Enter the Temple Enter the Temple

Enter the Temple

By Isabella Gillespie

Enter the Temple Enter the Temple

It begins with a dream. Insights, planted and moving across infinity in an ethereal  re-wilding of remembrance. The Dream Carriers, beaded across the night sky like pearls reflected in this blue planets stormy waters. This dream had both arrived, passed and was yet to occur. It left their minds alert and their hearts wanting. It was a collapse, no a continuation. A death of sorts that was merely a harsh winter whose cold safely held the dream seeds for centuries of forgetting until the moment of re-awakening fell across the earth once more.

This new energy lingered, pulsated, left ears ringing and minds dizzy. Some days unable to wake, others not sleeping at all. Thoughts seemed to dance seamlessly between strangers, sounds and feelings were overwhelmingly electric and new. The stars watched in dubious wonder at the strange elastic edge that we had stretched to, the farthest reach of separation which was now springing back into its true original form. The world seemed to ooze with the seduction of a lost eden.

 

Two nights before we arrived at the Temples, I opened my phone to receive a dream.

'We were sitting on the stairs of an old temple. You and i were on the same step, and the other ladies were on the steps above. You told us "let's start channelling". I started to feel electric and uncomfortable and it scared me so i let you do the work.
You drew three circles on a piece of paper.

And told me "you've been travelling a lot through those 3 dimensions (the 3rd, the 4th, the 5th). Now it's time to bring everything together, to make everything stronger and to embody it.

 

I asked you how but you stopped and gave me a letter you wrote for me a while ago. The answers were inside. I don't remember what was written but i think i know the answer (from the inside).'

 

We take off our shoes and walk in chalky dust towards the fallen stones. It is quiet and dreamed, the soft violet skies of early dawn coating a constellation of ethereally spiral horned white goats grazing in unison upon endless horizons of rosemary and lusty cathedrals of olive trees. Everything impregnating our senses in memory.  The aroma of it all filling the mind with that heady Remembrance.


We enter the temples.


Arriving at This place, was to arrive in This moment in time, to arrive into This self. Of course there was never a question of the synchronicity and unconscious impulses that were behind every choice of our existence. Why are we ever, anywhere? What circumstances brings us to these specific moments in time stretched across infinity, acupuncture points of evolution that occur in specific places upon and throughout the earth. Like a tapestry of light, of which we are woven, there were veins mapped out across Her body, pulsating with energy and power. The Song lines. The Ley lines, as we had come to know them. They were invisible but felt, they were dormant and awake. They were inside and outside of us, they were a moment, they were a place.


The meeting place. Where we cease being blown across the skies in the winds of change and become a dreamer in the dream was all bound in Intention. The clear aligned power of an embodied thought, an embodied feeling and alignment of the two into a higher state of union with a bigger vision, for a greater good.
Were we here to receive information or to give of ourselves over in prayer?

The two were an inseparable dance of light. An inseparable alchemy of healing. To heal the self, to heal the earth. To heal was to make known. To know Thyself. These were natural movements from one place to another, a fountain of endless giving and receiving. Only if the mind could become emptied enough of its own disillusioned wanting and dream rooted, in a state of trust. This was the true manifestation. Fearless and humbled. Almost as though self intention was just the Word shaped by willing lips from some holy pre-mediated impulse mirroring the longing of your desires. 


I caressed my hand across the story of these fallen stones. Leaning my back against an olive tree, letting my eyes fall and my body sink into the stone. Dissolution moved through me like warm butter. We unbecame. 


I opened my eyes and poured my ruby blood down her bark. Offerings of pomegranate, grapes and hemp oil encircled the ritual. We, like the olive trees, were intwined and rooted in the sacred knowing of our own wordless language. Shaped by centuries of learned existence, buried and sedimented like the layers of the earths underbelly. To travel was an incubation of new vision, a crystallisation of an older dream that gave some kind of purposeful ethos to existing - Devotion.

This was the substance of our dreaming, it was the peaceful amber that seeped into the most emotionally charged responsibilities of the consciously aware and purified the pain into peace. Forgiveness was the salve by which the past was not uprooted but sunk into. Into the sacrament of the earths living temples, forests and oceans, mountains and deserts mapped along the song lines of her healing. Our healing. Rooted and entwined.


Human temples. Ancient stones carved from the earths records, her body shaped into form silently written into myth our lineage of both power and prayer. Complex stories warped and layered, falling into each other like the stones themselves. Patriarchy and heir-achy, Aphrodite's face broken and carved in with the cross. Myth was a story passed so many times the shape of it has become like sand between the fingers, we could mould it into castles or dig it into deep endless holes. Both were mirrors of our existence, both were a choice of self reflection. Underneath the fantasy of mythological godliness was a real lived struggle to be free.


The story of the eternally veiled feminine.


Yet deeper still, hidden within the bloodshed is a rhythm through which it bled, an artwork by which its rivered story of sacrifice and separation painted a deep truth of our spiritual existence. The longing, the unquenched thirst, the dream, the war, the holy grail… the union. This was the primordial feminine and masculine forever striving to their unity. The Oneness of existence eternally seeking recognition. Within ourselves, outside of ourselves and into the heavens. Love was the reason for it all, love was the purposeless creative voice. It just did, it just moved, it just was.


The temples, ruined and standing tall. Broken mirrors of revelation and mystery. Empires of archaeological questions circling the formations like curious birds. Seekers gazing into awe inspired geometric mystery, an unconscious passerby’s simple interests humming with a deeper energetic imprint awakening.
For we were all re-awakening. Sewn into the celestial cycles, being turned ever closer towards the burning sun. Light workers, they called them, were scattered like seeds across the earths wounds. Gestating in the darkness, sprouting from the ancestral ashes, re-wilding the world… and all, was catching fire.

 

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