Conscious Tales

Out of the dreamscape an alternate reality happens to have me excavating in red clayey sandy soil with a team of my professors. Old men. The surface is full of tools from a time of being 'hunter gatherers'. They are red from the minerals. The rest of my team don’t see the temple rising above them as they’re noses are in the ground. Digging. Not seeing this context.

I put my hands on the rock. Saying a prayer. The answer comes back fast and firm: We’re being asked not to intrude, not to disturb. Not because we’re unwanted, but because we don’t have the right attitude. We forgot how places can be so sacred and sealed. And before entering and disturbing, we must ask permission. Honor. Give thanks. Balance. Greater forces at play. But we humans think we’re superior to everything. And that nothing holds memory. Nothing is important. Nothing connects. We've lost alignment.

I’ve written abut this before. Coming back from those layers in the ground. The sacred landscape walked by a people who felt a different Air, a different smell, heard different sounds. No machines. No ringing wifi in their ears, disturbing their inner magnetic fields. Not making them deaf to conversations with otherworldly beings and energy. Gravity and connection to where they stood. They had different languages, different animals, different birdsong.

Their connection to nature. Sacred. That word is tricky, because ‘sacred’ holds within its connotation modern religious acts. Of doing something in the face of a certain god. Our perceptions are infused with cultural ideas, and we may to some extent have lost the ability to tune into what a connection like that may have been, unless we push the mind and go beyond. Few care to.

I wonder how they felt their mornings, rising with the Sun, the surge into a new day, how they saw their night sky - unpolluted from within and without- clear, no satellites, no electricity, no blue screen lights, how they saw the dance upon the sky with another horizon. What were the images they passed onto us, before it all got thwarted and used for warfare and power and put into letters and then from the books a thousand years later into magazines into peoples minds like archetypes of the psyche.. Before it lost its origin, the link to the ancestors in the Sky, the Star seeds- maybe they are here now. Again. Embodied. Walking Earth to tell stories like these?

I wonder if when they lit a Fire they still felt it was utterly sacred. A spirit with power, a magic, a wonder. Beyond a granted, with life and soul to be grateful for. Warmth. Light. New growth. Alchemy when mixed with soil, clayey, hot enough, with some control of Air. Vessels. Magic. Alchemy. Transformation. Perhaps then technology began mastering the elements, and perhaps that sort of creativity got out of hand.. I wonder when we fell. I’m almost sure it was right there and then.. When we got too bold, too excited and forgot to co-exist. When our egos exceeded the balance.

Perhaps.

I can never tell for sure, they say, because I cannot prove it, it wasn’t written anywhere. They say. And I still am puzzled, because to me it is written everywhere. In the rocks, in the soil, in the echoes of the Song that still sweeps over those lands when we uncover the layers. They find me at night and creep into my dreamscape and create images and realities like these.

This kind of library in which I find my books is closed for them. Some say that library is closing down for good now. Perhaps.

All I know is when I walk those lands the lands of my ancestors, they still sing the songs of old. They tell me their brains are as evolved as ours. They tell me they had a different life. Because everything was respected. Honored. Acknowledged. They had different challenges. As Life is like that.

Gaia is singing her Songs. Tales of consciousness. Of Creation. Of Her journey. Tales of her many expressions. The Elements. The dance between them. The many beings most of us never see or acknowledge. The many dimensions to her realm. She has such compassion for those who do not see.

But we’re coming to a crossroad. Since we cannot coexist, something has to … change…

I find some of my answers out there.. On the fields with the elements, where I can still hear the Songs, far away from square buildings, old men and their rules and books with words, teaching me that astrology is a cognitive illusion and I simply cannot return the favor by teaching them about Star lore, cause they will not veer from their perceived truth about the Universe and their life.

I find my answers in engaging in dialogue with Gaia, and the beyond, because I know the only sane thing to do in these times are making our peace with Source.

And hope for the best. One day at a time. Until we’ll see what happens. I’ll do what I came here to do.

Write things like these.

Image credit: Greg Spalenka

​© 2020 by Camila Reland

This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now