The original plan for the Indigo spirit was to unstructure the dysfunctional system, plowing the spiritual ground for the next wave of Crystal souls to be born. They would usher in the new era of Christed awareness. Something has gone dreadfully wrong, because it is being reported that Crystals are dying at or before birth; the toxicity of the planet is too much for them. The campaign to kill off ANY Christed spirit is succeeding, and for deeper reasons than the mainstream mind can comprehend. Besides, it’s uncomfortable for them to even think. Period. Much less imagine there is something more intelligent than their pragmatic scientists and molded preachers. They are, in a word, doomed.
And so it is coming about that reliance is being placed on what Indigoes have managed to survive, to ascend them to Octarian; a quantum leap, but still a good move. In order to do this, we have to move into a hyper-drive mentality, cram for our exams, and hope there are enough of us to do the job. Part of that ascension is to disperse our impacted energies, amassed not only this lifetime, but from previous lives, as well. It ain’t a pretty picture, and it’s a grueling process that doesn’t let up. We’ve been bombarded non-stop with every dysfunctional energy known to the Dark side, and sexual is one of the most successful. If the mental contamination doesn’t get you, A.I.D.S. will. I know: I spent a lot of time in the gay community, watching them drop like flies. My own lover slowly withered away from the “Sheep Brain Rot” strain of AIDS. There are 9,000 to-the-tenth power strains of AIDS, a fraction of the light-dispersing frequency of 380 nm. Speak this information to most, and standard-issue “kook” gets laid on your name tag. Just another arrow in our heart.
But I resolve to address these energies. I insist on accepting the sacredness of sex, and dedicate myself to KNOWING what those energies and actions are. I refuse to participate in actions that pollute me and destroy me. I have to be the Indigo Warrior I was born. It is at this junction I make my decision, and I don’t look back at the disbelief the Doomed convey to me; as a matter of survival and commitment, I can no longer even listen to them. I listen almost purely to Spirit, and Its tribes.
In “1984”, Winston Smith was certain the hope and salvation lay in the “Proles”…proletariat, the working class. He wasn’t far off.
How fragile
In the Balance stands
The sound a whisper makes.
How agile
Is the Dolphin’s Dance
When he’s bound to no mistakes.
Bound not to silence;
Bound not to hate…
The waves, the tide
Anticipate
Revival
Of the species’ survival.
How fragile in the setting sun
Are the silhouettes of trees -
The masts of public living
Swaying
In the neon breeze~
The Dolphin swims
To cop a view
Of the sunset’s hue
That he sees.
He sympathizes.
He sympathizes.
Oh how fragile.
FIN
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