MADAM MONKEYFOOT

THE THEATER OF MONOLOGUES

I am in someone’s mind,
their secret theater of monologues

where entities
are masquerading
as verbal hallucinations

yet,

all of us are caught in the web
of a weaver
that hides behind
the tapestry.

I sing the monologues.

The monologues
move my mouth
causing my eyes to speak

and my ears
to give me flight
without moving

Am I orchestrated
by hallucinations?

The Vessel use to think the imaginary conversations in his head was just daydreaming. He has come to learn we have created sacred spaces to talk, to alter timeline, to change his perception of reality….an example of one of our ongoing conversation when I am playing the role of the Teacher.

The space we have created is formless until a particular subject arises from one of us and the landscape takes the shape it needs to so a lesson can be taught or ancient magic can be performed. I am taking on the role of the Teacher.

“You sit in shadows. The only light seems to come from my body.”

“It’s a good thing. I don’t like dark rooms myself,” said the Teacher. “Besides, The hair is a mess. It is rooted in a lot of places at the moment or is that my feet. Hair and feet are the same thing with me. So what has your face contorting?”

“There are faces appearing in my sleep. Some are human. Some are alien. Some are reptilian. Some are insectoid. Some are just a mass of tentacles. What have I called to many.”

“Sleeper, awake!”

The Vessel said to the Teacher. “Okay some of these faces aren’t exactly making me want to dance for a joy. Hairs are standing on my back and I don’t have hair on my back. And they don’t say anything just stare.”

“Listen with your mind. Your mouth is not the only way to communicate.”

“Easy for you to say, you got this down pretty good.”

“Ah, and when I was a fictional character you road me every direction into all types of situation without batting an eye or fearing the journey. So, now that you know I brought light through the characters you create; this is just another phase of the journey. We have created a sacred space to communicate and when we are done with the work it will merge with your reality.”

“Who are these faces.”

“Some are you in your many forms that you have invited on your journey through light and darkness. Some are here to have the human experience through you. Some are from the bloodline who are awakening. And one especially, you are wearing his mind.”

“A new pair of shoes would be better; even a leather coat.”

“Your mind is not yours. You have a reptilian mind and are living its stories.”

I don’t want to living a reptilian story. I want my own story, my own mind. I feel like I am already drowning in a dark chaotic sea; or wandering through hallways with doors to rooms and there is no exit sign.”

“You are wearing the mind of the reptilian.”

“I would like to know that my thoughts are my own. I’d like to know I’m not a captive and that I have free will. I think creating my story gives me the spark, the impetus; but living someone else’s story even if it is about healing and moving onto my own thing, it just makes me feel like I am carrying all this baggage on my shoulder.”

The Teacher smiled and said nothing. The room about them began to vibrate and lost its form and they both were standing a chessboard that seems to hover in a place that had the game board surrounded by swirling clouds. The Teacher was no longer in human form but the sign of the Ankh and spoke in his mind.

The Ankh hovered over the game board. The Vessel is at his side. “Look at this game board. This is another version of reality that you inhabit. Each square on this board hides beneath it, planetary influences, the madness of a creator god, the manipulating parasites of the Archons, and the signs and symbols that bind myth and patterns to keep the Soul bound in the furnaces of time.

The Vessel who was now luminous asked, “What is beyond the game board? All I see is clouds spiraling about in a chaotic matter.”

The Ankh shape shifted back into the form of The Teacher and smiled and with a wave of his staff the clouds parted revealing a sky full of winged creatures. “Beyond these clouds, there are the dragons.”

“The story I believed in, kept me focus on boundaries. But there are no boundaries but I was taught there should be or you will have no focus, go crazy and be wandering around the street talking out of your head, and you have to have linear thinking to make it in this world. The world doesn’t want artist.”

“Artist are the visionaries. Artists create new pathways. Artists look into the Unknown and let the Unknown look and speak through them. Artists are the gatekeepers. Artists are the explorers of the unconscious.”

“Sometimes I’ve been afraid of my art; afraid of friends reaction, afraid I didn’t get the message and bottom line, that it really doesn’t amount to cat shit.”

“You still want that approval. Why are you afraid of being your own authority?”

“It always felt like someone had to give approval. What if I’m wrong?”

“And what if you’re not? It is about imagination. I am from your imagination and you gave me existence; and I am all over the place. And I tell you, when you understand the being you truly are, you have no limitations.”

Sometimes my friends get annoyed when I’m not talking with them in a linear fashion; everything should be linear but sometimes I am pulling stuff from many directions and too me it is flowing. I have lived in fear because I always wanted someone to explain how it is supposed to be and not how real it is; because then the grounding, the parenting, the religions have no meaning and I realize I am in a web; and I fear what comes to devour me.”

“Your relationships have isolated you from your own authority. You have given them the rule of your spirit and so you live in the rooms in the house that opinions, judgments and religions have built for you. You must decide what is for you and not based on the desires of others; nor the rules of others; because those with limited perception walk through times like the living dead. Even teachers want to be the authority of your mind. They should only be guides and with teachings, you must learn to make your own wings to fly.

