Morphic Resonance

24 Jun

I was torn down to the low bottom bedrock point of recognition of the one remaining constant I could grasp: That conscious restoration of my human and soul dignity was now imperative to my survival. And “I” gave way, let go, and surrendered to greater forces within and without. The harmonic voice, the writer of mythic roads, the teller of true tales, the seeker of ancient trials, the still beating, breathing, living ONE intertwined in all superseded. Possibilities held out hands to me in the only solid property left to be indentified without doubt -my own flesh & blood, my heart & its words, as keystones of potential archways to vital new life.

This sliver of moonlight wrought a soul scream of awakening, an elusive moment of clarity and a call to a single, full sweeping action. Before anything I had to have a clean place to build. I had to tend to the clearing away of my wreckage, unfettering the road to restoration, to bring bright and bare the foundation my guardian forebears forged from their hearts for my place here, to honor the pantheon of their spirit, as the self-same road to salvaging mine.

I would have to travel time, transmogrify; traverse the Age. I was far from home, yes, but road and bridge building is the truer nature of my blood. I’ve lived the power of morphic resonance in the voicing of beliefs, repeating their choruses, for better and worse. It stood to reason that I could erect any actual matter and circumstance with newly worded mantras as well as I had constructed the current.
I’ve learned how to take direction, and what to do when called to act. The brightness of that breaking dawn blinded into submission the misshapen parody that had driven this train so far off course. My heart took the helm & dropped the hammer down… In all I’ve been, can be or will be, I am their result. Own that. Breathe no more words of loss… Build… and give to God whatever I may find should come to me.

-BDF

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