At this precise moment I’m questioning my place on this selfish planet. After, once again, having my heart ripped out (almost) by the one woman I share my last waking moments with, I have to ask the question–where is my tribe; or is there even one on this condemned rock?

Frankie Bones & Lenny Dee’s, As long as I got you, is playing in the background on my room-filling Bose speaker. The classic house tones lead my thoughts into another lane.

It’s not that I’ve been completely divorced from those original thoughts of loneliness, it’s just that, if God is talking to me in 5d again, this time it seems to be an appeal to trust her ‘alone’.

My pending divorce from humans pauses in my mind. Maybe wanting God more means me ascending to dependence on none but her for my food, shelter and inspiration as well as entertainment.

But I know you humans too well: when I say her, you think of my female counterpart and not–her my God. Should I then say ‘he’ and exchange the furnishing essence of creation with masculinity, abiding tradition?

Should it be that I label God a coloniser, a conqueror with a desire to penetrate and control, rather than a concurer, a mother, a feeder, a bosom with a gentle hand that feeds the soil?

Yet today our mortal (she) man also says ‘he’ in reference to God, disrespecting of her own essence while also confirming of her amnesic mind.

Even those who did awake out from this matrix, only awoke to use ‘goddess’ instead of God, much in the same redundant way that others utter ‘black’ together with ‘man’, unwittingly offending their own intelligence.

And so, the cart leads the horse and oh, what a bumpy road it has been, without the guidance of the angel, elected to guide.

 Yet still, as a (he) man I say ‘she’ to reference the all-powerful God, without apology or explanation. The heart finally shushes the brain, the phallus falls, the cervix rises and we now hold the brain as the stenographer of the heart and not the other weigh©.

But for a moment, imagine being devoted to something that has no tangible features, a popular yet esoteric entity that you cannot actually see or identify as a single object but only multiple experiences within a typical day within a typical adventure on earth.

It seems like a cruel joke in some ways yet in another, a wondrous beauty of a connection with everything that resonates the entire astral plane. One must also imagine, at each point of domestic dissonance, feeling a deep loneliness that cannot disappear under any circumstances; one that abates only when the egoic eye is closed and the heart opens to seeing the many, many faces of God in each situation.

Her presence can be overwhelming, not blaming what is outside of self. All issues, laid down by you, for you, to you, because of you so ‘you’ can see and remember what you are being within the grip of pride; albeit beyond the pretense of Big Brother’s reasoning.

In some ways it’s conformation and an experiential understanding of the fact that: all these figures that we see: partners, parents, children, brothers, mothers sisters, assailants, lovers, governments and friends, are all just expressions of God within, acting without.

I guess the ultimate understanding is that nothing is real apart from that which the mind creates and attracts towards having the ultimate experience of glorifying itself.

We all want to be right and we all want to have an idea of what life is before the ultimate departure, yet chances are most will never quite reach or meet anybody that fully gets it–∂nyone that fully understands this ‘stage’ besides the universe’s studios in California.

And so we find ourselves eventually departing from the physical journey while blindly continuing the apical sojourn, reaching towards the heavens for timeless truth and, she being historically the ultimate pinnacle of understanding, gives us Pluto in Aquarius.

The, largely misrepresented heavens are tired from being prostituted by penal religions, yielding their swords at simple feathers in space that pose no threat but to maybe think a uniformed thought, absent of NASA’s imposture of innocent space in the name of exploration, all just to find justification to shag her leg, knowing there’s little chance of her inviting him in.

And so today these faint memories return, in super-OLED, back into the custody of ‘we’ the questioning, TV-less minority, with perfect timing as we witness France losing its shape once again. With America following, (comically as well as karmically), we observe the duas of crushed souls made by women and children as the pointless debris of corporate gain, resonating the heavens, appealing for urgent changes that point westward. 

But I could also say that the various types of drugs, placed in society, aren’t bad at all but only reasonable steps towards ultimate realisation: yet the point is somewhat obscured. Addiction seems to be, the real problem of choice, playing the permanent tour guide until the journey’s end.

The one resonating theme is that the trippy addict each time, fails to leave cookies along their path–their temporary paradise, so that they can gain access later without the vice holding their hand.

And so, amnesia causes the vice to remain as tour guide offering a lifetime membership for a temporary service, knowing that the sojourner will not store the directions but return to dependency on he, rather than she.

On this journey, we find ourselves forever dependent on vices: cocaine, Doctor, iPhone, partner, pastor, politician, weed–any reason not to store the experience and finally learn but only discarding it on arrival, like a carpenter throwing away his plans after each job. He closes his right eye with regret and his left with an inkling as his own building crushes his skull now demanding his final breath.

To this we say (as the Christ must also have said), learn what’s possible through the experience, then discard the vehicle and walk there without props. You will build your own home with your bare hands, for you are of spirit not matter and as these tools disappear, be sure to remember how to navigate through memory–not messengers as there is none worthy but she that reminds you through whatever means.   

But Christ knew it (as we do too), the addicts, rather than ascend, will continue seeking a saviour at every opportunity, never attempting the miracles that had been revealed, without focus on the messenger, who also had learned to depend only on ‘the vine’–God. This is evidenced today by a whopping 2.2 billion souls waiting on a christ before they can walk free.

As awaiting salvation, aliens, Trump, Gates a world government or a cure appear to capitalise, the addicts see not ‘her’ for she is without form and thus they reject the kind offer of a ‘crystallised body’, free for each person that sheds fear once and for all–I welcome Aquarius as I finally ‘kick that habit’ of fearful dependency.      

Anjel Levvis



Angel Levvis