WE GROW GOD

The East Peak speaks, “There is a light widening into the night

as if a door is slowly opening.“

At first, SHE simply dissolved the energetic lock on the door to

the East Peak feeling safe because the seekers had not the eyes to see.

Those born to see are coming of age and some have waited

until elderly to sense the door shifting,

the breeze of the unseen Source Light Beings

finally showing themselves to The Land.

She knows the shadows will start moving now.

Gazing over the saddle between them,

She speaks her Partner, West Peak awake.

He looks over the Land, his eyes chase

these shadows activated now from their hiding places,

coaxed to run in plain sight, blathering their decaying thoughts,

their fear based beliefs as they try to hold onto

their beloved power and control.

Before leaving Wahatoya behind to travel to

The City of Angels huddled beneath smog and

the idolatry of music moguls, Hollywood Stars and

cheap hotels housing human trafficking victims,

I stood at the corner of Main St. and 7th Street which was once

La Plaza de Los Leones

when She spoke to me,

“You can run but you can’t hide.”

Talking to an acquaintance in a Safeway aisle in Walsenburg, I blurted out, “I’m tired of hiding.” The town went dark. The Peaks went dark. Then, I got in my Subaru and got the heck out of Dodge.

Truth is, I went dark. I fell into my shadowlands. It doesn’t matter where you live. It’s about waking up to the Light within you, that knows no death. We have the courage to conquer our own shadowlands. And this lightens up the World. And the Door is opening, spewing out Source Love to challenge those separated from It. We have a choice. To embrace Source Love, to know we are worthy of it right now no matter our mistakes, or we can give ourselves up to the shadowlands and disappear from ourselves.

“Don’t disappear from yourself” ~A message from the Twin Peaks of Wahatoya~

 

 

 

As you leave Pueblo and head down I-25 towards Colorado City, suddenly a great weight lifts and you can breathe freely. I don’t know why I always feel this as I head home on this expanse of Interstate connecting Denver to Trinidad in the south. I feel a bit of pressure as I careen around the steep incline before hitting the off-ramp to Colorado City. I pass by noticing how green this area is. But so happy to get past it even though grateful for the presence of majestic Greenhorn Mountain, an actually pretty jolly soul even with all the churches trying to claim it. My shoulder blades are opening up now as I stream down the freeway, opening up like wings. I think my Subaru will just start to float upward now just because Wahatoya is looming large in our vision. The closer I get the more relief I feel. This happens every time I come home. I take the Walsenburg offramp through the town down Main Street heading further south past the old Courthouse on the right and the progressive Museum of Friends on the left. I make a right on 7th street at the Carl’s Jr. Oh yeah, the wheels have settled back on the pavement and we are skating towards the edge of town where the 160 Hwy begins and makes its trek between the Spanish Peaks, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains on the South and Silver Mountain, Mt. Maestas on the North. I feel the Cradle start to squeeze me gently in a big HUG as I curve out of town. My cabin is coming up on the right about 3 miles out. It is hidden by Pinion Pine and Juniper trees. Mabel, a tall, proud Pinion stands guard in the front. She is no one to mess with.

I live far away, far away from The Cradle now. I don’t let my roots sink too deep here in the shallow soils of the L.A. Basin. I want to make it easy on myself to pull them back up into me when I suddenly decide to sprint my way back Home. Don’t get me wrong. The land here has flowering trees and waving palms and I do appreciate them and walk in the nature preserves of my city. But…

the air is polluted and the land is packed with desperation, 10 million souls. This is 2022, is the pandemic over? Maybe Covid is on its way out, but a pandemic of homelessness, disease, starvation and war for many is just beginning. Big Sky Country calls out to me for my return. But my family is here. I’m not one to desert family. I wonder, am I still willing to go down with the ship?

If the Ship goes down, her name is Earth. What happens on just one part of Her affects the other parts. Some of the inhabitants of Huerfano County are having dirty water problems. They talk of installing water filtration systems. Lots of fracking has been going on in these parts. Big cities are in your face. Small, rural counties in the Rockies, not so much. Ok, I’ll be on this Ship that goes up. Nothing carbon lasts forever. Scoop me up, Spirit Mother when the time comes.

The Unique Garden,”Be kind always, this was made by Kristina web art”

by Sydney Lynn Lok

Source is 369° awareness,

seeded within our hearts,

streaming through our senses,

leaping out to breathe for the first time, every time,

alive,

imperfect,

feeling,

growing.

We come here to

grow each other.

I kind of know I’m dreaming. I’m on a playground with people that never see me. I’ve tried to get their attention before by smiling and waving but their eyes never blink as if I’m superimposed on their world. The ground is a grey cement, hard with no give. I begin JUMPING. I feel only a mental effort as I sink into my heels. I can even imagine an ache in my calves as my intention thrusts my body up. My lungs don’t ache for breath. That’s a good thing. Pretty soon, the effort I am imagining lessens.

