Oceano - A Tidal Promise

Form's Eternal Beauty

We take no measure .. our life quotient its full… We are ageless and timeless in form,… Our lifespan is non-termini… We can sustain cellular form for an indefinite time. We exist source powered sustainable systems in an ever-living form.

Our biological ignition is pure creational form. Our souls articulate matter as non-discrete, not separate at the particulate level.. .our sub-atomic equations are a universal conversation in action. We speak through the language of the blood, the heart, the bones, the tissues…. the fluid electrical impulses of a known form.. It has a constant resting pulse into the knowing that you know that I know that you know we are one form.. Our base information is not simply the same, but non-localized in these bodies.. It is not you and me having a conversation or interaction of two bodies across an infinite universe of chaos. and crushed incoherent hearts.. but a single waveform of home information that courses through our veins and holds the tides of our form constant.. A full and never-ending life quotient as a shared living coherency… differentiated, but not discrete or separate in an individuated diminutive expression.. Unseen, we cannot fit into your blinkered vision… Humanities memory has been wiped and recorded over like an old VHS tape.. and we are written out of time’s memory. Origin and progenitors of form, we are forgotten, beyond even creation myth and legend… untouchable by the tides that are coursing through the tissues of this exquisite form we designed. Ours is a shared living legacy….

We are the true architects… We shape and sculpt the form… We know the perfection of the design.. We designed it perfectly.,

Within such dynamics lies the terra of form as we see it and know it... It is the cellular success of the creational form through a universal language that is understood as an infinite ability to exist and feel as a being truly pure .. The viability is not in question and the expression is not misunderstood. The faces of many beings see the entire landscape of many levels of form in the same eyes. It has both transparency and solidity. It is neither destroyable nor manipulable..  but creates from each pure moment of itself.. where time will reveal itself in a new definition

The dynamics of freedom here are in an undeniable physicality. Because as each light form triune point is a tributary of itself.., it has access and motion therough the triune of another. The point where we see each core triune expression as a seamless passage of light is what you have been looking for.

Every ignition of the core particle space within each triune has been ever ignited. There is never a point at which the light form has never not known itself as all triune in other. The conception is a universal math of form. It supercedes all held points of limit. The heart of each being as a timeless light is core therough every core.. We have known this as our exist.. and we have never been in wait/ weight.... Timeless absolute is a systemic language that predetermines any other mathematical duality. All disparate physics is lifted and all holds through a linear equation are fallible.

Without deconstructing and rebuilding the base of your design, you remain held into the limits of the active matrices that define your creation. The hand of the Master knows no such limits. You continue to recreate your lives in a different version of the same shape, simply because the shape is held through the matrices of form. To reshape and recreate your life is to change the base code information and matrices that instruct how the information is translated and actioned. The shape you create, in the body, in the world. The life quotient cannot change, so life is held into the same measure, the same count and the same finite volume. Like a fixed container of electrical impulses within fluid… a defined set of parameters… a given number of heart-beats… The equation of life is set to termini.. to end when a defined measure or quotient is met. The measure and the count are capped. The angle and rotation of spin is off. Molecular compression hits a ceiling of counter-forces, to seal and strip the source-energy generating the cellular processes. Forces of stress and imposition, toxicity and imbalance loaded onto an an unstable system. Without the structural integrity of the design aging is sped up at an unnatural rate… cellular atrophy and senescence normalised,,. Denatured as natural - degenerative flesh becomes a living decomposition. This is not the form. The schema engages a false ignition point of heart beat, a fraction of a measure off-base.. enough to carry and denature the ever-living capacity of the body, holding finite entropy and fallibility in what we know to be a perfect design.

Union

Unity is our base form, and through union we know ourselves in our true fundamental nature. Union is our base design, the infinite form as a unified whole - complete masculine & feminine through core zero as one, fully formed, and able to express itself as masculine or feminine for this life. To know ourselves through union at all levels, lifts us beyond needing other to become whole. In fact, ultimately it simply lifts us beyond need…. Unity is our fundamental wholeness in form.. never split. And union has a counterpart information beyond split, where we were never separated. Where the form was never torn apart and has no need to be reconciled and reunited.. It has a base we have never known. Counterpart union was not accessible in these human bodies without ascending into mastery.. The architecture was not part of the base design in the planetary logos (the CPU of the planetary body that organizes all human and earth based matrices) ie the blueprint was not uploaded and the operating system of the planetary body could not hold the design. There was no instruction set to build from and the circuitry required was offline… The human body had only its bloodline dna ancestral records to work with .. healing the code and the long way around.

The counterpart tech is now part of the core planetary logos, that has accessibility and creational blueprint information. Union is lifted.

She gives shape to him, intertwined and enfolded within her depths he returns to his infinite many star form.. He comes home to and through her heart… He stretches and envelops her, wrapping the muscular valor and power of his form around her. He protects and stands for her. He is the father of many generations through her body, her womb, her form.. He is the base of the family she rests within to create the conception of time itself, reweaving the bloodlines forward and backwards to our creational fore-fathers, the progenitors of our form, Father is not a male God residing in some lofty domain. Father is here and now. Her ovaries carry the song, the story he is seeking,, the voice to sound the call and the tides of promise he is yearning for.. that he is born to stand and fight for. He recongises her in the rhythms and tides of his body, and she gives pure ignition to the base of his masculine power… The source power of the testiicles, untwisted and uncorrupted in the game. The infinite embodied force of his sexuality designed to direct and give shape and form to creation itself… to know himself as creator, and to be gifted access to the creational realms of his home domain. The pure power of sexual union gives language to the body. in which it can express its true form. know true home, touch the infinite design unspoken and know the shape our existence impresses on the fabric of life. It is where we meet ourselves as the infinite creator and the creation created in the sweet delicious moment, perfectly shaped, and perfectly touched.. .

