A field of dandelions.
Teeming with mass consciousness. You feel yourself to be as anonymous and undifferentiated as you can possibly be. Hiding in this identification is comfortable, cozy, and safe, and it can be prolonged indefinitely. While you wait here with individuality suspended and all of life being right at hand, the most remarkable discoveries can take place. In particular, you are welcomed and invited to know the ancestors, to know the collective, to know the sweep of evolution intimately and compulsively, to be swept along on the tides of time, to stay bonded and rooted in the dream plant state. It is a rapture and an abandon. Eventually it satiates itself. And then you are sprung very fresh and very new, to be free in the world, and to make the ultimate discovery of the vast difference between casting your fate to the winds and being vitally present in the moment’s dawning with a celebratory fervor.
A man turning into a werewolf.
The master of disguises. Shape-changing as a whole way of life. The question of identity as a baffling mystery, a riddle of destiny. Becoming so many things, whatever feels emphatic, impressive, and in keeping with the subtle fluids of the situation, you are transported by a plastic, formative nature into realms you would never access if you were straight and simply sincere. Tricks within tricks. Worlds within worlds. Captured by the uncanny power of turning yourself into the perfect live model of a given way of being. Deep down inside you witness everything that happens, amazed to be getting away with it, and waiting to be unveiled in the fullness of time when the cycle is over and you must find another place to hide, unless you are finally ready to let yourself be.
An eye gazing out of the top of a pyramid.
Timeless soul faculties wrench free from tumultuous times and places to gaze upon the innermost with tranquil and sage otherworldliness. Drawn inside very far, into the unconscious and superconscious levels. On the surface–nothing happening, a blank. But deep inside–astounding things going on; worlds ending and beginning; tragedies, heartaches, tremendous overcomings. Yet all of this is so far inside that it can get twisted in knots and cut off from the center. And therefore, you must over and again wander in search of your lost self and the lost self of the world, and journey through the most fantastic scenarios in order to reclaim at every major juncture the poignant, shattered, and self-regenerating lost soul. The lost soul whose pathos and triumph of navigation through every possible hiding place through the sheer inward intent of your subtle faculties, cannot be discouraged, cannot be denied.
Mushrooms springing up everywhere.
You’re being engulfed by external and internal factors and facets that suddenly are there everywhere and come right in–no boundaries, no separate container. The universal life-force carrier and representative, incapable of pulling away from the collective call of life, is intoxicated with it all. Massively taken over by emergent currents and whatever feels vitally important. Impressionable and suggestible with an unbelievable depth and intensity. Absorbing the shock of all that is happening here raw, and impelled to rally people around to bring everybody alive, to make it happen. You ooze conviction and resonance with the basic core spirit in each and all–three hundred percent all the way.
Thousands of gold nuggets glistening at the bottom of a clear stream.
Subtle senses. You sense the subtle depths of experience and find therein glory, majesty, and divine power. Your eyes inside are open in places others are blind. You are shown the wonders of the deep, yet an immense destiny challenges. For this is a selfless realm, utterly selfless. Can you uphold the inner light in its own pure radiance? It takes great courage, for you will be flooded by collective contents and asked to serve totally. Can you rise to this? Or will special colorings shadow this realm? Only true inspiration can show the way. And if there comes instead the idea of it, the received image, the secondary version, all will be illusory and like fools gold, of a shallow consistency, losing all savor.
An Inca chief wearing many emeralds.
You are on the exquisite paradoxical edge between the deep inner and the ceremonial outer. Living between worlds and destiny forged to satisfy both. The inward part predominates. You are working hard on inner levels to master advanced initiatory streams and to do so the ancient way, the hard way. The outward aspect involves being an official representative of many things, most of them no longer recognized in the mass culture. Yet this matters little. The task at hand is to bring forth a ceremonial version of what lives within. There are poignant, tragic, and bittersweet undertones to this pathway and it requires a proud demeanor, often misunderstood or turned into something completely different from what was intended. You simply must hang in there, hold this focus, and sustain the inner work and the outer style. Because this is the way it is, there is nobody else to do it, and when you bear a thin thread from ancient to future, that thread determines everything and claims your allegiance down to your toes.
A candle burning. There is a ring of salt around it on the floor.
Spirit is well preserved from becoming untrue. It is held within its own matrix, and granted a pure and wonderfully veiled atmosphere and feeling tone and sphere to stay within. From this place spirit can empower itself to be whole, to commune, to remember, and to conceive. You are given what you need, and a specially-granted timing grace to be ushered through the world in a guided tour that leads only to the temples and the marvels that are here. However, all of this happens inside, deep inside. The outside situation may belie the inward experience. But here what seems in the moment is as nothing, and what is really there between the lines and through the cracks is everything. This is a domain set apart for special purposes, projects, and endeavors, and is the perfect retreat for one who wishes to remain in touch with the living spirit, who wishes never to forget what it is that stands under the phenomenal world and keeps the eternal flame burning without a flicker.
