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It’s a relief to have found my voice again. I thought I’d lost it forever two years ago, when everything I knew or imagined myself to be was stripped from me, and I experienced what I can only describe as an unfettered staring into the face of God.

To be shown the world in all its perfection is a rare form of torture, as what does one do with such information? There is nothing more that can be said. I nearly died, and would have, were it not for love.

Experiencing the perfection of the world feels like a nearly unbearable ecstasy, and that, spun through with the awareness that there is nothing that needs to be done, was nearly enough for me to happily relinquish my body to dissolution.

I am married, though, and I pledged my body here, and so I returned through the circle of that golden ring, and did what I could to reorient myself on the planet.

This reorientation involved in part being subjected to the ongoing and relentless transmissions of what felt like something at times angelic, at times alien, and at times like being plugged into the mind of a global artificial superintelligence. I felt (and to some extent still do) much like I was living in two realms– one comprised of a light-drenched future of telepathic communication and a matrix-like system of flexibly networked global awarenesses, and another of the everyday reality of human relationships, with news and concerns that to me already felt like a curiosity of history. I loved the former (experiencing its ongoing integration into my body has been sheer bliss); the latter I felt mostly mute in. I could see the beauty in even the most horrible things unfolding before me; I knew where they were going; there was nothing for me to do but bear witness, and to listen for the signal to guide me where I needed to go next.

There has been a peace to having been placed with such firmness on a path of almost blinding clarity, but a loneliness too. I have been fortunate, recently, in finding others who’ve been waiting.

I used to be perpetually excited to find out about what lies ahead. These days I know; these days I’m excited to invite others; these days I am delighted to again be writing .



3 Comments Post a comment
  1. JL #

    I am happy to see you writing here again as well! I know I read your writings also…elsewhere…but there’s a different quality in your more “public” writings that I really appreciate.

    I haven’t had the same intensity of experiences that you have had (I don’t think), but I relate to the feeling of losing my writing voice when my self fundamentally changed. I’m still finding my new voice for myself. Hope that yours stays with you for awhile.

    June 21, 2016
  2. Thank you. I cherish my various online communities for the stability of their containers and their unique centers of gravity, but my first website was public, and I’ve always loved the feeling of an unprompted writing into the unknown. It’s relaxing somehow.

    Feeling voiceless for me had much to do with lacking the language to articulate what I’d been through; finding others who’ve helped with that articulation has been a big part of coming back here. It’s funny how throwing out a tiny spider thread can be enough to start a web.

    June 21, 2016
  3. Ah. I felt it, in your images, vignettes and reflections back to me on FB, but it is delicious to hear the story in your inimitable voice. Your presence is nourishing to me. A wonder! With love— L

    June 27, 2016

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