and stayed all of 90 minutes before leaving for Daytona beach-- the wet-t shirt capital of the world. I still know not whether he drove five hours nursing a sexual agenda, or drove five hours because he felt like he could love me and the whole Daytona thing was a round-about excuse to drop by and see me. He has still not surfaced from Daytona and both actions speak in very different languages.

I was comfortable dreaming of Layne, or dream Joshua masquerading around as Layne, because there was no risk and there was no threat of him being able to do what Joshua was doing now. We were imbibed around each other, I felt like I was swimming in his skin. The balls of my feet were pressed against his toes, my head neatly tucked under his chin. My heart was throbbing so hard, I wondered if it would burst into a flame of Joshua love. Suddenly, he pulled away from my arms, sat upright on the edge of the bed and said, "Sorry I have to do this."
He looked just like Layne when he said it, right down to the concentrated curl of his eyebrows and the child-like expression effortlessly spun across his angelic face. There were blessed differences between them though. Joshua was all too real and had the capacity to love me back, free of any chemical conflict and contently beyond the mysterious concave of dimensions. The only problem is that Joshua suffers from the dreaded Aquarius detachment syndrome---the exact same disorder that has indignantly plagued and dictated my ongoing indifference to members the opposite sex---until of course, someone like Joshua comes to life on the path and acts playful and responsive to me physically, but maddeningly mute emotionally.

"No Joshua, you just got here, you've been driving all night, just stay a few minutes longer." Circumspection encompassed my being. I propped myself up with one arm and pleaded. Still topless, I shouldn't of been forced to plead at all. The 6 foot mahogany headboard behind me creaked and shifted against the wall as Joshua lifted himself off of the bed and arched his back. He was at least 6"3, the perfect height. I was older than him, but his height made me feel like a little girl. I got the same feeling that swarmed me as a child when I used to lay in my father's bed and watch him pick out ties in the morning before work. I had betrayed my "looking for daddy in an older man" complex, just long enough to fall for Joshua.

"Please just stay." My voice expelled and twirled across the air in a way that reminded me of how my five year old had begged for a new puppy. I neglected to mention to Joshua that I was a mother. As his eyes drifted to all the pictures of Aurora and I taped to my mirror, I had to speculate if it was me or my role of responsibility he was turning cold to. I wasn't trying to be calculating or deceptive, my relationship with my child was irrelevant to the exchanges with Joshua, at this point anyway. I just didn't want to scare him by broadcasting the entire truth. Non-committal men frighten easily if children are involved, I had my reasons for being protective. Yet, if he was bewildered by the facts, by the disconsolate differences between our lives, then maybe it was better he left anyway. Still, the thought of him leaving as suddenly as he'd dropped in, barbed my entire body with pangs of emptiness. I knew as soon as he was gone that I would feel spontaneous loneliness again and then love sickness would set in.

The sound of his pants zipping up scratched my eardrums. Typical. I thought. Completely typical. He gave me big blue puppy eyes and his lips formed a hard line as he slowly continued to shake his head--no. Maybe I was being selfish in wanting him to stay, but the way he was leaving was more selfish. Everything about him was completely perfect to me, except the way he was battering me with a fast goodbye. I begged for 30 more seconds, just shy of clasping my hands and dropping to the floor on my knees. Later, I would hear him judge me for begging. Nonetheless, he fled as soon as my stubbornness consented. He tried to promise me he would be back sooner rather than later, but given the way he recoiled at the sight of my motherhood, there are no guarantees. Going by the history of my life-- absence, lonesomeness, and solitude stand far better chances of fairing the haul.

Regarding Joshua, the angels told me, "Get love again whenever you can." But maybe I should just stop listening. I think that whole Wadsworth or Shakespeare or Tennyson or whoever the fuck sap said "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all"---was completely full of shit. I bet money whoever said that- ended up alone and jerking off, thinking about love that was, visualizing the bitch of the past who ditched him for some brainless Fabio looking punk. Fuck Fabio and fuck Layne for getting me into this mess, I hope he had a nice laugh at my expense. I never would have fallen for a blond if Layne hadn't left his afterlife mope show long enough to tease me into believing he was going to take over someone elses body just so he could feel me. It was like the dreams had come to life and an exact physical replica of Layne was standing inside of my bedroom, our figures illuminated by white candles, the intimacy of the dreams multiplied and complimented all the more by the delicacy of real touch and real time.

