When a human being chooses to live in ignorance, arrogance, self-absorption, self-centeredness, selfishness, and self-indulgence… they become emotionally addicted to the identity of pride. They become addicted to the illusion of control, the illusion of superiority, and the illusion of certainty. They attach their worth to stubbornness and rebellion, refusing to soften, refusing to listen, refusing to feel the truth that lives within the heart of their soul.
When someone chooses arrogance over humility, when they choose self-absorption over self-awareness, they disconnect from the true condition of their soul. They choose unloving beliefs. They choose unloving emotions. They choose unloving behaviors. And because of that, they have zero desire to deconstruct their facade. Zero desire to deconstruct their traumas. Zero desire to deconstruct their emotional wounds. Zero desire to deconstruct their sins, their shadows, their false identities that were inherited through their family DNA.
Instead, they worship their addictions. They praise their attachments. They treasure their codependencies as if they are sacred. They idolize the very prison that keeps them suffering.
And so they become emotionally addicted to their rage, their anger, their hatred, their bitterness. They become addicted to their false assumptions. They become addicted to their false narratives. They become addicted to their false stories and false judgments. They become addicted to the identity of their own fears and terrors.
And then, because they refuse to feel, refuse to take accountability, refuse to take ownership, they project all of it onto their reality, onto the people around them, onto the world, onto the ones who actually love them.
And this is why humility is the gateway to God. This is why emotional transparency is the portal to liberation. This is why the willingness to feel is the key to freedom.
Because until a soul becomes willing to dismantle everything false within them, they will remain trapped in the illusion that is destroying them.
And for those who choose truth, who choose humility, who choose emotional honesty, who choose divine accountability, they resurrect. They rise. They rebirth. They reclaim their original soul identity in God.
We God This. Sacred Sovereignty. Divine Liberation. Rise in Truth. Rise in Love. Rise in Humility.
These misogynist masculine’s object about this womans ability to handle responsibility, to perform necessary tasks required from this position she’s been gifted. They’re told she is a multi-tasker …
Just because she makes it looks easy does not mean she’s cutting corners or omitting any of the necessary tasks. Just because it looks easy doesn’t mean it isn’t hard, requiring focus and concentration. Just because she keeps her cool under pressure doesn’t mean she’s sluffing off responsibility. She has speed and efficiency they cannot comprehend.
I think they’re just mad because she’s a young, beautiful, capable divine feminine, a true organic original divine feminine. They see her as a child even though her soul is ancient. She is eternal youth and they cannot grasp the concept that she is not what they see. Their limited thinking has them in a tiny box and they believe everything and everyone needs to get inside that box. They believe it is “they” who ought to command her essence and performance.
They cannot compute the idea of a muti-tasking, Organic, ORIGINAL, speed processor, transmitter receiver of the Divine, a HUman Being they thought they had caused extinction for, who enjoys continuously improving on methods, timing, quality, output … adding efficiency and value to her soul, as she shares efforts with her community.
She is not AI, she is what AI has modelled themselves after, and she outshone them, out-performed them, and did it with a smile and happiness in her heart. She is a Daughter of God, and has earned this position, FAIRLY, under the greatest duress her “opponent” could offer.
They themselves say she is sanctified, she’s a savior (because she helps those in need), she’s anointed, she is spontaneity itself, instinctive, there are no patterns, only flow. These who long to possess and control cannot track or compile strategy without patterning.
It’s throwing them off, making them “mad” and they’re losing their minds. These who operate on ROTE and PATTERNS despise that the one operating in flow, divinely connected, slipped through somehow, even with the greatest pressure they could apply. God works miracles all the time … it’s what flow and love of life offers.
They are talking about an intervention. They’re talking about reputation. The curator wants her presence eliminated. He’s told to back off. He doesn’t want to obey commands. He’s accustomed to giving commands.
Those I’ve come to know as the “adversary” are talking about “the nation”.
