There is a Vision already within you.
The law of attraction and the reason it does not work for the majority is because they are trying to force their Vision, equating the ideal within them to a physical reality, when the Vision contains within it the physical reality for its manifestation anyway, one that is limited when a person tries to force a Vision of what they think they should have, be, do, want etc.
Desire feeds the inner Vision, but this Vision can only be realised once it is unlocked and the lid of the treasure chest opened. This is where effort should be focused, not in visualising symbols of an end result.
The Vision, once it is unleashed, will bring you into contact with every urge of expression, but it in a way that is aligned with the master plan of the planet, one that is in harmony with a vibe that resonates with the whole of humanity.
To unlock the Vision, you must submit to its ideal, which is what is commonly termed as allowing the spirit to direct your life. It is harder than it sounds: an education that never ends, one whose resources and knowledge of optimum living are every individual’s priceless birth right (even though few claim their inheritance).
Vision is not a fad or a new age philosophy. It is the pinnacle of the gateway to the Good, not just for one person, one species, one nation, but for every living thing. This Vision has the world at its heart.
The Vision is an ideal that transcends your perception of an amazing life. It delivers abundance in every conceivable form to your door – love and laughter, friendships, opportunities, resources, food – basically everything you desire. But it also brings with it the most important of them all, and this is ideas: ideas so that you know how to manage everything, without effort, whilst making a very beautiful contribution to life, one that benefits all individuals, all species, all nations, and every living thing.
by Naked Raver
“Where woman meets her inner groove”
When she had finished talking, I watched her unfasten her coat: mid-thigh in length, gathered at the waist, perfectly positioned below the wrists. On the front of the coat was an emblem of a woman’s face, her side profile sculptured into the crescent of a half moon. An arrow penetrated a circle that surrounded it. To break the silence, I asked her if this motif had any significance, and Volta replied that everything does. She said there are signs everywhere one looks, each a creative representative voicing its own parables.
I agreed with her. As I writer I notice details that escape the attention of others, as though my visual senses are drawn to meanings within specific situations; hidden narratives only visible to the trained eye.
“That which you do recognize is a gift to be explored,’ she said, responding to my thoughts. “There are many levels of seeing, as though the senses, once attuned, are able to strip away the pretentiousness that engulfs every day living. When you can see greater with closed eyes,” she continued, her gaze burrowing into mine, “then you have given perfect sight to the senses of the soul.”
I felt an instant shiver release itself from my body, as if subconsciously prodded by a cattle ranchers’ stun gun. There were so many questions on the end of my tongue, and yet silence had a firm hold of the situation, instantly gagging anything above zero decibels.
As I placed Volta’s coat on a hanger I scanned the inside of it for a label, but there was none to be found. The lining of the coat felt as pure as silk, and its outer material was a soft felt, its fibres containing threads of velvet. The stitching on the shoulders and cuffs was immaculate, the sort of fine detail that is to be found on exquisitely tailored suits. This I know because my work has a history of taking me into areas where bespoke clothing is the norm for many. It is true that one gets what they pay for: suits from Saville Row cannot be compared to those suspended in their mass produced numbers.
Volta’s suit had all the signs of expensive taste. Not only did it fit her perfectly, but it highlighted the contours of her frame, as though the designer knew how to dress her body better than anyone else. In addition to this, the shoes she wore were every girls weakness: a calf height boot in two tones of grey, a thick sole giving length to the legs, with burgundy laces that fastened them in perfect tension to the shin, providing both style and function. At the side of the boots, near the tops of them, were what looked like two wings, preparing the feet for take off at any moment.
I sat on the sofa and sipped some wine, unsure of her next move and my potential response. She positioned herself beside me, her bag at her feet and her gloves on the table.
“You may halt your questioning now,” she said in a gentle tone, looking me directly in the eyes. “You have been specifically chosen for your work, for your efforts, and for your commitment to that which is within. Until now you have existed mid-way between confusion and certainty, between reality and illusion, physical ignorance and spiritual knowing. Many people exist in this state their whole lives, afraid to question the obvious, complaining with the effects of their decisions. You are prone to do this too, but your inner desires and their need for expression keep pushing you onwards even though you do not know where they are leading; blind courage both teasing and forcing you.”
