after Starry Sky, Attempt, by Wenzel Hablik (Czechia) 1881
“The body of Amy Carlson, 45, the leader of the Love Has Won group, was found decorated with Christmas lights and glitter in the tiny, rural town of Moffat in April, according to previously released arrest affidavits.”
—Colorado Sun, September 21, 2021
It was a chintzy dollar-store tiara, but this queen shone with inner beauty and galactic light. Never mind the plastic boondoggle of the planet: the low vibrations had yet to be transcended. Mother God Amy was the key. Her high-frequency manifestations of light outshone the rest of them, the starseeds. She was nineteen billion years old.
Amy had been under attack now for millions of years. Most recently, she had grown exhausted from performing etheric surgeries, working multidimensionally and sharing her light energy to dissolve tumours and coronaviruses and deadly infections like Lyme. Her present manifestation had been weakening for some years: she took tequila to numb the pain, and colloidal silver, and slept encircled by crystals to channel the healing thrum from the outer worlds into her dreams. Even when she became immobile and her starseeds had to carry her from one duty to another, she did not resist her transformation. It was her destiny, of course. To absorb all the pain of the present illusion from her fellow beings who were trapped in it.
There had also been cosmic darts from dark forces, from ancient universes beyond, and especially from the reptilian frequencies most tied to the three-dimensional world. These were the same evil energies of the lower realms that had inverted the spiritual truths through the church institutions, the ones who created illusions like the Holocaust and mass shootings to trap spirits in fear and chaos and keep them from unity. But as the creator of all things, Source itself, Mother God would come and go in different manifestations.
Thus far, there had been 534 incarnations. She had dazzled as Marilyn Monroe, reigned as Cleopatra, fought for justice as Harriet Tubman, and taught beings how to connect with the spirit realms as Helena Blavatsky. She could remember all of it, especially her crucifixion when she descended temporarily as Jesus Christ.
This time was no different. She had known, and they all knew, that Amy was a fleeting manifestation. But Mother God was eternal.
She had stopped moving altogether when they were living in the trailer park in Oregon. Her shell grew frailer and thinner with each passing day, and her flesh covering turned blue. She had even asked to be taken to hospital then, but the starseeds knew they could not interfere with Mother’s ascension. The reptile doctors would only save her low-vibration vessel. Once her earthly breath had passed, they drove her home to the compound in Saguache County, Colorado. Under the majesty of the Sangre de Cristo mountains and the blood red rays of sundown, they swaddled her in a sleeping bag and set her upright and kneeling, pushing her hands together and curving her fingers in Amy’s trademark heart signal. In a ceremony, they channeled affirmations from Amy and the enlightened messengers and alien beings of the external realms. They crowned her and covered her corpse in a glittering rainbow of Christmas lights. When her eyes rotted out, the starseeds closed them and painted sparkles across her face.
By the time the humanoids came, Mother had ascended into the 5D realm. They were lucky to keep her sacred vessel for several months, but knew a weak link among them would eventually bring the reptiles in their white coats and bulletproof vests into the inner sanctum. And they invaded in all their blustery, low-frequency chaos, with sirens and bullhorns and battering rams. Their deceptive lies would be broadcast in the papers, claiming Mother God was gone, from anorexia and alcohol and colloidal poisoning.
None of it mattered. Mother’s transformation and ascension were already complete.
Before the starseeds were cuffed and shackled and removed from the mission house, they fell at Amy’s feet, prostrate, their consciousness elevated and unified at last. Oh, Mother, they crowed in unison with their Source, in the moments before the string of flickering lights was unplugged. Oh, Mother, oh, Mother God. She was already fused into them, ascended to light. Together they chanted, Love has won! Love has won!
About the Author
Lorette C. Luzajic reads, writes, publishes, edits, and teaches flash and prose poetry. Her work has appeared in hundreds of journals, two dozen anthologies, and has been translated into Urdu, Arabic, and Spanish. She is the founding editor of The Ekphrastic Review and The Mackinaw.
