The Golden Voice -- I have it.

Some things only make sense when you take all the time out. 

Like connecting with your ancestors or other eras with different kinds of values on how a successful day is spent. 

I've remarked to friends that in other times, being someone who's a strong storyteller, someone with wisdom to share, a person who knows a lot, someone who can spend the day making medicine from whatever they find right around them, someone who lives between the worlds and sees like I do. 

This one reminds me of someone special, another savant whose mind is incredible, someone who's been thrown away by a world that needs more of his insights. In that other world, people like us would be seen for our gifts and treated with love and care. My vision that day was me and him sitting in a tipi-style house just talking these things and being important just for knowing things. Someone from the village brings us some veggie soup in earthen bowls and asks us if we need anything. and we go back to sharing. We aren't worried about paying bills, buying anything, other things that need doing, and definitely not our survival. He's probably never had a life where his hackles weren't up, but I hope our time together has given him an idea of what it might be like. I have seen him settled in my visions and know he has as much potential as I ever had. Even when I'm stressed, I tend to find that calm center when it comes to sharing it, no matter how hard it is to maintain around my own problems. 

And these Natural kinds find me. Or I find them. And they are everywhere, spending all their gifts on the challenge of survival as a reminder that we would throw gold in the garbage as a society. I'm definitely this kind of trash. I'd rather know that when it comes to basic recognition for being more than a human being is not enough to be valued in this world more than the bare minimum and even condemned for lack of mode or application. 

And I have given myself tons of hurdles to get held up on so I can learn this one. If I had maintained my bridges into academic exploration, or if I'd maintained a bridge to professional journalism, or if I had even kept up with some incredible friends, then I'd have never needed to go the direction I have. And if I hadn't imagined some of my molehills were even out to get me, then I might have felt good enough about my ideas to put my hand out when I offered all the good in me up for free. Free because of my Love. 

Like I wish the whole world could just be free because of my love. 

"I'll work for Myself or for Everyone or Not at All," I sang in a song I wrote to that moment. 

I've been meeting veterans since I was young. They must be drawn to me or me to them, so I have a few I talk to just about anytime. Being homeless brought me around so many more, that I had to wonder if these echoes have really just been a way for me to get accustomed to their particularly spicy personalities ahead of anything that might have inspired suspicion. They carry a kind of energy that makes me feel that my presence is like medicine and that my smile is sometimes enough for whatever the day has thrown their way. People who live in the moment so that they don't live in any memory or concern are some of the most elegant to me. For a civilian, I've heard a lot of combat accounts. Not always Pillow Talk, but sometimes, and sometimes I feel like I've even had a gift of intuitive words that helped a little for the moment. And moments like those have echoes, too. 

And the stories are woven around times and echoes have a flavor and a tone and sometimes come like signs of warning or explain the lesson through the process of revelation 

Like the way someone in my direct orbit right now is a recluse, and someone I am trying to meet is already doing all he can to sabotage a meeting. Who knows if these things are related, but I drew the line between the dots anyway. What a funny ole world it is. 

Direct contact is my every day. 

I feel my presence being important to the way a constellation on one side of the sky meets in the middle with another one on the other side of the sky. One of them feels just like my very favorite lover, but it might even be a chunk of my own heart I'll remember as a companion while it is and isn't like we have done it over and over and over again. 

Connecting with my gifts has been gradual, a series of levels for chipping away at all the obstacles while fighting to remember why, since there's definitely a force at work to make ya fight for it, going inside for some of us means we walk the whole labyrinth and find all the treasure and dead ends before it makes any sense just to go through the door we've been carrying in our pocket. It's like digging a tunnel into a mountain just so I can stand in the middle and look out at the light with plenty of pickaxe action and sometimes the dynamite. And progress is progress, and delving for me has brought out enough solid points of wisdom to make it impossible for me to not organize it somehow. I'm building my dream castles with all that. 

One time, I asked an AI image generator to show me a picture of me with my Higher Self. 

And I'm supposed to believe it good enough to make the sincerest effort possible to make you also believe that I'm so much more. Even though every time I come to tell someone I've got this special world I'm about, even with all the hours of connecting with others like me, even with calling it and calling it and calling it Home, I haven't been heard or believed, or supported, or loved for it. Speaking and asking, and knowing that if it was meant to be heard and received, loved and supported, that something as simple as having the sit-down with exactly the right one might be the most expedient answer to the whole thing. And falling in love with the idea that it could be anyone in the world, no matter who they are showing me they are today. 

Jesus also wasn't believed. If I have $1,000 for every time I heard that over the past year while I've been going on my journey, I'd be rich enough to get my van-plan on the road. 

Standing outside the Buddhist Temple in Raleigh and having the Dali Lama's photo gain that connection all the way across the globe. I knew already that I was part of some prophesy, enlightened, on the path for my whole life, a light, the light. I was distraught over knowing what to do with such as that and told him I didn't know what to do. There's nothing like being told "You'll know." But every step I take is one I know I'm gonna be glad about someday, and I couldn't follow any leader to be me in it. I have to do this the way I have to. 

Believing in being Right on Time is such a thing. What is meant for you cannot be blocked. What you're going to do can't be stopped, and when the right time is upon you, you'll know you're too far beyond turning back to even try to stop it. 

Can you tell I come from a place where people can't hear what I'm saying? If people can't hear you, stop talking to them. I've had people I'd be in the middle of sharing an earth-shattering revelation to just fall asleep. Not infected at all by the enthusiasm of how easy it was to get to some particular truth or another at fucking all. So they weren't meant to know it. They just went to sleep. Or sometimes, and this one is weirder, they look blank for a minute and change the subject to something as extremely unrelated as it can be, like butting heads with The Matrix just to have someone to tell. 

