👂Listen Up!👂

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and literally hear a line for a poem. I don’t know where the hell (or heaven that matter!) that it has come from, but I know I have to write it down if there is any chance of me getting back to sleep that night! My intuition comes to me in words and insights from somewhere I don’t fully understand and it was from this place that I wrote the following poem.

Clairaudient

I am an emitter of the Light

A channel for a message much higher than my earthly presence

A message which I do not yet fully understand myself

and yet know to be True with all of my Being

You cannot help but but receive it.

You feel it in the thrilling tingles of the thousand tiny stars twirling through my fingertips.

You hear it in the most precious part of your soul that twinkles

and trembles in unison

as my purple heart vibrates

with Unconditional Love

Forget everything that your Ego’s shadow once clung to through fear and conformity

This is your Freedom

Rise up, dear Dove.

Fly beyond into the Galaxy of Goodness

that uplifts our weightless souls towards The Awakening

You will feel that what is moving through me

is moving through you

and knows no bounds

It is an astronomical force

that opens hearts and pores

and heals lives

with its grounding magic

It has always been there

and

I am merely a magnetic melody that allows your ears to finally

hear

Photo : https://www.vanpraagh.com/whispers-from-the-other-side/

9 thoughts on “👂Listen Up!👂

  1. Wow, Sam! I love it. You ARE an emitter of the light. This was my favorite part: “the thrilling tingles of the thousand tiny stars twirling through my fingertips.” When it’s hot, writing so feels like that! Believe me, I hear you when you say you have to write it down if there is any chance of getting back to sleep. I wrote a poem about that phenomenon, a parody of The waking by Theodore Roethke.

    THE WRITING

    The muses sing inside my head all night,
    their voices silenced only by my pen.
    I sleep by writing what I have to write.

    Their messages can’t wait until daylight
    as inspiration may have fled by then.
    The muses sing inside my head all night.

    It doesn’t work to say, “Go fly a kite!”
    They just return again, again, again!
    I sleep by writing what I have to write.

    Upon my bedside stand, a muted light
    and ballpoint pen and memo pad for when
    the muses sing inside my head all night.

    I take dictation legibly, despite
    my drooping eyelids and befuddled brain;
    I sleep by writing what I have to write.

    Daybreak comes and much to my delight,
    I find my brilliant notes and comprehend
    the muses sang inside my head all night;
    I’m half done writing what I have to write.

    Liked by 1 person

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