I am the greater villain because what he has technically was freely given, though via deception. I am going to steal, and steal from a thief. I close my eyes again, tighter, and with intent. And because she wills it to be, it will be mine, too. To her, this will be the greatest suffering of her life. I will need to go back to the world I haven’t told you about to recuperate and to shudder through the withdrawal she feels as she loses him. I know I have let myself become love, but to do this work I have to empty myself. This is not really helpful, but I am going to answer her prayer. Her face glows under olive skin, a sparkling shimmer that I traced behind me as I emerged. This is what I live for and why I have traveled across Timelines to meet her here in her desperation. Her despair has disappeared from me the grief in the distance of her heart is only an echo, for now. I am love I have allowed all parts of my self to become it.
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I pull back, away, and into myself again. Her hands are reaching for him, sure that if he knew, if he actually realized, he’d pull her close and love her forever. In her presence of mind, she still believes. I can see that behind a veil, she knows that loving him is wrong, but her physical form won’t let go. She’s crying in despair from the mountaintop of her higher self. She’s depleted and in the space where there should be a core of shining love-love for her own precious self-all I can find is sound. My mouth opens and closes like a fish on the sand. This time, I lay both hands upon the woman. Ones that come from that other world you will learn about soon. I tear my eyes away from the sight and realize my fingers are still outstretched towards them. She uttered the words, summoned her angels and I’ve been sent. This woman, I cannot tell you her name, prayed to her angels for disruption of all things that aren’t for her highest good. And I can’t be a Love Alchemic if I am in the vibration of rage. He’s so unclean that I can’t look towards him for long, and I am not eager to work with him, within him. He can’t live without a woman to fuel him. The auras of long-spent victims rise like stink from him. We have ourselves a narc/empath trauma bond. A simple cleansing of love, some rerouted energy, and all’s well. When I was called here, I was expecting the chaser and the runner or an anxious/avoidant dance. She’s in love with him, so in love that she’s barely holding on to her sovereignty. I reach my fingers towards the young woman, her middle-brown hair tangled and draped over her face like a fan. Those who prey upon women like this one are often the weakest. This energy is dark, but not very strong. The trickiest-and riskiest-part of my work is not knowing just what the love energy is locked behind when it reaches for me. She did pray for intervention.Ī glass-shattering sensation cleaves to me, but my boundary holds. The energy is surprisingly sluggish, as if someone has blessed the doorway. I immediately hold my hands in front of me, a defensive move that has become a habit. It’s on the corner, leaned under elder maple trees. I have yet to do the labor of world-building in your mind.Īs I arrive to my appointed space in this predestined moment, I restore the boundary line around myself and enter this home. Your language doesn’t have the words to describe it. In my world, there are many things you have never seen before. When I see love, It’s an energy of sorts, but again, like human physical intimacy, I cannot explain it to you, yet. I desire to set my hands to work, immediately. It calls the ugliest hearts to cruelty and the sweetest to decimate themselves. I can see who they are, but I need to draw close to do so. I don’t know that I can explain right now just what happens in the higher realms when people engage in that way. I don’t speak of those things, not with you, yet. To project myself to the happier, cozier places where bodies are wrapped together in contented sleep.
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This is why I prefer to walk in the quiet of night where I can loosen my boundaries. Love expands with passion and contracts in apathy. They don’t realize that the bliss of coupled love…doesn’t require two. Even the lonesome souls can dream on a spring-summer night. That’s because it’s June and the nights are long and the air carries the magic emanating from lovers who don’t know that they’ve summoned it from the ancient and from the deep.
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There is never an increase or decrease of it.