Autobiography

Valentine’s Day, 2019

Recently I listened to an author describe how his interior guides dictated a book, that he published successfully, shortly thereafter.

Sometimes my bodily pain is so severe, I can’t even imagine having the energy to write, unless the words themselves are provided like this – and I am practically handed the pen. Automatic writing has happened to me before, and it never fails to astonish, for the language received tends to be very cryptic, beautiful, and full of meaning, even when I feel by myself I am not.

I must have whispered prayers in the night that I would receive another ready-made composition of this sort.

Shortly after 8:00 a.m., I awoke, my clairaudience turned on. Prose started to flow from somewhere inside of me, without effort, and I grabbed a pen off the nightstand to secure the words on paper, before they evaporated like a dream, from my mind.

In reviewing what I wrote, it was, of course, like discovering and reading it for the first time. I realized that “cupboard” must refer to my heart, and glass “bottle” – the body – which contains and limits the soul, until it is released through death, or perhaps enlightenment. I found God’s use of culinary allegories with me entirely fitting, and more than a little entertaining in parts. It made me want smile.

“Onions” are what my mother planted to keep animals out of her garden, but could also mean distractions that keep people from finding out the truth. I  have uploaded pictures of my actual, open-faced cupboards, which I found ready and waiting, as if just to illustrate this piece.

I am calling it Autobiography, because I received it from a Source with Whom I am quite familiar, but One that I also recognize as the Voice that resides within each of us, and some call the Christ.

And I share them, these few, intuited words below,  because I feel they were meant for me to share, like a glass from just such an open cupboard… or open heart.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

I am taking off a lifetime of pain

When I was twenty years old
the dam broke
the colors colliding,
like an off-put canvas
Household items lined up,
like cracked pots
to take with me

The visions had ceased
All around me the pain,
the stares

What does it take to
believe in a miracle?
they asked with a grin

Finding themselves shoeless,
on my path

Don’t go away
The cupboards will burn
The dishes will fly

Please,
place your onions at the door

When Spring came
the rains had stopped
and everyone cheered

Like a hen getting out of a truck
I didn’t even know how to drive

Laughing,
they killed me some more

White paper lined the floor
like parchment
with his portrait and portfolio

Shut the door
The cops aren’t coming anymore

In June the news came
of a city on a hill
glistening with radiance

How do they make those little cakes
that stand up
like needles on their edge?

Further more,
the door’s shut
so how can it bleed?

A raptor,
a pigeon
and a bird

He sees what he knows
like glass in a pan

What are you thinking my child?

I see you and I love you
I was always with you
my child
The tears flow and this time
they are tears of joy

Walk away from the pain
Walk away from those you love
But don’t walk away from me

For I am the one
who started it all
with a bottle of love
and a plan
laid out like cards
that can’t fail

The bottle has been broken
but the love is limitless
like a magic trick
designed to catch
your deceivers

Put it away in your cupboard
like spices on a rack
Use it liberally
wherever you go

In the end you will see
that was all that mattered

It contains seeds like nutmeg
that grow rampant in the rain
in the snow

Wherever you go
I am always with you
in your heart

Just look inside of it