The time is short. I can only follow what is real. I cannot slip away into psychotic fantasies and thoughts. Thankfully, my medication is working wonders, and I have many good habits and routines in place. But still, the etherial is only moments away. My dreams are simple and I want them to come true. Until now, all has seemed impossible, though I trudge forward day after day sowing gentle seeds. I never truly thought that those seeds would sprout and grow beautiful blooms, but when I enter my dreams, anything seems possible. I live there, secretly. Gently hoping and praying for unity and prayer. Spirit guides gather close and ask me questions. I can only answer with the utmost simplicity. I am guarded. I must be if I am to ride this wave to completion. 

Riding the wave demands discipline and rules. Rules that I have put into place for my own sanity and happiness. I want to please God. I want to follow the echoes of all my guides to a place where we can exist together in harmony. There is no tangible evidence of my journey other than my writing, so I will hold fast and let the words flow. It is time for poetry and contemplation. Meditation and nature keep me grounded in a place where I can focus on the light. My love for my family is the truest form of reality that I can find, so I will stay there and hope. Hope for the whispers of angels to become real. Hope for all seven days to be illuminated. Hope for the night to come alive as it blends into day. Hope for security and peace.

Family. There is nothing more important than that. In my family right now, there are newborns and elderly. Time stretching and spanning eighty years. Together we are one, though. We come together in thought and prayer. We make plans and celebrate often. When I find myself in trouble, they are there at my side. My dream is to bring more into this small fold. Only a few that I have in mind, and they are already here. Though they are not yet solid, they are not yet real. And yet they are. Still, the time is short. I am more and more aware of my impermanence on this plane. My body is soft and supple, and I work hard to care for my form, but my spirit is tired. I have prayed so hard during times of strife that one may not believe. I have heard the voice of God out my window in the springtime. I have seen a giant cross on Cross road. I have heard and seen many things during deep episodes and times of psychosis. The problem, or gift rather, is that these visions do not always fade with time. They return to me. I return to me. I come home.

Rocks, or rather stones, keep me grounded. I hold them in my hands and I know the spirit of God is in the rock, just as Abraham said. They are alive. When I feel this aliveness, I know that I am alive as well, that I am not alone, and that I am here with all of us on the plane of reality. Though I have searched long and hard to find purpose to my struggle, in the end all that matters is me and that rock. Rocks that seem plain from the beach, semi precious; selenite, amethyst, lapis lazuli, and lava rock. Smokey quartz, fluorite, aventurine, and an earth stone sphere. I am in love with these stones, and they help me stay here, here with all of you. I thought I was alone. But God in the rock, alcoholics, and those that read my words that I put here on this page, as well as family, show me that I am not. I always knew that on some abstract level, I guess, as I always had my animals and my man.

Why does suffering make us feel alone? This is why I must share my visions. Whether it is in my blogging, my painting, my poetry or in my prayers, I must put voice to and bring the light down into these deep places in my soul. I must water and nurture these pathways in order to rewire my brain, and believe that the light can penetrate even the thickest of walls. Time is short. Time has shortened, and I must stay alert and stay here. I can safely bring my spirit guides and my stones to the present, and quash the fear that still lay inside of me. This precious amount of time that I have been given in this life, I do not want to waste.