Specks are back.
I have seen tiny winged beings.
The master tree wants to talk with me again.
Whispers of the winds are asking me to listen.
Dreams are vivid.
Creativity is rumbling, producing rapid writing.
My higher self is wide awake.
Sleep patterns repeating.
Waking at the holy hour.
Body is changing.
The memory of a golden, almost electric,
Energy within my right hand,
Is knawing at my mind.