I’ll start with a conversation, an essay of sorts, about timelines; about women and men. Then, I will get to spiders and seas and the poetry….

The more fundamental the timeline, the longer it is. For example, world timelines extend for centuries, even thousands of years. There are universal and galactic timelines as well that are more fundamental than any earth timeline. All of us participate in these timelines and are vehicles for them. They work through us and by us, and each one of us has their own unique expression of them. Most have no awareness of them. They are too busy, like Narcissus, looking at themselves, judging, assessing, fearing, fretting, worrying. They just see the characters and the dramas, trying to figure out what is right and wrong, the good and the bad – all with so little awareness of their wider function. They are the ant walking across the picnic blanket. The ant has no awareness that the picnic is a birthday celebration for a child. It just instinctively goes for the crumbs of bread sitting next to the basket, close to a few blades of grass, so far away from home.

Women were programmed to be weak and victims in order for them to want to become more like men. This took many decades. They are exhausted and confused. The feminine is not designed to be victim. It is not designed to be master.  What does it mean to be feminine? It means to be able to conceive, to give birth, to be a transport and guide between the unknown to the unknown, the gateway from death to life, and from life to death. She, the divine feminine is the priestess. That is her sacred power. She is the garden, the being that bears fruits when cultivated well, and the being that requires winter for a time, winter as a time of rest, and a necessary mode for proper germination. She is the garden and all that grows there, the mysteries of Demeter, of Kore, and of Selene.

The exhausted ego ( posing as the masculine) has no consciousness of timelines. It only understands things in terms of an active agent or subject in the world. It doesn’t have awareness of itself being worked through or on. Instead, it has the consciousness of one who is in control, the one willing and choosing, and liking and disliking. The ego is a centralized construct, designed to think of things only in terms of subject and object, the thing that acts and thing that is acted upon. As far as the ego is concerned, the world is made up of those who do and those to whom things are done. It fears most that it be done, because the ego-identity thrives on control and domination. If the garden fails him, he grows angry, and invents his own and feels justified in abandoning the garden that his wife abandoned so long ago anyway.

There is no true difference between the feminist and the men she wants to be equal to. Eventually they all merged into a single construct. Both miserable. Both hating each other. They invented sex with everything but each other. Genitalia became accidents, and so did everything else – except their desire for equality and to remove all difference. They did abandon that garden, that garden of Eden on a timeline that began thousands of years ago.

The timelines and those who orchestrate them are patient beyond what humans can understand as patient.

The physical separation between every human body is how the ego distinguishes “I” from “them”, and every other “I” from “them”.  There is nothing wrong with this. It is natural to this third physical dimension and necessary of course – we are designed to hold our own physical bodies. However, when it comes to understanding timelines and how they work through us and by us, the physical limitations of the body and the consciousness that is consumed by them, prevents awareness. The best analogy for this is to consider the recycle bin on the computer screen. You put a file in it, and it will “recycle” the file, by freeing up space on your computer. That’s what it is in terms of what the mind can see and understand, and what it has been told. The recycle bin, it seems, has a specific function that distinguishes it from all the other objects on your desktop. However, if you look under the hood, at the code, for example, of the recycle bin, it doesn’t look like a recycle bin at all, but is merely a program designed to work with the computer to accomplish a specific task, namely memory release on the storage device of your computer.  The recycle bin isn’t the one “doing” anything. It is just an image on your screen. That you “cause” it to empty, is an illusion. You had nothing to do with it. The code was just triggered to run. There are many ways the computer removes data from the hard drive, and most of them are not even initiated by the user.  The point is, that the process is not essential to the recycle bin icon on your computer, any more than you are essential to the timelines that are moving through you. However, you do play important roles, and maybe even the starring role in how the timeline plays out. When you die, someone else will then pick up where you left off.

All women play the roles of women as designed by the timelines. All men are determined by the women, whether they know it or not.  The patriarchy was born in the womb of the mother.

It is up to women to be courageous in the face of life and nature, death and birth. This has always been their sacred role. For centuries She has been depicted as the triple goddess. What is she depicted as in the matrix?

Modern religion removed the female from her divine seat.  How has this affected the timelines of women, and therefore men?

Without the sacred feminine, men are lost in an unceasing and incessant struggle to maintain control through force, violence, science, and mind. Their mothers paid for the education that made men what they are. The wives marry them, consenting, supporting, perpetuating, giving birth to sons, consenting, supporting, perpetuating.

These are the timelines we create,
the personalities and the patterns,
DNA
bloodlines,
who we pretend to be…


We are swimming in a sea,
or perhaps loosely wrapped
in the tangled whirling web
of a spiders wisdom,
caught up in a thousand different threads,
sea foam stitching on the edge of the waves,
as whirling waters of the ocean
twist around each other,
bodies merging and submerging,
separating in the dark black deep,
aimless, but with mysterious purpose,
lines that lead everywhere unknown,
 
swept away
swept under
swept beneath,

every day,
we nearly die

to learn to breath the air again,
to reach dry land and kiss it,
a lover with beloved
greets the sunrise.



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