It's even my matrix. It's enough to make a girl feel like a genie in a bottle. 

I've had periods when I was carrying the thing and knew it was heavy, that all the nuance of the way it's evolved was the coolest thing you ever heard. And in the middle of that I've kneeled to the possibility of an audience, someone, anyone I might want to tell. 

And who would I want to tell? 

Who's going to take it for what it is and know what to do with me when I even don't. 

And I'm supposed to be guiding my own parts out of their inescapable shock events that shut them down without talking bad about the ones who gave me the shock in the first place. Speaking bad about my upbringing will happen, and I know that day will cause some rifts. So I'm gonna save it for the right time, but I also know the journey in releasing my voice is forever going to be soothing a little girl who got told to shut up too many times, whose complaints about mistreatment went on deaf ears, and who got beat for having a smart ass mouth in a place that was also supposed to be the sanctuary of home and safety.

When I was in my mid-20s and doing newspaper, my angel came into my mind and told me I have the Golden Voice, and so I just asked them what that is. They're so good at showing me a whole picture, that picking out the parts now would explode into a whole new discussion, downloads of revelation about having The Golden Voice. Use your imagination. 

And they told me it's special. And I asked them who else had that, and they told me Hitler had it. So, that's when I told them I don't want it until I can be sure I can't be used for the wrong message. I know I would rather die than get used for the wrong thing. I've committed myself to any eventuality with sharing a peacemaker's light of hope and promised I'd only ever use my powers for good. And then there are all the seductions out there, wealth, fame, political power, what it will mean to touch the whole world through ripples of whatever I make of my gift. And I had to know that being seduced into doing my dreams as a way just to elevate myself was not something I was ready to have. Being elevated... I wasn't ready.

How can you trust your sound if you haven't practiced?

I'm still struggling this one with singing and hope voice lessons and singing lessons are in front of me on the path. I have it. The Golden Voice. 

I've craved a partner for practicing speeches and know there's going to be someone. I just couldn't bare to sit that long in front of a mirror with all they layers of critique I've known. Reading people's thoughts and micro-expressions for a whole lifetime will show you who you are. They're also a mirror. Not saying I haven't been fairly adored and treated with reverence in as many of these interactions as one might wish, but letting someone love you when you have been smashed by disdain from people who are only envious of you or ignored so that they don't have to acknowledge you're special, and also not having the craving to attain their love and respect -- is such the spot. 

I need to practice with this Golden Voice. 

Try me. Push me. Find it in me. I know it's there and that it's even been through all the things. You should hear me when I'm feeling The Blues.

One day, when I was in Time Square, just walking past some shops on the side. I let out what I call my Rebel Yell, a long one that's really a big ole "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah" and from a deep breath that outlasts whatever time a yell oughta do. So full of spirit that you can't help but be happy. I love being a cheerleader for the world. It's not all bad, but it might need some punking up. Rebel because I'm not gonna agree to just get along with the wrong ideas, assuredly not because of anything stupid like southern culture and a war it lost and then never recovered from. 

Reconstruction wasn't even started. I think there has been a generational conspiracy to get things to where we are and that denying the south the depth of investment has been part of it. But that's really for another conversation.

When I dance the Free-Style and put my hand up, all the hands around me also go up. 

My daydreams sometimes get really creative with stencils or primitive printing, and I have a vision around communications, systems, and getting people together over commonalities that also don't cast them in the role of a victim. 

I don't want to be a victim of my own limitations, either. 

Crowds are icky, and getting around them is uncomfortable. There's a reason I've been introduced to the world just like I have. I sometimes point to the way people will leave right before I show up in places. Probably the most comfortable I've ever been around crowds had some live music element happening, friends around, music to stomp around to. 

And we've been conditioned against them as a society. Gatherings are under threat any time of sickness, bullets, or police action. Who wants the spotlight in this world? Who is brave enough to stand in it, and who is greedy enough to have it when they know their message falls short of the kind of love and unity that could be brought. If I'm not ready, I'm not ready. 

If I can't stop it, I'm ready. 

Can you imagine the responsibility of a Power like that? The Golden Voice. And even with all the examples out there of people using it properly. You can't tell the truth if you're not making people laugh. We're all so traumatized from being here as Earthlings that telling the truth about the hardest things in a straightforward way turns us all the way off. Like talking to people who can't hear you when you have sacred messages not meant for them. 

So you make them laugh, and they shake off the anxiety of knowing it's terrible -- hopefully that works. 

Since remembering things and memorizing stuff is hit or miss when it comes to singing the words right and knowing what part of the song comes next, I make up improv ditties to the moment as I strum one or two chords over some poignant revelation to the convergence in me. And I love it. I go out in the woods and play my music just for the spirits and myself, and I love it. 

I feel a little sad that I haven't been sharing myself with the world like I know I will. For me, there are spirit guides around for my spotlight times who are also sad that I didn't have more of an audience reaction for something incredible. Authentic to the core when there's nothing better to say about it. But being observed or unobserved and authenticity are so the pair to dance around and not with. I wanna get to that part of things where I am everything and really really don't care who is or isn't around. Even knowing my spirit guides are with me all the time and keep tabs on me for perpetuity doesn't make performing for whichever goober or snatcher is standing there when I'm an absolute goofball. 

What's more fun is that I can see all of y'all online, out there doing your total thing, encouraging ones just like me to break the ice and make a thing or share something I love. Cause that's what we are even meant to do. 

But with all the encouragement in the world I've held my dream and knew it was too special just to throw into that howling void of the internet. I'm Falling Up. I had to come here to write again. Something I'm so sensitive about that even saying this I fight the worry that I might regress or lose the sparkle I've got for it today, that something might happen to it and I'll have to slay a dragon to get it back. But if I wasn't a dragon slayer would you even want me to have it like that?