MADAM MONKEYFOOT

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.

Easy to point that finger and let someone else carry the blame.

It is not always about you.

Sometimes situation happens to bring a lesson; to get you out that quagmire you find yourself in or you are to play good guy or bad guy in someone’s life to help them heal themselves.

Everything happens for a reason and you are the architect of your thought; though there are influences behind that.

Some folks like being blue; it keeps them from admitting maybe they are not living up to their potential.

What you see with someone else when you’re pointing your finger may be their lesson that they have brought into this life.

Finger pointing is so easy when you are not looking at the bigger picture but just thinking from your perspective and experiences.

Before you stick that finger out at someone, understand where your issues are rooted.

Why are you so bothered; witness and not participate? This is a school room!!!

Everybody has their particular assignments they are working on. And school is not out for anyone in this reality.

Finger pointing means you haven’t finished working on yourself and need to stop and think before you start pointing and running your mouth? You don’t know the wounds people are carrying; and the journey they are on to heal it; and in some instances, it will not happen in this life time.

Finger pointing is judgment. Judging means someone needs to bring you a lesson; because you are too busy playing God in someone else’s life.

So when that finger look like it’s going to point, turn it back on yourself. If your house was clean, you wouldn’t be here in this reality to point fingers; unless you have learned to be in service to others.

“Your face looks like someone hit with a tree branch,” Madam Monkeyfoot inquired.”

I’m feeling a lot of love today,” The Vehicle responded sarcastically. “ I am juggling work and the more I work the more it plies up.”

“Maybe you need to step back, enjoy the moment.”

“I don’t have time for the moment.”

“Clone.”

“What?”

“Drone?”

“What?”

“Zombie?”

“Excuse me?”

“Stop acting like a clog in the machine. You know better. You are so busy stepping to a rhythm that has nothing to do with you that you are losing touch. You need to give your self quiet time, shut down from the noises of the world.”

“And you can just float around in my head and download when it is convenient.”
“I am busy but that’s not the issue. Your frustrations are sending bad vibes. And it is disturbing my tranquility.”

“And I need to be four people to complete this task.”

“Be aware. Be alert. When was the last time you hugged a tree, stop for a moment and caught a breeze and imagined it was a lover’s touch? When was the last time you notice the fragrance of flower instead of the smell of corporate bullshit. I know it pays the bill but it doesn’t have to own your mind. Don’t be a slave to time.”

“A man’s got to eat.”

“Yes, but what are you eating?”

“I am busy.”

“Running around like a chicken without its head. You need to feel the sun on your face. Artificial lighting is shutting down your thought process.”

“I have to work. Not everyone can inherit millions or have that last name which will open doors.”

“Did you wake up to become a zombie?”

“Some days aren’t so great you know.”

“Is this one of those three hanky moments? Let me get a chair and a bowl of popcorn.”

“Okay, I get it. I’m taking a walk.”

“And be present when you’re walking; not every where else. There is enough traffic jams with people not paying attention to where their thoughts are going.”

Madam Monkeyfoot is a multi-dimensional gatekeeper. She started out what I thought was a fictional character but in the Eye of the Machine series but has decided she has the juice to have a life of her own. So she refers to me as The Vessel; so that naming me will not limit my expansion and also to understand many entities will look through my eyes and merge with me.

Remember this…the Eye is on. This is Madam Monkeyfoot downloading again into your reality. Ah, the vehicle has been on another head trip and driving himself off the road. He lets too many opinions take over the steering wheel. It is imperative one becomes one’s own authority.

I remember the first time I looked up from the pages of his writing I was thinking, “This child is still missing the boat. He has let too many people play the captain of his ship so I caught his attention when he was on a mental field trip through memories. Every voice in your head is not necessarily you. He had a moment when he emptied his mind; and the Madam slipped in. At first he thought, “Oh this is just another character vying for attention.”

I came in as a character but I am much more. So I am fiction and then I am reality. His imagination has given me many forms and I played many roles in his writing. Now, Madam Monkeyfoot has her own stage so to speak. And I have some stories, some commentaries. I am light that is in human form.

Depending on my mood and how many cocktails, The Vessel has had, will depend on my style of chit chat. I like calling him The Vessel so he will learn that many forms of consciousness will be riding through him, looking through his eyes, experiencing him creation.

And speaking of rides, The Vessel just let someone else take him for a long ride down a dark road and his face is all twisted out of shape again and he’s dragging it around like a worn out security blanket.