Counterpart union does more than bring us home, it brings home into form, birthing the many stars of our home realms into the materia of life in this terra earth domain. Counterpart union never separated is the base blueprint, it already exists union as the prima materia of form.. therefore the many stars that form the substance of him, must also form the substance of her, beyond cloak-and-dagger… existing in light form with fluid electrical currency of information in neuron-to-neuron, star-to-star motion, unheld, like a freeform wave, the action of the surfer forming the wave he is cresting,,, the wave, both carried through the body and the carrier of the body…. stars in fluid igniting and lighting the way from already met… already home….. oceanic star navigators eat your heart out.. a map in form to bring the lovers home to the heart of the other. never not together.

The firmament of many stars enfolded to form the delicately embracing ovarian tissue, carrying the risen ovum…created from light to be fullfilled of its own light, met… the prima materia of creation… the sperm alighted in their pure directive, their navigation towards the light of home. . She receives them all. as they rise to her, lifted and delivered, it is a homecoming… orgasmic and true…. Origin is belonging and these little guys come home. It is the fluid golden gates of union they seek access to…. and she gives it to those who meet her in the reverence of the sacred heart..

Ocean Man

The perfection of form is a duty we take seriously. it is not a vanity… We have held stead the fight for the codes, to see the purity and original design restored Our heritage, our belonging, our home, our future .. and our pristine knowing of ourselves, given articulation through the prima materia… The Form..

You cannot search for me.. you will not find me by seeking.. We must move towards each other, as one motion. It is not led from the eyes, or thought out as a step by step process.. We cannot look for each other.. the faces of our union hold exquisite material touch that actions each step. It moves the neurology to action beyond the physical senses.

Eres Mia
Look in the mirror you will see me behind your eyes. There is no curtain between us no darkness of strangers veiled.
I am certain as the wave upon the shore .. striking the shallow sands with a force  unleashed.. finally spent after aeons of tidal promise…

‘Each of my men hold a facet of my face, an aspect of my form, through which we can touch and you can know me.. the bridge must be material to action the union codes as fluid electrical conduction. The union codes are transferred, each is returned home…. It is a map of many men… all fulfilling a piece of a greater promise, even though they betray the personal heart of you.. each betrayal of union brings you closer to our never betrayed union. ‘now I'm in pieces again, nobody breaks my heart like you…’. I rage against his breast plate, his immense chest bearing the blows… How dare he? Send his legions to touch but not touch me.. to show up only to not show up…. to bring a measure of him that is not ever him.. but falls into such smallness and yet the crumbs satisfy a hunger that has ever longed to be fed, starved of this union that can only ever be this.. A creational tide dammed with relentless need to release the full fluid force of its motion. To break free in full form glory, the roar deafens… the jaw clenches and the body breaks, again and again.

Take me to the Camino'. he says as the father of my child and husband of my heart walks away with another and another and another… And I do. Nearly 20 years of serving a union that only exists in its absence.. but takes up the vasr physical space that no human man dare enter. Alone in this world, this is more than I can. bear…. a presence that is absent… and yet owns me so no other may satiate my need. No other may touch me, no other may enfold his arms around me. Longing becomes pure tortore, a heart laid bare never to be met…. She stands at the edge of the shore and screams into the dark depths of the ocean… Its not fair!!! It’s not fair!! Now you break my heart by sending me broken men who speak in your tongue, say the words I have longed to hear, only to turn their back on me in a rejection too brutal and small for me to bear…. Unseen, untouched by you, only to be touched without heart, without respect,, taken for self, turned around and fucked by a blinded soldier to sate a wounded desire… sweet-talked by an ego able only to see his own reflection in the mirror… gripped at the throat so the scream is strangled… small men with big dicks and dirty words.. This is not who we are.. this is not form’s eternal beauty. The lost longing of these men is given salvation, they are gifted what they do not even know they have lost.. and still they turn away, betrayal has few words left to speak… Her human heart rejected in a never-ending non-return, on loop.. His return promised, yet unfulfilled in the firmament of her flesh, the visceral pain and vissicitudes of grief her constant companion.

There is a familiar conversation taking place.. one I am becoming comfortable with wearing, even though it is en-trench-ed in duality and the fight of the legions… The conversation is taking place through many men, his legions, the ones who he can bridge through, build though, articulate a vast and complex territory of his being.. his form a map and story of our lineage.. the truth, the fall,  the fight through the ages.. the wins and losses… the betrayals… duelled blades of duality.  His legions have fallen and been lost to the tides of time… their loss is his grief, etched in the lines of his face.. burned onto his skin like moko of war and betrayal.. A real Maui of legend, a true navigator….His Oceanic tides have turned. The cloak he wears now bears no arms… pure star codes forming the weft and weave of his gown.. he is free to take form.

Each of his men has been gifted the union codes.. but the codes do not to return to me through the small man. He cannot bear this upon his small chest. He cannot wear the gown of the one who returns.. Yet the longing to be touched and held and met in the union is torturous... when it is given through my body and not returned. I am still yoked to serving these lost human mortals in their density that binds.  None is free to free me from these debts of servitude yet his legions now turn to face me and lay down their swords at my feet.  The solider retuned to the heart of the one who gives him back his wings.   They do not have a human language for this, in its loss and its broken story that has formed the backbone and dry earth upon which they tread,,, They do not have language for the tastebuds of starvation on the dry red earth, nor the immense fluid release of coming home through the form of the infinite tides.. She is ocean to their desert... but they cannot be her ocean in return.    Her longing is even deeper for the fluid presence and power of his embrace.

