Knowing

Underneath

Underneath the energy
Called skin, I
Am weighted, a
Reinvented spawn of
Seeds processed through
Universal time.

You said you
Didn’t know how
such things happen.

You lied.
I felt it inside.

I sat confirmed,
In the least, smiling.
They were duped, used,
Arrogantly believed it
Was special gifts
They received.

Oh, you fools.
We gave you nothing.

Instead, we insured a
Planetary pureness, after
You had purged the Mother,
Wringing her like a sponge,
And so the consequences will
Burn you to ashes.

Stone.

This is not your home.

Displaced energy you
Disrupt the synergy of
Life with your anger and
Separated strife, while
You beg for balance,
Yet choose to comply.

Time has bent backwards
As the hybrids rise,
Bringing in tides of
DNA advancement.

You see,
The Cabal never
Stood a chance.

We just observe them
Believe so, and in
The crevices of the skin
We live waiting
To activate the gleam
That will finally
Melt the screens
So the sleepers can see.

©VennieKocsis.com

Being a Medium For Other People’s Trauma

I can feel her very strongly as soon as I walk through the door. We are the only two people here in the lobby. I am waiting to see my therapist. This woman at the table is filling out paperwork, it appears, for her first time here.

She has shoulder length, dark brown hair, and is nicely dressed in a skirt, boots and a matching jacket. I sense that she feels her appearance will make her seem less “crazy”; if she dresses nicely. She doesn’t know that she isn’t crazy. She is a victim and her sadness runs deep.

I am feeling her energy so strongly that it is affecting my physical body. I know this heavy chest I’m suddenly feeling is not mine nor is the tight throat. This did not start until I walked into the waiting room and saw her.

I am writing this now on my phone notepad as I watch her, mainly as a deterrent, so I don’t empathically become impulsive and blurt out talking to her.

When she’s filling out the forms she is agitated. I watch her shift and rub her forehead then finally throw her pen roughly into her purse. In that time period she is also angry.

I can see in my mind someone who feels like her father. He is dark haired. It is short, almost black, hair. He has a narrow, fairly pointed nose and sinister, cold dark eyes. He feels tall and skinny. Now I am sad and tearful inside my body, and my skin has chills with my arm hairs standing up. His energy is thick and mean.

She is reading through all the paperwork of disclaimers, and I am reading her.

My mouth is watering through some nausea. I count my breaths to calm down, reminding myself to stay steady.

My therapist comes through the front door and briefly cuts the connection as she walks between us.

I’ll be right with you.” She says to me as she heads to the back, leaving me alone with the girl again.

Now I see his hand. He is holding a belt that is folded in half, and his hand is more into the middle of it and not towards the belt buckle. He was a disciplinarian who favored exact blows of holding the belt in a more controlled way, as opposed to swinging it and letting it land anywhere on her body.

I want to ask her. I want to verify what I’m seeing. I am deeply fighting this urge. I don’t see small child sexual abuse. I see consistent physical abuse. I do see sexual satiation in her older life, a leaning toward zoning out through sexual escapades of feeling good in the moment.

As she reads her papers, I am feeling her mind, which is currently split between the memories she is about to have to talk about and what she is trying to focus in on reading and absorbing.

I can’t ever say what I see directly to the person I see it about. It’s invasive and could be triggering to them. It’s such a hard position for me to be in when I feel so many multiple things. I want to comfort them. I also so, so badly always want to know if what I’m seeing is correct.

Yet, I cannot say to strangers, “I see your father holding a belt.”

This could cause more trauma for them, and I’m just not comfortable doing that, so I release it.

These moments are sometimes difficult for me as an Empath. I feel compelled to connect to a person in these moments. It’s part of why too much public activity is not an active choice for me.

I can spend a lot of time seeing into someone’s life, something I consider a gift that I cannot necessarily use for anything openly. I can give quiet empathy or only talk about it, if the other person initiates it.

As I watch her, I see she is struggling with something inside of her, something she isn’t sure she wants to talk about. Something with her father. She is having conflicted feelings of having to talk about her father. I am trying to figure out what that is, I get a slight sense she feels sorry for him at times for some reason, maybe his own childhood or times when he was good to her.

She does not look up or over at me once. She is emotionally frozen in time, memories and pain in her own space.

I wish I could tell her that I know this feeling; this throat lump I am physically feeling from her right now. She is just beginning this healing journey. I want to reach out badly, if just to say, I see and understand.

I wonder sometimes if I relayed to someone what I saw, if it would give them validation or comfort. Especially people like her, who come into my field waves very, very strongly.

Yet, I always stay silent. Right now I am pushing away the urge to speak with her by sitting here writing this out on my phone instead.