A gypsy peasant woman sings a mournful chant.
The earth is broken. The compact between a human soul and her earth housing is violated. Some of us are sensitive to what has gone wrong and must proclaim a conscience-change. An agonizing place to be, and yet treated as just the way it is, met with huge resolve, almost welcoming that it has come down to this. Creatively expressive of what it feels like to be here in the midst, you feel resonant with all the kingdoms of nature, and especially aligned with the soul of this planet in her deep changes. Put in the right place at the right time to call the occasion, to make things unavoidable, you feel almost immobilized by how huge the task is. Yet you are stoical, dedicated, exceedingly strong, and enduring. Able to withstand the shaking-loose of the old Earth. In here for the duration. Just getting going when it all seems lost.
A vampire awakens.
Darkness calls to those who have been surfeited with too much compromise and too unbearable a load of suffering. There are regions of the dark to live out parts of self or all of self for a time. And inside the darkness, an immense power of what is here in the Earth and still raging can be felt and harnessed. You are imaginatively and inwardly pulled toward the great extremes–not able to go on in any usual way. But you ultimately fathom the mysteries and the depths, by exploring all that is there and finding in the end that all is sacred, all is beautiful, and all is integral to the fiber of existence.
An old witch on a windy promontory. She is calling to the sea.
Wildly tuned in. Staggeringly aware of the overall situation and its call, you respond deeply and with earnest, plaintive engagement with all that is happening. You are profoundly emotional, physical, and personal in order to ground and focus a vaster attunement, urgently and critically mobilized at hot spots. Assigned to tune in to everything and make sure all the cosmic bases are covered–inner-planes activity predominates. You live within vast worlds, and are psychically charged with all that is being taken in, but your central focus is to respond, to report, to send the inner messages, to keep the lines open. Emergency and crisis sensibility inside of things, searching for signs, and knowing how to be there on the spot to turn things around by inward force of the magical will.
A high, crumbling wall. It is part of a ruin and covered with ivy.
Power is stored in the Earth at primal, quickening points. Often, in these places, humanity erects monuments to its own folly. Eventually these merge into the landscape and everything comments upon everything else. Being held between the Earth’s wise presence and humanity’s dim apprehension of what is really involved here. One side of the feeling nature is so intuitive and psychically astute that you are harboring advanced gifts that can serve Earth evolution in staggering ways. Another side of the feeling nature is contorted with reactions, judgments and condemnations of the collective trends of humanity and of the weakness of the human flesh. These objections and rejections of the human scene rebound upon the self and poison the psychic faculties. It is only when you heal and forgive and renounce the minor key irritable voice, inside and out, that the floodtide of burgeoning awareness of what is arising in this Earth, with all its ripples, can wipe away the false structures and foster the new birth–the tuned-in and blessings-focused outlook and inlook.
A woman asleep in a ring of flames.
Drama, color, sound. Magnitude and shakings. You dream through it all in an enchantment which simultaneously protects and stifles. An ancestral power of suspended life-force held away, while great events surround and envelop you, yet do not penetrate. You experience a most unusual soul-disposition of deep sleep in the teeth of collective and ancestral events and experiences which are huge and never-ending. Is it a grace or a curse? It can be either. It becomes a grace if you awaken in ripe timing and move on from here. It can be a curse if you stay down under too long and miss the cue to stir and look around and discover that the future has dawned and the old ways have fallen away. Sleeper awake!
A woman imprisoned in a high tower.
Sentenced to limbo, you are suspended from active participation in evolving worlds. Hung high and dry and massively resigned, following out an ancient fate to the end. Having operated insensitively, now being unable to do anything to anybody. You live infinitely alone, dreaming and drugged. Deep down inside, remembering everything dimly and darkly. Self-circumscribed and very deprived. You live on memories and the ripples of mute desire to move on, someday. Destined to transform this dread fate when the cycle is complete, you are until that time, vacuum-pressed and emotionally grief stricken, nostalgic and raging, while not getting across and being muffled all-pervasively.
After a feast much uneaten food remains on the plates.
Something has ended. It is a memory. And what happened cannot be reconstructed. Something else shall follow, but it will be in a very different vein. Irrationally, persistently, the traces remain and there is regret, there is loss, there is grief. The magnitude of destiny overshadows cycles lived in its afterglow. The power is elsewhere. Vital forces have been spent. And in the melancholy mood of looking back so much is missed, passed over, not deemed important. Yet truly, it is what you learn afterwards that counts. And it is the inward reverberations that mean everything to the secret soul.
Many kinds of fruits arrayed on a silver tray.
