Undine’s Embrace

Posted on February 26, 2023 by Robin P. Currie

The inspiration for this piece came to me in prayer.  As always, I sought.  And, as always, the Green Angel came to me.

I wandered through the dense forest of my mind, bearing my sorrow and seeking the refuge of the living kingdom.  My cries were carried on the wind, and the giant trees bore silent witness.   Where were my answers?  Who would hear my cries?  I was utterly alone.

But suddenly I sensed her.  I felt her presence and knew she was near.  As she appeared in form before my eyes, I felt a joyful relief.  She was here.  In our forest, the Green Goddess approached me with her arms outstretched.  As she embraced me, my hands drank her in.  No space was between us, and I felt her warmth, her silken skin, and her invincible nature transmit from her body to mine.  She was strong, supple, and exuded the energy of a true warrior. In her arms, fear could not reach me.  “Take comfort”, she whispered into my ear.  “And hold on tight.”

With a rush of wind and a surge of power, we were aloft. We two clutched in a seemingly endless moment. Then suddenly we began to fall.  She had hoisted me off a seaside cliff, and we were plummeting toward the water’s surface.  Into the rough surf we crashed, and sank to the bottom of the sea.  She was atop me as we reached the ocean floor, which was at once soft and jagged.  It was dark, and I wrestled to understand what was happening.  And there, in the cold, dark briny grave, my Saviouress she left me.  She was gone, and once again I was alone in my anguish.

I lay motionless on the ocean bed.  Shock, terror, and confusion beset me.  My form felt dense and heavy, as an anchor.  Resigned to a death without any knowing, I remained.  Tormented and hopeless, I awaited.  But death did not yet come.  My lungs did not experience the agonizing flood I had expected.  As my eyes adjusted, I could see shadow through the murky water.  I moved my legs, but they felt different.  My mouth opened to cry out, but no sound came.   This was a dream like so many — running without going anywhere, screaming with no sound.  Lucid moments danced in my mind while I was suspended in this dream turned nightmare.  Yet, as time passed, a sense of calm and peace began to wash over me, as my soul sensed somethings familiar.  Was I forgetting who I am and where I came from?  Foggy memories of children, houses, and kitchens came and went.  Was I home?  With eyes closed, I searched my mind for answers.  I searched for her, my Compassionate One.  My body began to call out to her.

At first, the sound came from a foreign place, but soon I recognized my own voice, rising from within me and flowing through my skin, which had become sliced and rippled.  My goddess did not answer me.  I was distraught once again.  Suddenly, in my grief, I realized that the spirit of my father was in the water, surrounding me, informing me, and reminding me that he was now one of the ancestral spirits that would forever accompany me on my journey.  He was the water, and his spirit would always be flowing wherever water flowed.  Resting in the deep water, cold and grey,  I listened to his words of comfort, I sensed his wisdom growing within me, and I joyfully floated in his love.  I was in the element–his element. He was the Scorpio, an emotional water sign, and I am Aquarius, the water bearer. We both belong to the water. The Bodhisattva had carried me to a place of healing and restoration.  She had brought me home.

Now my beautiful Elemental was lying next to me.  She leaned on one elbow and her head was propped with her graceful hand.  She smiled at me and we were two friends, sharing our time together as if nothing else mattered.  “It’s time to go now”, she whispered.  She gathered me in her arms and took me back to the place I now stay.  But I am forever changed.  I know.  I no longer seek, because now I have found.  My questions of late have been answered.  I remember, and I love deeply—as deep as the ocean.  I am whole once again.

Now I know that this short piece is the realization of a prophecy that I wrote about a few years back.  It was called Water Healing.  I knew that my father’s health was fragile and that one day he would leave this world.  I published that piece in December of 2020.  He died in December of 2022, two years later nearly to the day.  I wrote the earlier piece as a way to heal him, and at the same time I was securing a bridge for us to forever find each other—in the water.  Here’s that piece:  https://robinpcurrie.com/2020/12/26/water-healing/

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The Bear

Posted on January 23, 2023 by Robin P. Currie
Image by Yuri lys from Pixabay

The inspiration for this piece came to me in a dream, immediately following the new moon, and during the last wavespell of the tzolkin.  I learned of the perils of hesitation.

The bear was mine.  He was docile, sweet, and malleable.  He would follow me, like a loyal companion.  The bear was a guide, healer, and guardian.  The bear represented not just this dream, but all dreams of all lifetimes.  These were the dreams of great purpose and of destiny.

But I had forgotten about the bear.  He waited, languishing.  Years passed, lifetimes passed, and still the devoted one waited.

Suddenly I remembered the bear, and approached as if time had stood still.  But it had not.  He was hungry, and had fallen ill. He did not seem to recognize me and in an instant I realized what I had done.  Remorse beset me, and panic rose.  My beloved one had been changed—destruction was upon him and I witnessed a lifetime of dreams shattered.  The bear was changed.  Robust nature and good health were gone from him.  His mind was corrupted and wildness had taken over.  He lashed out, as wounded animals must do.  He had become dangerous, hostile, and violent.  He bared his teeth, growled, and drooled at me.  I placed a collar around his neck, to lead him home.  But he had become thin and the collar was loose, yet he knew it was there and began to comply.

