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Let the Airstrikes Forever Slumber and Dissolve in the Nocturne

rebellebeautiful

It’s snowing and the crystalline cool is transcendent. Purifying.


I’m listening to an audio of Dr. Joe talking about interdimensional beings and heightened senses, awareness and consciousness and interaction with beings that aren’t physical. He’s talking about feeling a love and grace in their interdimensional presence. He’s saying that pineal gland meditations activate interdimensional awareness.


It’s 1:30 am on 1-20-25.


I’m sitting in my office in my emerald green cozy chair and I’m energized by my print of Sun Ra Arkestra beautifully, divinely painted by Nancy Ostrovsky during a Sun Ra concert. Her genius-thing is painting live music. She’s part of the orchestra.  She’s in the band.


Sun Ra- the great and self-proclaimed extraterrestrial from Saturn who came to saturate civilization with peace. I got to see Sun Ra and the Arkestra live in NYC in the 80’s. The whole experience indelibly etched in my InnerVerse. He was out of this world and in it. He was a new world and ancient. His muse arriving to whisper and shout secret codes of pyramid scripture and verse. And all that ancient Egyptian finery. A reclamation, a re-telling of Gaia’s origin.


Today is the first day of a ceasefire in Gaza after 474 days of genocide against innocent and deeply heartical Gazan, Palestinian women, children and men. This start of phase one of ceasefire and the PM of Israel has already made clear to the international public that there is no guarantee there will not be a commencement of aggression at an even more heightened force of terror than before. I shiver to hear.


I drop into patterns of the matrix to try and understand, and then pull back the archer’s bow, sending a golden arrow in the direction of the world I want. Now. I hit a bullseye which signals, don’t look away, don’t let up, don’t fold, don’t, don’t, don’t. Don’t let up on precision of local transformation that begins in the body temple and readies one for the leading edges. Front line Jah warriors. We have to be tuned for mass creation.  For presence-ing with, beseeching the goddesses and syncopating a brand new orbit.  


DJT is being inaugurated later today. Elected with less popular votes than 2016 and yet still. As if the insurrection continues and WW 3 isn’t distant enough.


When the masterminds of the Manhattan Project decided to test the big terrible satanic bomb, they didn’t protect American innocents. There was a dance school less than 40 miles from the test detonation site and the girls attending were thrown from their beds at night from the evil force of the explosion. Their teacher said it was a terrible sun that filled the sky and you had to look away. And then came the snow. They thought. The girls put on their bathing suits to swim in the river while the miraculous snow rained down and as they massaged the fluff into the skin on their young  peach blossom cheeks, they wondered aloud why the snow was so hot and not cool. Only one of those girls lived past 30 years old.


I promised Gaza I wouldn’t look away.


I promise.  


474 days.


The colonizer reacted with genocide.  Palestine resists genocide. They are s/heroes. The world, many, many more than not, resist alongside the great humans of Gaza.


O Palestine. O justice. O God. Make it stop.


My Instagram account kept getting mysteriously usurped, after I’d re posted many many videos and reels of the truth warriors: Bisan, Motaz, Khaled Beydoun, Everyday Palestine, Eyes on Palestine and more. My feed would freeze for days on end.


I will not look away.


I’m going to close my eyes in a minute, breathe deep into my belly, project my awareness to the infinite light realms and allow myself to receive the light source and be lifted to  cosmic mind.

I’ll fall asleep here in the body and with my consciousness aspiring to awaken among satsang of divinities. I may ask for help. Help me quell anxiety. Help me remember who I truly am. And please enliven my entire field of infinite proportion with grace and ease. And make me your instrument for love and justice.


I’ll write more in the morning.


Morning:

Empire attacks the blameless, mercilessly weaponizing our collective trauma, insults the motherlode, exploding extermination fires over innocence, spits as if family wasn’t the most valuable finery woven into the fabric of our human existence. Let the airstrikes forever slumber and dissolve in the nocturne.


Let the airstrikes forever slumber and dissolve in the nocturne.  


We are made for this time.


We came knowing. 


This is what is taking root in us, through us.


The children will make us remember.


The children will make us become.


Say it with me now:


“Let the airstrikes forever slumber and dissolve in the nocturne.”  




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