Sunday 20 November 2022

On the beach with Luke at 630am, the sky strewn with low-hanging gray-blue clouds. The Lord spoke gently to me, so gently that I wasn’t sure what I had heard, or if I had heard anything beyond the gusting wind.

Later in the morning, listening to Robin Bullock’s guitar work seemed to re-open a voice channel, and the Lord commanded me:

            Repeat to me what you heard this morning, child, and tell me what you saw in the sky

“Yes, my Father. There were clouds spinning and rippling, dripping with life, undulations, and full of sensual touch. Just as we sometimes get goose-bumps, Lord, I saw your hand swirl the clouds and make them quiver with the pleasure of your touch.”

“And I heard you say these words:”

            The atmosphere is pregnant with anticipation, for the time of birthing and re-birthing draws near. The time is coming, the time is soon, and cannot be pushed away any longer. Indeed, the time for pushing has only begun.

            You, my watchstander, allow my Spirit to give your vision the depth – you say, spectral range – in order to see the rippling frequencies in the clear air.

            Do you not hear my thunder? So you will see my lightning, so you will feel my shaking.