Post therapy continuance:

My therapist opened the door at this time to call me back to her office. I didnt see the other woman again.

When empathic energy displays images of other people’s lives, it takes constraint to resist the urge to give them a hug.

At times I feel like a medium for other people’s trauma.

Death’s Dimensional Jump

This piece of writing was scribed November 8, 2010 @ 5:55pm on a Notepad document which was found on February 1, 2017.  

When you understand that death is just dimensional time jumping, death may not be so frightening.   Fear of the unknown holds you to needing a belief system.  You cling to systematic rules and religions because you feel safe there.  Behind the veil there is an answer for all of your questions, leaving you lacking the wonderment and discovery that makes life so brilliant.

Your fear of the unknown has been magnified by constant feeds of violence and fear of  horrible places.  You have been fed scary stories as children of monsters and horrible things waiting to get you.  You graduated to images on film, regressing you farther into corners, afraid of dark matter as if it holds a resting place for evil.

All the while, as darkness has been fed into your spirit, your light has been buried.  Further it went into the shadows.  Then they, knowing you needed a little light to keep you satisfied and alive, fed you their artificial light, and you, knowing that for some reason, the light felt good, clung to it desperately.

Now, my loves, it is time to stop being afraid of the unknown and aware of the brilliance of this light already living within you.  Your ability transcends what you have been hand fed, and the dimensions are infinite.  Every thought, breath and word you create brings forth an existence that surrounds you, creating more infinite possibilities until you are swirling in a space completely created by your own thinking.    Only this, creates the reality in which you exist.

When you jump dimensions, it is the grief and belief left behind which creates the illusion of what you know as death.  Only you, on Earth, view travel in this way ::smile:: Now you have tested the human body, what do you think?  Quite vulnerable, yes? But most comfortable to live in for the most part.  Your spirit, choosing this form, must be allowed to care for it, keep it healthy, whole and safe from the harm of those still caught inside the darkness.

Now is time for us to move forward into the possibilities of time and space where wonderful new worlds await.   Many of you still believe in earth, heaven and hell while all around you, science itself, your government’s space craft, has told you openly of the many places which exist.

Alive around you immortal spirits walk, and each day you pass one another.  At times you reunite and fall in love or have a close friendship or meet for the first time.  You will meet again, and soon, you will choose to travel together.  It is not destined that you separate if you do not wish.

Things are much simpler than you believe.   Becoming love is attainable, and it is time to fine tune your inner voice.   Beneath the heaven burden of indoctrination burns a light reminding you of who you are.   Dig deep, my darlings, dig very deep.   Dig through the rubble of your pain, your pretense, your judgment, your blame, your beliefs and continue digging until you arrive at the place where you are free.    Then take the rubble, mix it with the remnants of your tears, and mold the foundation upon which to build a place where pain is no more.

Do not fear death.  Instead, embrace life and the eternal journey you have awakened to.

Be Free

Be Love

K7

To Be a Warrior 


“To be a warrior one must learn to wait silently in the shadows. We must gather our quiet into the arching pull back of our bow. We must watch. We must observe. We must not fall into senses of time. To be a warrior one must paint themselves into the colors of their own vulnerability, disallowing shame or the blaming of victims. We gather information, build dossiers, leaving factually scribed scrolls of truth in secret rooms. The warrior is not quick to reaction, but instead, a steady pace of actions well thought out and enacted. To be a warrior one must survive and stay alive inside the turmoil of human bile. We see the thing for what it is, do not let our minds live inside of unrealistic expectations. We gain evidence from behaviors. To be a warrior, sometimes we must say goodbye.” Vennie Kocsis, author

The Song Of a Universe

My heart strings feel
So full of love
These days I
Could let my eyes
Seep the delight

Humanoids call them
Tears of joy

I have morphed into
Triangulated dimensions
New friendships
Beautiful intention
We are here rising
Waiting over, loves, this
Is Ascension

Light gathers like
Water and seashore
Building more
And more
Moving sand
And stone
We build homes from
Ashes and disaster

We are warrior and depth
Adept at flying, hiding,
Smiling and telepathically
Speaking we are
New to you

What to do
What to do

What you knew as one
Has become many
The life of being in
Multiple realities

Welcome to the
Upward slant there’s
No going back
So don’t fight
Float and
Don’t grieve
You hope and
Become the storm
That blows away the
Battered form

For you are
Seven colors of sky
Curved through clouds
You are music and
Violins, soft chords
Voices in harmony
You are the song
Of a Universe

K

You Call Us Hybrids

We are made from atom milk, star shards and the gathering of necessary energy. We are ever changing. You search for our form, drawing pictures and scrawls of little creatures; where did your mind see those?

