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Energy Flowers by Sasha Lee

Energy Flowers by Sasha Lee

There's a young man, no older than 20, with disheveled hair and tattered clothing.  He has intense eyes that I can see clearly, even in the relative dark.  He gets one look at me and crouches down, holding his legs to his chest protectively, looking at me with fear in his eyes.

A first Soul Pilot story by Sasha Lee.

 


 

Please take me to the perfect place in time and space where I can be of service to one who needs what I have to offer...

It's warm and the air is still, midday, spring, not a cloud in the sky and the sun, while providing abundant soft light, is not shining directly upon the area in which I find myself.

I find myself in a strange building.  First of all, it's been dug out of the middle of a mountain.  It's about 15 feet high, marble ceilings and floors (nothing ornate), reinforced by marble pillars, and runs deep into the mountain.  There's nothing in here... Just an expanse that gets darker the further back it goes.

It feels distinctly protected and secure, while also being open.  At the base of the mountain are expansive, grassy plains and forests that seem to go on forever.

I put out the invitation to anyone who might need me to please feel free to contact me and allow myself to just observe.  Eventually, I hear shuffling sounds coming from further back, in the darker reaches of this place.  I approach, but slowly, offering welcoming and calming energies.  I feel a great tension as I approach.

There's a young man, no older than 20, with disheveled hair and tattered clothing.  He has intense eyes that I can see clearly, even in the relative dark.  He gets one look at me and crouches down, holding his legs to his chest protectively, looking at me with fear in his eyes.

I stop and raise my hands in a gesture intended to mean that I meant no harm, and don't speak.  I sit down, keeping my distance and I mind him, but gently; I don't force myself on him in any way, but I also do not retreat as he seems to wish.  For a long time, he doesn't move.  His tension is so great that I can feel my muscles starting to bunch up along my spine.

Waiting seeming to produce no change, I eventually decide to give The Gift, putting aside nervousness that it might startle him.  I smile softly, trying to reassure him--I sense that to speak would be too much of a shock to his system.  I lift my hands to my heart and draw forth energy which glows subtly, but very subtly--hardly a light in this dark place.  The energy weaves its way through the air to the scared man and begins swirling a few feet away from him on the marble floor.  It settles, and flowers made of energy, glowing just as subtly, begin to bloom--slowly and peacefully.  This seems to relax him visibly, and slowly but surely, the air of tension starts to ease.

I rise to my feet and slowly make my way back to him.  He seems nervous, but he neither runs, nor does he return to a defensive position.  He allows me to approach and to sit by his side.  Closer to him now, I can see that his tattered clothes are browned with blood and concealing many injuries--deep, old wounds that have not healed with time, only ceased to bleed.

I take his hand in mine, and he accepts this, as well as the energies I send him, energies of calm, comfort, of safety.  We both stand up and I incline him toward the brighter end of this place--wanting to help him find what he needs to heal in the bright and alive world outside--although he pulls back sharply and refuses to move forward.  Alright.  I conjure up comforting accommodations for him, right back here, where he wishes to stay.  A bed, new clothes, an area in which to bathe, nourishing food and drink.  I don't hug him, for fear of irritating his wounds, but I do press my cheek against his, and this seems to comfort him.

Over the next few days, I spend time with him, not a word spoken, although we do exchange energies--animals and plants and people which shine with increasing intensity as his body heals.

After roughly a week, I go back to see him, and a bright-eyed, smiling face greets me.  He takes my hand and, still speaking not a word, and smiles as he leads me slowly toward the front of the marbled building.  We reach the building's edge and he smiles again, giving me a kiss on the cheek before his body, fully healed and in great health, is enveloped in a glow.  From this glow erupt flocks of birds and a herd of horses which make their way down the mountainside.  Wings danced through the air and majestic beasts made their way to the plains below as this vibrant spirit expanded ever outward.

 

By Sasha Lee

    

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"When I was sent this book to review, I had no idea how powerful Project Sanctuary was. I found myself lucid dreaming and in the process discovered things about myself that delighted and astounded me." Morya Short. The Sedona Journal