At first my thoughts heave as I strive to break the gravity barrier I am imagining. But as the JUMP pushes me up towards a ceiling it gets easier. I start to float up and hold there for long strings of seconds, before breathless thoughts catapult me down. This air I breathe in up here lightens my thoughts. Each time I JUMP my thoughts can hold weightlessness a little longer floating my body up to just below the ceiling. I begin gulping some new blend of air like a fish at the top of a fish tank. I begin to see waves of color on the other side of the transparent glass. Breathing up here colors everything! I motion for the crowd to acknowledge my feat but again I am anonymous to their world. I wish so much they could join me in the JUMP. Maybe next time?

I really like this dream. Most of my dreams are not in color.

This dream breathes me into a state of being where I can color Heaven.

Janice Walters reminds me that “not all is as it seems”. The Divine Realms and Gaia remain in a place of equilibrium and peace at all times, lighthearted and with a disarming “sense of humor”.

All is Well. We are safe no matter the situation.

Storm

by Janice Walters

The sky turned inside out.
Earth cried to be shriven.
The sacrament of baptism
from a cloudburst was given.

The mountains screamed lightning.
The plains cried thunder.
Dikes in the foothills
threatened to break asunder.

Wind took pity
shifting the raging vandal,
ushering in light
from sun’s votive candle.

Gaia laughed heartily
at this stormy time
reduced by naivety
to the lines of a rhyme.

I’m not feeling very poetic now. My brain is short circuiting and yet I search for words to describe scenarios that float in the vast expanse of wilderness closing in on me. I stop now for a moment to butter Lindy’s english muffin and grab some water. Earth Mother is squeezing me with her messages and here in front of my laptop I will speak for Her:

Those of you with sensitivity have felt the shiftings, some subtle and some not so much. Sydney has a penchant for picking up the infections of my skin and deep injuries to my mantle. She has kept a brave face even though feeling the injuries to her own body as each of you feel because of the injuries, the polluting of my own body. For most of you of good heart, who have loved the Land, this is not on you but it affects you deeply. Those who deliberately pollute and rape me, you will not escape. The time frame to reverse your perverse actions is almost gone. For those who love the Land, be like the gypsies and nomads, the indigenous peoples, learn to pack up and move, pack up and move and you will find a way through the tumultuous times ahead of you. Covid is just the beginning, not brought on by me but by your service to self elite. A cycle of earthquakes in Taiwan and the west coast of Mexico, along the Ring of Fire was expected but will be amplified in the coming couple of years due to the damage to my internal organs. Who I am in Spirit is untouched. The waters are pristine and I am in perfect balance along my eternal spine. I embodied the Earth with my presence, my goal was to ground you in your mortal lifetimes upon my skins. Many of you are grounded and with me so I send this message again. Be ready to be as gypsies, be groups of peoples caravan-ing to pockets of safety with the like-minded, freedom loving, compassion filled populace. For those of you who live in the skies of your spirit, let down your landing gear and prepare for landing. You are strong enough to withstand the turbulences if you follow the messages from Spirit, able to detect those who would harm you and your loved ones and able to group together with compassion with the like-hearted and minded. The next few years will transition the infirm and very old ones. There will be elders who can move and make the trek. They will be those who hear the messages clearly. You will drop the contamination of the Matrix and its cheap, destructive, imprisoning technologies but technologies will be provided that are not tied to deception that will help you. Spirit must wipe clean the negative energies with its upgrading surges of Light. This will not affect those with light heartedness. So, no one goes untouched. Some will find this touch harmful and some will find it uplifting so this is the process of weeding out my garden. And it will happen everywhere. Everywhere. There is a general dismantling occurring now: an INCREASE in divorce, families splitting up, migration, losing of jobs and homes, illness, domestic abuse, mental illness, addiction, restricting of human rights, minorities being attacked and killed, fires, intense and frequent storms, hurricanes and tornados. Spirit and I are stirring the pot, breaking up old negative beliefs and patterns.

A note to Sydney: as an empath you have been susceptible to my injuries. On a daily basis, follow my movement meditations to buffer you and heal you in these times.

Me: Strap in your seatbelts. Put on your oxygen mask first so you can assist others. When you land, be prepared.

by Janice Walters

I have been toasted with pink champagne.
What more can the two of us gain?

We both have spoken, more or less,
and now with this morning’s soft caress,
you touch me to my very core
–largesse greater than ever before.

All through the seasons and gifted years,
you’ve made me laugh, and brought me tears.
We’ve found a place that speaks our worth
dwelling on this, our Gaia Earth.

