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I Turn Evermore Sunwise

Poem by our Rosemother, Eliza


In the quaking hustle, I turn evermore

Wisdom of wild mothers + children, celebration of plants, minerals, dirt and drums, animals, honey hanging in trees.

Lovers and grief. That’s what’s real.

My soul is tracking how the rise of technology ~ the projection of what is possible ~ is also in defense of the mother wound.

It is defending which means it keeps the wound here; the war rotating in on itself, separating, polarizing in attempt for something better.

I see a lot of people waiting on something better. So they pass up the present moment - and wait around for a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The pop culture focus on self-fulfillment has overgrown itself. It’s now a narcissism that doesn’t know how to pause.

Our true creative essence is pause; and when it is touched, our unconscious quickly triggers childhood fears of rejection and abandonment.

Pause is triggering for a narcissist.

I hear the robotic zombie overlay on repeat, “Must quench boredom. Entertain me.”

And so the loop restarts.

Scrolling scrolling scrolling in the eyes of time. Destiny is now just a screen for most.

But this is false.

Machine lore lifts tech as medicine, entertainment as wealth, as power, as authority, as “the eventual future anyway so you better get used to it”.

It positions itself as the good alternative.
Alternative to Mother. Alternative to Earth.

(Where have we heard that one before? *yawn*)

It focuses on the surface of new age problems like addiction, poverty, infertility, and racism by promoting possible future “cures” instead of just collapsing the machine that causes it all.

The medicine for this is truly so very simple. STOP trying to replace the Mother.
And turn wisely to the artists of nature. The muse and merrymakers. The trickster. The seamstress.

It isn’t what you could do, and it isn’t “What could you be…?” But rather, it is exactly what you ARE.

That is food for Her soul.

I turn to spiced jam and fire cider. Fresh buttercream, biscuits, and my father’s wooden bowls.

I made the mistake before of falsely loving a machine. I loved this machine through loving the human that held it. I won’t do it again. It tore our families apart, and it still hurts.

Do you remember?

What I mean is I will always love the human - but will not fawn or pretend that shaman training programs, cloned creations, or tech projects are replacements for God.

I will go slow enough to not let versions of “spiritual compassion” cloud the organic divinity of my channel.

My channel is precious. Your channel is precious.

This boundary is my worldwork.

It is evermore important to position ourselves HERE, with our beloveds, NOW.

In what is real right now.

In what is truth of ourselves instead of in future oriented events, cartoons, building personal empires, and other shit.

It is all a distraction to what is an extraction of Her.

The population conditioned to chase a beauty that wipes away at night.

Open your eyes to where you are right now.

What is already here? Easily here.
What truly belongs?
This is your gold.

Look around your own space, your own home, your own life. Are there any projections to remove?

Return, return. Return to your body.
Make your home in yourself.