It’s easy to believe angels are real when you can feel them touching you, and all the sensations of the scenes are recordable. A thin membrane of every moment in time is layered over and over again. I can blink and be somewhere other than my home. The only present day image is the monitor, a square moon in a sky of ever changing time.
When I work with spirit my thoughts seem random, but I’m in a state of trance and I no longer control the voice in my head. I’ve thought about oil and its roll in the tensions in the Middle East.
“It’s already obsolete and to try to control its distribution is tiresome and war mongering. Let go of what you think you need, and you will be free to look inwards. Oil is polluting your pastures and your morals.
“Turn your lights off, build your homes to live close to your children, and you will consume less. You have the technology to power your homes without harming the environment. You also have the means to work where you live. You are talking to me here, and transcribing our conversation. With this tool (the computer) you can reach the world. This tool can be powered by the breeze that is outside. The instrument used to harness that breeze can be made to last forever.
“You do not need to consume the energy you believe you need. Greed prevents you from introducing new technologies. The wealth gained from oil is not distributed equally. The lands with oil are poor, the people hungry and angry. Only the kings are fat. The industry of oil serves no purpose.”
The horseman’s lips have not moved while he has been communicating with me. The conversation is telepathic. He smiles benevolently, a grandfather’s smile filled with mirth and gentle teachings. I know that he’s a charismatic speaker, economical and precise with his words, but our conversation is limited by the habits of my mind, my personality, and my understanding.
“You under estimate yourself young prince.”
The appellative young prince has made me smile and the horseman’s eyes are staring deep into my own. We blink together and I feel the movement of a horse beneath me and the surge as the steed lunges forward. My thighs twitch and flex to balance myself and control the invisible horse.
The horseman’s energy is giving me that heavy I think I’m going to faint feeling. My arms are sluggish as if suspended in molten solder and I cannot feel my chest or head. The horseman smiles and my legs relax. He leaves as my son returns from the bathroom.
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