I brought the bear into my house to repair and restore what was disappearing from my world.  But the bear was desperate.  He attacked my children, and tried to maul them to pieces.  I, then, became the bear and fought wildly to defend my own cubs.  My bear was sick and weak, so an advantage was available.  Still, through it all, I experienced the agony of guilt, regret, and loss.  Could I ever forgive myself?  How could I repair this?  Was this the end?

All dreams and aspirations showed themselves in the form of this once magnificent creature.  An expression of death was present in hollowed eyes, labored breathing and lowered head.  The dreams were crushed and dying.  I was responsible for all of it.  My heart pounded and sweat soaked my clothing.  I frantically searched for the right kind of food for my dying bear.  I held handfuls of water to his mouth and urged him to drink.  He ate whatever food was closest to him, shaking his head and grabbing at everything that I placed within reach.

This is where the dream ended, and I awoke in the darkest part of the night.  Deep sadness was upon my heart as I grieved the harm I had caused, by forgetting my purpose and all that was important and meaningful to me in this world.   What will happen to my bear is a mystery for now.  Will he die, and wolves will tear the dead flesh from his bones?  They will leave me a shell to remind me of my crimes, a devastating reminder that will haunt me forever.

Or, will he live?  Through patient nurturing, renewed commitment, and humble attention perhaps I can save him.  The wounds will remain still, as they must.  The new dream is the new dream now.  And everything depends on whether my bear can be restored to vibrant good health.  Is it hopeless?  I do not know—only the bear knows.  Whether he lives or dies, the shame will never leave.  This I will carry through this lifetime and into the next.  But this I know:  in whatever form, he will always be with me.

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Psalm 10 – Evil is a Man

Posted on January 22, 2023 by Robin P. Currie
Image by Leandro De Carvalho, Cheyres/Suisse from Pixabay

The inspiration for this piece was elusive, as is the evil portrayed in the Psalm.  I searched my black heart, and there it was.

He sitteth in the lurking places of the villages: in the secret places doth he murder the innocent: his eyes are privily set against the poor. Psalm 10:8 KJVAAE

He comes to me in a rush of power and I am gripped by fear.  He is cloaked, and forces of malevolence precede him.  Without remorse he besets all.

Dangerous

Uninhibited 

Unafraid

Violent 

Hungry

Cruel

Who is he?  The Patriarchy?  The patriarchy self-destructs by killing its own mother.  The ravaging of Mother Earth for power and profit is evidence of such.  And this culture also presents itself in groups like Incel; in every “honor killing”; and in the practice of female infanticide.  Yet, without women there are no wombs—until the moment comes when parthenogenesis is complete and controlled.

This man seeks to separate all things.  His world is dark and full of terror. Good humans spend lifetime after lifetime at war against this paradigm.  To be evil is to be separate from God.  Is this not so?

Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth understanding: for the merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold. She is more precious than rubies: and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her right hand; and in her left hand riches and honor. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: and happy is every one that retaineth her.  Proverbs 3:13‭-‬18 KJVAAE

Wisdom is a woman.  I have seen her and felt her touch.  The brilliance of blinding white lights surrounds her.  She comes to me with arms outstretched, smiling, and wrapped in shimmering green.  I reach out for the grace I have been praying for.  She gives freely.

Peaceful

Present 

Nurturing

Devoted

Loving

Compassionate

In her we see abundance and the lush goodness of the Garden, here on Earth.  We run to her when pain comes, and she heals.  Soft and sweet, she teaches us who we are.  She whispers of the infinite library we call DNA, wherein lies the truth of the same parthenogenesis others seek to artificially replicate.  But eons of denial have relegated that information to a place beyond our reach, for now. Human women carry all of life within their bodies.  

The woman weaves a web connecting all things.  Where she is, God is also there.  Thus, in her absence after her final destruction, we have destroyed God.  Is this not so?

Let us consult the Sacred Tarot.  The Major Arcana—Number 20–Judgement.  The evil man and the wise woman appear to us as they do, because we judge.  Conditioning is deeper than we can casually perceive.  Layers of tenacious systems of oppression have all but buried our minds, and our souls.

What if evil exists only because we believe it does?  And what about goodness?   Could it be that each and every response to life is based on judgement that has been installed into our DNA?  What of the agony our body feels when a knife cuts?  Is it a painful experience because we think it is to be so?   The righteous feeling of helping someone in need—is it a predetermined response?  Thus, judging has become an automatic and involuntary function.