And like a dream, I must soon wake up to the solitude again. One second I was hugging Josh and 20 seconds later, he was gone. After his departure, as I had predicted, I became ill and nearly toppled over in separation anxiety. I tried to be happy, with the exception of a few crying spells---I was euphoric. I would sleep after he left, but there would be no more dreaming.

Well, I am home again, but I also make a home here in insomnia, so here I write. I had a long weekend of traveling. I did not go where I wanted to roam.
:( I am not a fan of Orlando, but that’s where I was resigned to---riding roller coasters and meeting Barney. Yes, I have met the purple dinosaur. Jealous? I was scheming going somewhere else completely, away from my mommy obligations, thereby doing that whole spontaneity thing I am supposed to do, by order of the dream journal, but once again---all of the dreams were put on hold for the sake of my daughter’s dreams....or her childhood...one in the same at this stage. It was her birthday, we threw down at the Hard Rock in Orlando to celebrate. Aurora thinks she is a rock star and mommy dreams of rock stars so maybe it will all intersect in a massive rainbow of life eventually.

I realize now my life is just a giant roller coaster. Sometimes it feels I am flying with my hands waving carefree through the Aquarius air, while on other dangerous turns, I am only holding on for dear life with my nails digging into the arm rail and have no say in how fast or what direction the ride is taking me. Some days become like an irritating wedgie you cannot fix and have no choice but to take the curves as they come, completely uncomfortable and dancing on the edge of embarrassment. Similar to life, while on an actual roller coaster, I think about the angels. I imagine the great magnitude of their love, of their observations of which I sometimes get to see. When the seeing stops, I am rendered to another dreamless sleep. Rare, but I do still experience this momentary loss of vision. After I awake, there is no determination to my spirit, there is just the wear and tear sustained in result of the ride itself. The free falling feeling, the feeling of falling in love, is fleeting at best and I know not whether to bask in the blankness of the dream journal or develop dreamer’s anxiety, fretting that the absence of my night life may come to mean that I have nothing left in life to prepare for, no more flips or hurls, just a sudden drop off that shall never again see the climb.

Distraction from the constant charge and change of tracks is the only service to sanity. In rare form, my hands are up again and I am exhilarated with the thrill of life. But rare is rare and like a pearl, it is easily lost or misplaced. My motherhood is not only a blessing, but it has distracted me from all the pain, from myself. The pearl of motherhood isn't something I am capable of losing, it's the homegrown gem that keeps growing no matter the external irritation. The awareness it lives inside is one of the only faculties of life that offers some feeling of purpose anymore. Sense does not even make sense anymore it is a senseless word. Like people confusing my psychic ability with the word "psycho." Yes, I am guilty of wanting to fall in love and using the dreams to do it, so I must be psycho.

God grants us the ability, the merciful grace, to overcome anything, but the most death defying obstacle one must conquer is self. If you can handle yourself, being alone in you, then you can endure any vault the outside may raise. Voluntarily, we board the roller coasters...of career paths...or love. But how are we to be sure if it is safer mounting as a single rider or embarking with another? Sometimes I have to ask, if I am still confined to a single cart after all of this time, have I really overcome myself at all? If I can’t dismiss the sorrow long enough to chase the rainbows my heart spouts across the dreamy sky, then I feel I have failed somehow. It should have subsided, the anguish and antagonizing internal conflict of being mortal, it should know to stay away from me. I can’t even comprehend why I did not shed the sorrow like a tight snake skin and cast it underneath the tracks long ago. It re-presents itself when I have to face all that I am. Which is every single day.

Like love, the happiness never wants to make a home in me for very long. I wish I could say that Jesus and happiness were consistent, but Jesus wept.

Reading the bible cured me from whatever I was melting down from...energy infusion overload. My birthday is Febraury 9th. I am at the end of a major soul cycle, that’s why I am further along in development than some, I just have to hold it together for this last life! Usually, I am more than okay with this and don’t try to draw attention to myself, everyone else has problems far graver than mine, I am sure, but on November 9th I began over thinking that I have three months left until the stars wave the magic wand over me. My heart nerves were already in a fragile state, for a number of reasons, so the volcano Jessica began to shoot ash into the sky once again! I’ll put it this way...anytime I meet a cool guy, a man I instantly love who speaks the same language as I do...the Jesus, Atlantean language specifically...as a rule... he usually lives in another city, far across this messed up, and unfair place of an earth. Something along those lines just happened to me, he lives 5 hours away and I may never see him again!

