@Tesseract wrote this one and, it is so perfect for helping us navigate these times, turning the troubling events we see towards the light.
Posted 7/15/26
This morning, in a discussion with friends, a lot of fear was voiced. It is very important to acknowledge fears, but equally important to TRANSMUTE them and CREATE new futures.
Perhaps a ritual of elimination and then an active creation is in order.
1. Hand write the fear on a piece of paper. Your words. Your fear.
2. On a separate paper, re-write the fear statement into a positive. Do not let logic intimidate you!
Fear: t is giving a speech tomorrow on the elections and I'm scared.
Light creation: t is so scared and weak he is giving a speech tomorrow on the midterms. t's attempt to take over fails hugely. His attempt to stop the midterms becomes his removal from office.
3. Burn, if possible, the negative paper and reiterate the positive once every hour or so-- in hand writing and OUTLOUD!
if you can't burn it, tear the negative page into tiny pieces, then dump them in water, add a tiny bit of bleach, then throw the glop into the outside garbage bin.
Get the fear out of you! Get it out of your home!
4. As you burn or water/bleach the negative into NOTHINGNESS, give Thanks, and say outloud
This, or something EVEN BETTER now manifests.
That covers all the bases 😊 of unknown possibility.
Put the LIGHT back into the picture, and into you.
Acknowledge. Transmute. Recharge.
CREATE NEW!
The possible futures will pull that Energy in and USE it to enhance the highest and best to be.
The dark is incapable of creating. They are only able to destroy --therefore it behooves us to CREATE rather than despair.
Acknowledge always. Never stuff fear. Transmute. Create new. Trust.
Superceding dark energy with Lighted Energy dissolves evil, even when it appears evil is controlling everything.
Remember, the sun DOES rise every morning, even if it is hidden by clouds or fog.
Yes, there is pain. Anger. Grief. They are heavy on our hearts. Yet a simple act of acknowledging --by physically writing the negative out, physically REwriting that fear into a positive, physically dissolving the negative writing, and physically voicing, out loud, often! in a declaration, the LIGHTED alternative, those ACTIONS are weapons against the dark. USE IT!
BE the Dawn dissolving dark.
@Joy wrote this about Coyotes. I know she came along after our dear young community member @Coyote, died at age 27 from a life long physical affliction. So Joy, you may not realize how dear he was to us, and what your explanation of the symbolism of Coyotes means to so many of us here. Then I saw the @Ghandigirl nominated your post to the Forum Hall of Fame. So here you are, Ghandigirl. Thank you for nominating it:
"@marigold Coyotes are considered as experts in transformation, encouraging us to take a closer look because, as we all know, life doesn't always go the way we expect it to, and reminding us to relax. When they sing at night, their beautiful, resonant sound represents their deep connection to the mystical and often hidden aspects of life. Coyotes don't shy away from life's enigmatic aspects — they embrace them, sing about them, and carry out their work just there. And just before sunrise, their beautiful song calls everyone to unity, inviting all their brothers and sisters to join back together and feel whole again. Coyotes teach us that there's a kind of inner voice, a gentle whisper that reminds us to find our way back to one another. It's like a warm embrace at the start of a new day, helping us to feel safe and grounded, even if we've ventured into the deepest parts of our minds, where fear, pain, or worry might have taken hold." -- @Joy
@jeanne-mayell I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for this honour, it truly touches me. I did not have the fortune to know the dear member Coyote personally, but I am deeply grateful that my vision of Coyotes resonated with you and your warm memories.
From Tesseract.
Part 1
I had a vision earlier this month. I was not near a computer. I went very deep, so deep that even trying to move when I came back from wherever, let alone scribble what I had experienced on paper, was crazy. Try reading your scrawled fast penmanship later, madly trying to get it into something readable. It took a while, and a request for help from Spirit, to get it all into a typed sharing. It is long, maybe three posts, so bear with me. It brought me a steadying sense of hope, and a lightness to the angst I sense everywhere.
I see a golden bell. It makes me think of the Liberty Bell, but this Bell is in the etheric; it is not physical, there is no crack. I see only the bell. Nothing else. I am in the midst of dense, deep, indigo (the void, the etheric, the space of creation). It feels as if it is a comforter, wrapped around me like another skin, and yet—it is everywhere at once. The Bell doesn’t sit on the indigo, it simply removes the color and replaces it with the shape of the Bell—in gold. Glowing. Enormous. Magnificent. It is directly ahead of me. It rings, with a sound so profound I seem to melt into it. It reverberates through each cell in my body. Sound, the original sound, echoing through me.
