We’re in a bower of bracken and oak—grasses, wildflowers growing together.


A stream flows down a rock face, then under an extending maple branch.


Moving water ensouls trees, ferns, mosses.


Now sun lights the fall, and fairies work with the magnetic vitality, which results.


Upstream there’s a weir, quiet water. 


Among brambles creepers with red berries are many splendid butterfly sprites—even more where it flows inaccessible and wild.


You may notice repetition; evidently I need that to continuously discern life force, here.


Rain and things that grow are what I want to describe.


The more I try, the more is revealed around me.


If I tell you about wild iris properties, that iris grows more accessible to a vast array of love and nurture surrounding it.


Its bud appears to the fairy as a glowing object; to her, it’s the source of phosphorescence that also informs it.


Light flows from its center out along lines of blossom anatomy.


So may my path flow into my life force, as naturally as with fairies.




Fairies begin their day by coming together a moment and sharing joy. 


They love the feeling, which dew on the leaves draws from grass, lilacs and the response of meadow flowers to dawn.


Diminutive green sylphs now run in grass, whose growth seems intimately associated with theirs—a single line of concentration.


They talk to themselves, constantly repeating, with an intensity causing their etheric double, grass, to vibrate as they pass.


To rabbits and children they’re visible, but I see points of light, tiny clouds of color and gleams of movement.


My lawn is covered with these flashes.


In low alyssums along a border, one exquisite being plays around stems, passing in and out of each bud.


She’s happy and feels much affection for the plants, which she regards as her own body.  


The material of her actual body is loosely knit as steam or colored gas, and is very close to emotion.


Tenderness for plants shows as rose; sympathy for their growth and adaptability as flashes of emerald.


Hers is not a world of surfaces—skin, husks, bark with defined edges and identities.


Trees appear as columns of light melting into surroundings, where form is discerned as transparent and mingling, like breath.


She tends a plant by maintaining fusion between plant-form and life-vitality 

contained within. 


She works as part of nature’s massed intelligence to express the involution of 

consciousness into this form.


She includes vitality, because one element of form is action.


Sprouting, branching, leafing, blossoming, crumbling to humus are all form to a fairy.





A faun walks beside me, and I feel the bond between us.


Then he walks right into me; the experience is an identification.


My garden comes alive with myriad elementals, devas, nymphs and so forth.


From the stump of a cedar, rosy shoots are tended by one more like a bee than a fairy. 


Others swarm a clump of ferns, who are soft green and do not glisten or shine.


We know many humans love this garden; no doubt they’d love us, if they could see us, as you do, physically.


We are not your projection.


You manifest us by your sensitivity of sight, plus consciousness.


Scintillant sprite in lilacs is an impulse toward the inherent balance of a moment.  


Even when I’m angry the cedar was cut down, part of restoring balance is my response.


New ecology, collective mind, calls for expressions of growth.


When a lily is called fairies appear, who closely attend as bud and petals develop.


When it blooms a chord sounds, giving joy to those who hear it, to some as scent.


Sound and scent flood through me into the collective, an aggregate of emotion 

functioning as quantum, if we act on something we feel.


When I first contact Cedar fairy, she tells me we’ve met before.



A consciousness hologram occupies the space of memory like a sage or mentor

—self-aware at its center emerging from being into growth process.


You feel tremendous energy flow from beautiful earth, and the quantum is diaphanous, not dialectic, and permeated by starlight.


Time, transformation, unifies.


Flora becomes less specialized and more typical of the whole environment, and humans also merge, and feelings have form.


My anger at destroyed land provides a structure and action that’s appropriate, so I also feel peace— two emotions, side by side, natural shadow.


There’s still a world of contrasts, but contrast will be in color not black and white, and in change.


The range of light is much greater; surfaces reflect and give light from within, and they are dynamic.


Artists garden.


When rain is needed, it will rain.


Bright mist surrounds sylphs in a big cloud, giving the impression of opals in sunlight, but it’s emotion about rain.

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