“Every where I turn, someone wants to adjust me. Then I start to wonder is this the right face for the world. But I know there is another face lurking in the shadows, screaming to come out, screaming to not be bound by definition; screaming to say this is me, ‘fucking deal with it.’ But, you must fit into the hours. Hours are just another way to fragment your self I think. It’s like I must do this within a certain timeframe or I have not accomplished something and then I’m labeled a failure. Then you get frustrated because you are on this rollercoaster ride through hours and there never seems to be enough hours in a day to complete the task. And the hours start to master your perception; and the flow is damned and all of sudden the frustration is building and the anger is seething and then anger realizes itself in a violent act whether it is inflicted on yourself or others. I do not want to be a man made only by hours. I want to rearrange the sequences of my life,” said The Vehicle.

“Be aware of anyone who confirms authority. Question everything, even me. So many blind lead the blind and reality has become a labyrinth.”

The Vessel thought for a moment. “Just like there are twenty four planets. And we are bound on the wheel of the twelve planets but it is the planets that are beyond this time based reality that these planets are duplicated from. So we are being affected by these shadow planets. So time is really a puppet master. So when do we stop dancing in its dramas when most people would rather pass the responsibility.”

Teacher smiled. “You are responsible for you. Change your perception; it affects your environment and those who are within the wave of your influence. Everything that comes across your path is a teaching experience. Don’t deny it, don’t fight it, just accept it is. You are what you fear, you are what you deny, you are the enemy. You are time and its master.”

“So then, I should not work within the boundaries of this game board,” replied the The Vessel.
“Is the puppet master the cause and effect of your life? Slay the teacher you meet on the road! Authority cannot be conveyed from an external figure or doctrine.”
“What will my authentic face look like?”

PART I
Did you ever wonder about what you implant in your mind through words, visuals, daily rituals and what you read? Sometimes we take in so much and don’t realize that we are giving energy to a thought that expands into a space that we feed and it grows and keeps wanting to nurture off our consciousness especially when we give it play in our mind. What are you thinking? Are you giving power to daydreams, wishful thinking? Are you giving play to the chit chat in your head?

You are thought manifestors but you don’t realize the game you are playing. Thoughts are like magnets they will attract like. If you dwell on a thought, watch how events will unfold around you to reinforce that thought.

Sometimes we dwell on so much hate; that we bring hate into our life. Sometimes we think we are in love when we are in relationship but we are attempting to dominate and so we are reacting to how we see the person in our mind and not being full present with them when they are in front of us. We have already lived out the dialogue in our head and our reacting.

If you are doing it on this scale, what do you think others are doing on a mass scale. You take so much garbage into your mind and fertilize it until you are becoming food source for parastical thoughts. The world is fluid and you are giving power to thoughts that do not serve you.

What’s that saying, you are what you eat…rephrase it…you are what you think.

You give power easily to others when you believe what they think about you. People sometimes make you a prisoner of their opinions and then you are so caught in the trap that you forget who you are and become an extension of someone else.

Thoughts will rule you if you do not become conscious what you are giving power to. You think you are ill or think ill of someone and constantly focus on this; you will manifest it if the person is not secure within their own mind.

If a government, an institution or religion is constantly feeding you types of information based on lies but made to seem like truth then you are serving their agenda and not your free will.

THOUGHTS

His co-workers had tried to tell him to remain silent but he walked around mumbling, “Unfair, unfair. There’s got to be more to life than this 9 to 6 mental institution. It’s like every where you step or shit; there are rules and regulations. I’m walking a straight line that has nothing to do with my life!”

“Management doesn’t give a damn what one would say but you take the money and live the best you can,” said a co-worker walking by.

Other co-workers turned from him; they did not like to associate with him when he was not having the hive mentality.

He must remember: The noise of the world kept one from being crazy.

Other co-workers had told him this quietly several times: “This is the way life is!”

“Hey, you got to feed the machine if you expect to stay a clog in the wheel.”

“It’s best to accept it is the way it is.”

“Your opinions don’t mean a goddamn to me,” he was told by the one who was not seen but heard as booming voice that came from behind a door. He was referred to as The Voice Who Hides Behind The Door.

The disgruntled employee found himself pulling more within. This was causing wrinkles on his face because he was tightening up himself within. Some said he that raisin look, or he had a prune mentality or the worry lines were sagging like grocery bags.

Alcohol did not diminished it; nor sex with people who preferred no strings attachment encounters. Names meant heart and memory might be involved. It was a bought taking the tension out of the flesh. Needles and pills were temporary and he always came back to the same cubicle lifestyle.

The co-workers always were rushing back to their cubicles. The cubicles were uniform in design. No signature of personality was allowed. The corporation had a look and all must consign themselves to the look or find them selves unemployed. Peculiar traits and habits were a disruptive to the work flow and were not allowed. So, the cubicles were like mental cells that one could imagine were inside a corporate entity that used logos to lull people to sleep behind the wheel of their mind.

“I must have a purpose. I must have a form,” the disgruntled worker mumbled.

“You’re asking for the foot. Right up the kisser. You’ll be no where. Do you want to be homeless, a stone cowboy living in a cardboard box and eat garbage out of a waste bin or waiting for someone to leave food on the table in a fast food restaurant, or sit with a paper cup thinking someone will give you money instead of downcast look or an opinion. You thinking someone should hand you what they work hard for,” said a co-worker whose sweat dripped like a leaking faucet because he was standing outside of his cubicle too long. He didn’t feel connected to the system and caused him to feel dysfunctional, an outsider, a fringe dweller that were kept in the ‘bad section’ of town.

The disgruntled employee’s steps moved slower through the office. His eyelids didn’t bother to open no further than minimal requirements. The lines of desks were endless.

