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Friday, March 3rd 2017

12:43 PM

The Dragon Balloon

I am in many places at once. The time may be unstable because I am shown these different circumstances, as if I am many different parts of myself, existing separately as fragments of memories. 

There is a house, which appears to belong to my mother's family, as I can read imprints in the wood and walls and know them. I am in an upstairs room, with only a blue blanketed, iron frame day bed, white dresser and a bronze, glass top, lamp. It is the attic because the ceiling is slanted in.  

In the center front of the room is a window that is a circular octagon shape. I find myself drawn to it and I slowly walk into the energy field. 

The outside is a gigantic mass of grass. There is sunlight and a small breeze. The breeze picks up a large balloon in the wind. It is an asian style dragon, which is floating up, gently in the air. 

I giggle as I realize that I am actually on top of the dragon balloon, riding inside of a basket. However, the body of the beast lay beneath my feet. My hair is black, as I appear to be a child, riding nobly. 

I hear a knocking next, outside of my door, which causes me to turn and notice. It is a wooden door, painted the colors of the balloon, yet darker; royal blue, orange, yellow, white and red, all slashed about in diagonal designs. 

I do not answer but, I hear myself speaking. I am on the other side, trying to give a message. I listen to shoes on the floor, pacing loudly. The noise is mumbled into soft words, without a translation. I have too much fear and cannot unlock the portal, to let myself in, to clear this up.

I stay in this room, walking about and touching the walls, trying to understand what is happening. I can't think straight so, I go back to the window again.

The sun is set and there is a round and soft full moon staring back at me. I see myself again, climbing a brown ladder to the lunar surface. I am climbing up, very carefully. I am in an adult stage now, with long blonde hair, catching fire in the wind and dancing about the breeze.

As the moon creeps in, upon my face, there is me again, knocking. The words come out loud and strong but, it is another language, which sounds like slow rain, dripping on metal. It is drawn out and sharp, yet serene too. 

The energy saturates in the room and then it becomes clear. The woman's speech comes to me, as a soft voice creeps into my ears, which speaks and the truth emerges; "The moon does not lie, where it appears..."

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