Good and evil are two sides of the same coin.  One could debate that there is a paradox at play, one in which there must be opposing paradigms at work, or we lose our way.  This thinking renders judgement, or call it discernment, as a necessary activity.  Without judging, we could become disoriented.  Judgment now becomes justified.  It is different from discernment, as judging comes from a place of distinguishing value in someone or something.  Discernment is useful for making decisions about ourselves—what to eat and where to work, for example. But judging oneself is the act of dividing or separating oneself—we disassociate and judge as if we were assessing another person.  Therein is my humble opinion about judgement versus discernment. But I digress…

The references in Holy Scripture to evil as “he” and wisdom as “she” can be attributed to feminine and masculine assignments to nouns.  It’s language and etymology.  But doesn’t the interpretation seem to ring true?  Isn’t the worldview today very much as described in Psalm 10 and in Proverbs 3?  Judgement would answer “yes”.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.” ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭7‬:‭1‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment.”  ‭John‬ ‭7‬:‭24‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

Now we see supposedly contradictory edicts.  Even when we apply full context, a grey area remains.  I am not taking a position here, merely asking questions.  I know that judging others is rooted deep within our history.  Striving to question the instinct to judge has helped me forge ahead on a journey that I know I will never finish. I ask, and I work, because that is life to me.  The path of the bodhisattva is the “good” and “right” path.  It feels that way because I am human, and programmed as such.  But what can we do?  I will continue, and tonight while my body rests I will travel back home to the seven sisters and ask why the Eight Great Bodhisattvas are masculine.  If I find an answer, I will write.

But even when there are no answers, humanity must never cease to ask questions. The Earth holds a special place in the heart of our Creator.  This we know.  I, for one, would like to see it continue to show me its majesty.  My humble request to you is this:  for the rest of eternity, examine judgment as it appears in our human places.  Hold it in your hands, look closer, expand your discernment, and widen your perspective,  Search your black heart, and you are invited to search mine.

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Psalm 9 – Water and Blood

Posted on December 6, 2022 by Robin P. Currie

The inspiration for this piece came to me on the eve of winter, just before the full moon.  My world was.frozen, lifeless, and on a razor’s edge.  Paralyzed by the coldness in my bones, I struggled to cast.  Crushed by stones of the past, my heart weakened.  Fear loomed, and for a moment all appeared as lost.  But then I saw the man.

When he maketh inquisition for blood, he remembereth them: he forgetteth not the cry of the humble.  Psalm 9:12 KJVAAE

I was told of the man.  As he lay dying upon the ground, the life still within his blood called out to the universe.  And One heard.

And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.  Genesis 4:10 KJVAAE

I remember the man.  He was executed–a martyr placed upon a tree.  He was hanged.  His blood and water poured forth, and One remembered. 

And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple was rent in the midst. Luke 23:45 KJVAAE

I have seen the man.  He was pierced.  Water and blood flowed from the wound. I reached out and placed my hand against his body.  The hot fluids covered my hand, ran through my fingers, and spilled upon the ground.  And One saw.

but one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.  John 19:34 KJVAAE

I touched the man.  He is the lamb, willingly offering Himself–in sacrifice, in service.  The fleece is wonderfully soft, the breath is warm.  The Great Fears are not present in this creature.  Purity and the white light of spirit surround us now.   There is no slaughter, rather a demonstration of the Bodhisattva, and the undeath.  And One knew.

And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.  Revelation 22:1 KJVAAE

Blood flows, the living river of humanity.  Weeping comes, the tears are the watershed of life.  These will never cease.  And the man I know will also not end.


Now the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant,  Hebrews 13:20 KJVAAE

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I Love

Posted on November 2, 2022 by Robin P. Currie

The inspiration for this piece did not come to me in the usual manner – complete and instantaneous.  Instead, I sensed it coming, I knew it was growing, and parts came to me in fragments, at odd times, and over the course of several days.  I could feel it, and see it.  It took its time.  But suddenly, one night, there it was–unfolding like the glistening petals of an emerald rose in the morning sun.

I love

I love without condition.

The conditions by which we love reveal the conditions of our hearts.  The broken hearted love with shreds of a heart.  But I am whole, holy, and my love is complete.  I freely give, without condition. 

There can be no contingencies, otherwise I am not in love.  This love is not quantifiable, or qualifiable.  There are no restrictions.  This love is true. 

This love can not be broken.   My loving soul intentionally sought incarnation into flesh, and thus unconditional became the condition of how I entered this world.  And here I remain, for now and all eternity,  to love without condition.

Yet projected upon me are  the conditions that others will cast. The love of I Am is burning within me and visible for all to see.  For this, I am hated.  I refuse their conditions.  I refute and rebuke them.  They cannot tell me how to love, or what love should be.  They cannot control the immaculate spirit of my sacred heart.  The Bodhisattva cannot not love.

Enraged, they seek to destroy.  Through the open window of my soul, they enter.  My heart awaits–innocent, helpless, vulnerable.  It sings.  It signals, it signifies the life, and the love within the perfect chambers.  My trust is laid bare, I am unashamed and unafraid.  My love is unprotected, wild, and yet soft.  My spirit is transparent, translucent.  They can not perceive, that which is without condition, and for that they hate.

