. . .in flight
skyrotica
tumbling
falling
soaring
diving
floating
drifting
swirling
flying...
oh the rapture of falling to earth at 180 mph at 12,500 feet then to be ripped
north
by a cord only left to dangle in a space and time where only love and truth
exists.
there is no evil up there. drifting above the Black Hills.
up there is a perspective that every human should experience...floating high
above
the earth embraced by the wind, carried in the palm of God's hand back to the
dust.
the earth looks as it was originally intended to be: a masterpiece.
when one breathes from that elevation you can imagine the oxygen from all four
corners
of the world being drawn into your being as you experience the oneness of a soul
in flight with the universe.
happy purpose.
high above I spotted Bear Butte, the epicenter of Native American spirituality.
only the day before i stood atop that mountain, hollering my prayers into the
wind.
asking, pleading, celebrating that God would hear me, search my heart to prove
just
how deep rooted my communication was emerging from the essence of my tiny female
being.
i could hear the echoes of my prayers up there where i was floating freely
floating,
where love and truth exist.
only the day before, i trudged two miles up the mountain of Bear Butte in my
sequins
and rhinestones, in my silver-toed cowgirl boots, clutching my bible in hand, my
prayer book of Saint Padre Pio, clutching my dreams, my hopes, my human being.
i stopped and sank myself into the quiet gush of the wind. the trees
swaying.
i clung to a big rock along the path. i hugged that big rock for a long
time with
my cheek pressed against it's durability. i needed strength from that big
rock.
i needed durability.
i wound my way up the rocky path to the highest elevation. the wind was as
if I
was driving without my windshield at 80mph. it was awesome. it was
cleansing.
it was forceful.
the prayer ties left on bushes and branches swirled with the wind. from
the four
corners the prayers spoke of deep-seated needs of oneself and those family and
friends
who meant the existence of oneself. green, red, black, white colors of
communiqué
to the ONE great CREATOR.
i thought about those great prayer warriors, warriors of light, warriors of
truth,
warriors of LOVE, trudging up that mountain to give offerings, to pray, to be,
to dwell with the ONE. the ONE who would never lie. the ONE who
would never hate.
the ONE who gives. the ONE who takes. the ONE who breathed us into
being from
pure LOVE.
i thanked the mountain for inviting me, for calling me to her majesty, to her
love.
then there i was adrift over the mountain that I had visited the day before.
i
didn't want to come down to earth. i didn't want to set foot upon the dust
again.
i wanted to fly free. i wanted my soul to soar without the naysayers, soar
far
away from the evil and the strange gatekeepers that one must consistently pray
for,
to have those souls awakened in order that they may receive the gifts of others
and provide a thoroughfare or a conduit for dreams to be realized. the
gatekeepers.
they should learn to fly. they should learn to love. they should
learn the truth
of responsibility as human gatekeepers...
but i had to float back and touch the dust again, because i am of the dust.
though
i straddle the sphere of humanity and spirituality...often times i find myself
far
inside God's cloak. but i want to share the love of that cloak with
others, too.
i don't want them to be left behind. i want to encourage and provide a
sanctifying
relationship for others. i want them to realize the LOVE of CHRIST and the
truth
of their purpose. i need to be a dusty inspiration.
so i touch down. tears diamond up and take a stroll along my smile.
it was happy
terror that I felt. happy that i experienced the joy up there, and terror
to realize
that I must dwell among the evil again, but now I was certain to be even more of
a warrior of peace and love.
gee, i know that i was where i belonged up there where love and truth reign. ...
but it is my responsibility here in the dust as a figurine of clay, housing the
HOLY Spirit that I must continue the mighty works of the LORD, to love and
encourage
forth the gifts in others, all the while praying that every moment will be truth
and filled with purpose as I service.
i am the imagine of messy spirituality. i am an earth mother dwelling in
urban
chaos; Reeking of patchouli and dewberry oils, i resemble a wild child with
angelic
wings; at the same time, I embody a Magdalena vixen sitting on her daybed in
front
of the holiest church alter. but my truth was accepted up there because
the shadows
of humanity: the mind, the body, the emotions were totally accepted and yet shed
and only the soul soarred up there.
before i departed Sturgis...i decided to yet again visit Bear Butte. to
hug my
big rock in all my messiness and smallness. to look up at the great sky where i
soared earlier in the week. to speak to the great souls that trudged that
mountain
and now reside as master spirits in the greater world beyond. i took along
my prayer
ties, one white for communiqué with the great other world, one red as a lover of
people and a servant to the people ==== standing for the image of
the buffalo. the red cloth was removed as a hat band from my torn cowgirl
hat and
transformed into a holy shred of evidence. the white cloth was a knife
hacked irregular
slice from a greasy towel in my saddle bag.
i also brought along a Trinitarian symbol to leave with my prayer ties as a
symbolic
offering -- a small rock that depicted the most precious natural answer to a
prayer
uttered on that first day I ascended the mountain. i had kept that rock
all week
and now was to return it to its holy mountainous alter in keeping with the
sacred.
The little rock had become a serious piece of me that meant so much that when i
removed it from my leather pouch to offer it as a symbol of my soul ensconced
with
every morsel of my being, my hopes, dreams, purpose as a tiny female in this
world,
and in honor of my twin flame soul mate somewhere out there, and the Trinitarian
divine magic of the Father, Son, Holy Spirit -- and as i tied the red and the
white
cloth symbols to the bush filled with thorns and then placed this soul offering
into the cradle of the fabric, i cried so deeply in appreciative awe from the
heavenly
core of my umbilical cord to the Great Father, the HOLY creator... that i
felt
my breath was one endless circle of breath from ONE.
there is no evil up there. only love and truth.
all was beautiful. it was a big moment.
i descended the mountain, then hopped on my Harley and rode off. . .
soaring
flying
reaching
diving
floating
laughing
hoping
being