Fire On The Mountain (10/18 pt. 3)

“Fire On The Mountain”

(10/18 Pt. 2)

“Fire on the mountain. Run boys, run!”

~ Charlie Daniels

October 19, 2022

Transcribed from Journal.

And what all took place last night (10/18), from the leaving of the last page until this very present moment (10/19 8pm)? 

16 hours later, and 1600 things. 

Let us remember.

I set down the pen, and picked up my phone with the intention of going back through recorded voice memos in the past, and finding the one specifically referenced in last journal entry. 

It took me a while, but I finally found it. 

“Holy shit,” I remember thinking when I found it. “I don’t even remember making this.” 

Remembering CGJ’s command to “listen”, I hit play. 

Ten seconds later – and I do not remember exactly how – I was interrupted by a vision. 

The thought/daydream entered my mind as if a lone leaf was thrown by the hand of synchronicity, floating down the rippling creek of my cluttered consciousness and drifting ever closer toward me as I stood on the shore of my own thoughts. I watched it approach. 

The leaf traveled alone. No others around it, before, or after.

And the leaf came closer, now in front, and for an instant, I saw:

I was leaving my apartment, caring my satchel/bundle, and packed inside were items for making a sacred fire. There were incense sticks and sacred stones inside as well, along with a carefully selected book from my special shelves (I knew not what ~ I couldn’t see). 

And, by a force so strong it felt like a person, the hilltop called out to me.

And right away, I saw myself driving there, immediate and quick, straight to the hilltop with a passionate intention set upon a particular place, for a particular kind of fire. I knew not what. 

The weight of the vision fell upon me as I watched. I was stunned to see myself striding so willingly and immediately to do a task which (due to the particular location of the fire and personal associations with it) elicited great personal fear and aversion. 

As I watched myself in the vision, I could suddenly sense the presence of another group, across from me and seperate, watching me as I watched the vision. could feel the displeasure of these dark forces-of-below at the very idea. They hated me entertaining it. They grew angry at my consideration of it, and became defensive, wily, upset; a group of dark snarling defenders. How dare I?! came the intuitive meaning. This hearth belongs to them. This hearth is Hers

By association only,” came the answer immediate, straight as an arrow loosed from its bow, from the bright-eyed one on my right. And she reinforced her message with a stream of thoughts, indicating a burning desire for this vision (now become a forethought) to be done, and to come into true being. Her warish yearn for it was so righteous it was almost sexual. The very line between those two words (righteous and sexual) was suddenly so blurry it seemed unnecessary for an earthling-made division between them in the first place. They were synonymous.

As the leaf continued to float, I saw myself sitting there, in my own chair, around the hilltop fire and under the stars, bringing all of my Self into the naked wild-open of a moment yet unbirthed within space and time. I was resting there, at home and as one with the hearth and the hill and indeed all nearby who trod and breathe.

I saw myself feeling it all as Home. 

I watched the leaf go… and I came back to my apartment, in clearheaded consciousness and present date & time. 

Thirty seconds later, the mundane comes flooding back in, and I am painfully aware that I am left with a (familiar) conscious choice which must now immediately make: Do I continue carrying on with my evening, seeing this as an interesting and random thought not grounded in reality and not worth speculating about or delusionally obsessing over? 

Or..….

Do I respond differently, recognizing ever so small and insignificantly how this leaf, though it indeed be merely a single leaf, is noticeably different than the rest. More importantly, I recognize the “voice” behind it. I know where it’s coming from, and who, and why. I know its particular and unique vibration, its frequency; just like knowing a person. 

Thus, the only other alternative to shrugging it off was to follow when The Master said: “Get up, and go do.”

(And by default, that creates a third possible response to the recipient of intuition, of any type and degree: hearing, seeing, receiving, and responding: “No.”)

I chose to follow. 

So, three minutes later, I’m in the car and headed West.

Destination: top of the hill. 

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