Scattered Thoughts on a Scattered Shore

I want to tell you how we are all ferrying souls–our own–across great seas. I want to tell you how the seaweed write silent haiku and how my favorite words in the English language are flotsam and jetsam

~from my journal, 2014

The wings of a seagull’s body, floating among rocks in the tide pool, were among an extraordinary amount of beautiful remains scattered on the shore by the tides today. I felt as though I had stumbled upon an impromptu charnel ground and marveled at the sheer volume of bones, as well as the legs and shells of crabs and other sea creatures, and innards strewn about.  I came upon a starfish in very shallow water and bent over to pick it up and return it to the ocean.  Before I could move it, I heard it ask me to let it be and in that split second I understood that it was deciding to transition.

As I walked further the guides showed me how literal our dismemberment and re-memberment is at this time–the body releasing physically as well as energetically.  We are being re-arranged, cell by cell, atom by atom. It is no small undertaking to re-build a body while still inhabiting it, but this is the process we are living as we become more fully crystalline.

Earlier in the day I had facilitated a small group and two women had easily released old implants that were put in place to keep them from experiencing the fullness of connection with others.  I hadn’t reflected on the process, particularly, but when I saw the state of the afternoon beach–and the volume of debris being recycled by the earth–I more fully comprehended the magnitude of what has been releasing in the collective these last two weeks.

Again and again, the ocean has shown me how it recycles her dead.  She holds onto nothing. Everything is released into the original flow and worn away until it is dissolved into the imperceptible.

As I walked even further, the next stretch of beach was clean–barely touched by debris. But it was there that I began to notice a smattering of rocks that I had never seen before–translucent and shimmering in the sun. I realized, then, I was being shown the fruition of this intense period of release: the rocks–solid by appearance, seemed illuminated from within.  Our bodies–and our planet, too–really are becoming light.

I was asked to write about this, especially for those of you who are still feeling mired in the release.  Focus now, as often as you can, at the shimmering in the sun. Watch the light dance–on the snow, on the water, or even just on the window glass.  Know it is the truest reflection of all that you carry in you. Of all that you are.


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