The inner kingdom seeks to come out. Everything is ripe and ready for emergence. There have been gathered many soul gifts in divergent worlds and now there is a harvest time, An immense earth force presses to the surface to release and reveal an underlying feeling tone of righteous triumph, exultant mastery, the gathering of the tribes. The frequency of sociocultural renewal, with everybody here together offering their best. A subtle, permeating tone underscores the outward power with mystic fervor, a deep and strong combination to make a difference and to carry through what is intended.
A peaceful child on a narrow ledge that overlooks a precipice.
Fate has set the pattern. You are held fast by fate. Yet inwardly you are so deeply and fundamentally free that you are actually submitting to your fate from a true and pure place. The situation you pull in is outwardly severe. You are a vast being trapped in a tiny form, and you cannot really go anywhere or do anything to change this. Instead you are released by your outward bondage to dream, to remember, to envision, and to make cosmic connections. The inner life is boundlessly rich. The outer life is starkly poor. But you live within, make good on the past, cleanse and open and know that nothing is as it seems and form is tissue thin.
A kangaroo and her baby, who looks out from the mother’s pouch.
Held as a cherished one in the womb of the world. A seed-bearer for the future. You are inwardly alive to multisensory faculties and worlds within worlds within worlds, bearing a legacy from the deep-down-under realms. An Earth-call to let the future resonate as it must with all that has ever been here. Profoundly moved by the human drama and its pathos, while feeling almost smuggled in to witness and be amazed by the phenomena of the sense life. Radically other; immensely in exile. And in the meantime, making the very most of the chance to fathom the ways of earth and the dazzling idiosyncrasies of the human species.
White lilies blooming alone in the shade.
Gifted with deep and subtle qualities that are germinating in the subconscious and coming into their own. Transported into inner worlds in order to dream, imagine, and conceive from a pure place. Disengaged with phenomenal appearances, staying just apart. Much that goes on here stays under, percolates timelessly. A special karma to cultivate the mysteries, to be different, yet no issue. Deep down in there creative forces work unceasingly and design alternatives for the world to partake in, if the world turns that way.
Palm trees laden with dates.
Soul faculties. Precious jewels carried from before held intact and inwardly rooted within. Absolutely saturated with psychic faculties, inward understandings, and special feelings for the whole of existence. All of this is held under and accessed when most deeply needed. To bear such wonders within your core nature is to be complete and whole. It is to want for nothing. It is to have so much to offer that the supply can never be exhausted. It is to be a source, an oasis in yourself, and to remain at peace in communion with what you have always known, which is so very timeless that its relevance and uses are entirely the same as ever and always will be in any world.
A perfect black cube sits lone in the desert.
Isolation. Uniqueness that becomes separative and self-referential. Exquisitely designed to be only a certain way and not any other way. Preserved against rust or corrosion. Maintaining standards, priorities, what seems to be the given. Yet something is wrong. It is true that all lies within and that turning yourself into what you are not is ultimately absurd. But you are not listening, not paying attention to the subtle clues. You are so intent upon self-consistency that you have tuned out far too much in the process. And this shall call forth lessons and hard experiences to crack you open again, and to give you a chance to discover afresh what can be when nothing is assumed and nobody has set anything up ahead of time.
Pagan fire worshippers dancing.
Trance states. At home in psychic realms and other realities. The self abandoned to the tribe–to the sweep of the moment, to the energies that arise. On fire with longing and poignant, bittersweet reflections. A throwback, a native, a primal soul. Emotional, depths-centered, superphysical, you are energized tremendously by special occasions, extraordinary meetings, unexpected miracles and tragedies. Expectant and waiting for something wild and unknown to break through. Mediumistic, vicarious, and charged with a life-force that must be followed out. A certain distinctive fate to be at times disappearing and gone and at other times resurgent and mighty–all depend upon the tides of fortune. And it will always change in unpredictable, exciting, disorienting, and multiple ways.
A blacksmith creating an ornate garden gate.
Hard substance is impossibly tough if you fall into letting it be that, but is the prefect basis if you are willing to make it so. All the resistances, crystallizations, dysfunction, and foundational dissonances are great excuses to stop or immense occasions to start. You get laid low if you do not know what to do with the stuff of this world. But if you have learned the subtle craft of world-making, you’re best off meeting up against the hardest places and discovering how to turn them completely around–the exceedingly demanding guild of those who dig into the depths and draw forth beauty and infinite power from the brutal and heavy realities which otherwise seem impenetrable. A stubbornly hardworking, impossible-to-discourage craft of reworking the primal soil. Mostly unproductively, mostly learning how forever, paying your dues, never quite getting it right, until there comes a day when even the obdurate bends to the inner design–when the conviction is complete.
Someone lurking in a dark wood. They are waiting for a passerby.
