From Alfred LaMotte
Yes, I know, right now we feel rocked by X-class solar flares, tormented by planetary conjunctions and alignments, over-stimulated by comet-bodied messengers like 3-I/Atlas, and fevered with invisible radiance from this morning's super moon.
So in dizziness and breathless confusion, we mistake what comes from WITHIN for a bombardment of strange energies from ABOVE, or from OUTSIDE. Then we forfeit our sovereignty to gurus and governments, astrologers, channelers, and political parties. Lacking the confidence to consult our own hearts for wisdom and guidance, we listen to the latest message we can find from arcturian/pleiadian/ascended-master/angel-guides; or we pray to our ancestors, as if they know any more than we do just because they died.
Dear friend, who told you that the interstellar regions of outer space are not inside you? Who told you that the most distant galaxies aren't floating in the vast intimacy of your own consciousness? Who told you that your body is a tiny pinprick in the fabric of the universe, when the truth is just the other way round: the cosmos is within your physiology, you embody the portals to all higher worlds?
The class X solar flare that rocks you comes from an infinitesimal golden dot inside your own chest. Its fiery nectar flows with the vibration of Ram, Ram, Ram, welling up through your spine to kiss descending pearl drops of moonlight that overflow your pineal gland, where the Goddess shines in splendor. Now gaze up through these spiraling stars into dizzy deep heaven; yet you are gazing from the eye of your heart, up through the axis of your backbone, into the swirling eternity at the crown of your head, which is a doorway to the infinite. And there, just a few inches above your fontanelle, is the Pole Star, still amidst the whirling.
Now settle back into the hologram of your sovereignty, feeling (not knowing, but feeling) every helix of your DNA in every cell of your flesh mirror the Milky Way; feeling (not knowing, but feeling) the charm and spin of quarks in each proton of your marrow fractal the image of a supernova. Truth be know, dear friend, the clear light of your self-awareness, before you even thing, "I am," contains the whole rainbow of God. You Are the singularity at the first moment of creation, already enfolding the final eternity of Christ in the chrysalis, the delicious "not yet... not yet," of your body.
So what if you feel these aches and pains? Stop obsessing over them. They are signs of life. Remember that the spark-flash of a synapse in your brain - don't name it "anxiety" - the twinge of muscle fiber in your neck - don't label it "stress" - the spasm of energy self-liberating in your diaphragm - don't call it "fear" - is an angel. A subatomic Angel of Awakening who shakes out her diaphanous wings, soars through the starry hollow of your bones, and sings in the deep space of your cytoplasm on her mission of delight, to breathe you into revelation, to incarnate your miracle.
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Image: detail from Raphael's Sistine Madonna