Prophecy

Many prophecies are real. Most of what you think you know of them, though, is, frankly, horseshit. One of the reasons I’ve held so much close to my heart is that, even for people who might otherwise support me, the focus on ‘what I know is the real way’, ‘you can’t be true’ and it’s verbiage-cousins like ‘you must be lying’.

The distortions of old truths to fit modern times are part of the problem. Another is the reliance on race or gender or age as the determining factor as who can possibly know or be what they claim to be.

I’m often perceived as a foreigner in these journeys because, well, as my sun-crisped scalp can attest, I’m a white woman. What *I* know, though, is that each of these crossings is me (often a former iteration of me) being brought home, bringing past prophecy into present life.

The difficulties for those crossing my path as I cross into their world are grounded in the fear of themselves, the fear of what it means for prophecy to be revealing itself in a package that appears unlike them, and the fear of what it means that a mere white woman isn’t actually that. My difficulties in dissolving fear juuuuuuust enough so that curiosity can peek through.

It is why I am honest about what i know and what I don’t know. I don’t claim to know anything I don’t. I choose to not cloud my experiences with interpretations that are so far removed from truth they cloud even the brightest person’s judgment.

It’s why I try to gently nudge rather than push, pull, plead or drag men afraid of the medicine and themselves into engaging.

I also know that, because of how and who I am, this unfolding waits for no man. We either choose to engage or not to. The former allows for our own freedom and that of our brother. The latter begins the process of our individual devolution and decay and speeds that of our brother.

This is bigger than us as I was reminded a few weeks ago. One evening in a rather pissy mood I mused, “What if I just didn’t go. What does it matter, anyway. It’s not like you guys pay me for this.”

I woke up to the following. Look at who is peering down at that little ol’ elephant reminding her that ‘it’s bigger than you’.

Joined by others in my entourage, after crossing cultural boundaries long-verboten to tell me to get a move on, these representations of ancestors and ancient ways are what move and move through me.

I said last week that I’ve never born false witness and it’s true. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. I am who I say I am. I am how they see me as. I dance with deities, cross cosmological lines, burst archetypal bubbles and open myself to bring those though whose time is now–bring living, breathing hearted humans them into themselves and Other beings into this body.

And, we weave. Again.

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