Book of Self as Scripture
Let's talk about the "chosen ones". I recoil from this term for many reasons, but for the sake of semantics and using the vernacular of the day, chosen ones are considered to be those who are part of the collective that have woken up to all the illusions and lies we have been taught our whole lives. If we were choosen, drafted or volunteered is up for debate in my mind. The shaman Andrew and I met with in Sedona, Rahelio, read my natal chart and said that this was not my first lifetime being in this position. I was possibly imprisioned or killed for my beliefs and resistance to the status quo in past lives, but this is the lifetime that I am able to break free and survive to live my "highest timeline." Highest timeline being that which my highest self feels I need to be in to accomplish what it is I am supposed to accomplish. That is dope. He also told the story of an LDS woman from Utah in the 50's who was clairvoyant that bought a bunch of land in Sedona to preserve as a sacred space. She was shunned by her family and called crazy, but bought a bunch of land that is open to public use in Sedona. I saw a few parallels to my life, as did Rahelio and Andrew.
Andrew's past life regression told him that we were married before and he was a teacher from the East Coast and I was some Kansas farm girl who moved to Eastern Utah with the Mormon trek. I had always wanted to see the ocean but never got to in this life she was describing. So there's that unfulfilled desire I got to meet in this life. This information seems really specific and slightly dubious since no one was really living in Eastern Utah at that time. See how we get to take what resonates and leave what does not? I recall an in-law of mine saying to me condescendingly, "you don't live by the Book of Mormon, you live by the book of Vanessa." This was in reference to me wearing bikinis which is not in the BofM by the way. Since the whole book was ripped off from Egyptian death scrolls Joe Smith got from some gypsies in New York it would seem that the Egyptians were not concerned with bikinis either. A drawn out saga in my life has been me being harassed for showing my midriff. I had a woman declare loudly the other day in a public place, "Good god if I had a stomach like that I would walk around in a sports bra everywhere everyday!" The awe at my body, especially after 5 kids, is not flattering for me. What it does do is provide a sense of reverence for my cockroach type existence that has landed me in my highest timeline where I do get to live by the book of Vanessa and wear whatever I want without guilt or shame or being asked to leave a ward event with my young children, or the Halloween party (I was a gypsy for that one...they did show their midriffs.) Absurd.
A friend described it this way: The chosen ones, if you will, for the end times are not like the other saints. We are rebels, free spirits, originals. We are ones that cannot live in a label or a box that is organized like a church. We have wings the span of buildings and feel deeply unwell when we are not able to live in the colorful manner which our creator intended us to live. Due to this unwellness (depression, anxiety, dispossession, addiction) we are capable of complete chaos or complete love and surrender. This is why we were picked for this time. We are comparable to the extent of the evil that was to come in this time. We were strong enough and our wings were large enough to burst our of the cages that darkness is putting us in. Source says, "yes, you are going to ruffle the feathers of the church goers because you are not like them. You are a sinner, but they have yet to learn from you because I do not know them. I know you. They are going to hate you because you will no longer be able to allow them to live in denial or a lie."
What is evil or demonic? Fear. That which arrests your ability to be authentically yourself. What is good or angelic? That which allows you to be yourself, love yourself so you can love others. The evil of this world is all the systems that prevent authenticity. Don't let the elevators bring us down, let's go.
I adore Prince. I pause for a dance break anytime I hear one of his songs. Icon. I did a deep dive into his life and oeuvre one summer I was in Park City for some reason. Looking back it was kind of absurd. Like a lot of things I do are absurd. One being last night going to an Ecstatic Dance event at Area 15 at Illuminarium downtown with Ezra until 11p.m. It is a fantastic event in which all ages meet to do a brief yoga session then enter into a fantastic space of lights and live electronic violin music to dance and move freely for a couple hours. It seems like Andrew's type of hell, but Ezra LOVED it! When we entered the space he was overwhelmed and said he was "nervous and nauseous." His 8 year old self is shy around strangers, but a girl his age came over and hugged him, grabbed his hand and off they went dancing and running around a group of adults dancing with lighted hoola hoops, ribbons and joy. There were no elevators in that building last night and it was absurdly magical. Ezra has marked the calendar for March 29, "so the next party is 5 days after my birthday. I can't wait!" You know I am going to invite a few friends of his to that event and call it his birthday party. Way better than the trampoline park. Way. Except I am deeply sore after spreading my wings so freely for hours. Hurts so good.
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