You’re having trouble seeing the way forward, but this is because many timelines are open to you. The future is not yet written. Have faith that your dreams will move into a state of growth and expansion….

Read more here: https://www.starfirecodes.com/p/anywhere-somewhere-far-away-tarot-reading

@StarfireCodes

Yes to She-Ra Princess of Power & Swift Wind • https://www.starfirecodes.com/p/meme-drop-94-gatekeeping-my-coolness • t.me/MaxMoRadio/6506

Megan Max Mo writes,

I and others are coordinating neighborhood collaborations — local and non-local — to help one another and to make sure that disabled people, elderly people, and families in hardship feel a sense of care and belonging in the community.

Do you want to join us? It's a lot of fun and we're getting a lot done. :-)

If you would like to coordinate with us too, or if you're someone who needs help with something and want to build trust with community members to improve circumstances for everybody, we'd love to have you along and discover how we can support one another.

We use Telegram messenger because it lets us track notes and resources more easily, and it has disability aid features for our disabled community members.

Message me on Telegram (tell me you saw this post) and I'll introduce you to the projects we're working on. My profile is t.me/maxmorris.

If you can't use Telegram, message me through an app you can reach and I'll still try to loop you in that way!

I and our groups are grateful if you would share this message widely, privately and publicly.

Thank you for reading :-)

I lost a bank of audio files, my only notes / broadcasts / documentation while experiencing severe physiological signalling, from the second half of 14 May and the first half of 15 May, yesterday. Ah-haaa, pain. Okay. I thought I was tending so closely... but still they seem to have been misplaced, not to be found anywhere I've looked. A reminder to be even more especially cautious than I've been usually.

Will you read a 9-page doc, share feedback?
Saves lives. 1 is mine. 💖

substack.com/@intuitivepublicradio/note/c-56535516

facebook.com/megmorris23/posts/pfbid0TbjS6H7MhBm5yoPKy9EgcjNXiNHWvhYXpbuR6C9GWCGwDQ5hEmgAf88syPmrAJaCl

t.me/MaxMoRadio/6512

' I wanna record an audiobook that's 8 hours of breathing and page turning.
Then just "Oh you mean out loud?" right at the end. '
Found meme. Personally relevant.
t.me/MaxMoRadio/6513

I was awake till 4:30 a.m. last night, I think. Or this morning. And in 8 minutes it will be yesterday morning.

I'm at the intersection point of a collection of different challenges.

Some of them are physiological, and others are the old echoes of contacts interpersonal.

Shocking experiences, more than brushes with death.

Traveling along the edge of likely extinguishment, somehow surviving it, but not without having died a thousand or a trillion times.

How is it I kept waking up again?

This wakeful exhaustion, I wonder at it.

What nutrients does it store for me within its murky habitat?

I question those old echoes, fragments of memory that filter through the fog and crush and gleam.

I ask them what they truly have to share with me, and they respond eagerly...

...but in a language I have not yet found a way to interpret consistently.

I come back again and again, more or less unwillingly. Why this, why now?

And why did that happen then?

What is the meaning of that kind of timing?

All of these individual creatures experiencing their crisis points and resulting decisions; being pushed over the precipice or drawing back from it; being submerged in the hell and shit, or preserving their life force, or staying way back from the edge of the pit and failing to light the spark.

Or more than one of those at once.

That privilege.

Whichever role one found oneself in, what a privilege to participate — each of us the way we did.

And so instead, I round willing. I arrive present in earnest. I will not shrink from this responsibility, knowing my capacity for response.

Here is my body; here is me.

Crossing midnight, and then a moment longer.

Too many minutes wandering with my eyelids barely open, breathing stifled, heart loyal or wanton; where has my livingbeingness gone?

How does the form find the song?

How did we ever discover any option for carrying on?

I remember you, is what I thought.

And I think I did at that.

You came up for a bubbling split of time, declaring care and depth of love and siblinghood.

You meant it. I know you did.

And then you were washed away with the rest.

Cut; drenched; devastated.

What did I sign up for, coming to this planet?

What wisest, brilliant-clever game did we come here to play?

What cleaves us in twain?