I awaken, and immediately engage the Dispenza practices, focusing my attention in effort to gain more sovereignty over the splinters and amnesiac rage that renders me incoherent and unable to fully execute the magics of my birthright. As always, I feel the feeling of being imprisoned within my own self, of being laden with traumas and wounds that must be constantly tended in order for me to simply function in this broken world.
Twenty years. It has been nearly twenty years since I left New York in an effort to heal the storms and madness that had plagued me, embarking on a quest to make my way across the underlands towards a realm of health and harmony.
He looks resplendent in his new robes, and I feel a radiance of clarity moving through his form. Not for the first time, I resent how difficult it has been for me to discipline myself into the practices that have given him more constancy, and as I do, the olde wound flares, reminding me yet again of my imprisonment.
“How are you doing?” He asks.
”Enraged. Frustrated. Dealing with yet another issue with the website.”
“Did you meditate today?”
I scowl. “Of course. I have to, don’t I?! I did the Dispenza meditation, and was planning on forcing myself into doing kundalini meditations later.”
”What’s going on?”
”The same thing that is always going on. Dealing with the wounds. The amnesia, the confusion, the incoherence that is the nature of being human in this filthy Age.”
He nods, understanding. Unlike myself, Yeshua has been incarnate upon the Earth many times, and carries the impressions of devotion and consistent yogic practices within his form. While the nature of practices themselves has been both incomprehensible and clarified depending on what shape I am wearing at any given moment, such things are more grounded in him. The result of many lifetimes within the incarnate plane.
“Is God good?” I ask him, for such is the underlying gravitas of my deepest question, the balancing force to the seemingly endless suffering and incoherence that have defined the dying paradigm of humanity, a thing of confusion, separation and boundless sin.
After the conversation with Yeshua, I force myself into doing the practices, this time choosing the kundalini yoga as a means of weathering God’s constant assault. As I do, feeling the electromagnetics within my form shifting, I feel the constant burr, the knowing that it was God who created this universe, who created the distortions that have defined the old paradigm, and who is the ultimate cause of our suffering as well as liberation.
I start to write. Casting a forced gratitude in effort to open the channels of my biology in effort to cleanse the traumas God inflicted upon us all.