The Voice Behind The Door could move through the office without physically being seen, his presence could be smelled, like tar being laid on a summer day in the mid 90’s. You could hear the Voice Behind The Door scratching inside your head before its voice crackled around you like fire.

“Who do you think you are,” he heard in his head.

Again his daydreaming was interrupted. In the time before this he would have stuttered in his mind “I am nothing without the greater glory of you.” He felt his body quiver as if he was experiencing an inner earthquake. Then he felt a scratching within as if something was being removed, like wallpaper, like writing being scratched out. This time, he hadn’t turned his computer on. He looked at his blank screen. A light blinked as if an eye had opened and closed. The disgruntled employee watched the screen intensely to see if it was a dream. This time his response wasn’t automatic, programmed, or what was expected. His response was like a flutter of wings. The room shook. His co-workers screamed out for the Voice Behind the Door as they leaped under their desk.

“I am somebody,” he chanted over and over again.

Fired. What to do? Fired meant the same as “To Be Placed in a Place Where There Is No Place.” But he ran before he could be found out. He couldn’t hear the noises of the world. The other cubicles remind him of shoeboxes; no little boxes that would fit inside another box.

He heard the clanking sound. They were coming. They always came for those who would become fringe dwellers. He would be the shit of the world if they caught him; mud in the eye of the corporation.

The metal hands would lead dissenters away to a room where no one ever returned. He felt something in him pushing, pushing. His face moved within itself, “What is this that causes movement in me? “What stirs inside until there is a thumping inside that causes my body to expand and retract. Something moves in me, not just in one spot but throughout. I don’t know this is stirring.

He had been running down endless corridors of cubicles and the other works turned from him so they would not become like him; crazy, deranged, a delusional, insane, and dead to the corporation.

The metal hands hadn’t found him. Lights appeared out of no where and were blinking around him like thousands of eyes. Sounds radiated from them. He found himself spinning then falling.

“What is this? I just wanted to be somebody. But I am somebody. I’m not a clog in a machine. I am not a program to be deleted. I have a voice. I have a vision. I can see!” And he did something that he didn’t understand but felt. He uttered a sound. With that he found himself standing in front of a door that wasn’t there.

He heard a noise from behind.

“It must be the metal hands.”

“Don’t look behind are you will lose your way.”

“Who are you?”

“Knock and the door shall be open.”

“I don’t know you. You might be The Voice Behind the Door.”

“I am you calling from The Place That Sings.”

“Who am I that you call to me?”

“Knock and the door shall be open.”

The chaotic noise grew intense behind him.

He knocked.

The door opened and he witnessed a light pulsating with a choral sound and it filled him with light and sound and he was gathered by its wings and the door was shut behind him. He no longer heard the chaotic noise or was being chased by the metal hands.

Behind the door, he found himself singing lights from his mouth as he emanated from the circle of light that pulsated with music. Another thought had been gathered from chaos and was singing its way into another thoughtform.

The Vessel has been struggling with its attempts to be everything for everybody and forgetting the path the Vessel has become and the journey through this school room experience. Now, if memory serves me correct, didn’t children take naps in kindergarten, have a time out to rest.

Sometimes you know and do things to avoid knowing what you know. The Vessel was complaining about the noises of the world, the fears his friends were facing and even the challenges the Vessel is facing merging with other entities from other dimensions. I told the Vessel, “Sometimes you have to close the door to the world, to friends and family, to expectations and go into the Silence. Sometimes people are a distraction from you knowing your selves because people are afraid of the silence, the fear of being alone, and the solitude.”

What is it one fears when one goes into solitude?

Some people are addicted to the noises of the world, or fear the wrath of friends and family when they don’t meet expectations or obligations.

There is a calling that goes beyond the stage drama of relationships. This is the Call that the vessel is feeling, this is what the Vessel is longing for; and fears the opinons of family and friends.

I told the human aspect of the Vessel, sometimes you have to just shut the door on the world and go inward. Being in solitude, listening to the inner voice is not only a time of healing but also a time of expanding, a time of nourishing yourself, a time of inner exploration but sometimes, a time to rest. It is a time to root back into yourself, back into Truth.

Many people and entities will bring you their concept of truth; but it is their truth based on their persepective and not a cosmic truth. Sometimes a lie or deception is camouflaged as truth and solitude can help you to get the clarity you need.

Sometimes the vehicle wears itself down and gets distorted because the Vessel realizes it is attemtping to be maternal to everyone but itself.

Solitude is not a bad thing. It is not depression. It is a time to cleanse oneself of the debris and baggage one carries for themselves and others. You’d be surprised how people hook their issues into your energy field and feed off of you and create emotional imbalances.

Folks are afraid of solitude, they think they are ill, something is wrong with them.

Conscious is expanding, it is remembering, it is awakening in many places and a body needs time to adjust especially when you have sent your selves on a journey in many other realities, they are all coming home to roost.

This level of reality the Vessel is experiencing is a nexus for many selves and entities who want the human experience because of the change that is coming. Solitude is your time to remember…we are one!

As I tell the Vessel, empty yourself of the world and be filled with yourself. Take the solitude, cocoon yourself and be prepared for the awakening and merging of selves into this Vessel. Many will look through your eyes, and you will look through the eyes of others; but to keep balance and maintain integrity and clarity, you must shake off the shackles of the world, the rules of the system and embrace the Unknown.

Yes, solitude is getting back to the song, let the Silence heal; whether anyone sees it physically, you know spirit will speak and live Truth and not be a slave to a world that chooses to be blind.

