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Love Letters from the Guides


"You have not been crazy. You have not dreamed too hard or for too much."

There is a wonderful world that opens when you lift your face to the Light and say Yes. Yes to all that you were created to be. Yes to the opportunities that are flying past your face in the breeze, like a joyous summer wind. Yes to the dreams that have swirled and floated in the recesses of your mind. Yes to the timid whispers of hope that are in the dark corners.

Yes to that which scares you the most. Yes to the stirrings of your soul that are so important to you that you don’t even dare acknowledge their existence. Yes to those futures that you covet, hoard, choke with your longing and desire . . . and nearly kill in the doing of it. Those that are so secret, so beautiful, so fragile that you daren’t let them out to see the light of day.

There are those dreams that your Soul has to come fill, but there is Karma to pay first, Karma of a thousand lives that says, mockingly, cruelly, “you can’t do . . . THAT.” Karma that contemptuously, casually, annihilates the smallest tendril of the dream that you have nurtured into a single sprout. Have dared to hope could blossom from a single blade into a free-running, riotous bloom of color and growth and lush, verdant LIFE. A growing, thriving - even self-sustaining - thing. Something that is so meant to be that, once created, riotously multiplies in joyful abandon, filling the hole in your Soul and God’s place for it in the world.

But first there is Now. Karma. Beliefs, Decision. Misunderstandings. Vows. Iron-clad obligations. First they must be cleared. Slayed. Healed. Released.

So pull out your gardening shears. Face the wall . . . nay, the fortress, that surrounds you, made of twining vines so thick and strong as to fortify an empire of wrong thinking. Outdated obligations. Lifetimes of misunderstandings. Pull out those shears and take a deep, deep breath. The deepest you’ve ever taken. For this is not for the weak. It is for the broken, the terrified, the hopeless, the bereft. It is for every soul that has a fortress of thorns and poison so densely woven around them that they cannot see the Sun. That they know the Light is there only through their faith. And so you reach out. Clip. One vine cut. One segment, one foot. Clip. One more. Insignificant. Two snips that will change nothing. Snips that the malevolent vines will grow over and absorb without a notice. But to you... Two cuts. It’s possible. The vines CAN be cut. They CAN be broken.

And so you snip. Feeling the overwhelming hopelessness of a prisoner digging out by teaspoon. But you snip. And snip. And snip.

And the mood starts to shift. The vines become angry. Affronted. Incredulous. YOU dare to cut US??? YOU dare to assert yourself from the rotting, dank corner that you have trembled in for so long that we dismissed you? YOU think to be the White Knight and slay US??? You feel their mocking...tightening . . . slithering and strengthening...even as you continue to cut.

And cut. And cut.

And one day, there it is. Blue. Sky. Air. Sunlight. Goodness so rich and RIGHT that you had almost forgotten it existed.

But now you see it and now you KNOW. Know with every fiber of your being that you have been on the right track all along. When you couldn’t remember the fresh scent of air, when you couldn't remember the gentle warmth of the sun, when all you felt was the stank fetidness of despair. But really . . . you always KNEW. Remembered. Felt.

And now that which has called and called and called to you can be seen. Felt. Experienced with the delight and joy of a child. You can tip your head back and give thanks with every atom of the Soul that you are, every atom of You from time immemorial - across galaxies and lives and times. You give strength-depleting, all-encompassing thanks to have found the Truth again. You thank so hard that you have nothing left to give. And you are empty. Wonderfully empty.

You have not been crazy. You have not dreamed too hard or for too much. You have Just. Always. Known.

From there, the snips become easier. The thorns and vines and malicious hunger of the cords are still eager to consume, still ravenous. But now they are not so many. Now they can be cut and discarded - almost casually. A mere weed, an irritant.

You. Know.

You. Have. Always. Known.

The light is there. The sun is there. The freedom is there.





With love,

The Guides

Shared by Heather King


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