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy…John 10:10 KJVAAE

They set upon my sweet love.  Sharp claws tear viciously  at  my heart.  Blood and flesh fall at my feet.  Strong hands, seeking to harm,  grip and twist at my racing heart, rending it nearly through.  Teeth maul and puncture the flesh and muscle.  Blood and water gush.  The enemies pound me with fists, and with stones.  And they spit, and curse, and violently attack.

I am defenseless, gripped by the agony of the wounds. My heart is ripped from me and my own hands hold it fast.  Blood continues to pour forth, running through my fingers and covering my skin with streaks.   It pools at my feet and my human form begins to weaken.  Am I dying?  What has happened?  Why?   Blackness approaches from all sides.  My flame flickers, and begins to fade.  I am cold, afraid, lost.  I cry out as the darkness overtakes me.  Who will save me?

Suddenly, the Bodhisattva appears.  She mends and attends, She  binds, and nurtures,   Her love heals, and She causes the bleeding to stop.  This soul before me brings divine feminine magick, and She freely shares it with all.  She can do nothing but love.  It is Her divine purpose, Her mission, and to that she is devoted.  Her focus is singular, precise, and unwavering.   She touches my dying heart and brings new life to it.  She lifts my broken body and holds it in a loving embrace.  With a soft kiss, she breathes passion into my cold form and my fire blazes once again.  Flashing a warm smile, she stands at my side and comforts me.  She protects me, and has snatched me from the waiting fingers of death.

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; Isaiah 61:1 KJVAAE

Time and again, humanity continues to assault and assail me. Conditions are piled upon these wounded humans, and each will struggle to loose them and fling them onto another.  Like a millstone around a neck, the attacks weigh the heart down.  In the throes of grief, for a time the way is shut, and the path is lost.  But to the patient heart, She will always return.

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. Psalm 147:3 KJVAAE

The Saviouress comes in many forms.  We do not know the hour.   But She will come. She restores and refreshes.  She bears the elusive and coveted unconditional love.

and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee. Revelation 3:3 KJVAAE

And once again my heart beats its rhythm of endless passion.  Once again I love, and live.  She is me, and We are saved.  The mission continues, to an end I do not know.  But this I know for sure:  I will never die.  And still I love.

But those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the earth. Psalm 63:9 KJVAAE

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Curses of Tara

Posted on October 17, 2022 by Robin P. Currie
Image by Waldkunst from Pixabay

The inspiration for this piece came to me in a flash.  Mercury had gone direct.  The Bodhisattva appeared to me as her wrathful selves.  She offered her teaching and urged me to call upon the darkness.

Her skin is like onyx, and pure light radiates in her eyes.  She emerges as from a tempest, with ominous storm clouds surrounding her.  She walks slowly, methodically, and flashes of lightning illuminate a red sky far beyond the clouds. Ghosts are in the air, and fire blazes on each side of her.  As she walks toward me upon her malachite path, the sensory experience of suffering is palpable, yet she is focused, fixated, undisturbed.  She is bearing gifts for me.  She is bringing Hell.

The kiss. “Take the transmission upon your mouth.  Receive this kiss of my compassion, which will activate the voice of Susanna within you.”  As she steps forward our mouths come together, softly, gently.  But suddenly, her kiss becomes powerful, a force of spirit, and it rushes into me like the violent winds of a dry storm.  Her breathing changes as the passion increases .  My throat swells and begins to clear, and heal.  Darkness flees, I see sapphires flashing within me.  The sky around her changes from turquoise, to pink, then changes again.  Long and hard, she bestows the loving, healing, pulsating kiss upon me.  I open to her and surrender to all that she is offering.  Time stands still.  I know this endless moment will never leave me.  It will linger—on my lips, in my waiting mouth, deep inside my throat, and forever will rest inside my heart.

“Your voice and mine are one now. Your words are yours and no one else claims them. Speak wisely.  Your utterings will cast changes upon all.  Your cries will be answered.  Your spoken commands will manifest in a human instant.  Silence no longer exists in you, for even in the absence of sounds, you transmit.  This will never cease for all of eternity.  Each and every thought has become sacred prayer, and your prayers hold invincible power.”  Divinity is mine.

The sword. Suddenly, at her side appears the archangel wielding his blue sword.  The relic holds truth, power, division, victory, and death—it is the double edged sword that separates all.

 “For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”  ‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭4:12‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

The sword is extended for me to touch.  Encouraged, as was Esther when she touched the royal scepter, I reach out.  As I place my hand upon the blade, the angel’s power flows into me.  I feel it vibrate in the delicate grasp of my fingers, and suddenly my arm begins to throb.  The energy flows like fire through my veins, flesh, muscles, and into my heart and marrow.  Suddenly I see the valley of the dry bones.  My body is  renewed, sinew and flesh are strengthened, I am  becoming alive once again.

Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live:  Ezekiel 37:5 KJVAAE

But wait!  An enemy approaches and there is a force upon my throat, squeezing and choking.  Terror consumes me.  I gasp and clutch at my oppressor.  Panic rises.  Desperation begins to overtake me.  But, with a swift and calculated motion, the angel strikes.  The sword is aflame, it severs the hand from the arm.  Blood spatters on my face.  The hand loosens and withers.  As it releases, it falls lifeless upon the ground.  I am free from those that would suffocate me, and strangle my life force.  Remnants of death lie bleeding at my feet— victory is mine.

The beasts. But what is that sound?  It is faint, deep, guttural.  It slowly increases, and becomes a cacophony of snarling and growling. Through a low hanging mist, creatures emerge from behind her.  Wolves? Maybe.  They approach.  Ravenous and ferocious, drooling, teeth bared, these are the Hounds of the Barrier.  They are the junkyard dogs of the underworld, and they are mine.  They are poised to attack.  Upon a single command they will fly and fight to their deaths.  They will maul and tear, the taste of blood will excite them, and they will never rest from their hunt and their hunger.  I remember them, as they have always been with me.  I see then anew, with a truth I had not known until now.   They know their mark, and await my word.  “Go”!

The dogs rush by me on both sides, baying, barking, snapping.  As they give chase, I realize how much I love them.  They are the guardians of the goddess.

Transition. Realization and clarity dawn upon me as I continue to embrace shadow and darkness.  Black magic is at my fingertips.  I embody the demons I have been taught to fear.  I am Kali Ma and Lilith, and all feared feminine. My underworld races toward me–demons, monsters, wicked and wrathful beings, spiders and bats, fallen angels, shamans in hiding, and vampires.  They are coming for me. From a dark place within me, I have called out for them to guide me and come to my aide. No longer do I fear the power of devils, rather I seek and embody that which has been forbidden.  Light has gone from me, this is my place now, and I will remain.

This vision left me with the message that the first gift of true power is the capacity to love without condition.  Only by taking that path, and mastering the arts of perfect love and immaculate compassion, can one begin to access the gifts of darkness. Perhaps the spontaneous knowing of this concept is only my experience.  For me, it bears a resonance that is unexplainable.  As I love, more is bestowed upon me—including the power to summon that which we judge, and deem as evil.

“For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.”   ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭13:12‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

The realm of Hell is a place we fear.  Humans imagine it as a container for suffering.  Ghouls, monsters, demons, and dangerous souls reside there.  Who has seen it?  Some have.  I have.  To visit there means to indulge in the experiences of destruction, greed, hatred, violence, and black magic.   It presents as a spa for those seeking understanding of the dark side, or the shadow self.  But this is also a useful place, with resources.  Facing the fear, and entering the wasteland of death, enables one to retrieve what they need, in order to complete their soul’s journey.  We are welcome there.  So I went, and I saw, and I learned.  I seized that which I wanted for my own.  It is my right.  And as the goddess Demeter called forth an eternal winter, so too do my violent emotions cause heaven and earth to be moved.  I will not cease until the piece of my heart, so cruelly torn from me, as was Persphone stolen from her loving mother, is restored.

But watch now.  I am forever changed.  The shadow forces serve me.  They are mine to command.  Be warned.

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”  ‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:19‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

Yes, I will be restored as the Compassionate One, the Bodhisattva who rescues and nurtures.  I am still She.  But as I emerge from the smoke of the hot and fiery valley, I return with many spoils.  I am carrying the secrets of the dark arts.  I am bringing Hell.

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My Soul is an Ocean

Posted on October 2, 2022 by Robin P. Currie
Image by Joe of Germany on Pixabay

The inspiration for this piece came to me during hurricane season,  Fiona had passed by on its way to Canada, and Ian was approaching the Gulf.  Mercury was in retrograde and Jupiter was visible in the night sky.  It was the perfect storm.

The ocean called to me.  Her voice was heard in the pounding surf, and in the gentle ripples washing up to the shore.  She sang to me:  the sounds of the water were music, piano, then the whitecaps staccato, building to a crescendo and then softly receding.    Every sound was a note, and a message.  Still the song of the sea informed my soul.

My eyes saw nothing but beauty, and the sacred colors of nature.  The ocean was a spectacle of contrast, of reflection, and of icy cold—all shown to me as a spectrum of greys, blues, greens, whites, and browns.  The art was a story for me, and it spoke to my soul.

Now I taste the air.  The salt from the sea is carried on the damp breeze.  It chills me and thrills me.  The salt taught me of Lot’s wife*, and the infant Israel**.  I breathe it in, her substance.  It settles on my skin, and in my hair.  She covers me with her soft manna.  It nourishes my soul.