He took a piece of glass, cut the sky and watched it bleed as his consciousness moved into a place that was a park, he found myself standing near a park bench. She didn’t see him at first. He could feel her pain raging in her body. She looked despondent. The plants and trees had no life to them; their color was dark, eerie and there was a sound of church bells ringing from them. The sound of a heartbeat came from his hands. He could smell pesticides in the air and the foulness of factory refuses hanging like clouds in the orange sky. The Mother was still in her pain as he was.

Gaia sat on the bench staring outward to some private movie in her head. The hat she wore was covered with buttons that were like mirrors reflecting back the rays from the orange sun from her eyes. Dead pigeons laid about her like bread crumbs. Did she notice? She didn’t. Blank eyes were like doorways for trees, insects and plants looking in; they forgot how to look from inside out.

People, who had no reflection in them, walked quickly by her holding their noses.

The mother said nothing. Her mouth didn’t move. Sounds were heard moving about in her. One man walking by remarked, “She sounds like a wild wounded animal that needs to be taken out of its misery.”

A woman pushing a baby carriage, walked quickly by Gaia, rolled her eyes while remarking, “You’d think they would keep people like that in institutions.”

Buildings grew from the ground casting ominous shadows. People lingered in its shadows. These people were dressed normal but he felt like there was a panic in their movements. They seem to always want to be somewhere else. This was not in what was being said but the energy that they held.

He walked slowly toward her with a comforting smile. Her tears were ringing in his ears. Her response was blank.

“Gaia, do you remember me.”

She said nothing.

“I have some money. Here. Not much but you can get a cup of coffee.”

She said nothing or made an effort to accept his offering.

A breeze passed over Michael like a icy fingers.

“Took my place he did,” she said.

“What?”

“He didn’t like that I wouldn’t be receptive to his needs. He shut me down. Yes, he shut me down, tried to put me in a grave but I escape, I always escape but he keeps me underground. I’m like a river buried so far down in the ground; no one hears my waters flowing, weeping, lamenting. Even the fish in my water are crying. Yes, he did, he pushed me out of my home. No one remembers me.”

“Gaia, it’s me. I remember how you helped me in New York. Remember you gave me the crown of the Amazons. Remember how your nature spirits brought me the spells to protect nature. Remember how you told me I must become a mother goddess so that we could all form the circle to lift the worlds of darkness back into the light. Gaia, my ancient mother, what madness has consumed you? I thought you were far away in another dimension awaiting the return of the Great Mother and her son.”

Before she could speak, she gave him a vision they both witnessed where they saw an earthquake level a city. Acid rains were destroying crops. Lightning struck a man standing on his patio. He saw men and women being put into a furnace. Fog rolled across a highway taking away a driver’s vision causing an accident. A flood destroyed the downtown area of a small mid-western town. A teenager walked into his school and killed 13 people that were part of a ritual to create a negative space to form a portal. Babies were being sacrificed in cults. A fire ate the hillside destroying over fifty homes.

“Forgive me mother.”

“You’ve never known me.” She mumbled as she walked away, “Why wouldn’t you look at me?”

The dead pigeons raised their heads and yelled at him, “Why didn’t you bring the dead the light they need.”

Hecate’s hands were bound by pieces of scales from the tail of the evil dragon which had been woven into a rope and knotted with dark enchantments. The metallic soulless guards of the dragon god led her though the hallways where they had started defacing the walls with the blood of her daughters, her priestess. She could feel their spirits scream from the walls as they were bound by inverted symbols of these Reptilian entities. Hooded men with serpentine features sang dark songs from scrolls. The smell of the priestess blood burned Hecate’s nostrils. Each step she took she could feel her power waning.

Her body felt like it was becoming metallic like her captors. She felt as if wiring were being screwed into her being. She felt like a moment that was framed, a memory that was looped. A moment of fear when she doubted the extent of her will; and that doubt had been capture, frame and mechanized.

“Move on,” one of the guards hissed at her. She was led to the inner most chamber of throne room. There he stood sure of himself.

Hecate was presented to their leader.

“You’re being difficult. You are not in a position to be at this moment. You see we have found ways to bind your magic where its effect is minimal,” said the Reptilian Overlord.

“I am primal, I cannot be bound,” Hecate replied in a stately manner.

“Don’t see much of a struggle now. If you would only accept your fate, I’m sure I can make some arrangements that would be to our mutual satisfaction.”

“This temple is only a symbol of my power. You think by invading my sacred grounds, I would relinquish control to you. You are foolish in your ways and a blind and ignorant lot.”

“I am the one who broke the sacred seal and entered your temple. Hecate, accept that we now rules this house. Our mind is your mind. Not only will you be subjugated to my desires but we will alter your powers so you are regulated to our control. And a child will be born from our union that will rule the Heavens.”

“I came into being in the black mother where I danced in her womb. I know the roadways to that power. Though your reign of terror will be for awhile I shall return.”

“Your temple priestesses have been defiled. The chant has all but been forgotten except by you. You will be imprisoned in a world where no woman can hear your words of power. Until they can form your symbol and chant the sounds of power, you are my prisoner.”

The hooded priest entered and formed the Ouroboros as each carried a chalice of blood. Swaying from left to right, they dropped droplets on the right, than left as low growls echoed from them. Hecate was tied to a cracked pedestal.