Sometimes ugly comes into your life because you are sleep walking. A few hard knocks from life and most people start running from it. Don’t judge it, embrace it and use it as a lesson. Life is about lesson. And waiting to be rescued, will only keep you going in circles.

Have you noticed sometimes your friends repeat the same drama over and over again like a broken record? They don’t want to understand the lesson and blame it on someone else; or wait for someone else to fix their life. No one is fixing your life but you.

The Vessel has struggled with this. He fixes his life, than he breaks it down again because of self-pity, issues of self worth. You have been conditioned to act like you’re less than the next person. You are beings whose consciousness knows no boundary except those you have created for yourself and have allowed others to fence you in.

Thinking outside the boundaries has been scary for some; delightful for others. Where you travel is based on what you take with you.

If you move in fear, than your journey inwards and outwards are based in fear. Fear is like a parasite. You have made it an unwelcome guest. Ugly is perception and a tool to manipulate. There is beauty in the dark places; and some things that are light are not so pretty when you turn down their light.

You are not the face you are wearing but you judge others by their face. When you learn to read the heart, you will find ugly is perceptions, wants and judgments which you have externalize. It is easier to make someone ugly so you don’t have to look inside yourself and turn the light on in those dark rooms you occupy and play out perverse lives, destructive lives; you have made death a belief system that keeps you locked into recycling existence.

Snap out of it!

“Your face looks like a taffy pull,” Madam Monkeyfoot said.

“The new potential boyfriend just cracked my face. He said he wasn’t attracted to me.”

“Who would be if you’re making your face into a door mat? Why do you think love is out side you? Sex and love ain’t the same thing child. You think because some man gets you all hot and sweaty that he is the end of your story. When morning comes and you’re sober, you know the man ain’t right but you still try to fit him into a shoebox so you can feel good about yourself. No one can make you feel as good as you can and I’m not talking masturbation. You have made sex into a recreational sport where there is a winner and a loser.”

“I thought he liked me. We laugh. We really connect.”

“Child, please! You were hunting the meat! You were for a score; a fifteen second high. You are only connecting to the heat. When was the last time you smiled without a particular reason? When was the last time you had a conversation with a man without mentally undressing him? When was the last time you love the solitude and was in love with your self? When was the last time you danced naked in front of the mirror and love the person you were at that moment? Sex is not going to fix you but break you down more and more because you think feeling good for those few moments will make you feel like you all that and a bag of chips. You feel like shit afterwards because parts of you are still longing. Sex and love are not on the same page.

“Everyone wants someone to be attracted to them.”

“And I would like a better outfit than the one you put me in mentally. But I make what I have work; you understand. You have what you have because you decided these you’re your challenges in this life; these are your lessons. So do you want to be a plantation slut? As long as you think you need a man; you only get one lesson after another. You need to be looking in that mirror and tell yourself, I am love!!!!! So, the next time you are in heat and it’s a full moon, turn down the hunger between your thighs and focus on balancing your energies and connecting to the Earth. Many people want to tip and dip in the swimming hole but few every really want to get wet. Tune into the Earth and you will get what you want.”

“It’s always easy to comment from the other side.”

“There are no sides, we are everywhere. You will understand soon enough. Besides like attracts; so evidently, there is something about you that is not right or you wouldn’t be bringing this sort of guy into your life. You think a man will rescue you so you will settle for anything with three legs that come along. That’s an alley woman’s mentality and you’re better than that. So get your face out the mud, live from the heart and stop attracting parasites. You will attract someone who will hear the song of your heart and not the length of the dick.”

“We’re a size oriented society.”

“I had men that had as much as the snap of the finger and they used their imagination. Stop limiting potential. Get out of the shoebox mentality. Live and stop playing with the dead. Every time you live your life like you did yesterday, you are stuck, you are stagnant, you are boring and you are just another zombie in a low budget movie. I say go for the spotlight. Be the star and not just an audience member wishing they had that life of their favorite character.

The Vessel use to think the imaginary conversations in his head were just daydreams. He has come to learn we have created sacred spaces to talk, to alter timeline, to change his perception of reality….this is 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 Vehicle 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 Vessel.

“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?”

Since this is the first blog, that Madam Monkey delivers, I guess I should explain a bit of what I am. I am came into The Vessel’s life as a fictional character who has stepped from the pages of his writing to now speak with my own voice.

I am like his guidance counselor, a friend, and a swift kick in the butt. Also, I have a bit of the trickster in me.

I dress up as many characters in his writings or when we are speaking in his sacred space to get his attention. In his writing, I have had many names; some not to pleasant. He original thought I was a fictional character; but it was how I was able to break through the barriers he has created because of self worth and doubt. He is learning to become his own authority; his own sovereignity.

