The Song Of a Universe

My heart strings feel
So full of love
These days I
Could let my eyes
Seep the delight

Humanoids call them
Tears of joy

I have morphed into
Triangulated dimensions
New friendships
Beautiful intention
We are here rising
Waiting over, loves, this
Is Ascension

Light gathers like
Water and seashore
Building more
And more
Moving sand
And stone
We build homes from
Ashes and disaster

We are warrior and depth
Adept at flying, hiding,
Smiling and telepathically
Speaking we are
New to you

What to do
What to do

What you knew as one
Has become many
The life of being in
Multiple realities

Welcome to the
Upward slant there’s
No going back
So don’t fight
Float and
Don’t grieve
You hope and
Become the storm
That blows away the
Battered form

For you are
Seven colors of sky
Curved through clouds
You are music and
Violins, soft chords
Voices in harmony
You are the song
Of a Universe

K

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

You Used To Be My Muse

There was once a time when I sent you love letters, and you smiled.  You were far away, always, in either spacial distances or miles, even when you were right beside me.   There were days when you thirsted for my words as if they were the last drop of liquid you’d ever drink again.  They would fill your lonely nights with hopes of better ones.  We never thought ourselves to be good enough, even inside of our inflated senses of ego, the mask that we thought let everyone know we were whole.

You’ve sunk into silence in these days, so many years later, as though your feelings were shred into so many pieces, they melted into the linings of your heart and hardened.   How does one make the decision to re-shape what has been formed into stone over so many years of fire if not to re-melt and re-form into what was the beginning of your existence, stars and floating sky.

I am at peace with being.  Where once I scorned myself, I no longer ingest the disinterest; the passive absence of spirit, held behind a wall of secrecy that cannot be infiltrated.   As I quietly observe the movement of this drift, I understand it, more deeply then I’ve ever seen into our ethereal strings before.   I used to cry from trying, defeated and wondering.  Now, I smile in knowing, because I will continue to float on this solitary raft, happily soaking in stars and overhanging leaves; joyful to be me loving me.   Whether I am loved by others is no longer a need.  Someone’s choice to give love is theirs to own.    I’ve learned to love myself enough to replace infinite lovers.

You used to be my muse as I was yours. You used to write poetry and touch the center of yourself; scribe beautiful rhymes that read as coded messages.   Now, there are robotic movements and steps backwards, unresponsive communications where not even silence holds whispers.

For me, every moment has become a muse.  Each tree leaf that softly dances in the breeze and every human face glancing at me gets read in seconds.  Inside those fleeting moments, I grasp language, expression and understanding of situations that don’t belong to me.   It is from there my fingers begin to speak, leaking out emotions that stir the swirling universes beneath my rib cage.

Here, I sit alone with myself, but I am no longer lonely.

Your Fascination

We wonder why humans find other beings so fantastical. I wonder if they understand the depth of ego underlying this fascination. As if for some reason you are different, simply because of your form. For some, simply curious angst for the unknown.

We are not fascinated with humans. We know your greatness. We simply observe and patiently waiting for you to calm yourselves down into stillness and begin to remember. Each one of you is a moving universe. Become fascinated with your form; your being, down to the very pores of your skin. You are a wonder.

You and me? We are no different.

We are all, in the end, collected masses of molecules taking different forms. So, you wish to look at your life in only this small Earth span? It is equivalent to the human blink in the totality of your infinite existence.

As space and time, molecules, atoms, anti-matter and all that is, we exist as unending shape shifters.

Humans measure with time. Humans waste it. If only you were caught up in becoming you, with the same fervor you have to know about us. Consider that you already do.

I am stepping slowly. Speaking in language meant for absorption of space that is already inside of you. Stop chasing us. Start chasing you, and then, you will see us.

~K~