Little reminders on the page

 To
'feel with your eyes open'
to
'see with your soul'

to ground the thoughts into root
and wait until the fire is burning before taking actions
moving quick enough, sometimes blowing out the flame....
how big, how strong, does this flame need to be, yo?

when the spark burns...
why does it feel like an inferno?
do we just follow the sparks...
until we are lit eternally...internally?

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"Without the emotional charge...there's no power to produce the manifestation." -AH

and maybe that's where we all fall short
why we all fail at the numerous intentions and goals we so diligently set for ourselves
Sure, we meet some of them, and others, not so much.
Did we not care enough?
Not feel it enough?
Was it just an interlude of thoughts that tried to ignite the engine, but didn't have the fuel....
The electrical, but not the fuel...
That's the point where we tilt toward losing our grips on our desires...
Too much electrical, burning the wires, yet still unable to move forward in progress towards them
We don't feel enough
We don't FEEL enough....fill ... enough
Fizzling out, forgetting, losing track, falling away, distraction, and a forever resting place....
unable to get back up....out of gas, out of fuel... out of all the momentum.
Even if the thoughts are still lit... wondering why we aren't moving..
We sit.... and we wait... rusting

Follow the feelings.
I wrote this before in that little feng shui book...
and it still remains as relevant as before...
Follow the feelings...

~ Feeling isn’t only the compass, it is also the channel in which energy flows. ~

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yet, what am I doing?
forgetting that simple premise... because thoughts like to overwhelm sometimes.
sometimes



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I watched A Quiet Place 2.
It wasn't as good as the first one....
I'm still annoyed the dad died in the first one too...
and the subtitles were in french (and below the screen, so I couldn't see all of them anyway)
but it wasn't hard to follow...
It was okay, but I wouldn't pay to see it.

I might watch the new Conjuring next.

anyway...
eggs have like 6 more days in the incubator
nothing much happening
garden is growing
quail are happy
and I won about 2500 free bricks!
 

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He writes something on the corner of his notebook and rips it off the page...
sliding it ever so purposefully towards me.
His wry smile is chuck full of mischief and I can't see any way out of whatever nonsense I'm going to have to read.
He taps it slightly before lifting his hand off the torn piece and I catch the slight raise in smile before he leans back....but not all the way back into the chair...
He still leans a bit forward. I'm guessing he's expecting my approval, my acceptance... but has a slight edge of hesitation on my part he is ripe to engage with, if I so dare to tread upon any path of non-acceptance....
It's a trap. I know this... but there's something I love about his plans.
Even if I don't like them...not one single bit.
He flashes his eyes to the paper and back at me...an abrupt sense of him losing patience.
You'd think for an ascended master aether being... patience wouldn't be an issue...I ponder.
"Read it." He so gently instructs with the harshness of a bucket of ice water on Christmas day.
I smile and glance up at him, as I too enjoy the turmoil I get to impose on him the same way.
His energy floats strongly towards more seriousness and more impatience... I lean up to grab the small shredded piece of paper.... slowly...intentionally slowly...with a smile. He remains silent.
I stare at him as I grab it and bring it slowly towards me...settling in my seat more firmly...all in the great effort to prolong this whole interaction.
My eyes flicker down to the paper... it's torn edge, ripped at a very bad excuse for an angel...some lines from his notebook reveal themselves in the lower left area... blue lines... is he using a Top Flight notebook?
I inevitably look at his scribbles... they looks exactly like a doctor's prescription writing...and at first glance there's nothing that stands out that represents any such a word.... I start again... making out the letters... slowly.... he has either bad writing or...
"Words are primitive." He blurts out rather loudly. A slight scowl on his face.
Reading my thoughts again... as is the usual...
"They are loud." He snuffs out... "As usual..." He adds for accuracy.
I smile, with complete adoration of his huge sense of common courtesy...my kind of courtesy.
I start again trying to make out his half-assed effort to write words in some foreign cursive script from the dark ages.... I sigh...
I read it...and lower it down...unimpressed...
"Well?" He wants a response.
I sit quietly for a moment....
"Words are primitive." I agree, half-heartedly.
"Are you going to write all that?" He adds, knowing to fill a blog page with something of him, is always fun to read later...
I sink... there's far too much to write with words.... even if he only had a handful on his little corner of a page.
"It's still important." He adds quietly. "Even if you play the same games."
He's talking about ten things at once. And it won't matter to you whether I divulge all the things...
And there's the doorway....but it's not a doorway, so much as a bulge... like an area ready to pop open...like a cheap water hose left on, in the summer sun....and the blister on the side just can't hold it all in anymore...and you have to repair it again and again until your 100' hose is now only 40'....and it won't reach the garden...or the backside of the car...
"That was a lot of words...and you still didn't say anything." He calls out the obvious.
"What should I say then? The absolute....to where no one would really understand anyway?" I snicker.
"Yes." He says quietly. "Every time." He looks straight at me.
Damn it... why do I always do what he suggests... I can make my own decisions...
They just happen to be the same fucking ones...I'm not following his ideas...
"They are your ideas." He reminds me.
I shake my head not nearly believing that for a second.
"These are merely accessories to what you've already decided on. Like confirmations." He shrugs. "Whatever you'd like to call them. Doesn't matter....words are primitive." He smirks.
"Fine." I scowl.
"I'm not writing this crap." I toss the piece of paper back on the table. "Looks like a two year old wrote it."
He smiles. A real smile. He leans back in the chair.

The bulge...
-- We've only got so much time before there's a flood... make arrangements NOW.
but not like NOW as in seriousness or abruptness...but now as in no more time for distractions/games.
-- The stuff in the bird room needs organized. The feng shui in weighing in too heavy. Must align.
-- all the little things and little cleanings need attention before they become too large.
-- once the bulge pops open... everything needs cleared beforehand so it doesn't compact and clog the flow. Handle it now. Handle it now.
-- I don't know how long of a timeframe this means... but it's strictly forefront in my awareness now... all thanks to a little note handwritten by The Alchemist..in some relic of a handwriting style...


anyway...it's late.
tomorrow rises with the sun.