"City of Winds" January 25, 2024

I had forgotten what the masses of humanity were like.  What the vibrations felt like, and how far I had travelled from their manifestation in my life.  Coming to the airport, looking at the people with my current eyes is a sobering experience.  There is a sense of how high a vibration my world has been and how unnumbered I am by so many of the karmas that define this place and its population.  The sense of it changes me, giving new perspective to my mood and the storm of anger and frustration that has defined my last 24 hours.

The structure of the self

The ladies he tasks to clean and prepare. My teeth are kind, and I have opportunity to share with them a bit of the structure of their stories, reminding me again of the divination we all share into the substance of our world.

I consider her words. , feeling the queenship and experience in the world of marketing that sustain them.

Yes, there is something within this. A commitment to the fulfillment of my word to story, to document and articulate Through the Underland of the world. While I receive her wisdom in relation to the world of production that has  been her experience, the remains the question within me as to whether I have truly dropped into the soul of my own story and it’s proper marketing in alignment with that higher Truth

Amusing when someone speaks to how what I’m saying is “deep”, for implies that they live in the shallows, and have not explored the depth and divinity. That is their birthright to the degree that such conversations were common.

Yet what was I to do? I did not know the city, and I knew no one save for my family, and the women who had worked on me at the office. I felt myself as a traveler, and ambassador from another dimension of existence, taking lodging at hotel of the same name .

No Hey my friend good, how are you My friend, how are you doing? What are you up to? I don’t know I don’t know. I got myself a Philly cheesesteak from a vegan place. I said to come here and see the vibration so distant you got it my friend

Get all such things have deeper meaning. As I were guiled the stories of my father’s caustic wet, and the use of his insight and cleverness to demean myself and others I shared that I recognized the strength of the talent, could not condone the use of such power for such a small cruelty, And how such an inspired me and my possession of that same of a clever tongue to use powers in service to a higher ideal.

It wasn’t simply the secret place he had taken me to. It was the myth of it, the vibrations of the music that had been played, and the laughter that had been had still reverberating in the seeming silence. It was the artifacts of the world of bards, and their impact on the world held in sacredness. It was the touch of the piano beneath my fingers and the conversation with my uncle over the bands he enjoyed and shared with me within the space.  To me, it was a temple, to music, to the spirit and strength of those who chose to sing their story into the world.

In the Mythica, the land beneath the land, it was a sign of the aka of the bar, and part of the lineage of storytelling and song that lay within my families magic.

I had seen this future for him, years ago, it’s seeds in his movements through the aka of music, of production and kingship, the ripples of his actions in the present and that of our shared lineage from the past forming the substance of his world.

And I had loved it. Being escorted around the Windy city by my uncle, feeling the depth and the flushness of his rootedness in the city. He knew her streets, he knew the people. I felt him in a weave of fellowship and service, in his own kingship alongside his queen in the trappings of the modern myth.  I felt a lineage there, that of my father and his successes, of my mother, and her stalwart service, of the hardiness and uncompromising nature of my grandmother all plane out on the level of karma’s and lifetimes across lifetimes. Here I saw my own kingship, my own return from the 20 years of documenting the journey to a more heavenly earth in its ark, typical format, coming to visit and break bread with my family after many years abroad.

It was not how things appeared on the surface. It never is for any of us. Rather, it is about the deeper currents that lay underneath, about what indoors past our singular lifetime. Here, it was not simply my uncles station as a healer, and, a music producer, but the symmetry of that, with my own qualities of self, the arc types of that larger and sacred substance, manifesting as the circumstances of our lives.

The path leads me to a nearby church, and I feel a subtle nudge leading me inside, where I am received by the soft tones of angelic voices in a great and cavernous Hall, who’s architecture inspires the space to contemplate one’s place in the creation. Stained glass windows, adorn the walls, not unlike the synagogue the quest led to on the winter solstice, and I witnessed a photo of them as proof of our path bringing us to the places which echo are passion and purpose.

It rings true for me as earlier at the hotel. I had been writing a dialogue, expressing how the prism of our perception was like the pain of stained glass, seeing the world through the rainbow of its own reality.

And it is that from my perception. The magnitude of what Into the Mythica is is revolutionary. A revolution in the nature of our narrative, setting the tone for a style of storytelling that honors and contextualizes the sacred world that exists for us all.

I am a firm believer that one must walk the streets of the city to truly hear her secret name.  That one must smell and taste and feel the song that sings between the buildings and the alleys, two sense, the collective movement of the people as the heartbeat of the city, herself. It’s a kind of music, the beat of one’s footsteps on the pavement, the vibrations that Tremor through the cell with the taste of the wind, The hidden world that is seen only when the mists obscure our view of the obvious. Such a portal within the self to the deeper experience of life, listening beneath the bustle of the people and their passions, to what lay the sacred hallows underneath.

And I wonder at the signs that appear on the quest. At the bits and pieces of architecture and art that show their face to us.

Curious about the symbol of the harp I stepped into the bar for a moment, and was pleased to discover that there was any number of dogs sitting by the feet of the people. For a moment, I felt the place as a haven for storytellers and travelers, as well as their sacred companions, set by the symbol of the harpist And the symmetry of my sharing photos of Dakota and Adrian playing their harps with my uncle earlier in the day.

… It’s how I navigate, Born from my awareness of the subtle energies of the world and my training in the symbolism of tarot. It’s the sense that I am walking through a world of mists and revelations, gradually bringing me from one synchronicity to another in accordance With the arcane laws of manifestation itself.  It is the way.   Not simply my way, but all ways, for we all divine our way along the path, finding our footing through the karmic patterns which create our conditions in one world or the next.

It is often surprising to me to come to the common world, For it is defined by the substance of common things, and exists in shallow contrast to the deeper world that lay beneath.  I say this, not from Eon or elitism, but rather in the recognition that it is not the sales or the politics or other impermanence’s which to find us, but that witch endures the fellowship, the fealty, and Fidelity, and the friendships that define what it means to be human.  Such as the true essence of a place, the true soul, of our shared humanities that exists beneath the seemingly endless attempts to manipulate and squeeze the people dryin a frenzy of sales.