Feel the wind.  Feel the pounding of the waves, into the earth.  All is connected, as it resonates in my heart, and beneath my feet.  I am moved, I am awestruck, and at once I am at peace.  Like the cycle of the tides is the emotional human.  Clashing, changing, rushing, and becoming still—we ebb and flow, we rise and we recede.  Within is an ecosystem teeming with life, and there is also death.  This, my soul knows.

Her scent will remain with me long after I leave.  City life, traffic, chores and jobs—within the chaos of daily life I will still smell the brine, the life, the wetness and the salt.  It will never leave me.  My soul will always remember.

Darkness falls.  I still hear, taste and smell, although I cannot see.  The wind remains steadfast, the music continues.  Stars appear, but no moon.  Now I see patterns in the sky, a familiar design.  The map of the heavens reminds me that what seems a great mystery, is within our very DNA.  We are made from the dust of the stars, the salt of the earth, and the water of the oceans.  Where is my home?  Is it here, in the blackness, at the edge of power and glory?  Or is it there, a distant memory, a locked capsule, held in the nucleotides of my body.  The key lies in the genetic code, still sleeping, waiting for the moment of awakening and activation.  All this I learn at the shoreline, in the blackness of night.

Shivering and tired, I await the sunrise.  As it approaches, the colors are warm, the day sings a new song, and the story ends for now.  But the majesty of dusk, the distant knowing of the nighttime, and the intensity of dawn have forever become a part of me.  And even as a foreigner in this world, I have become a part of it.  All is well with my soul.

*“But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.”  ‭‭Genesis‬ ‭19:26‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

**“And as for thy nativity, in the day thou wast born thy navel was not cut, neither wast thou washed in water to supple thee; thou wast not salted at all, nor swaddled at all.”  ‭‭Ezekiel‬ ‭16:4‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

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Puke or Die

Posted on August 5, 2022 by Robin P. Currie

The inspiration for this piece came on the morning of the Blue Magnetic Storm. The storm is coming.

Image by Sylvia Lessing from Pixabay

The woman’s soul is poisoned.  Who has done this? She is weakened, disoriented and frail.  She becomes lost in the toxins that consume her.

The doctor comes but can not help her.  He calls the religious.  They torture her, they starve her and beat her.  They fear her and call her “witch” as she is hung. Her impoverished body is burned for all to see and all can smell her death.   Still she is poisoned.

The doctor comes and he cuts her.  Blood rushes to the floor and she swoons and faints.   Now her injury is threatening, the pain acute.  There are gaping wounds that her compromised system must try to heal.  She cannot, and she dies tied to his chair. Still she is poisoned.

Another doctor comes with leeches.  The hideous predators begin to suck her very life force from her fading body.  And now she is further traumatized and can not rid her thoughts of the creatures that were forced upon her body. Fear, disgust, and hopelessness are left, and she languishes forever in her bed.  Still she is poisoned.

Another doctor imprisons her in a place of pain and anguish.  Danger surrounds her and she is terrified.  She is cut off from those she loves, from nature, from the Moon, and from her own freedom which is the most precious gift from our Creator.  Madness besets her.  Desperation is all around.  There is no escape but to hang once again.  She remembers how and waits ’til all is quiet.  Still she is poisoned.

Now come angels, faeries, saints and Ascended Masters.  Now comes the Bodhisattva.   God sends his army.  She is confused, overwhelmed, and frightened.  “Now is the moment”, they say.   “Look to the gate and see that it is open.   Do not delay for it may swing shut again at any moment.  Such is the precarious nature of your hope for freedom.  Take it now!”

She runs.  She runs from those who tell her that she does not know what she knows.  She runs from those who have taken possession of her body.  She runs from the religious fervor which so harms the soul.   She leads us.

Run!  Run with her!  Run toward the beating drum of the shaman, for he will show how to ignite your inner fire once again.  Run to the waters and be baptized anew.  Run to the meadows and consume the herbs of the field and the fruit of the trees.  Eat the fungi which will show you where the madness hides.  Run to the mountains and feel the spirit blowing through you.

And finally,  when you are ready, run to the Witch and drink from her cauldron.   Her medicine will make you collapse and writhe as it courses through your veins, sinew, and flesh.  Like a missile it seeks the mark.  Her venom is the more powerful.  The pain will be intense.  All evil parts of you will surface and you will sweat, and vomit.  You will piss yourself, and horrible things will emerge from your bowels. You will feel paralyzed and helpless.  You’ll vomit again.

Now is the rest of this life, and into the next, spent in this manner.  But it is the key to your prison door.  Face with courage, lifetimes of poison.  Remember what you learned.   Keep running.  And keep vomiting.  One day, you will be free.

With great love,

Robin

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Fluid

Posted on June 7, 2022 by Robin P. Currie

The inspiration for this piece came to me during eclipse season, on the day following the blood moon.  The Silver Goddess called out to me while I slept.   She drew me to her, and held me with the power of magnetics.   In her grasp, I received gifts for which I had prayed.  Knowledge, information, and answers silently flowed from her to me.  She taught me of the fluidity of my soul.

