Interdimensional travel through the blue pearl ~ Part 2 By Ishante

I would like to add that it is important to remember that not everyone will have the same experience as the Pleiadian Collective. There are other galactic groups as well as the usual wannabees who have learned the lingo. We are getting a lot of this as of late due to our success and the desperation of the Cabal. Pearls are organic. It sounds lovely, but a pearl is a grain of sand or sum such sigma chi thing. The clam creates the pearl out of a need to protect itself from such an intrusion.

DANCE OF THE PHOENIX

A woman flew to and past the Pueblo of Sandia on her way to Taos Sacred

Mountain. She left a braid tied with deer and a necklace made of stone and silver

and chemo, for she was ready; ready to throw down what she knew; ready

to throw down in faith. She burned sage over asphalt, and danced buffalo.

When buffalo danced back…she nearly lost her footing, and on that ley,

she left a pink…candle burning.

She flew to Santa Domingo… Pueblo people she knew, and she

paused…and past…some test. She followed earth energy, anguished like

her… and empowered, for the water that was forced to burn shallow. She

merged with hawks along the way, following a red tail reading arroyos and

arrays. She had drifted…oh so close… to some incomprehensible edge… but

near the edge is not over it…and it was not windy.

She stopped at a tee pee, and dropped tear with drum and purse; there

would be no turning back. She left herself behind or ahead and dove deeply

into the well. She spoke to no one as she continued on her journey… and the

journey became her why, and the outcome became the unknown. She followed

the call and response with each tread of the water below. There would

be no flight if the ocean stilled.

She spoke with a frog in the well and allowed her dam to burst as she surfaced

for air and an alcove. She prayed and stayed in the silence of a bardrock-

aspen where she told the stronghold that she had seen Lord of the Flies;

that the world was messy and soon waters would not flow.

And the stronghold replied

And the war cry was heard

And the archer drew

And the crab gave his life for an arrow

While the woman ate a shellfish cake for dinner

For she both knew and did not know Latin

And the state of Arizona…burned

While Pearls from the Harbor

Rose in quiet wisdom

Chanting Tora! Torah! Tora!

Pounce tiger; news of direction

We heard tale from the waters

Around the coolers they dance

Saying one faux-ankh to the other:

How many survivors you got?

The reply is a chuckled Heil Hitler

We takin’ that?...

…Great Spirit snapped grid

And the world stomped to

And mother earth was aware…

And the phoenix flew

She did not sleep that night. She moved things aside; dusted and cleaned

and received. She was afraid of dotted Swiss and uncrossed leys; afraid to

leave the safety of her shelter…but she knew how to shift…and hard return,

and so she gathered courage…

She listened to the pines and the gurgle of creek. She took off her bold and

opened a gate where she dipped it in the waters and the stones came alive.

Washed over with the cool, clear water, her necklace made of biblical stones

intended for corners, now rested between pebbles of picture jasper… and a

chakra. She knew she would go to the Pueblo, for now she had felt the

cadence and the peril of water. And she let go…let go of herself and allowed

the earth to hold her and guide her. Something was right, and true and powerful.

She arrived at the Pueblo and paused—waiting until the energy cleared

before she walked past the gate carrying Red Bird Drum and a bag, and into

the office of Importance. She had been told of Governors…told of how they

slow the engine if the need arises. She looked at pictures on the wall and

waited until she felt the next steps; the steps that took her to the cemetery, and

she climbed a small hill that surrounds, and she stood.

She communed silently, for the ancestors were the only ones she could

speak with that day. She told them she was afraid and asked for permission to

allow the earth beneath her feet to guide her. She prayed peace.

When this was complete, she walked until she did not walk, which placed

her under a tree on the banks of Taos River. She paused; lit cedar and sprinkled

salt. Her medicine took over then. She shifted her stance, becoming trunk

of tree and she went straight down, balanced on twisted feet facing south. She

tossed rocks over and to the sides, forming her sacred circle as she balanced,

arms outstretched. She did not rock while she waited for God to move her.

The Pueblo dogs came; walked around and walked away, and she began to

sing… slowly. Finding the heartbeat of the earth she sang one song of

wind…in the morning. She tried to slowly rise and her legs would not let her,

and she sang again. She noticed the Governor did not stop her… and so she

kept going, slowly, drumming as she danced and sang and merged. Her head

tilted back and the ancient guttural vibrato cupped in a phoneme…poured

forth.

When this dance was complete, she left her gift from the well beside the

river; splash patted her face, and drank of the water. Insect medicine is dangerous,

and bird is fierce. This she had already known.

Smoke drifted in her wake

As she walked…

Blue Star Kachina: “This wave is Titanic”

Peace, Taos