I see a tribal man from the South Pacific yelling loudly, intensely, piercing. His face bright red from the effort. Cowrie shells swing on his body. Out of breath, he tries his utmost to convey a message of alert. It goes unheeded and scatters to the winds. Sharply tipped spears adorned with feathers fly before my eyes, harnessing speed, distance and flight. You thrust your arm sharply behind you to dislodge a spear. Whom it meets will cause a division of pain and anger. New Zealand, 18th century.
A warring nation and a warring tribe. Enmity and fear are felt here. An unmatched and unbalanced game of warfare. Derision and disapprobation of cultural differences create violence where legitimacy claims are not honoured.
The spears fly and wild frenzy lights your eyes. A final battle waged where both sides refuse to cower. Adeptly thrown, the spear quickly meets its target. A quick languish of breath before the man dies. The invaders have no understanding of tribal sense. Their etiquette betrays ignorance and arrogance. Their superior weapons give them an advantage that does not reflect their inner truth.
You look frantically around only to find other tribesmen in their final fight. A spear cannot withstand the volley of musket shot. Beating drums signal the end. Odd men in foreign clothing have outmanoeuvered and overrun with their munitions and armoury. A cold sweat runs down your back. Defeat in a most untimely and unlikely manner. Seen as savages with a warrior spirit, you are herded together, meant to acquiesce to those that now reign over you. An invisible yoke has now been placed over you and your tribesmen. It will take generations for this invisible yoke to fall away.
Chattel, war privileges. A Privy Council enters to subject those tribesmen to life in servitude to the Crown. Beads of sweat form on your brow. The discrimination that follows is unlike anything you have experienced before. Your life has changed.
Bitter rivalry ensues. Tribal betrayal. Swift birds mellow the scene. The discharge of muskets disrupt their flight. You seek the solitude of the forest, the cadence of the birds, a welcome reminder of who you are and where you belong. Each step into the trees obliterates the scenes of destruction. You are a free man in this clearing but as soon as you step out of it, your yoke tightens around you.
The winds of change: North, South, East, and West blow in every direction, causing turbulence and calm tides. Merry be Thee. As the Galactic Sun shines so high and bright, I view your chakras. Your crown chakra is stellar and vast. Light signals emerge as many more penetrate. Your third eye revolves slowly, wanting to take in every observation to analyse in a scientific way. This analysation is done out of deep mistrust yet a need for clarification. At your throat chakra a vision unfolds of a person seen but unheard, a scene of yelling with no response. There are tentative tender feelings at your heart chakra, a reluctance to shine and be observed. At your solar plexus I see a swirling motion creating a dizzying blend or mix of light, a want and need to radiate and be seen but yet there is something holding you back. At your sacral chakra, I see open spinning, convivial joy, an acquiescence. You are grounded at your base chakra.
I ask your guides to please assemble themselves. You appear first with ceremonial cowrie shells draped around you, a ripped ear is pierced with birds feathers. You assume a jaunty stance. Beautiful blue light of Archangel Michael surrounds you, carrying faith and protection allowing you to become a seeker of higher truth. The Master Lord Maitreya’s energy flows around you, enabling you to raise your consciousness and be fully aware of who you are. His energies encourage those who are predominantly intellectual to balance their thinking through acceptance of the metaphysical. As smoke gathers into cumulus clouds above you, the story is woven together and kept in place here.
I ask to see a timeline. You are a warrior during a time of tremendous change. Deep cultural traditions have been affected along with the dismantling of your own society. During a time of servitude, residual anger and distrust ensues. A divisive lingering bitterness remains. At the present time, I see scattered books and knowledge. A treasure trove used to reclaim the past and put things in order. In the future a great rolling tide gathers strength, a funnel of water moving and penetrating the path of least resistance. A great, sweeping tide.
End of Reading