Slowly I notice a brilliant white circle, like a huge covered wagon wheel, if it were lying flat on the ground. Yet there is no “ground” here. As I look at the glow of the wheel, the Bell fades into the indigo. The wheel becomes even brighter. There are fewer spokes than an actual wagon wheel, but they fill out the circle, which is held steady by the rim of the wheel structure. Curved rows of flowers, within the rim and in-between the “spokes,” begin to blossom in front of me; all the colors and more than we see on earth. At the center is a tall, solid, enormous, oak tree. I don’t know what this place is, but it brings me hope.
Although I no longer see the Bell, I hear it. It continues to vibrate throughout my body. The sound of creation. I realize I am now sitting inside the wheel, the flowers all around me. I turn toward the spoke closest to me and slowly walk to the Tree. I can see its roots, long, strong, entwined—growing in, of, and through the Indigo. The trunk of the tree now seems as large as a city. There are blossoms growing in the trunk of it, which seems strange and yet, there they are. I touch one. It floats away gently, into the indigo etheric. I look at my fingers and they are glowing.
[continue to next post]
Tesseract's Visions Part 2:
2 of 3
“What does this mean?” I ask. Why am I here? I hear the Bell again, and words form in front of me.
“Because you asked about us; because you asked ‘what about America? What will happen?’” I realize I am no longer at the Tree. I am sitting on the rim of the Wheel, looking out over the vast River of Time. “Is this not your metaphor?” The words hang in the space before me, written in the air.
“Yes. It is,” I respond. “Then watch.” spells itself out in front of me. I see a huge harbor. There are thousands, no millions of boats. Tiny, medium, large. Dim, bright, incandescent. Each one different, some completely still in the water, some turning, going in the opposite direction. My sight is focused toward what I realize is a harbor. Some of the boats are crowded together, making a flotilla, others are clearly by themselves. Singular. Some are bumping into one another. Some move with aggression. Some move with gentle strength, and some move with speed.
I feel overwhelmed. There are beautiful ships and ugly ones—yet somehow I know that “beauty” and “ugly” do not necessarily represent “best” or “worst.” Some glow with white or gold, others are shadowed. Many are simply rainbow colors spread out across the River. Some of them are moving away from the harbor. The further they are from the harbor the more they fade, sinking slowly back into the River itself.
I realize I am IN the River of Time, watching thoughts materialize. Some flicker and are gone, less boats and more will-o-the-wisps, floating for a second and then gone. Some seem to grow more substantial, but then fade. Some grow strong but then turn and leave the forward parade of vessels. These are the ones that fade back into the River. I could watch this River forever and it would never be the same, it would always be in flow.
“Child. This way.” Again, words sit hovering in the Indigo in front of me. I follow them. Near the harbor is a dull, used-to-look shiny, skeleton of a boat near the harbor. Its splattered, dirty, not-gold seems to drip messily into the water. The skeleton ship’s structure is bent, smudged, cracked, paint peeling. The men on the dock are frantic. There is a fire sparking, strangely, deep cold not warmth, from the center of the ship.
As Spirit zooms me in to see it even more closely, I can see that it is sinking, but the figures on the dock are desperately pulling on ropes they have attached to the wreck, keeping it as much as possible above the water line, in spite of the icefire. Much of the rope they have attached to the ship is frayed, and even the ones they add seem ill-made, and useless. People are desperately throwing water on the ice-cold flames, while others turn and flee into the water, which seems to boil around them, no longer cold but incinerating.
The view swings around and I see a different wreck, but this one is patched. Old, yes. Damaged, yes. Yet still steady in the River. It seems to be near land, but it is not beached. There are tugboats bringing supplies to it while other figures hammer and repair and paint. Constantly. It is a very big, very heavy boat, made of wood. Perhaps oak? I wonder, and think of that Tree (of Life?) in the Wheel. Although old and battered, the ship’s wood is a warm, golden brown. Many, many of the smaller vessels crowd around it, turning into tugboats as they coalesce together. Helpers. Strengthening, one-to-another.