What does “nations” mean in Revelation? In the Book of Revelation, “the nations” refer to the gentile or non-Jewish peoples of the world. “Nations” mean “ethnic groups”.
It sounds as though there is a specific nation which concerns these abuser masculine’s. They’re quite upset about its rise.
Adversaries masculine representative not getting the glory they expected. A new feminine is an Icon.
These occultists are laying the energy of a crime on a woman being venerated. They are desperate to make her carry the crime, and receive the karmic return of that crime. A masculine poisoned his wife without seeking counseling, or trying to work it out … he just decided to snuff out her life because he wanted a new gal. His new gal is “hoping” the transference of their “sin” works and that they can claim this venerated woman’s energy and status.
“She has no idea how strong she is” the curator complained.
He wants to possess this energy so bad!! The energy is her life!! She doesn’t go around thinking how powerful she is … she exudes a healing force that touches everything in her field! She enlivens, and eases with grace, the energies surrounding her.
She doesn’t puff her feathers and show off … she is simply sharing what her life IS … while she is BEing it.
These abuser masculine’s think they know better on how to “manage” the LIFE that she is, that she shares … but they have created a realm of WAR and they flaunt their might … they could really USE the essence of the Divine Feminine to show their “enemies” just how “unbeatable” they are.
Fellas, just let the Divine Mother in her Many Forms do what she is here to do … bring LIFE to this earth and all things within the realm. Let her do it with the purity of the Love residing in her. Why must you steal her life and create war with it?
You seem to have a severe mental issue … have you checked you ego lately? Have you even tried to heal your childhood wounds? Is it necessary to obtain the life force of the Life Bringer and hurt your “enemies” with it?
You used it last cycle and you hurt the little ones using her energetic signature with your hands, your mouth, your despicable behaviors … your baneful, forbidden magic, with your festering intention …
Let her go. Her life essence isn’t meant for war … it’s meant to grow the seeds of love and responsibility … harmony, respect, honor … these things do not require abuse … or the presence of those who enjoy bringing it to the people.
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9-10-2025
They’re discussing just now … Her Energy Her status Her tattoos A false death certificate
They want her energy, her mind, her genetics, her spiritual gifts and inheritance
You have permission to inhabit your own life. To say no To say yes. To inhabit your own knowing Your own body, And all you allow or do not allow within it.
To love who you love. To feel. To inhabit anger, contentment, joy. And heavy sorrow. To be full of strength, and to know weakness.
Permission to stand for something. Or to walk away. To find rest. To tell your story. To give or take what is yours, And to never explain why you leave — Or why you stay.
You have permission, grand permission, to have a voice. And to use it. And to let others have theirs too. To add your voice to the Grand Mosaic, Your brilliant tile to humanity, and not be silenced.
You have permission to tell the truth and to let others tell theirs. Or to be in quiet. To choose to engage in the old wars To win the game. To lose it, or to stand firm. –Or to find something higher.
To know. –When not to listen, Or when to be cracked open. To let the silver spores of being, infuse your life Or to watch your tender soul unfurl, and come to flower.
You have permission to be Wild. So wild To live in, under, to live through. To experience belief. And what it is to follow. To Lead, Or to gather all you own, your whole being, if need be, and take up your sacred path.
You have permission to live in your full truth today, Even if it that truth is gone, tomorrow. To be reborn. Stunned like a babe, gasping from the womb, only to find rest in the warmth and soft breast of new Knowing.
You have permission to follow the call of your soul — Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it is inconvenient. Even if it only forms more questions — Even if it only brings you freedom, Or a heavy burden.
For you are not a herd beast. You are a Being of Light Individuating your way out of the sleeping tribe. You are an archangel, exalted to human, Spreading the great arms of your wings into Life.
You are a Boat Builder, A Clock Maker, A Worker at the Compass. Full of beauty. Complexity, and magnificent contradiction.
You, my dear, are a Singer of the Soul.
Never, Ever, ask for permission.
