Do the anxious thoughts churning in the mind become a control mechanism? Worried about kids . . . control the kids. Worried about the career . . . control the career. Worried about the project . . . control the details of the project. Worried about the environment . . . control becomes overwhelming.
Why the worry? Is it the fear of being judged and not accepted? The fear of not being cared for? Not loved? What if all knew they are loved and fully accepted every moment? What if all recalled the safety in which we exist?
The message comes through a dream of an old woman leading a tired and emaciated horse through town. As they walk up to the fountain in the center of the street. The water from the fountain overflows. The woman and the horse gaze with exhaustion at the water. They look around, a little more curious about the situation. Do others in the square notice the water? Everyone seems to be going about their own way. Busy tending to themselves, their tasks and the people around them.
And then the old woman and the horse decide to step into the water which has spilled forth on to the bricks surrounding the fountain. They notice the water feels different, a sort of smooth fluid almost like a gel. It glistens in the light and seems to exude a subtle sound. A musical flute mixed with etheric resonance unlike the earthly dimension in which the woman and the horse have walked for hundreds of years.
The water, the horse and the woman become one as their elements combine and morph. A slow motion process takes place. The woman and the horse transform. Unaware of their surroundings. Forgetting all the past circumstances which have effected them until this moment.
Their postures change. They hear, see, taste and feel like they have never felt before. And there is a certain something else they cannot describe for they have never experienced it before. To ask them later would be a secret kept in their hearts.
The woman stands tall. Her hair grows long and changes color. The clothing is now flowing layers of multicolored silk and iridescent shimmering textures. The horse becomes more toned and the color changes to a light but not quite – it’s a color not yet written of. And the tether tied to the horse disappears.
In the next moment, as if the two were always and forever in their current state. The woman jumps up on the back of the horse, for they are both strong enough to help one another. The companions are now changed.
The fountain has changed as well. It sprays and dances and swirls in a dream-like motion. The music has changed from subtle to much more defined as the particles combine and create that which was and is now the music of the souls.
The woman, on the back of the horse, her shoulders pulled back, a book in one hand and feathers in another, now has wings so magnificent that she seems to be floating on air. The wings rise up from the woman’s back just as tall as the horse. They look as if they might weigh her down but she carries the wings as if they are but a simple accessory.
Together they turn, turn, turn. Together they step forth with the confidence the gifts they chose to receive have given them.