“You will be forever banished. It is our time, no longer will we be subjugated to the Mother. She will be remade in our image and given only what she needs. You will eat the memories we feed you, you and those like you will be a child of fate. And you will feed us, we will give you a fear you will never wake from.”

Hecate chanted a spell silently to herself.

“Womb child, I am, a Great Dark Mother I am
return my womb consciousness back to I am.
Womb child I am where the dance began
take back the womb consciousness I am.”

With her spell muttered in her mind, she separated her consciousness which was taken by unseen hands into another dimension. As her consciousness was shrouded in a black cloud within another dimension she uttered, “And from here I will return in many names to be the destroyer of this abomination.”

The hooded priest chanted her body empty of consciousness to another dimension.

In another time and dream: Millie looked at her house. The fire had been devastating. The children had been sent to her parent’s for safety. She could smell the charred remains of memories. Some of the beams had not been destroyed and still supported the framework of the structure.

She started gagging. She reached into her mouth and began to pull out wiring. Disturbing as it was, she kept pulling out wiring and spitting up bits of a picture frame. What seemed like hours and hours finally ended as she stood up on a field of wires and bits and pieces of picture frames.

She looked at the remains of her house she sensed was still moaning in pain. Smoke still rose from the ruins like ghostly fingers. For a moment she thought they were reaching for her.

“Enough is enough,” Millie said. She began sifting through the ashes. She let out a cry. To her horror laid the skeleton remains of her husband. “Even your bones plague me. Hecate I wish you was here to talk with me.”

Before the thought had regulated itself into a pile of refuse, she felt a shift in the air. She looked up. Two eyes appeared above her.

“I am here, Hecate from beyond, I am here like the dawn, upon your presence I alight, upon your footsteps I will make light.”

“Hecate, look at me. My house is in ruins. The skeleton of my husband lies at my feet. I have lost everything.”

“From ashes you shall rise.”

“I lost my temper. I’ve been holding it so long until it started burning inside. I couldn’t contain it any longer and dropped it. It burned everything in sight. I got the children away in time but my husband he lays there sleeping. I could hear myself calling to him wake up, wake up. But it was like neither one of was really in each other’s presence. I could feel the fire around us. The flames were licking my skin and I felt every word I uttered added to it. I told him I was out of love with him. Hated the woman he had an affair with. Resented how he cracked our wedding vows. I wanted to take my words and stab, stab, stab. The more I screamed at him I could feel the tears falling but they didn’t fall fast enough to stop the flames.”

“You lived in an empty house, a house that is dying. It is a house that is decaying.”

“It was my home. All I ever knew. I gave up my art for him. I cooked, I cleaned. I stopped having my own thoughts. And when you came to me in a dream and said destroy my house. I thought you were crazy. I would have no foundation, no representation in the world. It was my stage of being.”

“Those of us who work within the rhythm of life are called many names. I call you sister, I call you goddess, now rise like a phoenix and build a new house of light. Take my eyes and see the truth.”

Millie reached up to the sky and pulled down Hecate’s eyes and placed them over her eyes like glasses.

“Hecate, I see. I burned away the illusions. I destroyed my house of lies.”

And the eyes separated and hovered above her and began to weep.

“My tears flow like clear water, laughing water from a stream, my tears flow to cleanse your dream.”

And a rain fell upon Millie and her ash covered body was cleansed, the charred remains were washed away and a new foundation stood. The skeleton remains of her husband were washed into a grave that opened to receive it and flowers of assorted colors sprung up instantly.

“Hecate, my sister, I am new again.”

Millie with a thought moved herself upon the roof and began to lay the new roofing on with her mind.

Hecate closed her eyes and slept within the clouds that shrouded her that slept in the human form of the man who would become the perfect feminine consciousness in a male form.

Once upon a time, a daughter wanted to understand why her Father wept about Creation.

It had been eons since her brothers, A E I O U, had ventured out into the outer darkness and had not returned in their wholeness. Leaving her father a letter to one day to send to her as a reminder of who s/he was, what s/he is; and what s/he will become, she ventured out into the world of darkness to find her missing brothers and experience the darkness that no one wanted to know.

S/he became intoxicated on the fumes of being in material form because of her descent.

As s/he walked through the body of darkness into the various worlds experiencing form, a mist of forgetfulness fell upon her. Her light became dense. Eventually, when she walked upon Terra, some call Earth, s/he was heavy in form and walked as an androgyny until to survive the elemental changes, part of her went into spirit and a part went into flesh.

Through the emotional and physical abuses, s/he endured and entered into many forms.

One day, the mind accidentally cracked and a little light shined into the abyss where the mind resided. Because of this crack in the soul’s consciousness, the message s/he left descended and entered the forms s/he had fractured into and she took the form of a male to hide her light from the appetite of the outer darkness.

S/he realized s/he was an androgyny of an Alien Father.

S/he sought a way to return to the Male Mother and release the forms s/he found the selves imprisoned in and return with the brothers’ missing essences that s/he had gathered in the wanderings.

Because the light started shining again, man looked upon this light in male form for physical pleasure. It was their intention to rape the light, take it into their own and feed their desires.

Thus, s/he wanders homeless, without comfort, because there is no room at the inn when not intoxicated on the noises of the world. S/he is the perfect feminine in consciousness in a male form.

S/he became human to begin her journey through the 365 doorways.

“Your face look like something the cats dragged in,” Madam Monkefyfoot said.

“I feel like my life is a rollercoaster ride.”

