By Robyn Justo – You all should know by now that I have this little voice that speaks to me now and then (ok, a lot) and looking back, if I had listened to it, life would have been a whole lot easier. We all have this voice, but between our talking and the endless mind chatter in our little brains, it is often drowned out. Some call it intuition, others call it that gut feeling, and some even call it conversations with God, but whatever we name it, it is indeed wiser than we are.
Seven months ago, I packed everything up and moved to Santa Fe, NM. I convinced myself that I needed a fresh start, a clean slate, and a whole lot more geography to heal from my ex (who happened to live in the same place that I did when I left the Golden State), so I pared down, sold my furniture, left a gorgeous apartment, made like a caboose, and choo-chooed out of Auburn, CAa, one of my favorite places on the planet, I might add. My little voice was quietly telling me that I should probably just leave most of my belongings behind in a local storage unit and check out the “new” state for a while, but like many times in my life I ignored it and moved everything out there in an attempt to create some brand “new” New Mexico energy for myself. How I filled up a sixteen foot truck with stuff, sans furniture, I will never know.
But I was driven, and I indeed drove…all that way out to the desert in search of peace and that new life, and change (in the beginning) is always a novelty. Santa Fe was supposedly filled with spiritually minded folks, UFOs, and was even rumored to be the “Golden Pax”, a vortex or portal of sorts to the New Earth. It was far enough away from the California coast that was supposed to be submerged any moment, too. And I was going to live there!
If 2012 was all that it was cracked up to be and the mantle of the Earth was going to spin upside down, I would be safe (and as my ex told me before I left, nothing would fall on my head there.) And with all of the UFO sightings, ascension might be easier than I imagined and if I was lucky, I would be sucked right up into one of those crafts if the going got tough on terra-not-so-firma.
A few months after my arrival, I discovered that most of the spirituality I was encountering was pseudo (with a few rare exceptions.) People wore white and were nice and compassionate, but when they changed their clothes, their personalities changed along with them and not for the better. They claimed that their frequencies were so high that they didn’t have drama in their lives. Right. The way that I see it, if you still have a body, you got drama, baby. And they surely did.
The only species that seemed to do well in that part of the county were reptiles (or reptilians, a really scary gang that New Agers and Earthers believe are here to eat us.) I had a few bites taken out of me too and now they have my DNA, which I was told had to be adjusted anyway for me to make that trip onwards and upwards in my ascension plan. Hmmm.
To top if off, the temps in Santa Fe started dropping to sub-zero like an asteroid and the air was so dry and cold that my skin started shedding like a snake. I was afraid I was morphing into one of those reptilians, so I swallowed my pride, called a moving company and started packing. A dear friend, one of the delightful exceptions I met while I was there and who obviously hadn’t been “turned” yet, offered to take the road trip with me and I breathed a glorious sigh of relief. Thelma and Louise, aka me and Lynda, would indeed make this an exciting adventure, arduous though it might be.
The day of the move, the moving company canceled…the same company that already had nearly a thousand dollars of my money. This isn’t easy for a girl who has sixteen feet worth of plastic tubs, clothes all stacked up around her. Yes…I cried, real wet tears, and not the crocodile or reptilian kind.
One of my Facebook friends posted something on my wall after reading about my ordeal. “Maybe someone or something doesn’t want you to leave Santa Fe.”
“BUT I WANNA LEAVE HERE!” I cried. But she might have been right.
After finding two Johnnies-on-the-spot who would pack, load, and drive me back to California for about twice the price of the original fickle moving company, I bit my tongue and the bullet and rented a U-Haul truck, and off we went. The truck broke down in Seligman, but my friend Thelma (Lynda) and I were two hours ahead of it, so we kept on going. Stuff or no stuff, I was determined to get back home.
But in the back of my mind, I thought that maybe my Facebook friend was right and I could visualize a group of lizards in a circle around a fire somewhere chanting and performing a satanic reptilian ritual to keep me stuck in Santa Fe. So this time, I really DID have a conversation with God and prayed my little rear end off. God trumped the reptilians.
Then it hit me. These guys I entrusted my physical life too, including the one who was driving the U-Haul, not only had my stuff but they had my credit card number and thoughts of them traveling the world wearing my scarves and shoes ran through my chattering little mind.
I finally made it to my cozy cottage on the Auburn canyon, on the same property where I started this nonsense a mere seven months ago. I returned to smiles and warm hugs (even one from my ex) and I asked myself why I ever left at all. God tried to answer but I talked over him in all of the excitement. I noticed that no one was wearing white.
My stuff followed me out a day later, miraculously intact after having survived unloading and reloading on to another U-Haul truck somewhere in Seligman. Oddly enough, I also ended up renting a storage unit from the original place that my little voice had originally suggested seven months before, but God (or that little voice) never says “I told you so.” Or if he does, he mumbles it to himself.
My skin is getting back to normal and I am out quite a bit of cash and a bit of unmentionable and unascensionable DNA, and my ex is still my ex, but we both appear to have healed and I think we can be friends, and if California gets hit by a big tsunami, I’ll grab a surfboard and scream “Cowabunga!” I have decided that I like the ocean and water (and real tears) and the desert doesn’t have enough of any of that for me. I’m not cold-blooded, nor did I seem to be cold-hearted enough to fit in.
I’m in the Golden State and heading towards my golden years and although I might be touted as one of those non-chosen ones who got spit out of Santa Fe, I realized that I have a portable “Golden Pax” right inside of me. It’s called a heart and if I’m supposed to traverse the New Earth, I can do it from anywhere on this planet. I’m good to go and I don’t even have to wear white.
