The teacher provides the bulk of the lesson today. We must listen attentively. … or we can sit at the back of the classroom and text our friends only to come up for air when he takes away our phone!
“As the Earth evolves into the next dimension, we can either stand by and get left behind or we can ground ourselves to her vibrations and be caught up in the transition.” As the vibrations of The Teacher’s wings attest, crossing to the higher plane is simple, but our humanity oftentimes fights it.
“Wake up people,” he says. “It’s the hate that drags you down.” Teacher flits around the classroom, alighting on the shoulders of students who are busily taking notes, as if telling them to simply listen.
“The Kingdom many call heaven is one full of love. Hatred and fear are the lowest extremes of our reality. They keep us from stepping through the veil into the higher vibrations. A good example is the creatures in the wild. There is no hatred. The mouse doesn’t scurry from every flock of birds because he fears the hawk. He functions in the life he is meant to live, heeding caution to stay safe, but he doesn’t cower in fear. He also doesn’t hate the hawk. The hawk is only doing what it was put on Earth to do. Nature works as it was meant to work.
“So, too, must we live our lives on Earth.”
Teacher flutters to the podium and transforms into the teacher we met the first day of school – a man, just like every other teacher we’ve ever had.
“The problem is that humans have that burden called Free Will. We have been given choices and we must decide which path to take without the full understanding of our purpose on this life plan,” he says, running a hand through his short, curly hair.
“Kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” our teacher deadpans. “But that’s our lot in life, isn’t it?”
“Why can’t we just live life without using that Free Will bullshit,” a classmate interjects.
Teacher laughs at Irreverent Student’s irreverent comment. It’s not a slight chuckle. The laugh tears him in half; he doubles over in tears. “You would love that, wouldn’t you?” When he finally recovers, he continues his explanation, snickering at times. “It sure would make life easier, but what would be the fun? How boring would life get if all we did was wake up, hunt out a bowl of Cheerios and hide until the meteor crashes through the roof of our house.”
He slams his fist on the podium and, in the fire and brimstone voice of a preacher, he follows it with, “Life without decision is a life without temptation. Life without temptation is a life lived without decision. A life without decision is FAILURE. How can God win if He has nothing fighting against Him,” his eyes sparkle, “or Her?”
Our teacher steps off the stage and rests on the top step, chuckling.
“No, seriously, kids. We have free will because we are part of the big picture, and we can’t very well create our masterpieces if we’re Painting by Numbers. … heh, heh. Pretty good analogy, huh?” he gloats.
“So anyway, back to today’s lesson about getting into alignment with the changing Earth, If you’re on a merry-go-round that speeds up, you go along with it because the change in speed was gradual, right?” He waits for student response, which is slow in building because too many of my classmates have dozed off. “Right?”
When he finally gets a grumbling of yeses, he continues.
“But what if you weren’t on the merry-go-round to begin with? What if you were too busy texting your bff about you bf’s latest bullshit and you missed this ride?” He turns to one of my classmates who’s probably doing just that. “What if you suddenly realized you need to get on that merry-go-round now?”
He stands in front of that student, his hands on his trim hips, and waits for an answer.
“Wouldn’t I just wait for the next time?”
“Ahh, good try, but there is no next time. This one’s the only one ever. You’re stuck watching your friends go around without you or –”
“Could I try to jump on?”
“You could, but it would take concentration. Let’s assume there’s a spot on the merry-go-round designated just for this purpose – people who missed the boat, so to speak. You could concentrate and time the jump to allow you to leap onto that spot. … Aww, hell. Who am I fooling? That would be hard as f***.”
A gasp goes out around the room at the teacher’s unexpected swear.
“Really, kids?” He shrugs, as if to say whatever, then, “Let’s slow down the merry-go-round and get off this analogy before we throw up our lunches.” He drags a hand through his hair as he paces the stage. “Nah, a better explanation. Earth is changing dimensions. You can’t see the change because the merry-go-round is going turtle-slow. To many of us, it seems as if it’s not moving, but step on it and it’s a completely new ride. To get on this awesome ride, you need to align yourself to a new speed.”
He throws up his hands in frustration. “I’m afraid I’ve messed up this lesson.” In a puff of light, he converts back to a dragonfly. “My only advice is to keep up with the merry-go-round before it gets away from you.”
He flutters around me twice before moving toward the window.
“Homework. Practice aligning yourself to Earth’s vibation. Imagine roots growing from your feet. The roots grow, threading through the soil and rocks beneath your feet until they reach the Earth’s core and connect you to Her soul. Then you will be as her creations and she will line up your inner vibrations to hers, as mine have done.”
He makes a couple of daredevil dips in the air, dropping down low to wake up one of our classmates.
At the student’s shriek, our teacher chuckles and floats in the window, in the space between this classroom and that place just beyond the veil.
“I’ll catch ya on the flip side, kids. Peace out!” he says.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever pass this class. Until next time, much love to you.
The Dragonfly’s Student