In accordance with an intent set the night before, I awaken at 4 in the morning, intent on going into the practices while in synergy with the rising Dawn of the natural World. Yet despite this, old habits continue and I fall back asleep, noting the movement forward in the shift in pattern in it’s gradual expanse.
Music strikes my ears at seven a.m., a wandering soul, clearly tripping on some medicine, casting their weaving across the ethers of the akash. I smile, only a pale shadow emerging of the almost classic morning rage that had defined my relationship with the Creation for so long. Such is a beautiful thing instead, for it reminds me of my own desire for more music.
Continuing my grin, I leave my tent, casting an invocation of protection in alignment with the deva as I make my way to the springs.
The Barton Springs
A group of aspirants sits in a circle as I enter. I listen for a moment to the facilitator, drawling an intentional meditation to a circle of closed eyes. As I do, a wave of bored disgust moves through my form, colouring the akash and tightening my energies.
Not for the first time, I consider the idea of ‘judgment’ and how it affects my subtle body, considering how that feeling of tightness towards these other aspects of the collective Self affects the tone of expansion within me and the physics of my intentions of manifestation.
I shrug, breathing it away. I hold little judgment towards my own self for such things for they are merely passing tones, shifting and changing across the substance of the akash, revealing my own progression towards a more unconditional acceptance of what is.
I continue the breath. There is no shame in whatever level of ability aspirants are at. My boredom with juvenile spellworks is my own, a reflection of my own desire for excellence. It is my own error to regard them thusly. Intentionally then, I shift my gaze deeper into the Mythica, witnessing the various mortal forms in their truer nature as threads of energy, part of the great loom of interconnected event that forms the causal topography of the underlands. In doing so, I correct the misalignment of my inner stance, returning to a place of appreciation for their valiant efforts. They are, after all, my own self, and it does not serve my manifestation to hold such tight sensations in my regard.
The Alpha and the King
Tales of the Tree
Kava Konfrontations – The Way of the Weaver
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