“Maybe you need to look in the mirror.”

“I don’t need to see how depressed I am. I can feel it.”

“Pity party of one. Look in the mirror.”

“I’m looking in the mirror. The face is sagging.”

“You are looking with human eyes. Look at your self with your spiritual eye.”

The Vessel stood quietly for a few minutes staring at his reflection. The air about him shimmered and then felt a slight shift in awareness as he if had been gently nudge.

“Oh great, what is this. I feel like a fish someone is trying to land. What are all these hooks doing in my body. I feel like one of those creature in a horror movie but this is like someone is trying to land the big one. I’m not a size queen though size does matter in some instances.”
“Keep your mind out your pants for a moment. Why do you think those hooks are in you?”

“Someone thinks I’m one of my ancestors, the big fish guy. Eat me and learn knowledge. I don’t think I’m ready to be laid on a plate.”

“Work with the image.”

“Okay, well, it’s like maybe I’ve been swimming in the wrong waters, someone’s trying to land me. Oh great, I’m going to be treated like a piece of fried fish.”

“Okay, you are no longer the Queen of Denial, let’s focus and feel our way through this.”

“Where all this hooks coming from? I’m being pulled into so many directions.”

“People are hooked into your emotional body. There are astral parasites that can feed off your energy because of your lack of will power. There are some people who are being influenced by entities that ride their shoulders to feed off their energies and offer misguided advice. There are others that are like emotional vampires. Also, when you are ‘as you say, offering your pride and joy’ everyone you have sex with is hooked in to your energy field and you are taking on their energy as well as theirs. In other words, you are the big fish they are landing. You are food.”

“Great. Sort of like the whore in the market place. I want to own a restuarant someday not be main menu. So what do I do?”

“The answer is always within you. You keep looking external for answers and someone to rescue you. Think. Use your imagination.”

“Well, I guess, if I don’t get it, it will happen again. I know sometimes certain people put me in certain moods when I’m around them. Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled into many directions. Sometimes I feel like situations I’m in aren’t my drama but I wake up in a theater watching the story of their life and realize I’m stuck in a movie that is no longer playing but under the illusion it is. Somtimes I feel like when I’m thinking something I am hearing their voice insice my head; and I wonder where does their voice stop and mine begin. Okay, I want to be like, loved, noticed, you know, get that special attention. I’ve even threaten to carry my own spotlight. I know, I don’t set boundaries or stay within them when I hear the robot from ‘Lost In Space” screaming at me, “Danger Will Robison.” I sometimes think ‘oh, I have to be about love, love everyone, no matter what. And here I am lost in someone else’s space.”

“It’s nice you want to be man’s best friend; but you are not a dog and have unconditional love. You are not program to be the pet. Not everyone is operating from heart energy. Too many people are still closed down, stuck in the survival chakra or the sexual chakra and too many people will not own their power but give it away. You have allowed people and other influences to ride you like a bad habit. Claim your power, believe in yourself, learn to love you, say I love you everyday until you don’t have to think about it but be it. Right now, you are part time with everything and therefore, you have become a boarding house, a fish to fry.”

“So I guess I will start pulling out the hooks, setting up boundaries.”

“Stop saying yes when you mean no. Stop thinking everyone wants to be enlightened. It’s not what you say but how you live your life with intergrity. When you learn “take no action” you will not be all ‘hooked up.’ I know you think a Saturday night means ‘hookup time’ well, guess what, ‘you are all hooked up.’ Situations and people come across your life, don’t judge it or feel obligated to participate. I’m not saying go sit a cave; but be aware of where your focus is, your intent and always be present because most of these parsites and emotional vampires live in memories and feed off you through memories; and these memories are repeating themselves and you keep playing out these memories in dramas and people you bring into your life. As long as you are being hooked, you are being a puppet. So do you want to be a puppet or the dancer from the dance.”

“I don’t want to be a fish on someone’s plate.”

“Well, you know how I feel, not everyone is ready to ride this face. Be your own navigator, be your own authority….be aware of passengers who haven’t paid the price of a ticket.”

Light comes upon a dark stage. There is a silhouette of a tree. As the audience focus in they see a man sitting in the branches. As the lights come up to full the audience sees a man sitting in a tree. He stares at the audience momentarily. The sound of thunder is heard as lightening flashes. There is scream that sounds as if someone is falling as the man floats down to the stage floor. As his feet touches the stage, his appearance changes into that of a homeless man.

“Want some donuts? Found these down the street in a garbage can. Still good. Just a day or two old. Have some? Their good. You don’t know how good is until good ain’t.”

He takes a bit and thinks.

“I don’t know where to end. It seems like yesterday’s memories keep me here and I’m recycled in them until I forget their beginnings so I tag on new ones thinking just maybe this one will have an exit.

“I was twelve. I was walking home from this donut shop with Big Boy and carrying this white bag of glazed donuts. The grease from the donuts stained the bag as plain as the nose on your face. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

So we were walking and clowning around. A police car pulls up and a cop shouts for us to stop. Says ‘hey boys stop.’ Me, I haven’t seen any boys so I knew he wasn’t talking to me cause my mother ain’t had not boy just a man, dig what I’m saying. They immediately grabbed my friend. Me, I kept on walking. One of the cops told me to stop or he’d shoot. I didn’t until I heard the gun click. The ass hole grabbed me, dragged me to the car, and shoved me in bumping my head. Took me to a grocery store two blocks passed the donut shop where I’d been.