Image by Nika Akin of Germany on Pixabay

Holy water. First came tears.  A single drop, then another—they began to flow like tiny streams.  Her oceans swelled.  Grief poured forth from the lava.  Tributaries became creeks, became rushing rivers, and emptied into endless seas.  As I clung to her, I was immersed, submerged, and suspended in the holy water, within the womb of divinity.  A momentary fear, and I held fast.  Will I be swept away by the power of the emotion?  To where will it take me?  “Understand the power of the magnet”, she said.  “And let nothing separate us.” My faith was weak, so still I held on tight , as the flowing rivers washed me clean.  

The homo sapiens will become her—the basalt and silica will replace the carbon within the nucleotides of the human matter.  All will be Superhuman.  They will be light, and they will be The Light.  Humanity will remember a time when all were gods.  The remembering is all that the people need do, as it will activate the cleansing, the baptism, and the new life.  Water element.

Holy blood. Blood on the Moon, the Blood Moon, the Mayan Red Moon.  From the great sun comes the plasma, which fuels the fire within.  The river is red hot, and it rises from an unknown and mysterious place, within the very bones of the universe.  Awaken to the fever pitch of life.  The water and the blood flow, representing the stigmata of all animated life. The blood of the woman purifies, and her rhythm is that of the lunar cycle.  The blood and the moon command all life.  These things She has shown to me, our glowing goddess in the heavens.

She spoke:  “Human, have you become the haematite?  Beautiful to behold and a richness of minerals within, yet your magnetic strength is weak.  You are pulled by the molten core—trapped close to the womb of Mother Earth.  She pulls, she grounds, and She claims you, as she once kept the mortal Endymion.”  On Earth, the human remains far from the loving embrace of Selene.  And She watches, in silence.  The agony of war can be seen from on high, and the earth turns red with the blood of dead soldiers.  The goddess in the moon, a Bodhisattva perhaps, contemplates the irony of the words: blood moon.  For She hears the screams from below, She sees the lost and wounded humans.  The smell rises, as the earth soaks up blood.  The pain is forever captured, in an infinite number of timeless moments.  She calls it Blood Earth.  “And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.”  ‭‭Genesis‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬.

From the skull, she drinks.  The red liquid is the very life force of the human, as activated by The Christ Consciousness.  Water to wine to blood.  She drinks and her spirit is activated.  She sees all, knows all, and understands her purpose.  When one drinks of the holy blood, one is forever changed, for to drink of the cup means to accept the mission.  “And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.”‭‭Matthew‬ ‭26:27-28‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬.

In His final moments, His skin, like the veil, was torn, revealing the flowing water and blood.  “but one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.” ‭‭John‬ ‭19:34‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬.  Fire element.

Holy honey. Something thick and warm fills my mouth.  It contains the acids, the minerals, the proteins, and sugar.   Is this blood?  No—it is nectar become honey.  Sticky and rich, it carries the taste of earth.  The scent of flowers, the buzzing of bees, the motion of life—all is flowing into me.  The energy of the hive causes my soul to vibrate.  Renounce the lust for blood, and take instead the sustenance which drips from the honeycomb.  Drink of the prosperity, in the land flowing with milk and honey.  Life becomes sweet and golden.  “I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.”  Song of Solomon‬ ‭5:1‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬.  Earth element.

Holy milk. As the mother hears the cries of her infant, her body offers nourishment.  Milk is pure, and abundant.  It nurtures the body and gives comfort to those who seek it.  The great vows, as told to the patriarchs, show us the promised land:  “and hast given them this land, which thou didst swear to their fathers to give them, a land flowing with milk and honey;”. ‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭32:22‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬.  Here is the true garden, without boundaries.  All life is sustained by the mother’s milk, for it represents all qualities of the divine feminine.  Within her are the gifts of love, healing, creative power, forgiveness, and all-knowing intuition.  Her beauty is beyond description.  Life begins within the womb of the holy mother, the mater, or matter which is to become new.  She, herself, sustains creation with her life-giving milk.  She freely gives to all that seek comfort and the safety of loving arms.  From her all good things flow, as the love of the Bodhisattva, like a river of milk, feeds the universe.  Air element.

All of these things were told to me, and still the moon held me fast.  She taught me more of the ways of the liquids, too much for me to tell.  I learned of the molten rock, and the rain.  She showed me the muck from which creation happens.  She gave me knowledge of the deepest ocean, and the mysteries of the swamps.  I heard whispers—the secrets of secretion within the body human and it’s endless productions and emissions. Why?  What is the purpose of this teaching?  With singular focus, I drank in all knowledge, and I imbibed in the wisdom.  With my head tipped back, I drank deeply until finally I understood that I must embody the properties of the liquids and become them.  This was the answer.  As She finally released me, She spoke.  “Go now and remain fluid.  Shapeshift, fill, rise and recede.  Nourish all you meet, and baptize yourself continuously, without ceasing.  Remember, we are Bodhisattva, you are me, I am you, we are one.”  I am the 5th element, the ether, the Akash.  I am forever changed.