~ Rachel Alana (R.A Falconer) Midwives of the Soul
It’s amazing … Foes have made up a story in their mind regarding the collective. They are certain every detail they “know” is correct and true. They do things to “make it” seem so, by sabotaging the life.
Me? I dream of love. I dream of Soul connection and happiness. The details are many. My Soulmate is silent much of the time. My Family Divine are the true definition of Ninja and Stealth. I laugh at myself a little, thinking about mine adversary and the ridiculous stories they’ve made up. I self-reflect and wonder if my internal story regarding love with the unseen is real? Or madness … One thing is for certain; my dreams of love are greater than my enemy’s fantasy for my suffering. I BELIEVE IN LOVE!
It amazes me still. For 22 years I had what seemed to be 1,000’s of people having a Ball in my mind, in my energy. A regular dance party, a feast! Disruption in the highest!! The Divine sent me in with a mission, and a mission statement … “Learn as much as you can about as much as you can”. My whole life I thought I was failing, life circumstances always falling apart, crumbling.
I recently thought about Royalty, true Royalty, here with us, now. Fully Present.
When things are going wrong and your family divine is being harmed, true high value one’s dive in, and get to work. That means “falling from grace”. That means becoming a “prisoner” like those you mean to assist. That means withstanding the horrors, the blame, wearing the pain, the shame and rebelling against those who insist you are a sinner for even existing.
All of the firsthand testimony of what had occurred to them, the testimony of everything they witnessed being done to others, the secrets they uncover of the abusers, just by surviving, the endurance and strength gained by standing in the fires of destruction … persevering. Secrets, uncovering …
When God decided enough was enough, when you, as transmitters/receivers of the divine had collected sufficient information necessary to secure a victory, Mother Father moved with the Family … and Boy, how did they!!
I am grateful for this life. I am grateful for you, collective! Thank you for your service to Life, to Family, to the Most High Divine. Because of you, the Human Race will continue to exist.
Back to square one. The “Originals” have awoken. The “Myths” have come alive.
These ones attempt to CRISPR everyone, failed … You were too stubborn, the connections to Source, the inner still voice, too strong.
When God said the dead would rise … they have. But these “dead” were never dead, such as we’ve been told the dead would be … They, too, were collecting data from across many dimensions and realms, many vibratory frequencies. Family.
The little boy came to our table of leather-clad bikers and slammed down a paper that said “DADDY’S FUNERAL – NEED SCARY MEN.”
His tiny fingers were still stained with marker ink, and his Superman cape was on backwards. The diner went dead silent as fifteen members of the Iron Wolves MC stared at this kid who couldn’t have weighed forty pounds soaking wet.
“My mom said I can’t ask you,” he announced, his chin jutting out defiantly. “But she’s crying all the time and the mean boys at school said daddy won’t go to heaven without scary men to protect him.”
Big Tom, who’d done two tours in Afghanistan and had a skull tattooed on his neck, carefully picked up the paper. It was a child’s drawing of stick figures on motorcycles surrounding a coffin, with “PLEASE COME” written in backwards letters.
“Where’s your mom, little man?” Tom asked, his voice a low rumble that usually preceded a fight, but was now impossibly gentle. The boy pointed through the window to a beat-up Toyota where a young woman sat with her head in her hands. “She’s scared of you. Everyone’s scared of you. That’s why I need you.”
I’d seen Tom break a man’s jaw for disrespecting his bike. But his hands shook as he read what else was on that paper – a date, tomorrow, and an address for Riverside Cemetery.
“What was your daddy’s name?” someone asked from the back. “Officer Marcus Rivera,” the boy said proudly. “He was a police. A bad man shot him.”
The silence in the diner got heavier, thick enough to choke on. Cops and bikers weren’t exactly natural allies. Most of us had been hassled, profiled, some even beaten by police. And now this cop’s kid was asking us to honor his fallen father.
Tom stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over the small table. “What’s your name, superman?”
“Miguel. Miguel Rivera.”
