Moyana Gebhardt
Bio
Artist of life, oracle and friend to the spirits, Beloved, thinker, feeler, misfit, seeker of truth. Self published author. Neurodivergent. Mother of 4. At a crossroads. Anima mundi:: linktr.ee/moyana
Stories (28/0)
The Traveler
I am a Traveler and these are my observations. When I came into this world, Travelers were very rare. The amount of sludge built up around the atmosphere could not be cut even with a cosmic chainsaw, so Traveling was very difficult for a long time. Only a few of us with a very specific frequency pattern could get in and out. That, and a high level life challenge blueprint ie: a heartbreaking shitshow of an experience that activated our ability to transmute the energy here and shoot off into other realms. I suppose I should tell you a little about what a Traveler even is, as best as I can. Travelers are many things and wear many faces. Some call us shapeshifters, some call us witches and some call us prophets, among many other things. We don’t really fit anywhere. Total misfits and rebels. Tricksters sometimes. Free agents. But truthfully, I’ve never understood the need to name anything. Where’s the fun in that? As soon as I’m given a name, I pop off into another world and become the exact opposite. There is something so finite about naming a thing. It feels like a box and I hate boxes like I hate the sound of a fork against my teeth. But here in this world, we need words and it frustrates me. But sometimes, words are so beautiful. Behind the words, you can put a frequency and then the word becomes MORE. It makes my whole body tingle at the potential. Some can hear it and some can’t. But many more will in the days to come. Words will become more and also less necessary.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Fiction
King Midas
The truth is, king Midas and Moyana met a long time ago in another world full of soft supernovas and rainbow light. They played all day making golden magic in the purple fields and created what they wanted under the watchful eyes of the elephant guardians. Everything was fun and no one lied. All the other spirit children were there learning how to create from the golden light before their world was destroyed and were displaced into many other places. king Midas told Moyana he would find her in the earth world. And he did. It was very unexpected. Just when she was ready to give up and needed a friend the most. She remembered him after he slept on her extra pillow that first night and flew with her in their shared dream.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Poets
Don't give your power away
It started early. As a kid, I liked what I liked and I loved wearing dresses sewn by my mother, complete with jelly shoes and whatever I could create with my chaotic hair. Looking back, it feels a little like you’ve seen in the movies. ET in the closet dressed in whatever layers he could find in there, hat on his head and very proud to be Human. But I was also gifted with a keen observation and a need to fit in among the humans. To this day, there is something inside me that will not take up too much space here, despite the internet crying from all corners to do so. Because deep down, I know I am a visitor and when you are a visitor, you are respectful. You learn the rules, you walk softly while your hosts are sleeping and you try to learn the flow. I used to think it was because I was not as good as, but I think it’s just the deep knowing that I am, in fact, here as a guest to this paradigm. A guest on the verge of a threshold.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Confessions
Cindy Loper
My weirdness as a child (and adult) would come full circle. But let me back up a little and describe just how very weird I was. Imagine a scrawny little blonde girl with gappy teeth and roller skates and you’ll have it pictured pretty well. Add in a compulsive need to lick the ends of her fingers because her skin just felt too weird without moisture. Throw in an obsessive need to play music constantly and a fascination with crimping Barbie’s hair. Let’s not even talk about what else Barbie did. What happens to Barbie in East Texas stays in East Texas.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Confessions
An Ostrich Gets Her Wings
Listen to me Sweetcheeks. This old bird has a few things to tell you. Times have changed. You might remember from several years ago that I left my life of flinging flapjacks and topping off coffee for old dudes who would slap my ass and tell me I had a pretty mouth and drove west to let my tits fly free at the ocean. I made it, and even though it was hard and I have some haters now, it was the best thing I’ve ever done. I was sitting on the toilet this morning, having a slight panic attack at how long I was peeing, wondering if my roommates would eventually find my pile of withered skin once I had somehow drained every liquid in my ostrich body but eventually snapped out of it and had an epiphany.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Confessions
Law of the Giants
As a descendent of giants, I am required to document and adhere to an ancient code simply called The Law Of The Giants. We’ve got some loose cannons out here, so it is my duty to remind you what the rules are. I didn’t make them so don’t shoot the messenger. I’ve also included some random facts.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Poets
Dear Principalities
Dear principalities I feel there are many of you who would like my allegiance. It may be my own sense of loyalty pulling at my shirt tails but I do feel it nonetheless. The way humans are divided into factions of belief, even the ones who claim not to be. I find belief to be a slippery slope and one I slide down into like a turtle with a greased shell. I’ve spent much of my life trying to fit myself into this box or that, trying to stand on some absolute or to be loyal to this deity or that, but as soon as I do, the wind picks up speed and off I go into a new adventure. Maybe I’m fickle. Or maybe I am just Other. In truth, I feel like some primal force inside, like I am carrying around the whole ocean. It sloshes about in me and I love it so. I feel the deepest pain and the brightest love. It tears at the sand under my feet and then mends itself over and over. I live in a liminal kind of madness, comparatively. I do my dishes and pay my bills. My hands like to scrub the ketchup off the lunch plate and feel satisfied by a job that feels productive. It’s a relief when I’ve made enough money to pay for my car that I love driving around in, making webs of connection. But all the while, I am traveling with this being or that, in the ocean of my soul. Sometimes they sit in the front seat and we chat.
By Moyana Gebhardtabout a year ago in Poets