I fear of writing from a place of narrow existence, where you know all too well that the mind which has created what it is you are thinking to put into words, to contemplate, dissect, and let overflow from your very being, onto the white blank page before you has absolute good intentions. And where does the colloquial man say good intentions send us? This is why, when I feel a state of small and restricted expansion, of an oddly human and oh so limited track of thought – first it is best to understand that the cleverly constructed necklaces of sentences whereby we string these words together are after all only exactly that – words. Yet they hold immense power as such frequencies between each curved line, each space, and oh, the commas. Remember the commas. They serve as those appropriately, delicately timed moments of pause… of poise before a fall or giant leap into another deep abyss…an abyss or a feather bed.
These pauses, the silence in between to experience the void of noise or the developing puzzle in our minds and bodies, even spirits. Wherever your frequencies magnetize to and from at present, each word will bring something different into and out of your being. It will either awaken a slumbering thought, lightly stroke a long forgotten idea, a past, a remembering it serves you. Only some words… and these words are different for everyone. Your energy field may be so numb and guarded by your routinely structured, conditioned thoughts, that no one word contains a single atom of a burst of light to entice you, take you by the hair and lull you gently or pull you somewhere you have longed to be – even forgotten – or at most, to a place, a frequency, where you need to be and you just weren’t aware of this need… because you had forgotten how to speak to your soul. Your soul does not use words, but it knows you do. The Mother sleeps within every sound, every vowel, every consonant, every comma… she sits there waiting for you… ellipse, after ellipse, after ellipse. She waits, only for you.
This wonderful medium of a sorry excuse for a true communication is all we managed to derive from our early existence, from the light lands, from when our mouths were eyes, and our minds were telescopes, our hearts were sounds, and our ears were hands to receive. Our hearts were wells to give, overflow, and give some more. Our eyes were sounds. We spoke none – but we created, oh we created.
We created things with our laughter. We constructed Love out of the rocks and golden diamond encrusted sands our bare feet roamed upon daily. We created children with our hearts, smiles and limitless knowing that Love is within all existence, and we are never separate from that Love, nor could we ever be.
We did not write, we created. We saw, we felt, we held, we sang… endlessly chanted strands of gratitude flowing like exhaulted lightning-like rainbows between our bellies and the moon. Mother Moon was close to Us then. So was father Sun. They danced happily between us, between our cold and warm, our sleep and waking… they danced. So did our lands and animals.
We created with the animals too – we created a home land. We spoke with them, not with words, still not, but with our hearts, hands and our million eyes which shone like the galaxies of a thousand multiverses we knew about all too well.
We did not speak.
We did not write.
We already knew. We felt. We simply were.
Then a time came when it was cloaked among and over us, it dawned on us, that we would have to pass this on and on and on and on for as long as our beautiful new souls lived, coming into this home land, our Mother, and they would pass it on and on and on… so we tried to create something which may have seemed indestructible at the time… unable to be harmed, lost… but something able to be held, seen, in all hands.
And so, we began to write.
The little people were gifted the creations we had made… in many forms. In many places. This held the very essence of all of our existence as the ones we were… so they may carry it forth, without hesitation… with a knowing… which we have nestled deep within.. shining.
Little by little, our creations left us.
Little by little, the words took over.
Little by little, languages spawned themselves off of another.
Little by little, we forgot our hearts and eyes in our minds.
Little by little, we couldn’t understand one another.
Little by little, we all spoke a different frequency.
Little by little, we all gained a different language.
Little by little, we fell apart.
And now, we realize that nothing is indestructible – even the oldest library, the oldest stone, the oldest tree upon mother with many thousands of years of heart wisdom…
And we realize that which we already know, that small splinter of a light within, of how we used to speak without words…is never gone.
And yet now, all that hold us together… are mere words…
Isabelle is a Crystal and Gemstone guru, free-lance writer and holistic, organic lifestyle enthusiast. She has taught Yoga at retreats along the coast of South Africa, and now still teaches crystal and gemstone workshops and healing in Cape Town. Through personal experience and applying holistic therapy to herself and others during her practice as a holistic Life Coach, she wrote her book ‘New Self, New Earth’ (http://www.shopmybook.com/Isabelle-Meiring/New-Self,-New-Earth), which provides a delightful manual to living holistically as a modern day goddess. Visit her blog at www.isabellemeiring.wix.com/littlemotherisabelle, or for more info on workshops & the like: firstname.lastname@example.org