Stories from the Cosmos, Continued

I call these stories, the stories from the cosmos because they are from my dreams and past lives. The stories that are not by me are from someone else’s dreams or past lives or emotion. Even your heart has its own world that it has created. There is ghost stories which seem to be happening, not just in one reality but two… These are stories from the Cosmos because the stories are alive in other realities and times and they are just there, no need for conscious creation…

Well, I have mentioned previous times before about being neglected as a child and having my spirit guide voice his thoughts, emotions and knowledge towards me to help me survive my childhood. He was tall and
had dark hair. He taught me Wicca and also stories that have never been recorded that must have been from his past lives and mine because he said that we were alive together several times and we are connected to each other eternally. He even told me about the Akashic Hall of Records at a young age and I would often dream of it.
In my dreams, the place was a huge white building built from marble and it had staircases leading up to it everywhere. It was a very crowded place. Inside, you could go over your project plans with your instructor in your next mission before leaving and make other arrangements such as sending supernatural letters to people in their dreams and so much more as long as you had access you could do anything. Outside, I was laying on a marble bench on my back, very relaxed. The sun was hot but not too hot and there were cotton flying around in the slight breeze of the wind and the cotton was coming from the trees and the side of the library that was actually overrun with forestry.

I heard a male voice, “Oh, there you are.” I had been waiting all day
outside and I opened my eyes, I had been meditating before that so that I didn’t actually have to walk into the library. It was hard to see the details of the face because he was leaning over me and the sun was so bright I couldn’t make out his expression but I knew who it was. He was my guide. We went over some things on some papers that he had. He even had a whole briefcase of papers. I felt a sense of love towards him yet in another dream I feel darkness and disgust as he leads me…

Into the marshes of some unknown place. I am wearing a purplish red
velvet colored robe over my head in the marshes with two men following me with lanterns. One is him. It feels like we are in Europe, Britain or something but I have no research to support that theory. There is a stone castle in the background and you can hear the dogs barking very loudly, they must be very large dogs.
The men lead me to the marsh, one is him. There is a lot of pain in this moment. They lead me into the water and they drown me and they are gone.

On the top of the water is a water lily shining brightly because the one whole in the trees encamped all around the marsh lets the moon shine through almost directly straight ahead, must have been midnight than. As I float face up with the lily, I am alive, as I float face down from my death I look up and see the water lily turn over into a new world, me with it and the sun is shining on me and I am in a new world, and that other world filled with those people are gone, they are all gone. I am on a new astral plane.

The poem Drowning, I created from that moment:
Drowning in a Past Life
Barefoot in wet mud like clay
green rolling hills at dusk.
My soul is not going to stay
bound into the valley of Earth .
Magic is sweet and it is bitter.
Falling angels tears lead you on-
stars sparkle and burst into glitter
shape shifter, dreamer, water lily bound
Lanterns gliding across a marsh
will they reach the other side?
Or will I…

This is the spirit guide that I am talking about. I have pulled out
these visions and meditations as a young girl. As a young girl who had no access to this information except through the time that I have spent with my guide who explains that tragedy makes easy memories as does love that are hard to forget and also that we spend so much time together that his face reminds me of these events…

Poetry by Victoria Autumn!
HPI Security, Researcher and Professional Fighter.“

The Old Swing
I took a walk down to the old oak tree today

and saw the forgotten swing

that I had made as a child

with my muddy shoes

and filthy hands.

I climbed to the branch that held the rope

to notice how ridiculous the knot was

It was a simple tie

that could have come loose with an adequate amount of weight.

I examined the rope itself

seeing that it was frayed and torn,

just waiting to break its grip.

I made my way back to the ground

to take a look inside the tire.

It was filled with spiders

and sticky cobwebs.

Stagnant water rested at the bottom

along with decaying oak leaves.

My once playful friend

no longer seemed so lovely,

it no longer made me happy.

I was just a child when I created it

not knowing how to tie a proper knot,

or how to check to make sure of its safety.

I reminisced on the sunny afternoon I had made it,

remembering how proud I was

to construct such a wonderful new friend.

I didn’t care at the time

that the tire was used, was worn and dirty

or that the rope was weak and old.

But now that I am grown

I realize just how unsafe

and poorly made my swing was.

I must admit that I was rather tempted

to sit inside the tire

just to see if it could still hold me

and keep me from the damp ground

as it once did

many years ago…

But in fear of getting a bruise

or perhaps breaking a bone,

I will let it remain

to hang

and to sway

in the wet and heat of the passing seasons…

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