East Peak this morning I can see
the Taoist flow in you and me.
More than amity, our connection;
Sweet and intimate is our affection.

I toast you back with pink champagne.
What more can the two of us possibly gain?

It is with the feeling of gratitude I present to you, a gifted poet from my Homeland of Huerfano County, Colorado.

It is a humble view,

seen from a small cottage

set in a hollow

beside a rough country road.

 

It is my view,

one that I alone can see,

hindered (or helped)

by my unique perspectives.

 

Two peaks rise on the horizon.

They speak to me.

I listen,

and then I write for you.

 

Other mountains dwell here.

From every direction they stare,

but I rarely hear them speak.

I listen only when they shout.

 

Wahatoya.

Twin Peaks.

Breasts of the Earth.

Spanish Peaks.

 

Names are many for my

mountains.

Like a woman;

maiden, married, divorced,

widowed,

their names change with

circumstance.

 

But always, they are there,

anchoring the earth

(and probably me)

as we seek our equilibrium.

 

My gratitude must seem

insignificant

to something so much greater

than anything I have ever known.

–More than I could be.

 

Perhaps my role is simply

as a mirror to these mountains.

In writing my poems I will give to

you

a gift from Colorado.

 

Janice Walters © September 2022

Janice Walter’s Bio

Fifty years ago, a 16 year old girl was encouraged by a Creative Writing/English teacher to put together a collection of poetry and submit it for publication. She did. It was published and a small number were sold. The girl grew older, life happened, poetry was put on a shelf and only once in a while did it beckon her. She sought to “live” poetry and not just write it. Of course, that girl was me. (Janice Walters) Today, I still live my poetry, but perhaps having a few more years than the girl I used to be, I dared to pick up my pen and write once more. I have been sharing poetry inspired by the Twin Peaks of Southern Colorado. My intention is to follow them through the seasons, take some drives with my husband, Ben and snap more photos. And of course, write more poetry. Thank you to all the Huerfano Community friends and those personal family and friends who have been so positive in their comments, likes and loves. I am anticipating a collection being put together and perhaps sent off to some poetry contests that will publish the work, if I can win. Otherwise, I just may self-publish. No one knows the future, but because of such a generous response from Huerfano County, my (new) family, and friends, I’m going to try…After all, isn’t trying the best part of this journey called life?

So, what is it?

It is the unconditional love of Source made real on Earth.

It is FELT LOVE.

It’s the love a mother FEELS when she is willing to

trade places with her unborn baby if that’s what it takes.

It’s the love a fire fighter FEELS when he risks his life to save another.

Hey, what about the other side of the coin?

It’s the remorse you FEEL when you REALIZE

you have caused pain to another. It’s the AHA moment when

you see your part in causing a disaster episode in your life

and the life of others. And then back to an airy-fairy

episode in your life: the love you FEEL when you

sense everyone and everything on Earth is you.

So why aren’t you in Heaven tiptoeing through the tulips then?

Yeah, why are you here? Come-on, there’s gotta be a reason?

Well, here you can really FEEL stuff. If Heaven is the cake, then

our feelings are the icing. It’s so delish to sink your toes

into warm sand as salty waves lick between them.

Don’t you think that God wants to FEEL that?

No, you say that Heaven is already perfect?

Yeah, but once you taste the icing, it’s like you can’t go back

to plain perfect cake again, get my drift?

Heaven is the field of potential for All That Is.

And you and me here on Earth sluggin through the traffic,

we are realizing that potential. Oh great. So when our bodies

wear out from fighting the traffic and we get beamed up, Scotty

what do we do with all this potential we face

when the elevator door opens?

I think we add an octave of felt texture to the swirling Painting.

We enliven it, harmonize something new into the mix.

Heaven grows even more delish.

Because of you and me.

Just look around at the world.

What do you see?

Sharp corners. Sharp angles.

A world built that way

because our eyes

see that way,

informed by injury.

Others are dangerous

because our eyes

see that way,

informed by injury,

entrenched in shame.

We seek the bandages of belief

in religion, political parties,

science, computer generated life,

avatars replacing organic beingness.

Our senses project ourselves as fragile,

informed by injury so we

hide behind the bandages of

suits, ties and trendy dresses.

Our senses form beliefs

informed by injury.

We dress the world in fear.

The Metaverse is here,

an artificial escape from injury,

spitting us out into a fake heaven.

Will we drown in it?

Bravely plunge off the high dive

of your experience.

You will be there at the bottom

to catch yourself.

Your soul doesn’t believe in your injuries.

It only sees your badges of courage.

Your soul reminds you that

your injuries are

scabs ready to peel off showing

new skin, new life.

DISROBE