Too many children of the Mother have taken on ugly faces to heal the first laments but that is another story.

We are light. We are information. We are consciousness exploring form. We are a Voice that the Vessel has given many forms. We are his future. Sometimes we are writing him into our stories, ah, this is something to think about.

I am the one he dialogues with when he goes off on one his mental wanderings through the underworld where plays out dramas in the bars, the graveyards and dark cities where he meets inhabitants from other planes of existence. He thinks it is all a dream and/or nightmare. Sometimes I am the Angel and the Conversation.

Sometimes I am the interior monologue. I am him in the future, the past, the present. There is no form Madam Monkeyfoot will not download into. We share adventures and I inspire a few, okay, so I sort of push him into a few situations.

The Vessel is facing his greatest challenge: his original fear and his separation from the Beginning.

This morning he was thinking about how Madam was going to express Madam. (For those who need a gender reference, I will use S/he and/or he unless I’m speaking from a specific gender, think of me as the third sex). I told him, it’s all about living with an authentic face.

Everyone wants to wear a mask in their day-to-day to exchange. Most folks are afraid of people getting close and/or they’ll be rejected because you may not look like you stepped off some magazine cover; or you are not body beautiful.

I tell The Vessel as he tells his friends – go dance naked in front of a mirror and enjoy the body you have at the moment. How do you expect someone to love you if you don’t love yourself right now?

The creator didn’t make ugly that is something other folks have done and want to pass the blame onto someone else. So many folks spinning their gears trying to find someone to love instead of loving the person they are. How you see yourself is the type of person you will bring into your life. Think of your thoughts like little satellite that are rotating around you sending out a signal.

Someone is receiving that signal.

So what signal are you sending; how do you see yourself.

And if truth be known, there are lot of you know you are not human, just having a human experience.

Learn to live your authentic face.

Now, I know it ain’t happening in the next few minutes or few hours, and years for some. When was the time you were honest with yourself. How quickly do you put that mask on to hide your true feelings. You know if you look into a mirror and concentrate real hard, you can see yourself from other lives and you can see the entities that travel with you and look through your eyes. The Vessel has seen his reptilian face, his insectoid face and few others.

When you think of someone you are sending them an image of yourself – it is mind face projection. There are many of us who travel together as a sea of faces moving across consciousness.

Even the Vessel travels with this group and they travel in his conscious.

So sometimes when you’re tired, or you have knocked back a few drinks to many and you think you’re vision is blurry or some recreational drugs have kicked in and you see people’s faces change, it is happening.

You don’t need these things to witness, you just have to believe without believing.

Now, the Madam is a good time Diva but it is about respect so I’m not saying get all liquored up and hope the Heavens reveal themselves; which technically they do more than we want to believe, you can get that “high” from within.

The face travels in other realms of consciousness. The Vessel has had the experience of witnessing many alien faces pouring through his. Sometimes I give him face but he doesn’t recognize me sometimes. I love to change voice and style; it is about the performance is it not.

Life is a school, it is a dramatic presentation. Once you learn you are performers within a cosmic drama, you will learn how many roles you like to play, how many faces you like to wear when you are playing the game.

So if you don’t like the face you have then maybe you need to listen to your heart and not the ones who are trying to remake you in their image. Not a lot of true faces but they are coming.

So when I say, my face is leaving in five minutes, what I am saying, it is time to go on a journey, it is time to get out of that place where you are stagnate, that place where a part of you has died into and has not learn to resurrect from; or you are in a moment of crisis and you feel the presence of someone who seems to bring a message.

Yes, Madam Monkeyfoot loves to give face and there is no place this face has not projected.

So when someone gives you attitude and that face that look like it has suck too many sour things, keep in mind, it is their issues they are projecting and not yours and sometimes people need to be the bad person to understand the good person.

No matter what face you are working with today; that face is the experience you choose.

So, if you wonder am I real…let’s just say…The Vessel and I brought each other into existence…so my face is leaving in five minutes…be on it!!!!!!!

We are here to activate the stories that are coded within you; to help you understand the stories you have been trapped in; the stories that will heal; the stories that will destory; the stories that alter your awareness and help you to ascend. We are what was, what is and what will be.

We are here…to activate. So grab some popcorn, get ready to change channels; we have many dramas for you to witness…to participate in.

Madam Monkeyfoot is downloading through the spaces between the words…so what words will you board and ride like a magic carpet.

So, this face is leaving in five minutes….be on it!