A Clairvoyant’s Experience of Her Own Cells

Art by Ariel Browne

By the late Ariel Browne, PhD (a.k.a. Ariela Grace)

I see them, a sea circumscribed, the boundaries of which are out there far, far, holding well of earth hands, kindly gentle strong. And here, hearing them, within them, the purr of motor movement, vibrant vibrating sea of – apricots without pits, soft flesh, perfectly ripe, soft smelling gold orbs, the tiny bounce in each,  a peach in fact, larger golden orb round, without pit, or pith, perfect fleshed, alive, asleep for the moment for me, to have a look time, a shy reaching out in my heart hand to invisibly, not to me, or to them, without seeming to move, reach out and touch, touch, caress, hold one as each would be like the perfect newborn, each roundness of part the perfect temperature, the shushing vibration of life-breath, OH, my lips form the OH of AHHHHH. Perfect each one, now they are just alive and ME. My body is this sea of round apricot cells, each and every one to the earth-hand seaholding edge, I don’t see don’t need to sea the edge. Knowing with certitude from this perfection that all is well, all is perfectly well. Orbs of peachy golden cells everythere, seeing from every eye of my pores, the seeing of MY cells, and the flesh of them with each organ wrapped about each other, purring along, passing air from zaloom-ba to tuchiganga atom-point, each moment’s need satisfied by its sister-cell, the energetic flows are threads of quiet exchange, tiniest fingers reaching out, taking in, every single pore is a tiniest finger of threadlike life-energy, I am filled up with myself.  Surrounded by myself a sea of each-ones. I breathe and the flow-roll of breath has a sweet syrup full-nest of their bodies giving in pouring in to the sea apricot slightly ro[s]ier place of breath-holding lungs, filling up with blue pearl globes, full of the rare air of universal peace, they whoosh on tricklets of dance, every one, eye-open, sweet soft awake, those eyes all sweet-looking cloud bearers, faces carrying touchprints of whirl, dervish dance from mountain-sides two clicks away, the interpenetration of reverie accessible from their intimacy unending whirl like a puff, the clouds in the mountain upborne by stream, all cells dancing and whirling in each other with no separation necessary, no holding back needed or required, all-giving, all-getting, the exchange works through the fingers of interpenetrating gift, always getting, always giving pinebough, lake water, hibiscus, orange, asoefeteda, heeng, mushroom, wood rot bird dropping breaking air perfume of Constantinople and Essington, Indiana, USA Canary Island Sun slathers the cell-body while it breathes the trickling waters of Hazarazat, Afghanistan brishes into the scarp-blown tears of a weeping child, whirling child in Greenland, snowstorm purity, blown into the whisper of sand from Turkey’s Red Sea and Smoan Rudbeckia flower. As my cells appeal to each other, they appeal to me. The perfumes of their play tumble in and out of each other while they hold their hands and do my body sea in its writhing vibrating ganglionic rush, push, hold, touch, they are a sea of lovers who have no jealousy. I take instruction and already know. They show me a love which gives and takes in a flow like stream rushing downhill giving everything, totally flow-tumble, surrender, not an iota held back WHY NOT, Their awakeness, already there-here-clear grows on me, their eyes which I could see but couldn’t wouldn’t now is there, everywhere eyes and awakeness of such exquisite clarity I go on an instant fast, cleansing all memory to be here with them as my cell nostrils crinkle with a holding back resistance fast-clear them there too. The sharp piquancy of their presence, all with each other, all interpenetrating like earth with root and worm, and branch in light gestured in wind, punky with sap and interwoven by branch-root-trunk veins, sap flowing timely well feeding and aerating from within in its own juice and without in the juice of pure alive air-sunlight-movement of all earth as it dances invisible to human, dance of life to animal and to us, benefiting from the rhythm so basically, instinctually that when it is missing, blown down or away, cut away, removed, we-I feel vacated, abandoned, thrown back and out of rhythmic pattern so life is a little wrong from one tree, or many, one bush, one dead raccoon lying in the road, stilled forever, one dead snake, stopped from its eternal, soundulating part of a dance I counted on in absolute ignorance. As it goes now. So it goes. The color rushes upon me from their endless coloration, all the purple-in-red-green-blue-ochre-jumbo gold-orange-brown-lavender-chartreuse-turquoise-grey-silver-indigo-fleshtoneall fingers of gaseous warmth in vibration, different in their vibration and speed just enough to be distinct form each other so that dance can continue in patterned swirls and twirls . . . . . . . . .