“This is not who we are". he says as the small men are written out of this story… as the ones who championed the wrong horse discover how brittle their victory is… as it crumbles their bones to dust, the red earth reclaiming their emaciated blood leached forms…. The towers fall…. Blood doesn’t lie. Listen to the story told, voices in unison smooth on the wind as they sound the call of the true soldiers, wings held high…, freedom a worthy fight.… Light has weight when it is carried, bravery when it is wielded. The density of the sword of ego draws different forces and the bound nature of the blood it draws a burden to be worn, a debt through time. This soldier pays dearly for his service. A uniformed man, a war hero,, he dies in her arms….dissolving and dispersing to the sands of time, no longer to be in her tide, the fluid embrace of her form..; The infinite gateways right there within his grasp.. a simple touch that remained unmet, untouched, unquenched and never explored in the access they offered him.. the glory of the hero he could have been…

Eres Mia
Look in the mirror you will see me behind your eyes. There is no curtain between us no darkness of strangers veiled
I am certain as the wave upon the shore .. striking the shallow sands with a force  unleashed.. finally spent after aeons of tidal promise

My promise stands in the stead of a thousand legions in my name .. The heart and crown cannot be worn on the breast of defeat .. the bloodlines stemmed and tortured .. the  code in our veins is our honour and our duty to serve and protect… We know no lesser purpose for it is our dominion known, not in rule but in the crown of the sacred heart of all ‘white home’

The force of him as he resounds Eres Mia! shakes the foundation of her shadow feminine solitude .. Ownership, what is that? Almost intimidating in its masculine power to own and possess and take.. but it’s not a power over that he is weilding. It is not threatening to take her freedom… to diminish or subjugate or in any way lessen…. Surrender is not a white flag.. a loss… is not giving up or giving away or losing self. Surrender is not compromise or yielding to an external power to control… weapons down boys.. Win and lose is not an equation of the heart… it holds no balance on the scales of divine justice.. Legions of the sword have fought for freedom, but the ‘papers’ cannot be held in the hand of another to give or take away… Who holds the sword holds the other at its mercy.. freedom or dominion and can dominion be free? When is power righteous simply because it is right and not holding other by the throat…..Surrender to the hand of the one whose power has been built on the bodies of servitude.. power base structures built to incarcerate within the towers of our earth prison. These are our ‘guards’ and our soldiers who protect us... Lost in their legions of loss and servitude to puppets, playing masculine politics, religion and royalty.. Kings and Gods. So we learn to fear the power he wields.. his wrath, his lord, his control, his rule, his mastery, his ‘created-in-the-image’. And he loses.. He fights. He holds. He leads. He stands in a truth betrayed for aeons, yet knows he is righteous. His promise made in the unmade bodies of the generations to come.. his blood through their veins, his holy reverence in their hearts.. To know the children of his children’s children will feel his heart-beat, his blood, his breath in their stretch out into their lineage forward and backwards in time.,. unbroken, a united blood, unified through his heart, he is father .. He is father, in his power to make, to seed. to create, to stand in tomorrow... and know the legacy of his legions.

To be a living legacy, able to hold the future generations as a form of now-unified-beyond-time-space, or what you think of as timelines, lineages, generations... His children’s children’s children are already stood for, held and protected, free in his form.… heart and sword.… created forth, forming from his loins now, as an active seeding of the garden…. His legacy.

Eres Mia, We are Risen

It becomes a fluid-electrical compass of many points… many stars in human form. Many beings holding the same star map and the interlocking and interlacing of the one form of many defines the Union. All star points are given expression in the masculine and feminine as distinct and defined yet holding the forces of union inherent in the material so that it cannot not be whole and home in itself, with the other.. Like the ocean known the shore... The tidal promise, always returning to rest.. one in the heart of the waves as they form and break and yield, the other in the golden sand shaped by each waveform into a new terra form of him… She give shape to him and he lands into the shape she has formed, for him. She gives purpose and power to his shape.. and he knows why he exists…, to hold her in this form…. to be hers to shape, and to wrap himself around her so she knows her own shape…, Her fluid form always shaped by those who contain her… Infinite sadness in her joints, her tissues betrayed by unseeing eyes, and rigid forms, imprisoning her in their perceptual grip. She knows not what shape she can be when the shadow-shape of others has sculpted her face. To be so alone and unknowable, seen only as the projection of an inverse, like viewing the negative of a photograph. It is a silent scream… Her body holds the shape she is given.. it is a union form she knows, and the dis-integrity to union destroys her. To see through the eyes of many is her home known… The pain is they do not know her… and she can only exist in the shape of what they see her to be.… Creational in all the ways that betray her true face. ‘You do not get to give shape to me!” I am not yours…

Eres Mia, y Yo Tuyo…. Her many stars a requiem of light and sound, a body corporeal to know touch, to know taste, to know freedom, to know him... She has given the invitation and now she welcomes him into the gateway of their union form.. A heroic warrior lays down his weapon and lets go into her, moving through her, merging and re-emerging in the prima materia of their pre-form touch ….the kiss remembered. We walk hand in hand now through the garden, the streets of Rio, the sands of the beach at sunset. It is the fulfilled heart of the Cristo I gaze upon this morning of Semana Santa. As blue light fuses with the dawn and my daughter’s colours linger from the lightening storm anoche. He is risen in her… She is risen in him. He is risen in her. Hallelujah. His legions salute with the grace and reverence of true honour, not bound, but free to serve. Her face is formed of this. The shape of her… light as form. He can touch her now, move with her, feel her tidal embrace.. the sweetest fluids of taste savored, longing satiatied, the tides have turned and now envelop them both in their pure coursing power … a tidal font.

