Dark. I remember the vision you showed me. The line of planets before me. Ready to be touched.
To be plucked. Discovered. One by one, their mysteries.
‘You already know them,’ you whispered.
‘You’re here to remember’ you told me.
You never withheld from me all of your majesty. Your sacredness. Your magic.
Rather, you surrounded me. Held me. Comforted me. Streams of grace penetrated my face, my eyes, my Soul, and sprang forth from my nails!
Time kept coming. Kept coming. And you kept swirling, enveloping me, entrancing me.
Though I did not always hold You, because I did not yet understand.
I did not know.
I had not yet allowed myself to openly receive You.
I was still re-membering My-Self.
My Soul disconnected from the ever-shifting present
from my body
from your stream. Your sacred, sacred stream of Love. Of healing.
What I hold sacred is the fact, the knowledge, the essence that is and feeds me. Holds me.
Dwells in me.
Holds my wounds, my ghosts, dark tunnels- constantly bathes me in its eternally blessed, boundless waters.
Is helping me re-member my-self. All of my-self.
‘Come to me’ it says. ‘Hold your own pain,’ it says.
‘Face it. Dwell in it until it becomes good home!,’ it exclaims.
‘Feel your pain. Face the parts of you you don’t like much. And feel your desire change. Remove your mask, Tall one, and become that which you are. Me. Beingness. Love. Do this, and you shall thrive.’
Thrive- you asked of me. Thrive I demanded of my-self.
My sacred self weaves through time, and space, toppling age-old, bone deep, cell-paralyzing paradigms, dynamics and storehouses.
I am whole. Eternal. Beingness being here in the Now.
I am, that is, what I hold sacred. Exploring that who-that which I am through my ever-evolving, shape-shifting, life-giving, star-creating story. This is sacred to me.
I hold sacred, I remember all of the stories of my ancestors- their flight, their plight and never ending search for Home on earth. Their fleeing from their past, their present, letting go of their future for preservation of their sacred children’s.
I hold sacred their cries. Their tears. Their anger. Their focus. Their confusion.
And peace. Thoughts. Revelations. Their connection to the earth. This lives. Breathes in the fiber of my Being. As I hold them, I feel myself re-member. And then I remember. Breathe. Dwell. Shed. This is my process.
Their tongues spewing whistles of prayer, magic, Spark! To be in their majestic presence again…
I am their presence. Continued. Poured forth, etched from a deep gourd made of the earth, sky, ocean, ethers and blood. Made to do more than survive but thrive.
They are in my womb- gnawing, wrenching when I walk off my sacred, perfect path. They are my womb. And they hold me, keep me- grounded. Sane. Always at Home.
by Naika Gabriel