Twilight

There are those among us who are the secret keepers. We move through this world of steel and illusion with an ancient heartbeat. Our stories have been trapped behind our trauma. But all that is changing now.

It comes out in pieces. A connection found here and one under a rock. One hanging from a tree branch and a bit of memory pulsing through the light of a blue star in the sky. They come through songs and shared stories. It is a time of great remembering as the lies begin to slough off.

It is no accident that the most powerful among us have been the most oppressed. There is a force holding the seams of this current planet together who wishes us to not remember. They distract us with poverty, with abuse, with anything they can to keep us from remembering who we are and where we came from. It was the most ingenious of plans, knowing that in order to remember, we must first walk through a great healing. We’ve lost many along the way.

But I am getting ahead of the story. I’ve struggled with why I want to tell this story. I used to be full of zesty service. A fire to light up the world during this time of great awakening. But as it stands now, I must daily push past my own malaise to express the remembering. Something older than me pushes and pushes it out while another voice begs me to give up. To hide under the covers where it is soft and warm and silent. But in truth, it is never silent. It’s as if a great multitude compel me to keep going. They say, “You don’t have to want it. Or dream it. None of that matters as much as people think it does. But you must write it and paint it and speak it. It’s in your blood. And blood will not be silent.” It is not unlike the pain of laboring with a child. My belly is large with these memories and the pain of carrying them has scrambled my brain and motivation as I cry to the midwife that I’ve changed my mind about the whole thing. But this child wants out. It cannot be stopped or coaxed otherwise.

And so, here we are.

I lay on the bed, surrounded by my ancestors, probably on all fours, cursing the idiot who decided I was to be the vessel for a life that needs to breathe the air and be alive. It was probably me who decided, but that’s beside the point.

I'm not really sure where I came from. I remember bright light. Bright isn't even the right word for it. God, if you could see this light. Some of you may have when you almost died. It breaks me down when I get just a glimpse of it in this human body. I feel it when the sun is just right and my body radiates back the warmth. As if I am also a sun. It feels like love. Like an endless loop of love. It feels like my grandmother's large breasts, soft against my child face. Her arms around me as she calls me "dear-heart." I remember a large river, winding into a forever sunset, all orange and blue and colors we don't see here. Impending twilight. There is a lion there and now I'm not sure if this is my memory or if I just loved the Narnia stories so much that I wanted Aslan to be true. What came first, the chicken or the egg? Stories touch us deeply for a reason. For me, stories helped me remember. Either way, years and years after reading those stories, I see my child sized body, full of light next to a large lion. There is a group of us. We are next to the river and we are singing an ancient song. And as we sing, flowers bloom. Animals pop up from the earth, shaky at first but then leaping in joy. Water is shimmering with light and sometimes the song goes so deep a mountain breaks through the earth in the distance.

The trees require a special vibration. I can feel them the most now. My memory is foggy. But the trees were my favorites to sing into existence. I love them beyond any earth words I've learned here.

I don’t remember much, but I remember the last thing my Grandmother said to me in the other dimension.

“Dearheart. You will forget everything. Everything that you’ve known. Who we are. Who you are. But some part of you will always know. And that world. It has a way of trying to keep you from remembering. They are very comfortable with the way they’ve set things up there. But they don’t know what Earth really is. Well. The powers that be know exactly what it is. We’ve all been in exile for so long. You will have to undergo extensive training starting from the time you enter their reality. We’ve given you everything you need and will communicate with you more and more over time. The longer you are there, the more the energy will shift and you will begin to hear us, dream of us, and remember us and yourself. You exist best in twilight when the veil is thinnest. Twilight is a portal to our exiled realm. Find us there. Especially when the sun becomes golden and sideways. Become Twilight. Walk there. It is where you will feel your truest form.”

She lifted her lilac trunk, the hairs follicles standing on end as an electric current began to bloom within her. She placed the tip of it against my forehead and placed a gift there. A small memory but a potent one.

“My love. Your inheritance will be waiting. You come from a long line of royalty but you will live in such a way that it will change you intrinsically. This is necessary to become a conduit for shifting the system of wealth energy to those who have the blueprints for change and have agreed to come to this dimension. This can only happen through certain experiences. No matter how things look on the outside, remember that you are always exactly where you need to be. You are always protected. You are always loved. Your purpose will unfold without you thinking much about it. You don’t need to worry. Just be.”

My antennae lit up at her touch. Her energy is like fireflies on a warm night. Gentle and soft. Her first gift was projecting herself into my early human experience as my Grandmother there also. Not fully realized, but our souls could talk from the beginning. There has only been one other I’ve had that kind of soul talk with here. She always smelled like flowers and I could see home in her eyes.

Before the memory fades, I can hear her saying one last thing.

“Inside you lies the memories of the Others. All creatures of our kind who have projected their spirits into the human experience. It may not seem like anything is happening most of the time, but just do what comes naturally even if it’s nothing like anyone else there. Over time, more will remember. Who needs to find you, will.”