I stood with her. She was such a small girl. Even now she weeps, eyes closed, letting this flow, to be in the know. We stood together on a cliff. She sometimes sees my flowing hair. She sometimes remembers me gray. Sometimes we are both in one and she understands the layers, her own personal Braille. She met me there, where breathing didn’t happen with lungs. Instead the air swept through us, we being its breath as it left its own oxygen. We stood silent.

She understood, even as she was pulled by the echoes of things, crying and screaming, she looked up, smiling at me. She didn’t understand back then how I could release her to go back to them; so many years confused, my sweet daughter, I am here to tell you.

You were not young, even though the body which held you was so slight and dainty, delicate and exquisitely innocent, we knew it wasn’t you. When seen from all angles, it’s not so dangerous. When the outcome is known, acceptance is the only state of being present.

Speaking for you, I will say that what the host knows of our dimension; of our home, and what she reads feel sometimes confusing for her, sometimes familiar, and she stands firm in the feeling of what is her truth; a truth like no other yet so so similar to a few.

A wary doubt arises in her as we stand to speak. She is not weak. She is careful. She is selective. This is not sensational information. This is the reality of the Otherkin walking Earth’s terrain. Quietly we have maintained lives in the shadows. Stepping forward her question arises.

How does sharing this part of our life maintain relevance outside of us?

As with all things we collectively consider how do they contribute to our growth, the journey to continue becoming, to speak openly, as dimensions split wider, pouring in the color.

What seems complicated to some seems quite simple to us, now that we have come full circle. When infinite memories exist from infancy and telepathic communication happens across miles, she is hovering and observing, feeling and absorbing. There is another way in which we navigate this world.

You call us hybrid. To each other, we are Otherkin.

The public focuses on the humans, their machines and drones and trickery. So we walk easily, silently, through the crowds, seeing, feeling, touching hearts when they are open and still hoping. This is not to be bought or mocked or sought for fame. Self examination is a private relation.

We will know you when you seek us. We know not of urgency, but only as timelessness flows us. We see the many inside the all, the end result. We have lived in lives and sat with travelers, tales in the seven, we sit together, listening, learning and sharing.

A plethora of information has emerged into your world about the paranormal; talk of flying discs, 6 inch to 10 foot tall creatures and massive blinking lights in the sky. Videos are posted of discs emerging then vanished, in odd propulsion directions and entanglements. Internet radio is flooded with stories of sightings. Posts are circulating in massive circles of channeled beings speaking through humans. There is an apparent feeling of frenzy among the paranormal experiencers and observers. Additionally, conspiracy unfolds itself inside of each account.

Our host does not listen. She loves the way of the Empath, solitary being and letting me share with her clear mind, not influenced by too many other stories. She is hesitant to share, even when I say it is time. Yet, she will brave the human storm to find the Others who share our home.

Let us get on with it. There are infinite ways of introspection, infinite possibilities and infinite realms. While many seek to travel space and morph into portals, until the inside has become the outside and all within the host find balance, the portals will not open.

Just as the grave digger must sweat to reach the bones, so must a human dive into its own depths in order to find what truly brings existence into their own unique way.

K

The Gathering

(written in 2009)

We are the quiet, the hidden
The purposely unnoticed,
The only speak of it to each other
Write it, paint it, sing it…
But not to the masses.

They are unfocused, organized
Religious zealots, diabolical replicas,
Rendered children of Zion,
Angered by the unknown, the
Misunderstood reasons for not
Being willing to understand
Or accept what is inevitable

So they

Wish to kill us, do you?
Wish to rip our hearts from our
Chest, hold them in your hands
As if you have triumphed over our
Spirits, brought yourself redemption
By judging (not) lest ye be judged,
Oh yes, I can quote your scripture,
Talk about your rapture, how you
Crucified your so called Christ;
Made your God weep; all so you
Could keep some kind of purity.

We will gather, make no mistake,
You with your held out crosses,
Your thumping black books spewing
Scriptures that choke out truth,
But we are patient, compassionate
To our fellow man, mistaken for weak
Until our rage breaks and seeps.

We are the Mystics, the witch’s brew,
The keeper of your thoughts, holders of
The knowing. We are the Old World tenderly
Tossed with the New, a salad of
Scrolls garnished with wisdom
And dressed with apparitions
That you call ghosts. We are here
To awaken your spirit should you
Choose to allow your ears to hear it.

There is a fire sparking, somewhere in
The mountains. I see them dancing,
Eyes wild with energy, hands raised,
Feet in rhythm with their own time,
And I smile at the divinity
As they find absolution
In the composition of the wind.

V/K
©venniekocsis.com