The sound of the windchimes, the melodic crashes and tones, relentless and repeated. Waves of torrential downpour, sweeping across the rooftop, the rush of water in the downspout. The shudder of the walls and the strain of the rooftop, as branches weed themselves from the heights.
The flash of the clocks, the surges and regeneration of power. The street porch lights flicker and pulse. Thunder rumbles, echoing through the earth.
Silent pictures in the mind. Protection, the Divine Mother bringing her warmth and beauty, encompassing, releasing me from this world. I stand on the pyramid, storm swirling with power, light energy dancing like the Auroras across the skyline. Power staff in hand, vibrant with the energy of ancestors, of my people, of the spirits. The sacred song, resonating, reverberating, encircling the planet.
The rocking boat on stormy waters. Jesus in the bow. They will drown without the Master. He leaves the higher realm, returns to the body, perplexed with how to teach those who do not truly comprehend. A sweep of the hand, a connection to Truth, the waters calm. Flatten. Vast and blue. The eye of the storm. We are the eye. We are the I.
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