I believe I am the seventh life, the six before me what I hear, what I know: my wisdom? I may be at a stage where I can start to see into my past, the past before me, can start to hear the voices of my past, and maybe of others who are able to talk through those voices. I feel six lives in me. I talk them, I am them. I don't know them, but they talk through me, and my other lives don't know what they say unless they read from them, unless they force themselves to learn. I have talked for Jolie, who has talked through the other dead in me. She has forced me to channel her, and I have written her words. I don't know why. Maybe she has more to say. She is making my phone go off, my computer fail. She wants me to focus. But I have work to do. distractions.
This belief, maybe fleeting, rings of reincarnation. Rings of born again. Rings of witchcraft, of our original way of being that was siphoned off, isolated and those still ascribing asked to identify themselves. Believing defines the word blasphemy for me: saying you are, saying you know, when you do not, when you have not. Posers, wanna-be's. How does anyone believe another? Do we just know, or do we try not to care, because we can never know? Revealing yourself makes you a fool. Look at Shirley MacLain. Look at Dad. This is not for talking. This is not for sharing. This is dangerous fodder.