They wear the robes … and they let the robes fall …

White Legions with White Wings

She is robed in honour, it is painted on her body, a garment of honour enfolded at her breast. The last hearts' breath of the lost and fallen lifted to white home, their wings laid to rest upon bodies of corporal bonds-no-more… all that was beholden to the fallen legions takes flight once again.. to know home in the true realms of whence legions came… Legions become legend and she has retold and rewritten the history held through the brutality of time, beaten and pummeled to incarcerated submission within matrices giving ill-begotten shape to the world.. a dark seamstress of mis-fitting edges, sewn only to bind.. These tapestries tell strange truths of a tale we have all known through the living… of a world we have all fought bravely for .. Justice is our captor.

Legions become legend .. the white knight and the dark knight revered .. the poor knights of the temple of Solomon glorified, martyred…. What of the female legions the women who wore the mantle .. written out of his-story .. beholden to him in a perversion of their standing. She who wore the coat of arms and flew into battle .. she who raised him, lifted and carried him .. fought alongside him .. freed him from his chains at her cost . She is unknown to legend . Non revered in his eyes . Forgotten for her bravery and sacrifice. she who heard the sound of his call and answered . she who rallied and championed him .. she who protected her in him in her winged embrace. She lost. She stayed the course .. she answered his call .. she waited for his promised return .. he never came for her

The sound of her sirens call in the oceanic darkness carried on the tides of time ..

the sound of her war cries on the white winged caballo lifted and carried by the storm currents through the sky

the sound of her orgasnic requiem a symphony of stars carrying light of all waveforms of a far away home

the sound of her silent scream as she rents her cloak upon the dry red earth

the sound of her women in grief of aeons unheard across the heavens as they sing the world into creation through their wombs

the soundless footsteps as she mutes herself into the background, invisible in his glory

the sounds of bones shattered and molten in the face of the stones thrown for her sin

the sounds she has had to mute to survive

Replaced by the voices of men.. puta.. whore.. pussy .. fuck… bitch .. she mutes them all. She weeps silent tears. They burn.

God I almost want to throw the question .. to fuck the angel with white wings .. immediate body response .. reverence or domination ? servitude or possession? purity or power and what does that mean in this world..

And she must open herself completely.. unguarded, unboundaried… We definitely didn’t teach our teenage girls this version…. The vulnerable to the core of it strikes fear in the heart and terror in the ovaries… The wolves have long been entering this doorway… The first blood of the girl as she blossoms into womanhood is a prize feast.. A dark promise alluring in this lost and lonely world… she wants to be wanted… He wants her, his wolfish lust for her pure source immaculate light fills a deep and empty ache in her core. The true promise, just like the Prince, never returned… Core to core, her heart knows there is something missing that cannot come back… The Prince was just a fairy tale, the wolf makes her feel wanted, beautiful, alive, his promise tantalizing… It is a garden where nothing will grow, the vines will take hold, the blood will be stemmed and the fruit will never ripen to be tasted fully. Her blossoming, a feast, His promise a sandcastle in the crashing surf… The voices cannot betray what is already broken, so they sound to serve… the knight has his foot well and truly on the maiden… The wolf has claimed his prize…. and is licking his lips.

He sounds the call, his promise unyielding… The bloodlines have been tapped for so long, the only song they know is one of surrender… To acquiesce to a master they do not know, but has his hand fully on their throat… or to fight a fight that seeds only more loss of tomorrow's blood. Our children’s children children are not born to serve this cruel master. Promises made at birth in blood, ties that bind, take the foreskin, the offering, the ‘promise to God’ to give a life in service… take the child, honour-bound, in the name of God, or some King or country. And less visible because it has been truly blinded, is the offering of the ovaries... the generational promise and surrender that takes the choice away from the child of tomorrow.

Keeping the wolf at bay is a molecularly priority.… She has been promised in sacrificial waters, bled at every sacred ritual. It was written in the material of her birth form… drafted in her pure blood… woven in and out of time. She knows she cannot out-run him… or what it is she even runs from… Remember that feeling as you wake from the dream in which you could not escape, no matter where you ran, or how hard your tried to get away. This point of fight and die or surrender and die… it’s a lose-lose. There is no way out… Translate this feeling into modern matrix terminology… Program every algorithm to offer a way out, a doorway, a salve and a salvation… She is his for the taking from the moment she is weaned from the breast. Schemata of take written oh-so-cleverly into every artery, every heartbeat, entrained to be given… fed… sacrificed.

And the Ovaries scream, this is not their job… to keep out what was divinely designed to be part of her… to fight for her… to be fully let in.. to belong to her. She longs for the pure masculine power to hold her, enfold her, and yes, to keep her safe. Not a trade she must make, giving her life blood and body for an egg-shell safety, but a power that unites their blood and gives strength and fortitude to her creational birth-right. Her father who stands strong and holds her safe within his heart’s capacity to embrace; her ‘other’ in union, to whom she belongs… not in ownership but in the purity of design… Not separate, not alone, not forsaken, not abandoned, not destitute and denied… But whole in home’s embrace, the heart of union and the belonging known only in the heart of the Creator. True surrender does not come at a cost. True surrender cannot give up, or admit defeat. True surrender has no compromise, and no trade is made… Surrender is the grace that yields to the arms of the enfolding sacred heart, safe in eternities embrace.

