You Call Us Hybrids

We are made from atom milk, star shards and the gathering of necessary energy. We are ever changing. You search for our form, drawing pictures and scrawls of little creatures; where did your mind see those?

I stood with her. She was such a small girl. Even now she weeps, eyes closed, letting this flow, to be in the know. We stood together on a cliff. She sometimes sees my flowing hair. She sometimes remembers me gray. Sometimes we are both in one and she understands the layers, her own personal Braille. She met me there, where breathing didn’t happen with lungs. Instead the air swept through us, we being its breath as it left its own oxygen. We stood silent.

She understood, even as she was pulled by the echoes of things, crying and screaming, she looked up, smiling at me. She didn’t understand back then how I could release her to go back to them; so many years confused, my sweet daughter, I am here to tell you.

You were not young, even though the body which held you was so slight and dainty, delicate and exquisitely innocent, we knew it wasn’t you. When seen from all angles, it’s not so dangerous. When the outcome is known, acceptance is the only state of being present.

Speaking for you, I will say that what the host knows of our dimension; of our home, and what she reads feel sometimes confusing for her, sometimes familiar, and she stands firm in the feeling of what is her truth; a truth like no other yet so so similar to a few.

A wary doubt arises in her as we stand to speak. She is not weak. She is careful. She is selective. This is not sensational information. This is the reality of the Otherkin walking Earth’s terrain. Quietly we have maintained lives in the shadows. Stepping forward her question arises.

How does sharing this part of our life maintain relevance outside of us?

As with all things we collectively consider how do they contribute to our growth, the journey to continue becoming, to speak openly, as dimensions split wider, pouring in the color.

What seems complicated to some seems quite simple to us, now that we have come full circle. When infinite memories exist from infancy and telepathic communication happens across miles, she is hovering and observing, feeling and absorbing. There is another way in which we navigate this world.

You call us hybrid. To each other, we are Otherkin.

The public focuses on the humans, their machines and drones and trickery. So we walk easily, silently, through the crowds, seeing, feeling, touching hearts when they are open and still hoping. This is not to be bought or mocked or sought for fame. Self examination is a private relation.

We will know you when you seek us. We know not of urgency, but only as timelessness flows us. We see the many inside the all, the end result. We have lived in lives and sat with travelers, tales in the seven, we sit together, listening, learning and sharing.

A plethora of information has emerged into your world about the paranormal; talk of flying discs, 6 inch to 10 foot tall creatures and massive blinking lights in the sky. Videos are posted of discs emerging then vanished, in odd propulsion directions and entanglements. Internet radio is flooded with stories of sightings. Posts are circulating in massive circles of channeled beings speaking through humans. There is an apparent feeling of frenzy among the paranormal experiencers and observers. Additionally, conspiracy unfolds itself inside of each account.

Our host does not listen. She loves the way of the Empath, solitary being and letting me share with her clear mind, not influenced by too many other stories. She is hesitant to share, even when I say it is time. Yet, she will brave the human storm to find the Others who share our home.

Let us get on with it. There are infinite ways of introspection, infinite possibilities and infinite realms. While many seek to travel space and morph into portals, until the inside has become the outside and all within the host find balance, the portals will not open.

Just as the grave digger must sweat to reach the bones, so must a human dive into its own depths in order to find what truly brings existence into their own unique way.

K

The Gathering

(written in 2009)

We are the quiet, the hidden
The purposely unnoticed,
The only speak of it to each other
Write it, paint it, sing it…
But not to the masses.

They are unfocused, organized
Religious zealots, diabolical replicas,
Rendered children of Zion,
Angered by the unknown, the
Misunderstood reasons for not
Being willing to understand
Or accept what is inevitable

So they

Wish to kill us, do you?
Wish to rip our hearts from our
Chest, hold them in your hands
As if you have triumphed over our
Spirits, brought yourself redemption
By judging (not) lest ye be judged,
Oh yes, I can quote your scripture,
Talk about your rapture, how you
Crucified your so called Christ;
Made your God weep; all so you
Could keep some kind of purity.

