July 3, 2019 by Amaya Victoria
The water pours down. The white buffalo holds its ground, and the stars align. Trash fills the water, trash fills the air, and trash fills the peoples’ thoughts. Trash is being swept away by the peoples’ prayers. The winds blow big; intent on making change. The trees bow their heads to the power of the breath of all that is.
The earth shudders as she prepares to recalibrate her systems. Souls dance faster and faster to the timing of suffering that sends them spinning from centrifugal force, flinging from them shallow belief and excuses. The winds ride high, the cold moves low, and the water pours down. Fires blaze unexpected, out of control. Rivers ride high, land goes barren and then blooms. And the stars align.
Like the painting of Dante’s hell, all are caught up in a twisting place of desperate greed. Out of the pit of snakes a hand is strongly reaching up for a place to handhold. A being leans over the edge of the pit, fingers wrapping around the wrist of this soul who is reaching towards the heavens, pulling, moving back on its thighs and then standing. The angel pulls to the surface a child. Another hand comes up, another being grabs the wrist. Wings spread wide, pulling deliberately, another soul is moved out of the dark.
And the water pours down, drenching the ground. The buffalo stands its ground, and the angels align with the stars. Those of the galactic council make their presence known, in ways that cannot be denied. The water pours down, the buffalo stands it ground, the earth writhes as it tries to tell its people of the coming times.
The master of all tides, the heart of 9 to 12 other Gods, moves from behind our sun. It is the central sun; the sun behind the sun. The water pours down, the buffalo stands it ground, it calls to all: I am the predecessor of the new times. And the Stars align.
Groups of human souls gather, moving together and then apart. Arms raise in the air as they tighten up in the dance, hands waving, and producing sparks of the infinite fire. The center of the blue planet boils, erupting within itself. The central sun moves out into the open as the people of the galactic council announce themselves. Their faces misty, blurred, so that the dancers do not try to impress on them a story. Yet their sounds of wisdom dance across the skies like a ticker tape at the stock market; showing the wealth that awaits.
The souls who are incarnate on the blue planet were made for these times. Their wings held tight against their backs, like ships well built, tight and strong. The ropes that have kept the vessels close to port unwind; drop away. The anchors come up, mast heads are pointed to the vast horizons. Unfurled sails snap, filled with the winds of the new.
Lifetime after lifetime, reality after reality, experience after experience; these ships are like elders; unshakable, wise and ready to go. They move out of the ports towards the open sea, gliding, voices raised in prayer and proclamation. The ships glide into the heavens. Polaris, Sirius, Vega, Arcturus, four of the 12 senior member worlds of the Galactic Federation have been waiting for this time; willing to help the people of planet earth in its process of evolution.
These four senior member worlds have held the blue planet steady with a laser like beam coming from each mother ship, positioned on the four ways, east, west, south, north, since before Atlantis. They watch intently as the ships begin their journey to the central sun, as the souls of humanity dance towards the aligning stars. (For more information on the Galactic Federation click here.)
The blue planet turns slowly in the night. The sun behind the sun moves into position. The water pours down, the night turns to day. The white buffalo moves across the ground. And the stars align. Through the devastation we are the symphony. We are the fireworks, we are the harmony. We are the ones we have been waiting for.
Pulled tight in the grasp of and governed by the enviable outcome. The dancing hearts of these heavenly souls turn to face each other and find common ground. Without words, only sound, huge harmonies abound, heaven and earth converge, lighting the sky.
For the waters are pouring down, the buffalo weeps as it stands it ground. And the stars align as the blue planet rises up to bring the heavens down.
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