Image: Faery Doorway, Koningsteen, Belgium.
Text and image by Susan Beamish. ©Copyright 2014.
I am Sonya, the interweaving frequencies of Pleiadian and Sirian made human. I am recognizable by my bones of gold and blood that flows milky white. My presence is the sterling sound of starlight. I am commencement. The time has arrived.
I walk a slow circle, barefoot upon the damp earthen floor of this domed chamber shouldering the bequeathed sapphire blue robe. My feet follow the narrow circular path trodden by the scores of curers who have placed their feet one in front of the other, as I do now.
With trembling hands I cradle the burning herb bowl, its spiraling smoke sending our whispered prayers upward. I am halted by a silent flash. The Golden Ray enters the dome through the turret above, dispensing its luminous message deep into the abdomen of the wounded Countryman.
Countryman’s bones shake, his internal rattle signals to the minstrels to gather at the low, blanketed table. His body is played and strummed as a lyre – their strings, his bloodlines. The sacred chords of vital energy are called to awaken. The flute summons. The Green Deva steps through the veil, her swirling gale intoxicating the chamber. In exaltation our knees kiss the earth.
Calm presides now. The chamber hums as dawn paints the awakening sky gold. The blood stained gauze is removed from Countryman’s body, the uncoiling serpent releases. I light the round goat-lard candle under the table declaring the curing complete. Countryman sits in stillness drinking from a black clay cup filled with a crimson brew of crushed berries and absinthe. As the final preparation for his journey home, I apply the warmed tree gum to the soles of his feet, sealing in the stellar vibrations of the Ancient Blue Ones, our Pleiadian and Sirian ancestors.
The flute summons again activating a healing vibration of an instantaneous nature which rouses his soul, elevating him to his true state of being – one of soaring jubilance. Countryman enters the shaft of golden light before him. The numerical frequency, 15 88 33, is declared as his earthly particles vibrate and shatter, dissolving him into a shimmering primordial stardust. Our outstretched hands bid him a fond farewell as his essence ascends into the morning sky,
re-gathering again in the silvery disk that awaits his long-lost soul.