11:46 AM (7 hours ago)
I guess it’s difficult for most people, particularly when they are still in the process of understanding their understanding and what is to be understood and what cannot be understoood.I need to remind myself, frequently, that my dream is now and my potential is met in every moment that I am aware of my own aliveness.
I’ve always been impatient.
You know about my whole “proving God” thing, huh?
It sounds audacious and megalomaniacal, but it’s not even about me…I am just a part of it, a vehicle of myth, as are so many, perhaps us all.
I was given knowledge that I never sought about how the world works and I knew that it was not my knowledge, but that I now must live by it and that I now must…
I sometimes tell myself that I don’t know what God wants me to do.
That’s not true. God wants me to show people. That’s why God showed me. It was never just for me. I knew that from the beginning.
(Oh, I can’t stand to read this and see how
*crazy* it sounds. That hurts, to see that the thing that is most true in one’s life and all that is eternal seems only like half-spoke wisps spelled out.)
Early on, when I thought that surely it would pass, that it might just turn out to be a flight of mad whimsy, unsubstantiated in the end, but when I still felt the proof strongly enough that I wagered I’d better at least experiment with trying to tell people what I had discovered, what had revealed itself to me…well, early on, I cried when I walked down the steps and saw the clouds come up over the house and there were sharp diamond edges cut that held the most golden light and it was a crown as big as the sky and a line of pyramids and I knew that I was watching something holy as the forms came forth, torsos and faces, figures and forms, great writhing lines of bones and light. I tried to film it and in the footage I am crying, saying, “Please. I don’t want to die. I tried…I tried.”
I really did think I was going to die, that God was going to stop my heart for being such a failure. Then I realized that my heart wasn’t going to stop and that I was being a given gift instead and after that I wasn’t afraid to die anymore.
You can hear the phone ring in the video. I had stopped crying a little and I answered the phone. I said hello and then began to explain that the clouds were amazing, that there were vertebrae in the sky.
I felt like I might lose my mind. Not because there were pictures in the sky, but because nobody seemed to believe that there really were (and are!) pictures in the sky and that sometimes God looks like a shape and sometimes eyes and bones and whales and birds and figures stretched out howling, small faces at the edge…that it is all real.
I knew I wasn’t hallucinating, because I can still find the forms in the photographs, small as they are, and I can remember the feeling of seeing them big in the sky and the way that, sometimes, they were only there for moments, before they drifted into something else.
I didn’t just see the forms and figures, I felt them and when the clouds are active, I am drawn to them and as I watch them, I feel that I am moving with them, and my chest becomes warm and my hands begin to feel lively. I feel my sight change, the world falls away, traffic slows down.
Often there are birds, or breezes and I just watch, amazed as the clouds begin to seem to spell things that I don’t quite know how to read but that I know are meaningful because I can feel their meaning.
I don’t know how to explain the sheer magnitude of the love that was given to me, the trust that was placed in me, the grace bestowed, the faith invested.
I think I will try to write a poem about that tomorrow.
I still watch the skies everyday and, if I have the time and the headspace to sit for a spell, I can still engage in what I have come to think of as cloudcalling, an intentional process in which I send my heart and my hope into the sky and something rises to answer me in the shapes I see as everything that is old.
The only way I have kept from losing my mind is to try to logically figure out how God works in the world, so that I could understand why it seems like there are signs in the sky.
This sort of thing has been happening for thousands of years, just nobody notices it anymore or believes that it could be real and that it could be possible.
I don’t think I’m special. You, of all people, know how many people find themselves connected to the spirit realm in one way or another. We are all connected. It’s part of being human.
I don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes I think maybe I should just bundle it all into some comfy new age paradigm and hush up.
(I don’t want to do that.)
Other times I think I should fashion myself a postmodern antipop phenom and figure out how to publish a book of narrative adventures in stumbled upon wisdom called The Girl Who Proved God, a madly brilliant culture jam extraordinaire that may afford the opportunity for me to sit in a desert with friends and translate the sky, and talk to people in libraries and in offices while wearing secondhand party dresses, redistribute some funds for mad liberation resources, and rattle the cages of old ideas.
(I do want to do that.)
I hope you are well and visited often by all of the love in the world and that the mid-nights are full of small joys in dreaming.