Starship Earth: The Big Picture

These days, very little is “just” anything. Seemingly banal occurrences are rife with subtle meanings, inspiration and confirmation—IF one’s eyes are open—and they all reveal themselves in Divine Time.

My journeys to Sedona are unique each visit, depending on the season and company I keep. It’s not usually about me, but what they hope to see and experience, and I always allow that to flow without too much input or planning unless asked, because the results are memorable and meaningful for me each time.

When I facilitate the agenda of others, my rewards are rich.

Yesterday’s day trip was no different, but the experience was more powerful than usual and I suspect I may find, full of deeper synchronicity than first apparent.

The trip approaches three hours of driving and is often punctuated by a respite at a highway rest station. They’ve never been noteworthy, as you can imagine, but this time as I exited, a poster on the door of the loo caught my attention. I believe this is the one.

“Human Trafficking”. Wow. They said it. They printed it. I’ve never seen that topic raised anywhere in public before, but I don’t get out much. It’s been the stuff of alternative news and conspiracy theory blogs—like mine! Yet here it was, where millions of women will see it.

One of my traveling companions noticed it, too; a formerly taboo subject making it into the mainstream consciousness. It seems to me that “human trafficking” takes on a whole new connotation from “prostitution”. It seems like another step toward disclosure.

In many ways I see reality bleeding through into our covertly manufactured life where it will capture the attention—however subconsciously—of unsuspecting souls as they tiptoe through their daily maze.

Our first destination in Sedona was the Spanish-style shopping village of Tlaquepaque. (Pronounced Tuh-lockay-pockay”), and meaning “best of everything”.

One of my retired cousins is a sculptor and he was enthralled by the tapestry of creativity in  bronzes displayed in various stages of completion in the galleries.

We ate our picnic lunch in a courtyard in the thin shade of a naked, aged sycamore as music began coaxing ladies of all ages, sizes and shapes in bright red T-shirts to gather and then sway.

I couldn’t help but pick up on some of the lyrics. “We are mothers, we are teachers, we are beautiful, beautiful creatures” and “This is my body, my body’s holy. No more excuses, no more abuses.” It was so catchy some of the onlookers joined the dancers.

Now, when I search on those words I see the tune is, “Break the Chain”, and it’s been circulating on the Internet and Facebook for two years, but it was that moment when it entered my conscious awareness and left its mark.

Here’s a video, with dance moves choreographed and led by Debbie Allen, from OneBillionRising.org. The tune is playing again in my mind even now.

If that isn’t evidence of the resurgence of the Divine Feminine, I don’t know what is.

Some of the most delightful moments of the day arose in a sculptor’s gallery where his live model, a striking Gambel’s quail gifted us with his presence.

This adorable little guy is now six years old. When his family literally flew the coup and left the property of the sculptor, this chick dug his digs so much that he remained, and became a pet and model for much of the artist’s work and, I dare say, a magnetic draw for browsers in the shop.

He had his own platform to rest on, complete with half a boiled egg (not a quail’s egg) and some poppy seeds—his favourite, and a tiny cup of water. I don’t know his official name, but they addressed him as “Buddy”.

He wasn’t shy, and if we placed our hand under his breast, Buddy would step up, sit on our hand and talk to us while we examined him up close, stroked him and marveled that he was relaxed enough to close his silver-grey eyelids as though ready for his afternoon nap. That was a magical moment I will never forget.

The ambiance of Tlaquepaque isn’t all in the architecture or the arts and crafts. A beautiful, young Mexican woman named Teresa, daughter of  “the” Esteban serenaded us with her violin with incredible soul in one of the main courtyards and I overheard a gallery assistant say she’d been playing since she was five years old. She is there when the weather is warm, her colourful dress moving with her as she emotes the music, eyes closed, (there it is again) but this was the first day she’d been there in some time—just for us.

I could have listened for hours, but our last destination beckoned—and the most exciting gallery I’ve ever experienced. Divine timing is clearly in play when I’ve been visiting this enclave for twenty years yet never ventured inside this particular building.

It was a small cottage in the rear of the village with an intriguing painting outside of clouds  over the “mittens” of Monument Valley, encapsulating Mother Earth with arms outstretched. It was a beautiful blend of realism and mysticism.

Inside, strategically-lighted framed images revealed the stories of the artist, Bearcloud, inspired by his natural surroundings and native lore. On closer examination the clouds in this particular piece were native faces. On the left was Mother God, the moon being her eye, shining her Light on her people; the Light of wisdom, perhaps.

The details of the clouds contained much: a wolf, a bear, a horse… The gallery assistant explained the story, then used a dimmer switch and we witnessed a sunset in progress before our very eyes. It was his technique, she said, that gave his work that magical lighting.

We were hooked and ventured deeper into the gallery. A painting containing what appeared to be a grouping of glass pyramids caught my eye and I wondered if they signified the extra-dimensional crystal city we’re told hovers over Sedona.

Once again, the attentive assistant asked if we would like to know the story behind the painting. Pointing to a photo on the wall she explained that Bearcloud had visited that crop circle in England and realized that the image he calls a “starglyph” was sacred geometry and bore a connection to the pyramids in Egypt.

I’ll leave you to explore that on your own as I intend to do, as I purchased his book, 7 Fires: Secrets From the Stars. How could I resist? The dedication is…

“With the most humble gratitude this book is dedicated to the Star Nation people and to all of humanity.”

As luck would have it, Rod “Bearcloud” Berry or Wah-we-nah, was there that afternoon and signed my book with his left hand. He is a tall fellow, with a slow, gentle way of speaking and pleasant smile. His words were, “Wishing you a most magical journey!” On parting he wished us a happy Valentine’s Day.

His message wasn’t lost on one of my cousins who remarked as we left that life is full of geometry and that science echoes nature. Many people know bits and pieces of the truth of reality, but most don’t have enough to see the big picture—yet. It will be fun to see them connect the dots.

Once I got home and had a chance to read the brochure accompanying my book, I was fascinated to learn that Chief Bearcloud is currently raising funds for the Chameleon Project; “a 476-foot structure of 17 interlocking glass pyramids [in the red rocks of Sedona] which will house a labyrinth of magical gardens, woven together with geometric form.”

The final synchronicity unfolded when the topic of discussion on our return trip moseyed around to “hieroglyphics”. My cousin was planning activities for the last two days of their visit and was asking about the Hieroglyphics Trail near our home in the Superstition Mountains.

Another educated cousin remarked that it must be a misnomer as hieroglyphics are Egyptian symbols, and they probably meant “petroglyphs”, and wouldn’t it be funny to find Egyptian hieroglyphics in Arizona? I didn’t say a word; just smiled, as I knew Egyptian artifacts have already been discovered in Grand Canyon, where they visited just three days before.  ~ BP