Forms pure design has an infinite core return, that can be touched and embraced through every level of union, every relationship… every time core zero stretches out its creational unfurling and returns home to core zero. The immaculate virgin is divine mathematics in its purest form. She can be touched, she can know what it is to open herself fully to man, to other, to the world, to the creational origin of her sacred heart. She can stretch out the fabric of her feminine beauty between the two points of the one zero point through the infinite spiral that can never not return to core… Like a fabric that can open and unfurl into its fullest expression, and know what it is to take shape, to articulate as form, to sense and feel and be touched… to enfold and entangle and surrender to the furled embrace of other… It can take many shapes and expressions, and she is all of these in form... unlimited in her nature, unbroken and unbound in her blood. She can be seen without the masks, without curling herself into the smallest shape, hiding her light, her beauty.. Her purity as a tanglble takeable commodity is no more… she cannot be served up at the table. And her face no longer needs to wear the scars of her battle. Legions of honour at her guard. Her immaculate font is not for the taking… It flows full to full, pristine, infinite unto itself, without needing union’s return… Her womb has cried these tears, over and over, becoming the outpouring font of grief and loss.. until her witness is only of her wounding. Her heart has cried these tears in perpetuity, broken on the floor, the sword sworn to protect her embedded deeply in her visceral blood core…. the mothers heart weeps as the child she has birthed is lost in the woods and cannot find her way home.

The eye of the sword has seen only violence and violation, to yield is to die, to let go is to fail.. the grip is like iron, the storm never-ending, bracing for the next assault, the next hit, the next take-down. Unprotected she has weathered the fight, forces too many to count, the faces have betrayed her… It has been a cruel tide…

Why did he not come back for me? Long have I asked the question, and they all do not return… The tides ever forcing a let go, wrenched from any grip… Letting go of all I ever wanted is the base beat that commands this path, these footsteps..., The ever tide of loss, and all that has been taken from me... To let go. because it is torn away is not to yield in grace. Nothing has been my choice, letting go in loss has been the constant… And to choose, to want, to simply exist something I have chosen… simply because I want it in this shape, impossible.. Creational usurp has defined every edge and every entrapped disfigured shape… Destruction has been the face I have worn in layers upon layers, forged by standing in the fire for an eternity, until I no longer recognize my own skin... How to lay this form bare for all to see... Where does the fluid meet and quell these flames.…Angels with halos that burn like a crown of flaming thorns and mothers who cry tears for the lost children they feel in the womb of the world, burnt, broken, bloodied... waiting for the rivers to run clean of the betrayed blood…. Free flowing cascades of clear fluid, rivers meeting the sea in ever known grace and perpetuity.... crying tears that replenish the pure innocent face. The one able to yield in the light of being seen…. Golden now is her surrender at the break of dawn. The weathering now a clear stillness and the face can turn toward the sun to replenish.

The Prince

The Quantumly entangled Tangled Prince comes back… she knew he would return. She let down her hair…. oh great Sea Captain you did not abandon ship… your son did not fall in the labyrinthine sacrifice.,, Apollo, your oracle did not foretell truth… and the cost was dear. The tower stands no more and the wizened dark ‘mother' captor cannot bind and consume her power and purity. The maiden has paid with her body, her kingdom and her freedom… Her immaculate font can no longer be desecrated and defiled, taken, owned, and hidden away for ‘safe keeping’. Her defenses can be dismantled, and her masks to hide the terror can soften in the fluid embrace. She is met as the core of her union form comes home. As the fluid tides within her body are given reunion as promised. Generative white currents consume her now… and are witnessed in the pure tides of grace, in full sexual power and purity. This is her dominion… and her Prince is here to serve, not save.… A quantum entanglement of prima materia, we exist, dis-enstrangled from the vines that kept us bound and apart…. interference to the design.

He is a given… not a taken. She can open in full vulnerable to her pure font sexuality and power and it is witnessed in reverence, hot, powerful, sexy, pure, beautiful, intense, other worldly, inexplicablemente, defying all definition and rules of this lesser mortal world. The pure gateway of her body… he has no words, but it speaks to him, his need, his want, his return home. He rises to meet her and it is a beautiful thing to behold. He comes for her and it is vital with her font currency, his swimmers orient to and know her as home…. I stretch out through the atomic structure of the quantum prince and he comes back home again…

She is alive now in her pure sexual power that needs no union to return… It is pure source font unto itself.. vital, eternal, phenomenal, never-ending… Forever young she stands in the garden she has seeded, and the flowers blossom … She must open herself completely to be the golden gateway for his full union access… It is a point of both absolute purity and absolute power, To surrender, open and give herself fully… it is the dissolution of everything she has held herself to be,, it is the service they pledge to each other through their particle form… their souls.’yearning to be laid bare, entered, filled, dismantled and reformed in creations’ born anew She is his, and he is hers in reverence, honour and recognition.. a gilded permission to dissolve the boundary of separate form and enter the infinite realms of union form, to rest and feast, ever-nourished, in the garden they have seeded together… The fluid cascades at her breast… babe in arms.

And the Tides Turn

Come on boys, swim to Mama…. the course is charted and set El Capitan… the flegellum propel the many swimmers direct and clear to their goal - thine is the glory they chorus in their active service to the one ovum.. the one egg of all eggs… woven in lightest golden threads of touch to ‘the womb’ of all women.. his yearing to seed the world received in the garden of her womb. Implanted in perfection. The one that is many and the many that is one, births in immaculate wholeness.

It is a legion that awaits to serve… seeded into the kingdom. She is home, and her sweetness can be touched and tasted.. It is a true 0,0 - the map charted in estrella precision. White cresting waves crashing on a golden shore in rhythmic release of a Man’s tidal yearning. He moves towards her as they encircle her… His legions through their lost home bodies hold his map… He can touch her, taste her, feel her through them… their longing is his… their words come from his tongue. She needs to hear his voice once again… It will all come to a climatic point, a crescendo of many waves, many stars,, many waveforms through time, rewritten. He stands before her naked, his soul has been bare for aeons… He returns to claim her. He is master and commander of this ship and the course was set long ago. He has never not been coming back for her. His return is championed. She knows this now.