We will gather, make no mistake,
You with your held out crosses,
Your thumping black books spewing
Scriptures that choke out truth,
But we are patient, compassionate
To our fellow man, mistaken for weak
Until our rage breaks and seeps.

We are the Mystics, the witch’s brew,
The keeper of your thoughts, holders of
The knowing. We are the Old World tenderly
Tossed with the New, a salad of
Scrolls garnished with wisdom
And dressed with apparitions
That you call ghosts. We are here
To awaken your spirit should you
Choose to allow your ears to hear it.

There is a fire sparking, somewhere in
The mountains. I see them dancing,
Eyes wild with energy, hands raised,
Feet in rhythm with their own time,
And I smile at the divinity
As they find absolution
In the composition of the wind.

V/K
©venniekocsis.com

The Three Black Hats

I am on an air mattress.  It is covered in a cotton sheet.  I am stretched out on my back beneath a soft fleece blanket. I am in the end room of a double wide trailer.  The trailer is nestled in a quiet neighborhood which is dense with trees.  There are no traffic sounds.  I am falling into sleep slowly.  

I may have passed time, into the REM and back out again because all I know is that I am lucidly awake.  I feel a prickling energy all over my body.  There is no pain.  It is electric.  Every hair on my skin is moving.  I can feel each folical.  There is a source pull.  It is coming from the large window on my left.  

I wanted to cover that window when I first arrived here, telling my nephew that it made me uncomfortable because it had only a sheer shell of a curtain. 

“Someone could stand out there and see me.”  I felt vulnerable. 

He assured me, attempting to comfort my cognition.

“It’s cool, Auntie.  No one around here will do that. Just don’t dance around nekkid.”
He did a hillbilly skip and we laughed, but I decided that this weekend I’m going to buy some thick curtains to cover this window. 

Now, on the same evening, I am here on this mattress feeling frozen with fear, having awakened in what seems to be the morning hours, two or three am.  I am wishing Inhad not waited.  I should have gone right then and bought curtains. 

 I know that I need to look at the window to be sure that I’m not just imagining things, but I am terrified to turn my head.  I am still, focused on my breathing.  I know someone is there.  I know it without a doubt.  Still, I have to see to be sure.  I finally move my head very, very slowly and just slightly enough to the left to give me an adequate view to see the window.  If there is someone there they shouldn’t be able to see through the darkness if I move slowly and just enough. 

Through the sheer of the curtains I see them.  Three men.  Side by side.  They are no more than five feet tall, each the exact same height.  They are dressed identical in dark suits and matching dark overcoats.  They have on button up shirts with maroon ties.  They wear black hats, like Hollisters, with maroon ribbons that match their ties.

Their hands are behind their backs.  I do not move. It crosses my mind that they may notice I am awake, but it seems insignificant.  They know already.  I slowly move my head back to the middle of the pillow. They are soulless.  They were not looking at me directly  but rather into the room as if awaiting orders from someone.  My heart is pounding rapidly, and I am dissociating.

I tell myself I am silly, but I am too terrified to glance again.  This will only confirm that I am not imagining all of this.  I am focused on going back to sleep.  I cannot be awake for what is going to happen next. 

“Go back to sleep.”  I urge myself. 

“Go back to sleep.” I say it over and over. 

I close my eyes. I think that I must go back to sleep so that I won’t feel what they are going to do to me.  I make myself laugh inside my head.  What a silly notion.  This shit’s not real.  Yet, beneath my attempts to convince myself, I know they have the ability to take one step and walk through that wall.  Then there will be no escaping.  They’ll be in the house.  

I tell myself that is also a ridiculous notion.  Because they’re reading my thoughts and know all of my plans.  So the best I can do for myself is to go back to sleep and get through it.  So I drift back down into the chasm of REM.

In the morning I will wonder if my memory was real or if it was really a dream.  I will wonder still. 

(Dreamt in 2010, Olympia, Wa)