Angel Turtle

Maybe it’s the feeling of being an angel, maybe that’s why I like snorkeling—floating weightlessly above another world, loving it, yet from a foreign consciousness.

The warm tropical sun gently kisses my back while the ocean water, calm and warm in the protected bay, holds me safely in her arms.

Then, if I’m lucky, I find the shallow spot where the sea grass grows and the sea turtle gently pulls it out with his beak and slowly chews. The slowness of the turtle merges with the tender movements of the mother water, to lull me into a liquid state of mind similar to that which the turtle inhabits.

Time is measured only by the need for short surfacing for air between long, languorous submersions. The turtles shell belies his openness. Ripples of his aura reach out and envelope me in his rhythm. I hover, gingerly undulating my flippers and arms, only to avoid drifting away. Maybe the feeling of being a turtle is why I like snorkeling.

My heart beats thank you to turtle and mother waters, for giving me a taste of heaven on earth.

--Terra Rafael

Journey to the Wisdom of the Horse

As a group we had been instructed in this afternoon’s process. Each of the participants in the workshop silently and gently groomed the horse in front of them. As the drumming started we were to step back and begin our journey. I have never tried journey work standing up before, but why not ??

Accepting the rhythm of the drum, I moved back away from the horse and closed my eyes. I quickly found myself in total darkness. I was quiet with the blackness and then it began to take shape. It somehow felt like I was in a very large tube, the darkness felt soft, like velvet. It was not something that I could touch because I was somehow suspended in the middle of the tube, easily and gently being supported there. No worries.

I begin to notice a procession. It started way below me, the shapes were small. It looked as if they were slowly walking up black velvet steps that I could not really see, just imagine. The shapes were not close to me, but they further defined the feeling that I was in a large black cylinder. The procession arched around me and as they grew closer I could tell that they were horses, of every color; colors that “real” horses don’t normally come in ~ there were bright yellow horses and pink ones, and green ones. Some of them looked like carousal horses, but it was also very apparent that they were living, breathing, moving animals. They were beautiful. As they grew close, I saw their wings. Some were folded back along their backs but most were standing up, connected at the upper shoulder and moving gently with each step. It was so awesome I may have stopped breathing.

I have been told for years in different readings that I could work with the horses, if I so chose, and help them get their wings. But I could not visualize it and was totally unsure what to do next ….. and here they were, and they all had their wings. Sensing my question they said, “Yes, we already have our wings. We have always had our etheric wings. They are a sign of our divinity. Only you humans have never acknowledged them. Some of you are only now beginning to acknowledge our divinity. It is good and we are thankful.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” silently formulating another question in my mind.

“There are horses who have forgotten their own wings. You will find them in your healing work. You can help them remember and restore to them their divinity if they so choose. Share this vision with them and they will instantly remember ~ they will awaken to their own cellular memory”.

I nodded my head in agreement and continued to watch the procession of amazing creatures, silently climbing, creating now a wondrous spiral around me. I had tears in my eyes as rapid drumming drew me back into the arena and an outside voice instructed each of us to return to our bodies. I quietly whispered my prayers of gratitude for their willingness to be present with me this day. Another gracious miracle received.

* annette

My Adventures with Datura, Part 3

I innocently walk through the garden, surveying the wild and cultured plants in their various states of pregnancy. The moonflower-datura has become majestic in stature. Her large white trumpets, fragrant as any rose, attract the bees to rub and drink. Those blooms last only one day before falling limp from the effort, moving inward to seed.

By removing her withered flowers before they seed, I can urge on further tries with further blooms. I decide to deadhead. I smell her sweetness as I gently, lovingly pluck away dying flowers and leaves. Some of her juice moistens my skin.

Then I notice a tingling in my hands, a nervous activation. There’s an expanding feeling, feeling my aura as well as my flesh and bones. The sensation creeps up my arms, slowly, minute by minute. Everything begins to look brighter, glowing with her moonlight even though it’s daytime, while flowing along in a mild dream of plant magic.

Yes Datura, you got under my skin and into my consciousness. Now I handle you with gloves unless I want a mild touch of lunacy for awhile. Thank you for your ever present possibilities.

--Terra Rafael