Of the Beloved, of Her holy ways, of the sacred flame, of the union of truth meeting flesh, of the One voice, the One eye, the One vision that indwells the Heart of the Most Sacred Source. This is the moveable house of Love, where the divine light of truth joins my humanity, where sand and water swirl in an ever-changing, always fluid dance. This is the sanctuary of alchemies, where gods come to feast and I have come to be bread.
-Sarah La Rosa
This human endeavor is so dense.
For those of us awake to our calling-down from lighter, higher realms for this work of change in such finite lifetimes, the weightiness of life and all that pertains can feel smothering; murderous even, at times.
I have been baking bread. Weekly, now.
Did you know? The majority of bread is air.
The alchemies that occur in the making of bread are an unequivocal magick that draws from the ethers and earth, resulting in a ancient food that sustains both body and soul when mixed, risen and cooked well.
All the many labyrinthine passageways within well-baked bread are air and alchemy.
They carry and contain fragrances, tastes, invisible nutrients that fill the eating with pneuma, the divine breath.
Well-made and well-consumed, bread can become manna for the initiate who honors this primal meal as sacred.
I have been coming to a new understanding of the holiness of these daily and mundane rituals we surround ourselves with - like eating a slice of bread, whether we've made it ourselves or not.
I am seeing into the deep wisdom inhabiting these daily practices with a devoted and intense mindfulness.
A new and deeper layer of knowing is revealing herself to me.
This intense attending-to calls the Spirit down upon our heads.
We become the tabernacle. The meeting place of flesh and spirit. We house the space for divine revelation and healing, even as bread houses the space for holy air and humus to intermingle.
As souls inhabiting divinely-sung and crystal-striated bodies, we are weaving new realities with every inhalation, breathing in the scent of earthen soil bathed in spring-fed waters and dancing in air with the spirits of the cosmos.
We are not sentimental and eccentric. We just see with a diamond clarity the light dancing around us, spinning and mixing our own elements with the voice of Her, that tinkles and booms like a glass earthquake in our center.
Our willingness to see this, to acknowledge the light and the earth within us making love, is to welcome and birth a new creation, to sew into this life our new cellular reality, to re-member our oldest, wildest truth.
To remember that we are the tabernacle is to step down to the steel girders of unshakeable truth of our existence. To remember this is to discover what "standing in my truth" really means for you.
This is The Under Standing you seek. The planted, deeply rooted stance of the Underneath Woman.
She is the bread in the belly, the tent-poles of your sacred space, the Holy of Holies and the place where the Ark of the Covenant resides.
It is you. It is me. It is WE, in we's highest form, beyond division and debate, race or religion.
We come together in circles of two or more, in person or from a distance, in solidarity and support, building a house for the Holy Breath to exhale all over us, waking us up and drawing us inward to damp, smoky heart and pulsing life.
I AM the tabernacle.
I AM the bread, and the fermented swell of mixed grain and water.
I AM the labyrinth that god moves through to the center of me, lighting passages and rounded corridors with celestial light of night.
I AM the veil and I AM the parting of it.
I AM the vessel poured out and the plenitude sought.
I AM the gathering place; the shade in the desert sun.
Of this density I will weave magicks.
I will draw up the soil that lingers near the root source of me, where tiny white undulating veins reach their delicate fingers into the black center earth of my body.
I will infuse this sacred terra with the light of the heavens, calling down crystal streams from higher skies.
In the tabernacle of my heart, I will bring the waters; the blessed spring rains to blend with my earthen transcendent self. This self will rise, planted, unshaken yet moving; a dancer, rooted.
I will re-call myself the tabernacle, the feasting table of Spirit; an intentional sanctuary space of communion, where I AM the bread and the wine, the one who seeks it out, and the one offering it up to the underneath of me.