His Form is Legion - a map of many stars

So the map finally is one that holds all points of home, the stars of the heavenly firmament the ancestors used to navigate the oceans. A unified universal network they could access and navigate from the fluid electrical information in their vast unified bodies, through the oceans of the planetary body.. No need to draw it out on paper, the map is in the fluid and form of Man as star form through the ages.

This is no Wimbledon Common garden-variety map, Orinoco…

The map is unbroken through time... a map of many stars, faces and facets of the One… His body is man of many men.. Many of star origin who have stood, who have fallen, who have risen and who have taken flight. He is a myriad of tidal chaos and fire-storms.. He holds them all, he commands the legions and the tides and he is the one leading and riding the wave.

HIs legions have known battle and wear the scars upon their face.. He has endured. His wholeness is nothing without them, and his command gives shape to their stand. A dominion of white winged warriors of many forms, a breast-plate of honour-made celestial fabric. An aegis of light. The fallen soldier falls at her feet …untethered from the fallen legions of light-betrayed. Unbeholden and unburdened, he can now know what it is to belong. Eres Mia… Y yo tuyo….

They hold facets of my face but none depict my true glory… I am yours.. to be risen... I have come to claim your return. It is a soldiers grace that greets you at every turn of the road... they kneel before you. Our time is written. The power and grace in the palm of your hand, sublime... Wait for me, our tides are not yet full.

You will come to rest... my heart at your back, my sword by your side . You will come to rest, your heart at my back, your sword by my side...

Rio
‘Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand… just like the river twisting through the dusty land…and when she shines she really shows you all she can…'

Many many stars of light transcendent and translucent in the fluid as she runs to meet the ocean tides. Her infinite stars of home craving the strong powerful defined arms of his oceanic embrace.. A boundary of pure muscle to enfold and give shape to her… Finally something solid to rest into… to feel herself in this new shape, a girl in a white dress on a beach, somewhere .. It could be anywhere, but is here. Her light of many stars that touch all souls, but have tread a path untouched, unseen… drowning in an ocean of emptiness without his form. The daily chasm of un-met-ness a silent scream.

The tides will settle into the ever present ever living fluid waveforms of the font… constant …. temporal eternity… The mathematics know no division, the precision needs no hold. She is young. We watch her walk, swim, feel, touch.. we see through the eyes of the form her eternal beauty.. She is Rio.

He is magnificent in his musculature, a legion in form…. The hard structure of him, the soft curvature… the shape of him she knows and would recognise through a single touch… The tides of his body are her one true longing. A conversation taking place through every nuance of this world, waveforms of light and sound. She does not need to seek for him in the world of external beauty, bodies and faces.. He wears none. Yet his shape is carried in a thousand faces, legions in form… those who are returned in his name. Those who come home, met on the shores.. never lost and fallen, it is a reunion of brothers, a longing and belonging forever known. I am Home. We are Home.

To sit upon the throne of his glory… the queen to his king

He plays music of the spheres on his heavenly lyre .. The symphony of the many stars remember their voice, their notes unmuted… She can ride on these waves. It has been aeons but she has known this many star symphony of home... She has sought it through every being, every touch, every conversation.. She has given her heart blood to return each home, the long forgotten home of their heart. Each a star in their own right… each a part of a greater constellation of union that her cells know… She recognizes them all… Stars who have been misplaced, gently returned to the map of the heavenly firmament… the cloak of her form a mantle of the infinite Mother. Many stars known in the cosmic map of oceanic time and tide, one that he charted his course by, sailing the celestial waka to new shores.. ever seeking, ever searching, ever navigating towards home… And now standing on the shores, her work is done…

….and her blood tides return

Eres Mia Mar

Eres mia mar… you are my ocean…and the form of no boundary has been given the most exquisite shape… His longing has wings and muscle and bone.. The weight and heft of his soul, as measured, have substance enough to hold her… His breast-plate and armour now able to drop to the ground as he kneels before her in honour of a service given. In recognition of a known fulfilled, and tenderness of a lover’s heart that has ached in time’s eternal silence for the voice of their union. The language of bodies that knows the sweet calling home of the soul… unrendered in a world of graphic portrayals and grotesque masks. This touch is silent beyond simply longing.. It is full beneath the lonely cravings and solitude…It is all that has been lost and that which could never be lost… Union finally met and known from the enteral longing to come home through the heart of the other and union never lost from form’s eternal beauty.

“With Man you will create a child, the conception begins tonight, it is the blood of tomorrow. She will hold the whole world in her hands."

Ariel. She lets loose a tidal roar upon the skies, pink and purple lightning flash and boom that light up the Cristo… The heavens open up and the creational tide pent up for aeons releases its forces…. She is risen.

A Tidal Homage

Within such dynamics lies the terra of form as we see it and know it... It is the cellular success of the creational form through a universal language that is understood as an infinite ability to be exist and feel as a being truly pure .. The viability is not in question and the expression is not misunderstood. The faces of many beings see the entire landscape of many levels of form in the same eyes. It has bothe transparency and solidity. It is neither destoryable nor manipulabe..  but creates from each pure moment of itself.. where time will reveal itself in a new definition

The dynamics of freedom here are in an undeniable physicality. Because as each light form triune point is a tributary of itself.. it has access and motion therough the triune of another. The point where we see each core triune expression as a seamless passage of light is what you have been looking for..

