I was having a conversation with a friend, and then something amazing happened, and I dropped the story I was writing and wrote this instead. This story is about walking straight and doing things with “massive love.” It is about the fact that our dignity is smiled upon by the sprit world. It is about remembering that our heart’s desires are not nonsense, and that we are not alone. It is about not allowing any ghosts to whisper lies into our ears about how we are supposed to feed them and forget about ourselves. It is about the fact that love is valid because it comes from home.

We are not robots. Our hearts deserve respect.

I was born with all this love, and now I am remembering… 
I look at brokenness and dysfunction and see love, struggling to break out of a tight casket. 
I look at anger, and feel the tears of ancestors. 
I look around, and in all this awful havoc, I see an old child’s quest for the love that had been withheld. 
Trapped love, from horizon to horizon.
I have no idea what I am doing with this big world but I see so much beauty all around that I want to scream.
And so I scream, as an admission of how small I am comparing to the universe, and for love, and healing, and harmony.

I look at you, and see all the sweetness of the world, all the goodness of the world. My heart turns into honey from the beauty of your spirit.

I humbly offer my love to the ancestors and ask to heal me. 
I humbly offer my love to the ancestors and ask to heal you. 
I offer my love, from my heart, and ask to heal everything around me. 
Let the light come in, and heal everything around me.
Let the confusion turn into clarity and joy.
All I have is love.
My good Ancestors, help me.

Let it be so. 

And now about freedom.

It’s hard to live by the Machine when you feel intensely and unquestionably that you are free, free, free. That you are of spirit and water, that you have one foot in this world and another, always, in the eternal beauty of the universe, the beauty that becomes a primal sound without words because the intensity of joy exceeds the possibilities of words, and that’s just how it is. That you are powerful, and that you really are love. 

And the Machine?

The Machine is scared of that spiritual sexual feeling. And there is never a lack of people who are very motivated to vomit the mechanical spit of Machine all over you, out of sincere fear. Their vomit stinks and paralyzes, it makes you guilty and unsure, it brings on a big temptation to hush your voice of truth and get with the Machine. But you are too important to listen to the ghosts. You really are.

Don’t get with the Machine.

You are love.

You have work to do. 





(Thank you)

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