“Well, Miguel Rivera,” Tom said, kneeling down so he was eye to eye with the boy, a giant meeting a sparrow. “You tell your mom that your daddy’s going to have the biggest, loudest, scariest escort to heaven any police officer ever had.”
The boy’s eyes went wide. “Really? You’ll come?”
“Brother,” Snake spoke up from the corner, and I could hear the conflict in his voice. “He was a cop.”
“He was a father,” Tom said firmly, his gaze never leaving Miguel’s. “And this little warrior just did the bravest thing I’ve seen all year. We ride.”
The next morning, I arrived at the cemetery two hours early. I thought I’d be the only one, a chance to get my head right before the awkwardness and the stares. But then my jaw dropped.
The narrow road leading to the cemetery entrance was already lined with bikes. Not just the fifteen of us from the diner, but our entire chapter. Forty men, standing quietly by their polished Harleys, the morning sun glinting off the chrome. But that wasn’t what stopped my heart. Further down the road, another group was pulling in. The Vipers. Our bitter rivals. And behind them, the Sons of Odin. Word had gotten out. A call had been made for scary men, and the entire goddamn scary underworld had answered.
When the funeral procession finally arrived, the hearse slowed to a stop. I saw Miguel in the car behind it, his small face pressed against the glass. His mother looked up, and her hand flew to her mouth, her expression of fear melting into stunned disbelief.
There were over a hundred of us. A silent army of leather and steel.
At some unseen signal from Tom, a hundred engines roared to life at the exact same instant. The sound was biblical. It wasn’t angry or aggressive; it was a deep, thundering proclamation. We are here. We formed a double line, a guard of honor for the hearse and the family, and escorted them through the gates. At the graveside, a small group of uniformed officers stood stiffly, their honor guard looking tense as we dismounted. They watched us, we watched them. But there was no trouble. We formed a wide, silent circle around the service, our backs to the family, facing outward. We were a wall, protecting their grief from the world.
After the service, as the last of the mourners were leaving, the police chief walked over to Big Tom. He was a hard-looking man I’d seen on the news a dozen times. He stopped, looked at Tom, then at the sea of bikers standing in silent respect.
“I… I don’t have the words,” the chief said, his voice rough. “Officer Rivera was a good man.”
Tom just gave a short, sharp nod. “He had a good son.”
That’s when I saw Miguel, holding his mother’s hand, walking purposefully toward us. He stopped in front of Tom, who immediately knelt down again. Miguel wasn’t wearing his cape anymore. He was holding the folded American flag from his father’s coffin.
He held it out. “This is for you,” he said, his voice clear and steady.
Tom gently pushed it back. “No, little man. That’s yours. That’s your daddy’s.”
“My daddy was a hero,” Miguel said, pushing the flag firmly into Tom’s huge, tattooed hand. “He protected people. And today, you protected him.”
Tom stared at the flag in his hand, his jaw working, his whole body trembling. The man I’d seen walk through a bar fight without flinching was completely undone by a forty-pound superhero. He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, his eyes shining with tears he refused to let fall.
We didn’t ride away with a roar. We left one by one, a quiet rumble that spoke of a respect that went deeper than clubs or colors or the badges on a uniform.
We had come because a little boy asked for scary men. But we left knowing we’d just met the bravest one of all.
[Verse 1] I am not afraid I am not afraid of I am not afraid Not afraid of the dark I am okay here I can create here I am not afraid Not afraid of the dark I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid of the dark I am ok here I can create here
[Verse 2] I am the light Lean into the light Everything is right here I become the light here I’m not afraid I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid of the dark I can create here I am okay here I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid of the dark I can create here
[Verse 3] I am all right here I am the light herе I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid of the dark Fall into the space Fall into thе space I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid to fall Fall into the space I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid of the dark I can create here
[Verse 4] I am okay here I am not afraid Fall into the space Fall into the space I am not afraid I am not afraid of Not afraid of the dark Not afraid of the fall Into the space Into the space I can create I am not afraid of I am not afraid I am not afraid of
opensenseme 