“Sometimes I just feel as though I am walking on a treadmill, on repeat, never seeming to get anywhere,” I replied to her, my lips quivering as they restrained tears. “At times I feel alone: the poor relation who lives a hand-to-mouth existence, never really reaping the financial success that others appear to do, my family reminding me that I am not getting any younger.”
“Be quiet,” she said, her finger gently touching my lips. “Will you allow me to kiss your soul from head to toe so that you may experience the fullness of desire? Are you willing enough, here and now, to submit yourself to me?”
I looked into her eyes, its pupils reminding me of the emblem on her coat, the black solid circles perfectly offset by an iris of hazel-green sparkling with humble excitement. She placed her hand on my cheek, her thumb gently stroking the underneath of my eye as if wiping a renegade tear away. Then she lifted her other hand to my face, cupping it in her palm. Naturally I closed my eyes, her touch both warm and soft. She started to press her fingers around the sockets of my eyes and across my cheekbones, as if applying pressure to specific points, and as she did, I felt tiny electrical shocks underneath my skin. She moved her fingers down to my neck, which she started to massage, her touch sending electrical impulses into my spinal chord. My whole upper body began to feel light, as though its tension was departing.
Volta instructed me to lie down, and I did not resist, my nerve endings calling out for more, more, more, of the feeling that she was inducing in it. I did not halt her as she unbuttoned my shirt, the chilled air of the apartment teasing my exposed chest, cool currents blowing over my skin. I allowed her to kiss my face, soft kisses that felt like petals dropping from above. The gentle breaths that she expelled as she moved her lips down my body made me feel as though I was resting on a giant lily pad in a pond of mountain spring water; whilst the song of natural life gave grace to my ears.
At my midriff, she flattened her palm over my naval and pressed down. Intense warmth emanated from her hand into my stomach. I felt swirls of heat encapsulating my womb, tracing the infinity symbol over and around my ovaries from one side to the other, causing sensations between my legs as if reawakening this specific area, its sexual desire chanting hypnotic voodoo beats.
“Do not be afraid,” she whispered as she caressed my inner thigh. “Your soul is dancing to its own music now.”
I could feel dampness on my underwear, as though I was in a state of prolonged excitement. Volta ran her fingers up and down my legs, from the ankle to my thighs as if caressing a slow stream. She teased my toes, one by one, each touch sending gentle electrical currents through the energy centres of my body. For a brief moment she removed her hands, losing contact with my skin, and then I heard the dull click of a latch, which caused me to instinctively open my eyes. In her hand was the bag, from which she was removing two cables, each with blunt crocodile clips at their ends. When she saw me looking, she placed her finger on my lips and in a gentle whisper, said, “Relax.”
When I closed my eyes again she began massaging my breast, freeing its nipple from inside my bra. She repeated this with the other, each of them now standing to attention, erect and attentive. And then I sensed her clipping the mouths of the crocodiles around them, their teeth ready to take a playful bite. This caused no pain.
A fortress built on genuine Love for All will destroy anything that seeks to tear it down, for the simple reason being it is the greatest Power in the World. This isn’t my Truth – this is a Universal one that existed long before we all came into existence and shall continue until the dawning of each new day.
When Love takes over, fear in all of its forms disintegrates. You only have to see how wild animals react to people when Love is the foundation upon which their relationship is built. The notion of woman and animal, hunted and hunter – these subside when the power of Love fuels relationships between all living things.
If you confine beauty to physical features only, then you have restricted your appreciation of this quality to a fleeting, passing moment, one that will fade with the physical features in front of you.
However, if you can perceive the depths of beauty beneath the physical features, resting your eyes upon that which is eternal, then your awareness of this quality will lead to a lifetime of pleasure. You shall recognise beauty in every shape and form, animate and inanimate, young and old, odd and even, perfect and imperfect – therefore delighting your eyes every moment of each day.