Swinging on a Star (Theme Thursday...Swing)

The rectangular sign squeaks its heavy metal song. Keeping time to the sway of its eyelet hangers, swinging, it points the way to Middle Earth. The Ceylon green, leaved skirts of the trees ruffle and ripple in hushed tones, undulating to invisible currents. In the street, discarded napkins and newspapers spiral in a vortex...an ephemeral do-si-do. Honeysuckle and sandalwood, fragrant scents, lingering and peppered with bits of dust, drift along. The sacred geometry in the Mercaba, once depositing its four feminine, luminous passengers on the checked and flaking boardwalk, spins itself into gossamer "no-thing-ness." The divine feminine lovelies, Barbara, Sally, Francis, and Louisa, poised with the tentativeness of yearling fawns, peer through the quickly bruising night. In ancient tongues, their names mean: Stranger, Princess, Free, and Fights with Honor. In their world, you are named by the Gods.

The sign, barely visible in the spreading darkness, informs them that they have arrived at the right location, Mt. Shasta. One of the seven spiritual mountains of the world, she draws beings from everywhere. Magnetic. Powerful. Mysterious. Linking arm-in-arm, the ladies float down the street to find their uncles, Mike and Tony. Their father sent them here. He wanted them to learn of their lineage. He said the meeting place would be clearly designated. He was right.

Slipping inside, the young ladies, greeted by their uncles, sat for an evening's meal of bread, cheese, wine, and tales of long ago. There are legends here. Legends of Lemurians, an antediluvian race of people, related to the fleeing descendants of Atlantis. They are rumored to live deep below the mountain. For years, the locals have seen strange lights at night, encountered other-worldly mystics, and witnessed disappearing groups of people--right before their eyes--on that mountain. It is widely believed that the lenticular, lens-shaped clouds that often cling to the top of the mount, conceal flying saucers staffed with green and gray extra-terrestrials. It is here that St. Germain, an ascended master, brought forth the teachings of the Violet Consuming Flame of Transmutation.

Strange folk abound...psychics, healers, shamans, gurus, channelers and mystics. There are shops with teachers and tools for penetrating the void, that place where there is nothing but yet nothing is ever missing. One can find oils, vibrational essences, drums, rattles, stones, crystals, singing bowls, ceremonial sage and prayer flags. The I Am Presence is here, as strong as The Force. The waters, absolutely pure, are blessed and taken for cleansing and purification. All this and more, the young women learn.

With dinner and stories over for the night, the uncles lead their nieces to the balcony on the top, west side of the house. It is a full moon tonight. They enjoy bathing in her cold, beautiful, white but lonely glow as they wait for their ride home. In the distance, they see the fire. The comet, tail blazing like the fiery, blue-white spray of a welder's arc, sweeps toward the balcony. Reaching out their long, pale, graceful arms, the beauties swing up and on to the spritzing tail. Instantly, they vanish. Mike and Tony, with sweet, sad smiles upon their faces, wave goodbye. Minutes later, four sparking, baby diamond stars are Bedazzled upon the Milky Way's simple black dress. All sparkles, shimmers and excited chatter, they tell of their evening's experience of spirit being in a physical body. They tell their father about their night of swinging on the playground of planet Earth.