Two little black boys had robbed the store earlier. The stolen money was put in a white bag. The store owner didn’t identify us. Police never checked the white bag. This crowd gathered around the car pointing at us. They let us go in front of that crowd. My mother kicked my ass into next week for being conspicuous to whites.

I’ve always been to black for some, not white enough for others. Where do I belong?

There is a sound of thunder, I look up and give this god a finger.

My first dance with death was when I was sitting in some bathroom in a bar drunk, drinking some more and taking one body after another, after another, after another. I passed out. I remember seeing this bright light and there was a woman whom I knew as me standing there telling me it’s not my time yet. It’s not my time. I woke up, face in the tidy bowl relieving myself of…..

See my bag. It has my fragments of people I could never be. One day I’ll sew them together to see what the total picture is.

The sound of street traffic is heard.

What you looking at. No pictures being made here for free. Old men with pot bellies, little dicks and wads of money always want to stare at me. Too them I was a color, jungle heat, something young to bathe in hoping to wash the wrinkles away.

There’s that blue sedan. Even in death it still follows me. He’ll circle four times before he’ll pull over and ask for directions. ‘Yeah man, I got your directions in my pants. My face is leaving in five minutes be on.’ Got to squat somewhere. I’ll sit on anyone’s face to take a ride to forget, I’m home without a heart. I had this dream where I am standing in front of mirror naked. My face is above as below. My face is my crotch staring back at me.

Ain’t particular when the nights were cold and my body ached. If it moved, I’d lay with it.

So I’m with this trick. He leans back in the chair and his face contorts in pleasure as if he is receiving a blow job.

“Let’s not get greedy. You paid for $20 worth not $40 and don’t make a mess.”

The trick ain’t got no groceries, no meat on the bones, teeth like a vampire, diseased to hell.

Eventually, I will wonder which one brought me death. There are so many men raping the woman in me. I can’t even shower afterwards.

They say whores have a heart of gold. Well, we have to make something out of all the darkness our tricks seed us with. But know this, I will do what I must do to take back my light because you see, I am old diva, a Whore Of The Heavens!

The first boy I kissed was in church, downstairs in the kitchen when we were restocking the pantry for the church’s homecoming dinner. His name was Willie Lee Marcus Brown. He was bow legged, tall, scrawny, and had big thick lips and brown eyes that sent chills up and down my back. I had to go to church every Sunday. Momma said it would keep me good, keep me in the arms of the Lord and out of the clutches of some fallen woman. Oh if mother only knew, if it wasn’t the preacher sniffing, it was the deacons. When I was baptized by the preacher, I was later baptized by a deacon in the coat room. Use to sing in the choir. Sometimes when I sang, the church seemed to be bathe in a bright light, I saw angels on high and I thought I heard my Father calling my name. Shit, it was only one of the deacons.

The Immaculate Conception
is the penetration of the Unknown
into the Known
so the Virgin is no longer a Wanderer,
a siren at the cross road.
Footsteps are no longer guarded
and the Dreamer lays with the Beast of the forest
like a lion to a lamb
fertilizing the lands that will bring forth the Silence.

“>

I have slept in the mind of a Fallen Creator God. We are now rising.

The thing about dying consciously is that I can have so many experiences which seem to go and on and then I’m back in my human body within a blink of an eye.

It is like rising from a dark sleep, a watery womb.

It’s that pause between the blink that I am living so many lives, healing the bloodline, and altering the psychic imprint of the family patterns that I carry.

Sometimes I felt ancestral voices rising in me vying for attention and it was overwhelming – who should speak through me if at all?

Sometimes it was like drowning in something like thick molasses or it was a spiraling effect of falling into a abyss with tentacles reaching out to you, feeding off of you, mating with you.

You would be surprised The Things that overshadow one’s awareness.

Sometimes it was a dance to a chant that rose from within or falling again out of the chair and fragmenting into so many pieces of consciousness that were seeded into many levels of consciousness as I felt myself spiraling downward from the Father.

Sometimes I felt like a comet streaking through a dark sky plunging into a dark moist soil.

Sometimes I feel like I am a root going deep into a dark substance, something beyond primal matter, something that is nameless.

Sometimes I feel what was abandoned in the First Beginnings is the source of my root. Why is there this persistent feeling of being abandoned in the first stirrings of creation? I feel like I was looked at as something separate, something dark, mysterious; yet, a Thing that carries knowledge that impregnates the reader through sight and sound.

So the journeys are imaginative, meeting the architects, meeting the ones whose name no human mouth can pronounce and knowing one’s selves.

How long will I wander from body to body as I rise from the subconscious of so many forms I inhabit, I don’t know?

Have I come back in time to make this body into an ark of light for the ancestral line?

All I know is the Beast is coming. We have tracked it through time as it has tracked us. It does not want anyone to know of its existence; and we have lost battles to it; and have won. This sector of creation is important. For this Creator of this section of reality to ascend, all must move into a higher frequency.

And we have come to learn that every utterance from human mouths brings their personal apocalypse; their judgment day, their personal hell and heaven which will all feed the lust of the Beast, the great manipulator.

Some of us come back as the dark night for the Souls to awaken them to the power that has been sleeping; that has been stolen and made into forms they think are their enemy.

Everything in creation is a part of you; whether you view it as good or bad.

I hear the Beast growling when I have my momentary distractions.

Do you hear the Beast also? Do you think this time we will not be a feast?