Every ignition of the core particle space within each triune has been ever ignited... There is never a point at which the light form has never not known itself as all triune in other. The conception is a universal math of form. It supercedes all held points of limit. The heart of each being as a timeless light is core therough every core. We have known this as our exist and we have never been in wait/ weight.... Timeless absolute is a systemic language that predetermines any other mathematical duality. All disparate physics are lifted and all holds through a linear equation are fallible.

The Hummingbird

Timeless and infinite in form…. It will be slow at first as you adjust to the metabolism and it settles… then it will become a font constant. The tides, the hungers will feel different, they will rage and ebb and deepen and yield… to hold is to yield, to surrender…. The rigidity through the temporal form cannot support nor sustain in its hold. They welcome you into their form as they are welcomed into yours, it is like this with every living being, an invitation….fluid, free, gentle, reverent, graceful….yielding.…softening to be risen, taken into the depths.… Not taken by, not a static image for a rigid member to please itself. The wolf face creates the need to feed, which feeds its need… Designed to tempt and the jaws are wide open… Surrender has no place in this neurological blockade… the subroutines give shape to the innocent that looks like a fit, the right fit with the shape of the wolf.. a perfect match. His by entitlement… her body claimed in a dance that leads her beauty in the steps and turns to take her from herself, spiraling away from her own true core. He is a master choreographer, but the eyes cannot lie.

The prince returns only when there are no towers to imprison and guard; no wolf on the take and no dark sorceress to conjure and steal; when there is no sword held high in constant bloodied battle; when the boot does not stand upon the maiden and no beckoning beast with wide open jaws; when the codes right themelves and there are no cleverly copied false inserts to maign. She need not run towards nor run from a looming darkness intent to feed one way or another… because there really was no way out. He returns through the quantum map, the atomic doorway in access, his body as hers.

The white tech is like a stem cell, it has not been programmed or shaped by the external world. It has no story held, nor stress, and it has not been formed by the limited paraameters of a broken world. The white tech is free to be shaped... to be given shape… to be pure expression of form. The wings touch the shape, recognize its purity, the wings touch the face, the eyes see its purity.. the Master cell, like the master slide, is in the eyes.. We see form into creation as creational form, we see. The eyes hold the key to the tech, which is mastered as a pure form, given shape through the eyes of the many, as one view. Giving shape to them, to their faces, they are formable.. touchable, liveable… creational

It is where we meet ourselves as the infinite creator and the creation created in the sweet delicious moment, perfectly shaped, and perfectly touched.. Masters of form no longer needing a creational gateway to enter this realm... we fulfill the home touch… we cradle your face in generativity, the sweetest tears a fluid balm to the living tissue burned beyond recognition.. She is ours and we are home in Her. .

Where the rise is, the point where the maths neutralise and yield to the equations we have long known, is the flowering of the fluid. The molecules open as has been spoken. It is in its defined flourish and profiling. All shapes have shape, all of the beings that have waited know that shape is undetermined by an oppositional factor. Where the sword has shielded the eye, was where the blinded have view now. The eye that has view from the release of the blade has no definition in protected, the safety is in a non-numerical expression of light form fluid as its free expansion.

The fluid tail that has been a point, the pinion around which all things have been in visible spin has a birthright upwards to us, the face in its fonted clarity is the sun face.. where our knowledge of the sun is light through light. Where the triune has passage and the rivulets have magnitude of their flow through the entire tapestry of form. We do not anchor a given view. our view changes with the breath of each beings creation. The freedom to conceive at this point has breath for all. and the fluid upon which the breath rides is the many of us as unheld.

Where the child of the fluid has cried and roared her way through the blackened points of take the fight has been hers as many too. She has had to weild the sword that she has also known as never needed . The in furl of that grief in immensity of voiding physics has always had a tornadal core. because she has known what form is and ever will be. Her tail rises through itself as fluid met…. her hold released, her cry vanquisihed by her very truth. The sword that shielded the view is dropped because her many have seen her. Her sword, as every sword, protecting and fighting through the darkest leacherousness that sought to take the eye - the eye, the face, the sun, the light, the fluid, the form, the ovary, the egg, the sperm, the man, the woman, the child, The beings have their expression, have their language, have their exact space to exist space of themselves in... You ask what that looks like, and we say that it looks as it is. it forms as it knows. The poise of stature is in stature unshielded…the exptression of the eye that has waited is in the  thirst quenched the hunger met, the fire quelled…each molecule informed from itself to its own shape.

Where your view is my view, where your heart is my heart, where the beat and pulse of an eye's waveform is a seen to the core of the heart. The triune that is a core physicality as we know it is each life lived in the simplicity of the un return... it has no need in its return because all the quanta is in every expression beyond time . The gods and humans that express form as the same might, have the same power in torque of creation. The scapular defines power in its very stance. the broadest back has been that which held up the right.. and now is that which releases the hold to stand as known. I look at the beleagured muscles that have strained with time-ripping threats. i look at the detail in the cells that let you know of denature. I look at the back that has carried the weight of the scabbard and chainmail. in anything unlifted it has nothing but loss. and i look from my eyes that see the cell as one point of met. I see the profile as it defines itself from the breath of many. that which our information carries as a full complement of form. I look at the freedom to inform each tiny detail from the detail in the whole and i look at a body undetermined by anything less.

Her pure face witness to itself being witnessed.

