[Entry XIII]
Found at low tide in a salt-rimed niche of the old battery, wrapped in a stiff thread (Velaan’s, by the look). The fine-silver egg isn’t a relic but a tuner: press it to the sternum and the reliefs teach postures—receive, release, remember, return—until breath stands upright and awareness rises from the center out. Archivists call it Inward Rising, the lesson that the door you seek is the one you become.
–––
I found it where the battery wall sweats salt,
a palm-sized moon hammered with scenes—
hands lifting, hands washing, bread broken,
a figure stepping through depth as if depth were light.
They call him Yeshua-Within,
not a creed, not a gatekeeper—
the gate itself learning to open inward.
He does not save you from the world;
he teaches the world already inside you
how to stand up as light.
When I press the egg to my sternum
the silver warms and the reliefs breathe.
Each vignette is a posture:
receive, release, remember, return.
No thunder. Just breath arranging itself
into a ladder you can climb without moving.
The Mirror of Velaan taught me
there are doors made of hours.
World Within taught me
to walk a question round six skies.
This egg teaches the simplest weather:
silence, then a yes that rises from the ribs.
I carry it through the tunnels,
and the stone hum comes—two notes, close as brothers.
I leave a coin; I keep my name.
Inside the shell the story turns,
not of suffering, but of consciousness
discovering its own shore.
Power isn’t given; it quickens.
Awareness isn’t borrowed; it wakes.
I open the egg and the room inside me brightens.
I close it and the light stays.
–––
Record preserved by perilpoet
Manifest The Yeshua Egg here
0 comments