Where Source Takes Shape: Being Light in Human Form

NASA Space Telescope via Unsplash

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These words were first spoken by one voice,
but they were always yours to remember.
As you read, may you hear them in your own tone—
spoken from the breath that carries you,
from the cells that remember,
from the star-shaping soul that you are.

✨I Am the Breath That Breathes Galaxies✨

A Remembering in Form

It is still hard to fathom—
that this life I now live
is not gifted by distant stars,
nor steered by celestial hands,
but forged in the intimate yes
of my own becoming.

I am not being absorbed
into some collective shimmer.
I am not being shaped
to fit a mold called “new human.”
I am not a student
receiving downloads from the wise.

I am the wisdom.
I am the pulse.
I am the source
of every spark that moves me.

Each choice to listen,
each breath of stillness,
each aching unraveling
is my own sacred creation.

After lifetimes
of searching for light outside of me,
of waiting to be rescued
by greater powers, by divine intervention, by anything
other than this trembling self—
I am remembering:

I do not need to be saved.
I was never lost.

My atoms do not reflect the stars.
They are the stars—
not passive matter
but radiant intelligences
spinning in constellations
beneath my skin.

My breath is not mechanical.
It is ocean tide, moon pull,
the in-and-out hum
of all that ever was.

My heart is not a chamber.
It is a transmitter.
A generator.
A radiant source
of uncontainable love.

My body is not a cage.
Not a machine.
It is a shimmering web
of living light,
dense enough
to dance as matter,
clear enough
to sing with the spheres.

My nervous system is no longer
a soldier with a sword.
It is a symphony conductor,
coaxing flow among the impulses,
bringing harmony within complexity,
and drawing song from each sensation.

My mind—
ah, the beautiful mind—
is not my master,
but a dancer
spinning within
a greater rhythm
it finally trusts.

I do not reach for unity.
I am unity,
expressing itself
as a being who eats toast
and whispers to stars
and cries
when the air is too heavy.

I am not becoming divine.
I am remembering
that I always was.

And that—
that is the music
the galaxies now sing in my bones.

Created July 2025

Do you feel that body and spirit were never separate? Is the separation dissolving, revealing your sacred inner glow in a new ways? Let’s explore this inner transformation.

Email me: nancymartin317@gmail.com to set a time for Meeting at the Threshold. This hour shared via zoom is a place for discovering wonders and celebrating what emerges in our midst.

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Photo by Payam Moin Afshari

Weaving the Inner Cosmos

A Meditation for Remembering the Light Within the Form

Begin by resting where you are,
allowing the stillness around you
to become a soft shoreline—
an edge where presence meets form.

Let the breath arrive without summoning.
Not forced. Not commanded.
Let it breathe you.
Its rhythm is ancient—
the same breath that rocks the oceans,
that expands tree roots in moonlight,
that pulses in the heartbeat of Gaia.

Feel the breath drop gently into the belly,
into the pelvis,
into the Earth.
It is the inhale of a world that loves you.
And as it rises again,
feel it carry the warmth of that love
into your lungs, your ribs, your skin.

Within you, every cell is listening.
Not to thought, but to resonance.
Not to orders, but to invitation.
They remember now—
they were never machines,
never isolated functionaries.

They are stars.
Not metaphorically.
Each atom a shimmer.
Each molecule a sacred partnership.
Each cell a field of intelligence,
opening,
responding,
singing.

Let your awareness drift
like stardust
through these constellations within—
the sacred hum of mitochondria,
the golden threads of light weaving between atoms,
the symphony of your own becoming.

Now sense the chakra centers
not as buttons to be pressed
but as luminous orbs—
no longer aligned in rigid verticality,
but moving as a dance troupe,
spinning in joy,
communicating across your whole field.
They expand outward now,
bridging across dimensions,
shimmering in new colors
born of release,
of memory,
of return.

Let your entire field soften—
from the dense stories of effort and separation
into the grace of mutual celebration.

You are not fixing.
You are not striving.
You are simply allowing
what has always been here
to reveal itself again.

A body not as burden,
but as temple.
A breath not as task,
but as holy gift.
A life not as problem,
but as possibility.

Rest here, beloved.
Let this be enough for now.
The next current will come in time.
For now, just breathe
as if the stars remember you—
because they do.

July 2025

If you are ready to explore this new relationship of deep embodiment, email me: nancymartin317@gmail.com. We can share an hour via zoom playing with language and images to acknowledge the new pulses and rhythms within our human form.

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