A new sensation to me as I awaken in the forest. The Mythica spell is coalescing. I can feel the shape of my self shifting in the Akash, changing the way the light expresses itself through my form.

Intuitively, I pull the card given to me by the Water magicians at the sacred springs. ‘Create’, it says, as the light of the deva pours across its expression.

I consider the unfoldment of the previous evening. The synchrony of events that brought me to the underdark and then to help the wandering soul I met in the twilight.

A wave of gratitude moves through me then, reminding. It is the dream realized. The archetype embodied. Living in the recognition that I am playing my part in a vaster narrative than I may know.

I pack up my tent, intent on exploring the utter blackness of the underdark for a night. As I leave, I make my way to the sacred spring and fill my bottle with the Waters, invoking harmony with the deva as I do so.

Across the ethers I sense a distortion, an impurity in the aina. Tracking it, I find the ever-present trash left in this sacred space by the ignorant, and gather it, then breathing into communion with the trees of the land.

More and more my spells are refining. Intuitive kriyas of consciousness unfold, where I feel a remembrance of polarities, drawing energy in when breathing outward and radiating out when breathing in. Such feels a compliment, my elemental expression of the natural tantras to the form of kundalini which currently crests my Path.

I feel the Akash changing, to a realm of inner and outer recognition. Of beingness, and it’s role in our shared Story. More and more I am feeling the essence of what I have always been, wildwalking the roots and branches of the World Tree along the rainbow road. Documenting the journey to a more magical reality.

As I become aware of this, Yeshua and I reach out to each other across the ethers of the internet, each sharing the refinement of the seva of Story moving through us both, in perfect synchrony. Aspects of the Oneness in harmony.

As we connect, I share with him that it is about the Telling. About the manner of the weaving. The position we are embodying in the akasha that informs the shape of our song. The How and the Why we are telling tales of the Mythica.

There is such a simplicity to this. In order to write about one’s adventures, one must have adventures to write about.

A sense of flush rapture moves through me as I do it, tickling through my nerves in warm nectar. It is the gnosis of the thing. The feeling of it. Of living the adventure. Facing one’s fears and questions in their embodiment, finding the narrow Path that leads to a brighter World.

I contemplate my plans to take my rest in the underdark of the tunnel. Connecting with White Liar, he warns me to stay out of the eastern passage, paralleling a warning given to me by Doc the night before …that I avoid the territory of one of the wildefolk who claimed it as residence.

I’ve no qualm with this, and am content to explore the western passage. Yet still such brings a moment of fear. A wondering of how I would handle a situation there, in the dark and the stone. How I would face my own inner fear and question of the unknown.

Thoughts arise, tightening my chest. I consider the reality of having to defend myself from territorial question, and remind myself of the radiance of my Path and the relation I established with the deva of the underdark last night. Of the respect I have for those I meet and the reflection that has brought me on the Path.

In every moment, we have opportunity to evaluate our relationship with the Creation. Whether we move in trust and acceptance or in a paralysis of contemplation. Where we navigate our Path through a mixture of intuition and inspiration, finding our way along the mystery of our unfolding over time and space.

I breathe into trust. I am a thing of healing and of wonder, and follow where the Mythica will lead me. I will not shirk before the anxiety of unknowing. The aina is my friend and I shall continue. Such is the Path.

And, in all honesty, I am excited to explore the underdark. The sheer quiet, the absolute blackness. Such feels a great place to meditate, to go deep into the underlands of my own self. There, I feel I should invoke the meditation suggested to me by Misty the day before, inquiring into where the first example of attempted dominance happened along my timeline.

The Free Bridge

With some disquiet in my field, I consider that it may be prudent to investigate the territories around the underdark with White Lion before my foray. After calling him, we arrange to meet on the Plufger bridge.

After an hour or so wait, I realize it’s not happening. I sense the vibration of a quartet of beings sitting nearby, feeling the energy of the land upon them. I am discovering more and more of the community of the Austin homeless, hearing their Stories of malady and majesty.

It is a beautiful thing to sit with them, to feel the warm air blowing upon my face. To see the humanity and the camaraderie on the street, reminding me of my travel-kin, my fellow wanderers and free folk upon the rainbow road. In opening space, I play the Wind flute crafted for me by Noah McLain, adding my breath to the balmy winds of the bridge, and shift my awareness to deep listening.

I am told many things at this time. Places to sleep, places to charge my devices, places with WIFI and places to avoid. It was a beautiful song, beneath the words. One where the hues of human connection played across my heart’s eye, filling me with colour.

Austin is a special place. I see this more and more. The resonance of oaks is strong here. She is a place of communication, of art, and of mysticism. Sitting atop a confluence of ley lines that pulse beneath the surface of what things seem to be.

Curious, I ask the gathered people what they feel the quality is that makes Austin special for them. Dre, a longtime veteran of the city, shares his feeling that it is the Water. The living river that the people can boat through, the springs that bubble up from the heated green, the flush and flow of the energy of natural movement.

I love this. Like my many conversations with Doc, I see an elemental awareness, wrought from deep contact with the aina of the land, playing out between the letters.

It is such a fascinating thing to me, for Austin plays out in the Underlands as my movement into the vibrational territories of the Commonwealth, into the patterns of prosperity and recognition, of connection and community. I come to see the proof of the Mythica concept in my everyday experience, thankful to present them through this mythical journeylong.

This show up deeply when they begin to talk about the ordinances of the city, their relationship with what they called the “civilians”, the non-homeless people of the territory and how they experience that shared reality. As they do, I am reminded again how different my relationship and placement is within the Creation. I see the distinction in the mythline of my Story, for I do not even consider myself ‘homeless’. Having just arrived from the jungles of Maui and camping near the sacred Barton Springs, I work diligently on the crystallization of the Mythica in service to the people, experiencing myself as a druidic paladin, a bard and knight upon the Quest in service to the Green and the Gold, to the fields of liberation and abundance that is our birthright.

En route to the Heart of Barton

For me, Austin has and continues to be a place of immanent adventure, where I deepen and harmonize with the deva daily, walking through a World of synchronicities and songspells, living the mystical Story as I make my way across the underlands of the akash. Where the texture and timbre of the reality referenced by my momentary companions is distant and surreal, part of a matrix of consciousness far removed from what truly is.

Such inspires a video as I bid bright farewell to my temporary companions, thanking them for their company and decide to wait for more information on the underdark and retire back to the Heart of Barton.

I am flush in the Mythica as I finish the video, feeling the natural intelligence of the deva loci of Austin communicating with me, our languages dancing back and forth in shared recognition. The ever-present expression of the elementals becomes more pronounced, and I feel the womb of Barton’s Heart pulling me in, tickling my senses with her murmured gurgle.

It is beautiful to be amongst the trees. To feel myself in capacity as a guardian and steward of this place, recognizing the privilege of my service that has led me to the jungles of Austin to take my rest.

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