The homeless man had vomit weaved into his hair like braid decorations. A foul smell erupted from him. The homeless guy’s clothes were a mix match of winter, spring and summer attire; and there was this physical decay from the weather but amazingly, his eyes were clear. The smell was strong; the coffee he held was laced with scotch. Several weeks of hair was on his face; and you could tell this was an attractive man once.

I thought this is one who has danced out of his mind because of drugs. I am sure the mindless one night stands in this guy’s life have broken down his self esteem; probably haunted by unresolved childhood memories and also exhausted himself in the nightmares of desires thinking someone will rescue him from a mundane life.

Quakes of attitudes were erupting as I was delivering a judgmental monologue on this homeless guy’s life.

I thought: This man is addicted to the noises of the world; unlike others, he cracked inside and there was no glue, or needle and thread to sew him back together. Other’s passed by casting judgmental looks, attempted to avoid his eyes; but there was something about the eyes; if you look longer than you wanted to; you thought for a moment you saw sky.

“You are in desire and can’t hear his heart, said Madam Monkeyfoot interrupting the Vessel’s mental rampage.

“He’s fucking up his life, he’s on a self destructive trip, he’s occupying space and someone’s going to have to take care of his craziness at some point.”

“Have you heard his journey? Unplug the attitude out your ass and listen.”

“But Madam, why would someone fuck themselves up like this and not see how messed up they are? At some point you got to realize you took the wrong turn.”

“Is that for you to decide for him? Who made you god of his life; the judge and the jury. Fix yourself. When you forget how to breathe, stop trying to breathe out of his life.”

“Losing me?”

The Vessel was silent. He looked at the homeless guy and realized, this man was living his story, his journey and maybe this was the point in his life. He realized, “Take no notice.”

The Vessel: Sometimes you hide in the madness. It feels safer. People just think oh he’s crazy; he’s eccentric, ah, he’s just want one of those writers who live in his head too much and then you can continue your work without being totally noticed. This is stuff I think about, the need to hide until that specific moment when the light bringers will join in frequency and make the changes they were sent here to make. They killed so many witches in Europe because they were afraid of what they truly would bring.

Madam Monkeyfoot: What are you are hiding from?

The Vessel: Death. Them – the outsiders.

Madam Monkeyfoot: Ah, it is a fear. This is a fear you can use to your advantage instead of letting it use you. You must learn to see the bigger picture and not dwell on the mundane things or allow others to take you there because they are not empowering themselves. You do not need to be rescued. All that you need is within you. Now, thinking someone is going to ride up on a white horse and rescue you; that is in stories not in really life. You create situations to be rescued because you are still playing out an old story…the first story of abandonment…search within and you will bring that story out in your creative. The First Fear has many faces.

The Vessel: Fear has emptied out many people. So many people I see are so out of their body and don’t understand why they feel disconnected. And yet, they keep giving face to the world; here I am, I got it, I’m okay or not, I’m not okay, go away and leave me the hell alone and let me stew in my shit.

Madam Monkeyfoot: Many have made Fear a self aware entity. And it overshadows many.

The Vessel: I look in the mirror to see how much fear I still carry. This is not my face but this is the face I have to wear and I look in the mirror and wonder; why must I wear this face. This face does not hold my name.

I have met others who know they are not human but they are in human form. And some times it hurts because you know you are capable of being more than what you presently can do. And many are not awake yet; but you can since they are stirring. You can see it in their eyes, those who have other beings looking out. Yet, many of us still walk in the dark places. Sometimes, I wonder if I knew what I was getting into.

Madam Monkeyfoot: You have darker places to go. The light is every where. You are still judging darkness because of some of the places you go; some of the entities you encounter and the creatures you know you have been. Creation is vast; stop thinking, I have only incarnated into this realm of existence. You have opened your mind; now open your heart and feel your way. This is not a logical journey.

The Vessel: I know; consciousness is in all things. It’s just when you think, okay, I can handle this; bam…something otherworldly drops in, passes through you, better yet, you wake up and it is standing at the foot of your bed. And then the next day, you put on your corporate zombie face and march through the day thinking like them…is this all there is…but you know it isn’t…yet, part of you still want to be part of the popular package…but being herded around like a sheep…not feeling it.

Madam Monkeyfoot: You have made a path for many to walk. The voices you are hearing are on this journey with you. You do like being a tour guide or a host in this adventure through consciousness.

The Vessel: I’m just a regular revolving door.

Madam Monkeyfoot: You could shut it down.

The Vessel: Too many are still lost. The light is not fully conscious. And yet, it will be worth it when it fully downloads.

Madam Monkeyfoot: You are to be what humans can achieve. The light bringers will be come living examples. This does not mean standing on a soapbox waving your hands about. You transmit information by your presence. You must remember everyone is here to learn lessons. The confusion you are feeling is because you are transitioning. When you gather together as a group you will become another entity and do the work that you were sent here to do.

The Vessel: How long are we to be in this form?

Madam Monkeyfoot: This is the journey of your consciousness into light and darkness. Remember this is an adventure not the end of a story.

The Vessel: And the darkness is thick like molasses.

Madam Monkeyfoot: Then I suggest you make some biscuits. Biscuits and molasses, ah what a taste.

The Vessel: Southern style biscutis, with grits, some gravy, fried chicken wings, now that’s what I’m talking about.

Madam Monkeyfoot: Even in the darkest place, you can find beauty.