“Spirit Vs. Ego” YouTube

“Spirit Vs. Ego” YouTube

Beyond the veil

Beyond the veil

Amber orb-

soul ecaping-

upon an infinite veil,

slowly revealing-

the lightworkers beyond.

Pole-vaulting between-

Earth and beyond.

Ringing-

ringing.

Frame by frame-

people scattered-

around and about.

Franticly talking.

Subtle sound-

Ringing phone.

Poking and prodding-

huddled about-

a staggered heartbeat.

Ringing-

ringing.

Gasping-

gasping-

for a beat.

Fleeting words-

said upon tear filled eyes.

Straining-

gasping-

‘I don’t want to die….’

Hands held tight-

grasping for the heart.

All goes darks.

Amber orb-

shines so bright.

The veil lifted.

Two light beings-

hands held together-

in prayer.

Slowly,

slowly,

Embrace the orb.

Surely,

surely,

guiding-

the amber orb-

back down to their rightful being.

A gasp of life-

comes about.

beings of light-

shield the amber orb-

safely back to life.

Ankling on #2 News Years Morning-Welcome 2022♡

Ankling on #2 News Years Morning-Welcome 2022♡

It has been two or so weeks since I returned from hospital.

My broken ankle and surgery to which I graciously adopted a plate and several screws into my ankle has not set in as much.

The feeling of a material that was part of the great industrial revolution in Australia, feel ever so foreign to me (excuse the pun?)

On a dry Summer day, not that long ago I had to get my temporary cast replaced with the more secure, strong four week cast set.

Amongst the hustle and bustle of the orthopaedic ward, a nurse buzzed passed and handed me a a keyring of cast colour samples.

This was new to me.

For a brief moment I thought I was picking curtains at a drapery.

With a some what vast selections of colours, I decided on the reassuring, somewhat comforting colour pink.

With my cast colour decided, the surgeon and nurses removed my temporary cast and unveiled my bare broken ankle.

I could barely glance upon the damage.

Two incisions seared into either side of my ankle. Sharp, precist lines roughly run 10cms up my ankle.

A bruise lakes around the heel of my foot. I gather myself from wooziness as I advert my eyes as they wrap and realign my ankle.

I hobble on New Years Eve.

The heat sweltering and swelling my leg. Medical attire that is most certainly not designed for the cruel Australian Heat.

When the weather is just perfect for a skate. I long to glide.

To feel the eucalyptus scented breeze dance through my hair.

As the days of healing go on, one step at a time….

I countdown the days,

ever so gently to which I can safely place both feet back upon the ground.

But, aye.

I think we all have that inner yearning.

Happy New Year all.

May 2022 guide you with love and light.

speak true, always!

speak true, always!

Here we were, hundreds and thousands of us. Marching side by side, as we rumbled for our freedom.

Our echo’s bellowed, evoloping the streets surrounding Parliament House.

Our hearts poured raw, our spirits tears comforted the sacred land we stood upon.

Our tribe complete, but always welcoming, everyone from near and far.

Standing in unity for OUR futures to come.

The overlords above can screech their lashing lying words. For we are no fools.

We travel this land with our ancestors in tow. Hoping for a safer. Brighter world.

Always!

When our hearts pour raw. You will hear the cries of ancestors in tow.

Always!

This is our home, you serve us.

But who are you really serving?

For our hearts speak true.

Always!

Remember/\Remember

Remember/\Remember

Remember….remember…Victoria

We are descendants of Bush Rangers.

We are strong.

We are many.

We will be triumphant through our struggles.

Remember….remember…Victoria.

We are descendants of Bush Rangers.

We are strong. We are many.

Time did speak

Time did speak

Why cry? When you can laugh.

Jollied Time itself.

Seconds still sway on.

Present moments-

speak the only truth.

For the past is a fickle duel-

between a rose tinted haze.

The future is dream.

An ever present memory.

astral plead

astral plead

If the clouds could whisper, upon thy cheek.

Etched memories of time reflect a rose tinted glare.

Shallow thought do quiver,

when storms brew with fear.

Chaos juggles north.

The mind glides east.

Voices heard, are twisted vines.

Restraining.

Restricting.

The third eye weeps.

These astral planes-

plead to be seen.

Melbmourns

Melbmourns

Two hundred plus days-

Melbourne has been separated.

Two hundred plus days.

Over half a year-

longing-

to be reunited.

Over half a year-

Saint Paul’s cathedral bells-

have sung a lonesome hymm-

Echoing empty streets.

Under the clocks of Flinders Street Station-

a shadowless shell of what was.

Two-hundred plus days-

Unable to hug our friends and family-

to comfort them-

To comfort us.

Two-hundred plus days-

and counting-

always counting.

We are suffering.