It's a Saturday before Mother's Day and my new co-worker drips with affection. He is sweet, a peaceful warrior and a follower of the ancient ways - both Egyptian and Atlantean. It's the eleventh of the month, and the magic of mysticism is swirling. Like a Sufi dancer, all I can do is spin spin spin in the fire of LOVE, transmuting all of the past, destructive muck into pure gold.
The night before, we ended up at King Ramzee's. Upon sitting down to eat, a modern-day Nefertiti's voice comes over the airwaves. "Where have you been all my life?" she demanded to know, as I danced in my seat to the sic beatz while you intermittently took bites of your Gyros and kissed me on the cheek.
Yesterday, after work, you text and say that you need assistance of the Spiritual kind. What is a girl to do? Yet, this woman also has priorities and responsibilities of her own, and she is simultaneously beckoned to Ray Street at Night to talk through mis-communication with her Soul brother. Adept at compassionate communication, we walk arm in arm as I also defend and protect my right to share openly with my Soul family.
At the popular North Park gathering, I am surrounded by my community and village. As I arrive, you are standing by the band. I haven't seen or talked to you in months. Seemingly just risen from bed, you are dishelved, and your long black, hair smells of smoke. I openly offered you LOVE, yet the thick barbs and walls around your heart were impenetrable. "I found your tri-pod," you say, as I just stand there, all 5'2" of true power. I just shrug. My energy is too precious, yet I remain grateful for this painful mirror that was my last wake-up call.
My sister Goddess, we bump into each other in the Art Department. You cry, you felt abandoned by me. "I love you," I declare. "You are my sister!" "I just had to take care of me, and get better. Look," I say. "My wart is gone." Two dancers surreptitiously enter the space and dance to RiRi's latest pop-hit, Stay. I run out the door, to grab you, the Bringer of Light. You, of course, had already taken photos of the performance on your i-phone - the "coincidence" not lost on your old Soul. Soon, we return to your home - it's my first time there as you bear your truth to me, an almost perfect stranger. And, there sits a tri-pod, we discuss these master numbers of 11 twice (22) and you show me your blog and book, as ancient Egyptian artifacts beg to be read.
"Did you feel the power of that Solar Eclipse?" you ask. I simply nod my head, grinning like a fool. "What role do you think San Diego has to play in all of this?" you want to know. "I don't know," I respond. "I just know it is the chosen location."
Tired, and ready for bed, you drive me home to my Treehouse. My small, little mind can't make "sense" of any of this. Yet, these days, I am simply trusting my body and heart - she knows exactly what to do, and when. So, I sleep deep as numerology and prophecy dances through my BodyMind.