Anyway, I want to talk about the scripture that graced me with a bit of sense. I was causally flipping through television channels and stopped on one of the church stations. Curious how the spirit influences other people, I stopped and really listened to what the preacher was saying. He mentioned 1 Corinthians chapter 13. I ran upstairs, yanked my bible off the shelf, but didn’t have to search hard to reach my destination. There was already a book mark I had left inside of Corinthians, accented by doodle markings made only a year ago, just waiting patiently to give me a refresher course. I read chapters 13-15 Some of the passage talks about having love with wisdom, patience with love...it’s basically Shakespearean in the love sense and says that all the wisdom in the worth is worthless if you do not have love.

The other idea contained in these chapters is in regards to spiritual gifts. This is basically what I was looking for. With the exception of Paul’s totally sexist perspective, the idea to nurture and share any form of spiritual gifts is highlighted. Suddenly, I felt much better with the telepathy and then I went on to receive a few important dream messages. One message was telling me that the boy who lives five hours away...wants to come back down and see me again. The other scene was of a different man, whom I admire dearly, writing me a letter. (cannot elaborate, it was a nice letter.) The final portion of the dream was about the song I have included below. When I was 10, I was a very competitive synchronized swimmer. I performed until around the age of 15, when I abandoned the sport in favor of speed swimming. Yet, the year I was 10 was one of the greatest years of my life...because the routine I choreographed was set to this song. I still see myself practicing and preforming this particular routine and hear the song in my sleep! Last night, I heard it loud and clear and am very thankful to Gabriel for sending the dream because it goes right along with the chapters in Corinthians. Read the chapters 1 Corinthians 13-15 if you feel compelled to do so, it helped me immeasurably yesterday! Enjoy the song and have a blessed day!

I am trying to replace the grief with God, but it is really challenging for me right now. Jesus was the master of replacing grief with God. He was talking to me in the tub last night, we had one of our moments, and momentarily I was subdued into the tranquility that only comes with him. But now, I am experiencing some kind of love sickness mixed with other people projecting clouds gloom onto me. I don't want to hash the messy details, I don't want to depress anyone, but let's just say I have been absorbing too much of other peoples emotions. I have no affection for these feelings, I am just trying to let them explode all over my face into reasonless tears so I don't have to feel. I don't like it when other people who are like me pick up on what I am thinking or feeling, I don't want to telepathically impose on anyone or be responsible for someone confusing my thoughts or emotions with their own. I wish I knew how to stop the energy from escaping or had more control over my own abilities...or could turn them off and just sleep without seeing. I am telereceptive to the point I cannot sleep because of the intensive volume of all the static. I dream so vividly that I don't know that my brain is ever fully still enough. I just want to know the stillness.

To top off my cake of medium gloom, I went delete happy trying to make room on my computer and I deleted some of my sung poetry. I think most of it was junk, just raw bites of me cover singing pre-existing songs, but if I erased any of my own original sung poetry, then it is something of a loss. Some of the poems I did not write down, I recorded the song on the sad little speaker mic on my computer and figured I'd go back and write it down later. I don't know how to feel about the poetry anymore. I listened to some of the songs and I don't know who I am. I don't recognized my voice, I don't feel connected to the words, I just feel distant to everything. I hate the distance in myself and the distance between us. It's like my body is rejecting whatever remains of any ego I did or didn't have.

swimming in
the solace sea of remorse
brokenness finds
Attunement to a higher force
after delightful discourse
he made a home
in the caverns of my soul
the place I hide
when I have no where left to go
I still go home

opportunistic sadness
wasted time below
i could have rendered gladness
reminisce hereafter
i heard it in your laughter
before i knew vacancy in my eyes
and contemplated suicide
in the psychic madness
he's praying inside
i still go home

i still go home to you
in spite of everything
i did or didn't do
i can't pretend
i'll ever find another you
the innocence you exude
even after all the fights
i still go home

