When she was seven, Isadora began to hear voices in the middle of the night while she bathed peacefully in the dark of nothingness.
"There are gifts deep inside of you." The voice rang through her like a symphony of sound compressed into a single note.
At the time she knew not what to make of these words. Were they hers? Were they from God? An angel of some sort? Perhaps a demon? Or something else, but what? Who, what and where was speaking to her? Who was this voice in her dreams and what is she to do with it? A warning? Her imagination? A gift?
She didn't know why, though she trusted it. It just felt right. It felt like love. She saw it as her calling. It went on for years before she began to understand that the voice was repeatedly giving her clues to her knowing. Slowly unraveling the mystery of who and what she was. It was inspiring her to know and feel that there was more. A mystery within herself yet to be solved. Yet how does one discover this? What are the clues? How does one unravel what is already there? Buried deep inside you. She would come to learn that it was through curiosity, trust and allowance that things would easily shift while in a state of presence, pleasure and play. With food, the elements, sex, nature, her song, her body, her writing and her care. Allowing the divine to move through her. To guide her into and with a state of love, adoration and inspiration. Over time it became fun.
Inside of the heart. It is to be felt. That is all she knew. That 'feeling' was the language of the universe. She had found a key to unlock what laid deep inside of her soul and that of so many other generations. So for years she allow everything. Honoring her heart's expressions and the beautiful often tragic stories of her ancestors that hidden underneath. Allowing what was there to be felt, expressed and heard. Stories of unexpressed hearts and unfulfilled destinies. Stories of loss and love. Of repression and pain. Stories that laid deep inside of her soul and locked in her body. Dormant. Quietly waiting, like buried treasure, to once again be discovered at just the right time and by just the right person.
And as each one was unwrapped she would receive a gift. A re-membrance of another piece of her that was resting patiently in the heart of the story that had been keeping her and her ancestors safe for eons. A story that was ready to be heard. A gift that was ready to be used. Ones that were as much hers as her ancestors. Revealing themselves to her being.
To her light.
Who was she was perhaps one of the greatest journeys that could be made by an her or anyone else. To remember and become that which you truly are and to then begin again. To live and play from there. That is truly the journey of a lifetime. Allowing it to unravel through curiosity. Through love. Through your imagination as it shows you, in a constant stream of presence, what one can not see with their own eyes. For only with the eyes of a prophet of presence and play. Through the eyes of love. There. Deep inside the vessel of truth that bleeds from that space that permeates a desire and passion that can only be known when one steps on that path of uncharted waters and undiscovered lands. Accepting their journey for in truth there is no other choice. To chose otherwise is to die. To become among the walking dead.
The call is too strong and it feels too good. Like passionate pleasure coursing through the veins of existence while every sense magnifies a feeling of inspiration, clarity and purpose.
Driven to be.
Driven to live.
To love through the allowance of everything.
Let it in.
Like an angelic siren over torrid waters calling sailors to come to shore.
To climb the rocks of life, love and passion as she sings sweetly
from her heart
encased by the beauty of breasts that heave with each breath bringing them renewed life
and an endless song
As they nourish all that see them
Feeding souls with inspiration
and a renewed lust for life.
As sweet milk drips from their full expression
beckoning every cell in our bodies
Come to me.
Drink from me.