It was all true, wasn’t it? It was all true.
The Dreams. The engagement. The searching. The flying. The unconventional dentist. The abundance. The travel. The warnings. The MIB. The FBI. Someone was coming for me.
The Prophecy. The magic. The blind woman asking me to ‘tell your husband what it’s like to be home.’ The dreams in waiting. The marriage to myself. Esther and Lincoln. Jesus and Buddha. Satan and Me.
The Unconventional Mystics. The tribe. The shamans. The transpersonal. The sites. The people in far off lands as if a dream or astral travel. The dewdrops of wisdom. The reiki. The third eye. The grounding. The trap doors. The lanterns. The lamp posts. The leaders. The philosophical mind fuck. The speaking ‘in for instance.’ Tongues. Twisted.
The Music. They had been here before. I’m convinced. Every last one of them. Lyrics downloaded in the brain. Played with epic timing. One soundtrack mind. Mind blown.
The Art Therapy. Visual sainthood. Simmer down saint. Prophetic paint strokes. Stories unraveled in the Raven. Shamanic healing and Native American lore come to life. Dreams interpreted on walls.
The Travel. They knew I was coming. And they made room. Lots and lots of room. Winding roads. Flying cars. Seats unbound. Wilderness unkempt. Fires raging. Brisk air waking. Glorious strangers. And frozen lakes. Ocean to ocean, we meet again. Home.
The Awakening. The Kundalini. The third eye. The enlightenment. The mountain ranges. The journey. The path. The loneliness. Your vibe attracts your tribe. The fire. The heat. The sparks. The crown. The heart. The ground. The soaking. The living, decaying, breaking down, the burning and crashing. The building back, new, fresh, unseen.
The Rise of the Phoenix.
It was all true.