Singing Libraries

Underestimations of the Scholar

Last week, I made a four mile long pilgrimage to a local temple that was rumored to hold secrets and the potential of mentorship. I wanted to go and feel into the space and these men who claimed to have power, to discern whether perhaps they could help me with the next stage of my evolution. I was led on a tour of the history, some of which I knew, but I decided to play as a novice so as to hear the story they tell. As I sat waiting for the guide, catching my breath and relaxing in one of their symbolically ornate chairs, I could already feel the facade of the game. It held no power. Giant columns of marble sourced from locations I never would have imagined having a reserve of such stone. Intricate designs and symbols used to decorate every inch of the interior and exterior space. All empty. Until we got to the library, open and free to the public despite being held behind mammoth doors and a security guard who granted entrance. The library sang with information and held the smell of knowledge that had long since been extinguished from the public libraries of Massachusetts. I have spent every day since then in the library, reading through the books, as they are called to me to choose. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.

At night, my astral reality has me facing demons with unknown faces, but each battle always ends with me tying their hands behind their backs. I do not kill or destroy these characters, I just always seem to take their hands and stretch them out as if they were made of chewed gum, wrapping them upon each other, disabling the character. I wake up feeling fried but flow with the needs of my body to recover and go back to my new studies.

Starting my entire life over again after having been in the ruins of what was and the hellish landscape of the belly of the beast, has been one of the hardest plotlines I have embraced. It has had many twists and turns but my resilience grows each day, with each challenge. I knew I was walking into a realm of higher level demons and since there is nowhere in this realm to be truly safe from the lower level demons or the higher level ones, my choice to play on the higher level was the right choice. Lower level demons have a very sad victim game to manipulate their targets with. The higher level demons play a game of guidance. Both make the same mistake when it comes to their assumptions about me. What they read in my character they misunderstand because they can’t see it as truth. They only know their own misery and ugliness as truth because their friends and family mimic it back to them, and so it is normalized as how everyone is. So they assume how I present is a game like theirs, but it isn’t until I fully digest their game. Even then there is no game, there are boundaries and laws set firmly on how engagement with my existence will continue, if I allow it. They lack agency, so they cannot understand how to use agency as a means of holding a singular vibration in such contrast to their own.

I have had many interactions since my departure with different flavors of demons and yet they still all play only two variations of their game. Patterns. It’s not hard to recognize, and now that the solar storms have exacerbated their inability to contain their true selves, they give themselves away. So confident that their games have worked and are normalized, they lack the ability to not overshare their truths and perhaps because they misread me, they feel safe giving it all away assuming I will not register what they are truly saying with their vomit of words and emotions. Meanwhile, my life long dreams for humanity and this planet are blooming everywhere, naturally without forced effort. Resurrection of a balance that was always meant to exist in the beauty of what is and could be, grows steadily within the burning of the sun’s increasingly powerful emissions of light.