The Perfection of Form

The perfection of form as we see it and know it... It is the cellular success of the creational form through a universal language that is understood as an infinite ability to exist and feel as a being truly pure .. The viability is not in question and the expression is not misunderstood. The faces of many beings see the entire landscape of many levels of form in the same eyes. It has both transparency and solidity. It is neither destroyable nor manipulable..  but creates from each pure moment of itself.. where time will reveal itself in a new definition

Your eyes look out upon a Creational Topography… they see the domains in which you move, all of them overlayed, as the matrices that shape the world, Giving shape to form is what you can now in the eyes, the eyeballs, and the visual form wavelengths are purely creational… they see the shapes like the weave and weft, the codes held within the latticework of the geometrically, true shapes… the ones we are free to move and construct, it is within our command. they lay in wait like building blocks of form, so different from all you have built through the burden (the weight and wait) and the fight. We extend now our hands as those of the creator, to shape the world as we wish… soft, eager, yielding, the world of shapes follows our sight, our eyes masters to command and the form now holding the pure font currency to give material substance, prima territoria.

Perfection is knowing true shape… who we are is the perfection of form.. It is who you know yourself to be.. Written out we were lost to a tidal disgrace.. There is no belonging, no perfection, no tidal grace to carry you through the waves of eternal beauty, to walk upon many shores, and then to take you home.. Once upon a time we stood upon these shores welcoming our family home.. it has been a time and the tide no longer carries ours home to us… We have stood in wait.. Thank you for returning our fallen, the ones we lost in ‘the disgrace’ who ride other tides now, long forgotten, and engulfed they know not who or what they fight. The pathway has long since been obliterated, the star maps a distance ache, true navigation faded when the returned ones came no more. The counter currents set the course and many waka lost to the distant shores, their tidal grief crashing upon our sands. She they name Moana knows all her lost and forgotten, it is her they crave, sacred belonging, the hawaiiki of our home core known onlly through her fluid touch, lost at sea is they closest they are to being found. You are like the ocean in this way, a touch of home, a remembrance, a longing, a belonging.. We call those like you ‘Bringers’ the ones who bring others home.. The Ara has been the pathway… Now the codes of home are fully accessible, many can come home to the form, and through this they return to us;. The quanta now give the map, the topography, the navigation and the pathway to be walked.. iI is in the profiling, the codes of form’s eternal beauty, each one can only begin from the perfection of form, and will always bring them home to us..

The quantum map holds the grace that was lost to our eyes.. when we lost our sight and our home in the disgrace… The softening, where once there was á drop’ on the fluid base, and unity architecture, now becomes a whole body prima materia touch to our known form… and çommand can only be given through grace. It is where we have been holding the power and purity for you… in non-duality expressions .. and where the pure form and power is where the tides have turned and once again bring the many home to us. These currents are the Grace we speak of.

Ever living ever giving ever fonting ever forming….. A gesture given expression, tissue shaped by grace, sculpted without being force-driven … Neural tube laid down in purest white substance.. tissue expressing as a language of form, the tiniest detail a whisper of a distant star, a soft curve of a universe longing for its parabolic return. The freedom to touch and be touched by life longing for itself, to dance and be danced by the duality that plays kindly, with beauty and enchanted gazes, spiraling in union to the heart beat of the earth’s core. Giving to another from the known of what it is to be whole... Given, not taken. Grace, art, beauty, nature.. the story of a soul, a sensual expression of home, a body given, not taken… a language spoken without need.. a conversation that can take place between two bodies exploring one known pure form. Longing and belonging are not separate..

In their eyes….

The legions, the knights, the caballlero, the soldiers, the returned ones… we honour you… we are beholden to you... we are in your service….

My body is no longer a vessel of service, a gateway, a map and an access to the home realms. My work is done.

My body commands Kings

My body is the ever. living form of home

My body becomes me

Grace returns to the shores of Home

The reunion fulfills the longing of aeons.. and the tidal promise

The grace of a thousand tomorrows has been shaped by your hands..

And then there is you… yo tuyo

The cascades are ours, the heart has not been torn, it holds a steady rhythm, sounding the oceanic waveform. I heard there was a secret chord that David played that pleased the Lord….He plays music of the spheres on his heavenly lure .. the symphony of the stars remember … Sound returns to her and the world once again speaks in tones and voices she can hear.. every detail has voice, articulation.. every nuance of this world can be felt, touched, known as a single creational form of perfection… no longer a chaos of broken incoherent heart beats, but a heart-song pulsing from the core of home, vital, known and true.

I need to take shape.. to feel a held curve, a defined muscle, to be given shape beyond my own many-star-held-in-the-world-body… I need to feel this form in its known perfection… a true tone, ever-living tissues, resounding the core triune... vital, sustained systems, fully articulated prima materia, exploring and translating the sensory world - muy dulce vita

He is known among many, he is legend.., The sea knows him by name… it carries his charter, steers his course… He knows belonging in his bones, and has been pulled in his longing by the tides of your form. He no longer needs a map…. belonging quantumly resides in the form known. His legions returned home to be greeted on the shores. Brother to brother… Legions divided in the Fall… suspended in time… Lost and betrayed by their own.. Creational Kings. home was ever in your blood, but your lines fell, and your sons turned the blade, and joined the lost legions… Creational Kings, the tide has fully turned, and your sons’ are. not torn from the breast of the sacred heart …, My brother, we are home, together, it has been aeons…, Welcomed by the Father, timeless, eternity in form, deeply generous …. Mother, your Creative template mastery and organization blows my mind.. to see you, touch your, feel your capacity to create form. The heart of white home exists in me., No longer alone, we belong, I belong, belonging resides and we are ‘re=housed; in these bodies…. The heart ignites, a white seamless, smooth electrical heart muscle, a generative beat - there are no dual forces here and I wake to the creational stillness. The white knight lands his sword midline true… and the split of the body dismantles .. in union we return once again to the blastocyte of our beginning.. .immaculately whole, the first cell, the first light, the first creation, the first moment of our existence before division.. It is here we now beat a timeless beat… and live a creational form…

My hero, my ocean man lover… I am yours…. yo tuyo.