God told me to believe
in the art of destiny
arresting sweet simplicity
you murmur to me
don't shy away my baby
but i can't fulfill your needs
when you want more than me

i still go home to you
in spite of everything
i did or didn't do
i can't pretend
i'll ever find another you
even after all the fights
forever is the final flight
i still go home

(C) 2009 Jessica Robbins

Take love when it comes and always take comfort when it goes

As has been indicated, a little more patient, a little more tolerant, a little more humble. But . . .not a tolerance that becomes timid--this would make rebellion in self. Not a patience that is not positive. Not an humbleness that becomes morbid or lacking in beauty. For as orderliness is a part of thy being, so let consistency--as persistency--be a part of thy being.

Edgar Cayce Reading 1402-1

This orderliness can be found in not overreacting to your own emotions! Emotions make us who we are, but in extreme states of sensitivity, we become much too fixated on feeling and trying to identify every single drop of tentative ardency that gushes from the faucet! This manner of over exhaustion causes us not only to act as our own wardens, but also distracts us from our higher cause! There is a fine line between honoring human qualities and complete preoccupation with your own emotional fits. Some people become obsessed with trying to describe the way the actions of another made them feel-- rather than constructively moving on to the next point on the spiritual road map. Feeling is always a choice---the choice to be stressed or hurt by the influence of others has a roundabout way of only leading to more stress and hurt--- before detached clarity stands a chance---we make the circle more times than need be! I believe with enough patience and non-reactive persistence, there will come a time when you will be free of your emotional frailness---for God is not sadness! Archangel Michael and Gabriel remind me constantly, "You are experiencing these emotions for God and for the angels." (I am dreaming for them too!) This has helped me to avoid harboring mortal responses to certain events throughout life---to let go of everything, either by prayer or artistic expression! The ANGELS do not want our own sensitivity to life to become all-consuming!

A common theme in the dreams is fellowship. Fellowship and sensitivity play into each other. For this reason, fellowship is a gamble because we risk lowering our own emotional barriers to interact with each other. Being active in our communities can teach us how to be uplifting and proceed cooperatively and refrain from exalting ourselves above other people. The epic drawback to opportunities in fellowship is that mass numbers of people can create boxing rings--- a brutal and ostentatious platform---to attack and to compare.
Do not imprison your soul or another soul in constant comparison to others. Why do we want to punish ourselves by comparing a moon to the orbit? When they angels say "release" they don't merely want us to release the ghosts of the past we hold captive, they want us to release ourselves from comparison to other occupants of the world. Any form of comparison has a way of becoming a ferocious beast that cannot be stopped from mauling esteem. You have no control over other people comparing you to another human being, but what you can control is not forcing yourself back into that old dungeon again...the often solitary cell of personal reactions to life. You can choose to tell your own reaction to fuck off. Find the difference between admiration and comparison for the latter borderlines on negative turf in certain applications. If you feel as though the manner in which someone has compared or ridiculed you was wrong or interfered with your ability to be at peace with who God designed you to be-- this is the point of no return where patience is not positive and will not pay off in the long run. Tolerating something that makes you feel lousy about being you--does not pay off. Learn to identify that and then find a way to cut the lines, or ask God and archangel Michael to make a protective light shield around your aura so that the next time you encounter that person, you won't keep getting internally slammed by shallow comparisons. The comparison will never ever compare to the extraordinary and loveable person you truly are. -J

. . . "I will not leave thee comfortless, but will come and enjoin thee in thy daily activities, thy daily service." This is the promise to every soul. If ye would make that promise thine own, then seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto thee. Let there be definite periods when ye look within self, cleansing the mind, the body, in such ways and manners and measures that seemeth that as ye would offer as thine offering unto the holy experiences that may be thine. For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much--if he lives and uses that in hand day by day--shall be full to running over. For the love of the Father constraineth thee to keep thine counsel with those thou meetest day by day that thou mayest aid. Thus may the soul find expression. Thus may the life, the experience, that portion of life thou hast in this present experience become more and more beautiful, and the sunshine of thy love into the hearts and souls of those that are wondering, that are troubled because they find not the spirit of truth and life in their own lives, wilt come into those experiences of calling thee blessed in the name of the Father.

Edgar Cayce Reading 557-3

I went as Mary and he was dressed as Jesus.