Like the rain here this morning, readership is steadily increasing and very welcome.  It’s interesting that as more people read this blog, I struggle with why I do it.  I love to write.  I also write to love.  I can do both more effectively if I get out of my own way.

I am my ego, and sometimes she is roaring.  It feels great to have recognition, yet that is not the point.  The point is love.  I started writing in earnest six years ago, as a method of transformation.  I discovered I had access to a deeper and wiser part of myself there.  She is a part of me that I don’t want to lose touch with.

Yet there are times when she sits in the background while I strut around, basking in self-importance.  She doesn’t say anything, but waits and watches.  Her expression is contemplative.  She knows self destruction is coming. She can wait.  This ego roar cannot sustain itself long.

When my ego roars, it’s so loud I can’t hear myself.  If you’ve ever heard the roar of a lion, you know the volume and range it commands.  For that moment it is the only sound.  You never forget it.  This ego noise is similar, yet it leaves a sort of hollow ring.  You may remember hearing it, but its meaning escapes you.

I am not here to roar, I’m here to love.  There is a ripple effect.  Eventually, everyone is breathing the same air and feeling the same love. That’s how it works.  To focus on numbers is to become enmeshed in the illusion.  We are not these bodies; they exist as a vehicle for our light.

Cornstalks border my east and west, standing guard to this row of houses.  Harvested a month ago, they are silent golden protectors, speaking only when the wind blows through.  The coyotes keep their distance, but at night you can hear them howling; they are hunting.  I am grateful for these cornstalk sentinels.

The world looks different further south, and in so many ways it is.  We spent the morning working in the front yard and left to get some lunch.  When we drove back in, I noticed we’d left the garage door open and the lawn was strewn with power tools.  You couldn’t do that in the suburbs.  Well you could, but more than likely they’d be gone when you returned.  We are in the heartland.  Down here you grow things, hunt things and help people.

The cows make strange noises at night; there is an occasional eerie wail.  With the mass of stars overhead and this combination of animal calls, it’s as if we’ve entered another dimension.

Yet I see no evidence of “Ascension Awareness” here.  Life is straightforward.  It includes work, raising kids and crops, and play; all good things.  I feel so deeply human here.  This is my race.

I can’t deny feeling a bit out of place though.  I have no internet access in this rural yard where I sit.  For two days I’ve been unable to check in on what has become an important part of my daily life; my family of light workers.  It’s been interesting.  I feel, not quite like a fish out of water, but like the Ugly Duckling; accepted completely yet just a little bit different.  We all pretend not to notice and I will move on soon enough.

That old fisherman just headed down to the lake again, pole and bucket in hand.  It’s so quiet here.  I can hear the hollow sound from his bucket when he first sets it down on the ground.  I like that.  There’s a comfort in the ordinary. I grew up far from this tiny lake, surrounded by water.  Fish and clams and minnows and fisherman were my everyday.  This familiar scene runs very deep and soothes me somehow.

Little else does right now.  I feel as if I am at a masquerade ball.  We are dressing up in costume for business as usual, while beneath these masks it is anything but.  We are unrecognizable.  Nothing is at it seems.

A hawk circling high overhead, just swooped down low,  a few feet in front of my eyes – as if on command.  An omen.  We are entering powerful times. Every cell of my body feels it.  I couldn’t sleep last night.  My “Mom” mask may be buying school supplies, but my light worker self can barely contain her excitement.  It’s pretty wild to be contemplating the price of notebooks while simultaneously saving the world.

We are super heroes in disguise – We look like regular people, yet beneath these calm exteriors lie powerful forces.  Don’t you feel like that?

It’s like every fantasy rolled into one.  There’s good guys fighting corruption, space ships, natural disasters, help from the heavens and everlasting love.  It’s all here and yet, while it goes on, we pay our bills, mow our lawns and talk about the weather.

We have families to raise, money to earn and a planet to save.  Not just anyone could do this you know.  It takes one powerful being to pull off such a stunt.  Our masks are so well constructed the vast majority of the population will never even know they exist.  We are that good.

http://soundcloud.com/sophialove/blog-8-3-2012-the-garden-hose

There is this wonderful moment during infancy of gradual awareness of truth.  Infants are completely internal.  Needs are recognized and satisfied and sleep ensues; such is the life of a newborn.  When they begin to notice there is something else, it is beautiful.  Their eyes open a bit longer; they engage the life that is around them, they wiggle things.

An astounding moment happens when they wiggle out of their blanket and see their toes for the first time.  Completely mesmerized, they cannot get enough.  They will shake off those blankets whenever they can just to get another peek.  As their feet move, so does the rest of them, including their hands.  One day the two collide – contact. 

I do not remember my own first contact, yet I can imagine the astonishment; two places experiencing sensation in the same instant.  Thus begins the exploration – “How far do I go?”, “What other parts of me exist?”, “What can all these parts do?”

We are like babies who’ve discovered their feet.  Oh, we’ve seen feet and watched them with fascination for eons; but now we’ve had first contact.  We have discovered these feet are not somebody else’s – they are ours; under our control.

Our anger and force creates violent and abrasive movement.  Our tenderness and gentility looks like a fluid dance.  These feet will move in whatever way we intend.  They can stomp or they can pirouette. 

It’s a shock when you realize you’re connected to something so foreign and far away and strange looking.  It’s a new thought and maybe you weren’t ready yet for these ideas of unity.  Perhaps you were content just watching these goofy appendages, seemingly doing their own random things.  Once day you’ll tire of just watching – you’ll want to see what these babies can do!