- I remember... RN by Shamanka
19 y
2,674 2 Messages Shown
Blog: Unified Healing
There were seventy-six varieties of honey bees in the forest, and only six of them were willing to share their honey with my people. The other seventy told us to stay away or else... so we did, of course.
Of the six varieties that said it was OK to take some honey when we needed it, my favorite ones were the pale, dewdrop-eyed night bees that gathered nectar only off those secretive, shy flowers, too delicate to withstand the heat and light of the day, that opened only at night and closed at dawn. The night bees' honey was almost colorless, complexly fragrant, and not as piercingly sweet as the other five varieties at our disposal.
I mixed this pale honey with the juice of shu-tpa-tupa berries to make the red paint, with powdered lapis lasuli for blue, and with ground black dragonflies for black. Then one of my older sisters would paint my face for the dance, and as she did I could taste the honey on my tongue! I didn't like to put honey directly on my tongue because it was so overwhelmingly sweet that it numbed all my other senses... and it was a bit frightening to lose the crisp, distinct, richly nuanced sharpness of the world within and outside my own skin, even for a moment. But I liked the taste of it absorbed through my skin -- it would caress and tease my tongue as the honey paint was being applied, it was there and yet it wasn't, and the sensation was strange and funny... and my older sister would tell me to stop laughing so she could do her job properly.
I remember...
"Silent genes," which even today most scientists who don't know any better like to call "junk DNA," aren't always silent...
...and one can learn to listen when they start talking. We've been conditioned to perceive what they're trying to say as just white noise, we weren't taught to distinguish and accept most of what is going on within our innermost "sense of self" for what it really is: INFORMATION. But what else can it be?.. A live recording of everything that is going on right now... and everything that went before. EVERYTHING.
It is exquisite torture to know that you are made of hundreds of millions of years' worth of live recorded information, and to only have fleeting, tantalizing, momentary access to a tiny spec of it here and there... and at other times... nothing. Nothing but this huge unyielding sign flashing in your mind's eye whenever you try to look within for more: ACCESS DENIED.
People call those fleeting specks they occasionally manage to snatch from under the forbidding sign their "insights," "intuition," "gut feeling," or even "revelation," "awakening," "enlightenment..." But what it really is is a memory... a retrieved systemic memory, a file that flipped itself open inside you, for you to gape, in awe and wonder, at something you knew all along was part of you -- though you didn't know you knew --
didn't know you remembered --
-- but you did.
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Shamanka
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