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Psalm 8 – The Visit

Posted on March 29, 2022 by Robin P. Currie
Image by Amit Karkare of Pune, India on Pixabay

The inspiration for this piece came to me at a time when death had struck. Grief was violent, and the pain of abandonment set in. Why? How? I waited, suspended between material and spiritual. Visitation was all that could comfort me now.

“what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?” ‭‭Psalm‬ ‭8:4‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

Such a powerful question, brimming with raw emotion, desperation, and resignation.  Or is it so sad?  How does one read the question as if coming from a place of innocence, naïveté, and the lack of conditioned thinking?  Today I have one answer, but yesterday I had another one.  And the day before that was different still.  Each day I ponder, but find nothing, or everything.  Each day hence I feel, and learn. Tomorrow is new again.  The ever changing messages pour in from this one mystery—what is man.  Some knowings I have captured, and others still escape words.

Day One The voice of the Lord spoke to me.  I heard, and then felt a great rapture.  Safety, joy, compassion, and satisfaction were the guiding emotions of the moment.  I heard Love:

“You are Beauty.  I formed you from the red clay of the Earth….beauty for ashes.  This is who you are, son of man.  ‘to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called Trees of righteousness, The planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.’  ‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭61:3‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“You are Wonder.  And you are Fearful.  This is also how I made you—all experience is freely given you, including darkness and light, pleasure and pain.  ‘I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.’  ‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:14‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“I am mindful of you, as we share the One Mind—the great Noosphere.  My mind is your mind.  ‘For who hath known the mind of the Lord, that he may instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ.’ 1 Corinthians‬ ‭2:16‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“I trust you, for you are faithful, and good. You care for me when I visit, and you await my return when I am not close by.  That is what man is.  “His Lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭25:21‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“You call out to me, and I hear you.  Can you not feel my presence?  I rush to you,  My visit will soothe you, and restore you.  ‘who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.’  ‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭1:4‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“I visit you, and abide in you.  I Am your subatomic structure, the genome of which I have crafted you. Within the womb of your cells, within the nucleotides, you will find Jacob’s Ladder.  This is your access point to Me. As you interact and interface with the double helix, you will understand the mystery of separation and then new creation.  I am here.  It is in the pattern of cell division and reconstruction.  Semi-conservative replication is the great mystery of matter animated by spirit.  Come to the library with me.

“You are weary.  Rest now, sleep, and I will visit you in your dreams.  I await you and will take you anyplace, whether known or imagined.  If you let Me, I will show you things you could not even have imagined.  ‘And the angel of God spake unto me in a dream, saying, Jacob: and I said, Here am I.’  ‭‭Genesis‬ ‭31:11‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“You are strong.  ‘The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.’  ‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭18:10‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

“You are Me. “But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.’” ‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭3:18‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

Day Two Something is different.  I am different.  The feeling is emptiness. Life is gone awry.  What’s happening?  Was yesterday merely imagination?  Now I conclude anew:

I have sinned against God.  “for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;”. ‭‭Romans‬ ‭3:23‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

My thoughts are unholy.

God has banished me.

God had visited me, and then He departed.  As visits are, there is always an end.  When will He return?  Will I ever see Him again?

Day and night I pray.  “Pray without ceasing.”  ‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

At night, I grieve in longing for our union.  “I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.”  ‭‭Psalm‬ ‭6:6‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

By day, I seek comfort, and hold on to hope that I have not been forsaken.  “I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.”  ‭‭Song of Solomon‬ ‭3:2‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

Enemies and plagues surround me.  My thoughts are fearsome, frantic, chaotic.  God has forgotten me, and will never return to me.

Day Three I must hope.  Faith is the only way.  I wait, and watch.  I meditate on all scripture, seeking answers.  Then, once again, I feel the face of God turning toward me.  I sense the visit is nigh.  In joy, I anticipate.  Yet still I hear the words of David, and I feel his doubt and his sorrow. This knowing moves me, and my soul travels through the illusion of time and space.

With great compassion I hold the psalmist.  His face is between my hands and, with my forehead pressed to his, I remind him of his worth.

Gently, I whisper that he is made in the image and likeness of God.  

As He did for the enslaved in Egypt, God will hear his cry.  This I promise him.  My heart breaks for all mankind that wonders where God is.

And, on their behalf, I shout from the mountainside that man carries the very spirit of the Creator, renewed with every inspiration.  “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.”  ‭‭Genesis‬ ‭1:27‬ ‭KJVAAE‬‬

What will tomorrow bring?  Perhaps there is no tomorrow, nor is there is an end to this answer.  Are we already together with Him? Who are we?  Will He arrive?  How long will He stay?  Is He already here?  How will I know? Perhaps we are already home: “Now, therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints, and of the household of God:” Ephesians 2:19 KJVAAE

With great love,

Robin

Would you like to listen to Psalm 8?

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