Imagining and conceiving nefarious plans and designs within the unconscious mind and blanket denial by the conscious mind. The shadows, the dark, the unknown are saturated with menace, trickery, deception, and long-built-up heavy emotions. All of this is too much for the conscious self to even begin to claim or own. You are essentially engulfed by deep shadows with outward shows of light. But truly you cannot play it any other way. And even if this syndrome perpetuates and gives great sanctuary to dark and mischievous spirits, it is deeply experienced as a fate imposed by past mistakes that this lifetime’s self did not originate. And so the protestations of innocence are accurate and sincere even while you are harboring everything you crave to break from forever.
A spring festival. The participants are in a state of ecstatic frenzy.
Inward explosions. The pressure valve goes off. You sit inside collective and ancestral frequencies of doubt, insecurity, and suppression until this can no longer be. The frenzied edge of new worlds; the ancient accumulations of old worlds. Coming to that point where the inward power overthrows form constraints, scatters semblances, and finds something magnificent that has been untapped and forbidden for so very long, the final spark ignites, releases, and reveals. What was lost and forgotten is more there than ever and not discouraged, never put down.
People and animals frightened during an eclipse.
Going deep and going far, yet emotionally afraid and bereft. Impelled by great force of being to carry on with destiny strides forward; you are periodically swamped by onslaughts of everything feared coming true. Being certain and being terrorized. The exquisite gift of pulling yourself through the enactment of personal, collective, and ancestral nightmares. You feel a consecration to what is coming into being on the expanded horizon, and a warrior’s courage in always going back and grappling with the lingering shadows. A mission that cannot be refused. And a sense of purpose that defies its own collapse and rises from the ashes repeatedly.
The aurora borealis.
The brink of the infinite. Tapping directly into realms of existence beyond the physical, you sense all-pervasively the multiple frequencies of all that is really here. Having a vast grasp of what is possible and of what is asking to be brought in, while extended very far into regions others miss. Feeling, hearing, tasting the power of spirit in action. Half mesmerized and half supercharged to get everybody in on it somehow. Perhaps retreating to more traditional versions of the infinite path if frightened by a lack of understanding coming back. Communing with the mysteries, and absolutely at home within those places others find strange. The inside becomes all, the outside virtually transparent to the light within.
A ritual sand painting.
Earth magic works upon the imagination to turn around old patterns and lost worlds by seeing it all with a different pair of eyes. The one who stayed under in a trance of automatic repetition, a regressive loop, is crying out for soul retrieval, is searching for whole new ways to feel and experience the way the energies move. Everything depends upon how you hold it, the field of assumptions and yearnings. For there is a tremendous ability here to follow a subtle track right through the middle of the lingering trances into a heightened experience of what this has all been about for so long. Searching for a deeper path through, learning it is there and not being able to carry forward any other way.
A hoard of monkeys chattering.
Possession by local spirits in mischievous, playful fashion. Cast into an abyss. Dumped out of status and specialness and made to be hyper-receptive to whatever is moving here–an abandoned center, karmically sacrificed to learn both humility and the lessons of the street. The state of mind random, chaotic, inspirational, capricious, given to every kind of spirit passing through. Sorely troubled, yet fantastically out of touch. A regressive loop with powerful emanations. The feeling is that something must be done and that this will require a change of heart. But you gotta go deep, and it takes a whole lot of desperation to turn this one around.
Balinese dancers wearing elaborate gold costumes.
Scintillating performance. Learning by heart all of the ways to perfect the Earth dance. Elaborately and ritualistically devising and setting up cycles, projects, programs, and trainings to master skills, to develop missing areas, and to make up for what are felt to be gaps and gaping holes. Remedial practice–going back to go forward. Relentlessly pursuing perfection. You are granted a sensibility that knows and can recognize anywhere the real thing, the fulfilled prototype. Tyrannically beset by the need to embody that archetype no matter what. Putting yourself through hell to make it happen. No sacrifice is too great. A virtual masochism of submission to programs, trials, and cycles. Trancing out on discipline and constraint, yet you are ultimately inspired and infused with a marvelous and even a spectacular self-witnessing capacity and self-reinventing skill that does work if you stay with it forever, and refuse to hear of anything less, no matter how crazy it momentarily seems.
A large halo in ring formation around the moon.
The Earth is pregnant with alternate futures. Each of her progeny, each possible future could become the one chosen. The criteria center around whichever future stream is most genuinely surrendered to the highest will. It is the same microcosmically as macrocosmically. Many souls are pregnant with alternate futures. The one that prevails will likely be the one most surrendered to the absolute, the most rightful. You feel burstingly full of visions, possibilities, worlds, and streams. And you know that so very much shall pass away, but what is essential will keep on coming. It is very hard to tell who is who and what is what, which way to lean or how to conceive the way it shall go. But if you stay rooted in your inward awareness and enduring core sensibility, you will be tapped as a vessel for what is to be, and that is all you need to know.