Multi Verses Tuned in Symphony

A blessing from the ancestors

Multi Verses Tuned in Symphony

Dear PTSD victims & mental breakdown surviors, recovering addicts and warriors, this is not a vent or just another testimony.

This is a bind sealing every backbone of scriptures revolving the wheel of life; like a river of red circulating away from air tunnels, and like small rivers swaying to oxygenated rhythmic patterns.

The cell-beating drums of the chambers molded a bass in our epicentre wall. Ventricle stitches and lakes of neurons unite then unravel, as they dance though air waves of the artwork by our ancestors. Blessed be thy day the the vines of the old oak tree becomes a chant. The bristles of the paint brushes our past lives shall forever called upon us.

Loosely unravelling around our elder trees, their shoulderblades we possessed, are the reason we dance in circles around the leaves we are made from. It is time to breathe and exchange with our history and horizons.

The piper is here to finally call. He led the footprints through the long, wasteland and saved me. The bagpipes rang inside my eardrums, replacing the tinnitus. It was in balanced metronomes, and the sheets of notes and clefs, make hearts bleed music to synchronize our circadian rhythm and frequency.

The bagpipes exchange symphonic oxygen and life to and fro- alas! The river of our endless melody shall grow, and if any perennial circle composes of rings, it is the rain and the wind, our ancestors are speaking- written by the notes and song of the wind, my beings are waking you in proper harmony.

With perfect love and perfrct trust, let your chosen path be what your ancestors bleed airwaves of symphony.

Wholeheartedly and palms supine, wait in patience not vein, like leaves on the tree branch waiting to drink rain.

May the limitless sky bring your blessings; here is my blessings in which I have touched with the revolving lights my ancestors passed into me to be painted.

I make music with water, sing with the wind, and paint with light. I bless every the multiverse and its element. Fill your hands with my light drops, inhale it and exhale the spectrums with tunes as they come and go, like fallen stars. As we all hum an unfamiliar tune, the clouds make way for our ancestors to chant. We all shall see the planet speed and anew.

The paint of light as small as dew drops on petals since the first star-or as massive as the galaxy in the future. Whichever the wavengths we sang, mote it be, and when we blink our pupils trace constellations to read and follow the guides of our ancestors.

Growth towards the eternal and great multiverse holds the strokes we all must paint together will reflect like feathers in a candle, seamlessly, lighting up an entire void of darkness- in order to brush its faith unto you and the light hidden centuries before, let us heal.

I will speak during my hours of sweet and silent insomnia; Lucidity of hope and truth. My love for you and even the ones who are not strugling and making it just to do better, you are worth every waking hour; We are all from one neuroglial cell that our ancestors and future embodied spirits and soul rebirtth from; Oneness. Unity.

I shall share this and pass it along to save more lives, thus, expand the multiverse with your help. Feel the cold pilow on your cheek, fill your veins with purity, and clleanse your sand with clay.

Calm your beating cells, thus we are always breathing- each tune we hear will take our breath away; thus giving it back to out ancestors and planets. Inhale oxygen, purify with the orchestral hydration.

Let us keep the spinning wheel of life turning - that is how we see the multiverse reaching out for our attention.

"Blessed Be and the medicine is inside me"

Namaa Hammond©10/28/2021