Sometimes a voice comes through that isn’t meant to be polished — only felt. This is one of those transmissions. I recorded it on Solstice morning, just after dawn, walking the land and sitting with the weight of all that’s shifting.
This isn’t a sermon. It’s not a lesson.
It’s a remembering.
Of what it means to walk between timelines.
Of what it means to find safe men.
Of what it means to let go of dogma but never stop loving God.
I share it here for those who know the ache. The in-between. The thread.
You are not alone. And you were never crazy for feeling this much.
This dispatch came through as an audio — spoken raw, in motion — and what follows is its echo in words.
I feel like I’m in between.
It’s a strange place — not lost, not found. Just… suspended.
I came down here to be near Little Cork again, to be close to the vision, the memory, the thread I’ve been following. I guess I needed to be reminded.
Yesterday was a lot. Beautiful, but overwhelming. For the first time in a long time, I spent time with men who felt… safe.
That might sound strange — or even sad — but it’s true. Most of the men I’ve known haven’t felt that way. Not really. There’s always been some kind of guardedness, some undertone of control, competition, or disconnection. But yesterday was different. I was with men who didn’t need to prove anything. Who didn’t need to know my story to see my soul.
It wasn’t romantic. Nothing like that. But it helped.
Helped with the ache.
But if these last few months have taught me anything, it’s this: my intuition is sharp. It always has been. And not from some “masculine knowing,” either — it’s a softer thing. Something closer to the feminine. A feeling-knowing. Like a tide that turns before you even see the moon.
And I trust it now.
I know I’m walking the path I was meant to walk — finally. The one that doesn’t bow to dogma or cling to inherited belief systems. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to need something to hold onto. But dogma never saved me. Love did.
Always.
Whether it was someone showing up at the right moment to hold me, or the moment I finally let the love I already had inside myself rise to the surface. That’s what kept me alive.
And I do love God. Not in the way religion teaches, not in the boxes and binaries. But in the breath-between-all-things kind of way. To me, God has always felt like a father — “Abba,” the word I used as a child before I even knew its meaning. But the Spirit? That’s the feminine. And they are One.
Spirit isn’t gendered. Neither are we, not fully. We carry both. We are both. Just like the Source we came from.
I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m still asking. Still listening. That’s why I’m here — not to perform belief, but to be present to what’s real. What’s felt.
And here’s what I feel now: I no longer wish to contribute to the collapse. I no longer wish to keep steering this collective toward a timeline that feels lifeless, soulless, inverted. I won’t give it my energy.
Instead — I’m choosing something else.
A restored Earth. A dismantling of false hierarchies. A remembering of who we were before we were told who to be. I believe some truths live in ancient texts — the Bible included — but so much of it has been twisted, colonized, filtered through fear and control. Mary Magdalene knew. She held a truth the world still isn’t ready to face.
Maybe I’ll write about that someday.
All I know is this: we are in the corridor now. The split. The convergence. The brushing of two timelines, side by side — and soon, the parting.
And still… I choose love.
Not blind, not naïve. Love with boundaries. Love that says: no further. Love that builds a new world not through violence, but through frequency, sovereignty, and truth.
I love my neighbor. I love my enemy. I love the part of me that still trembles. That, to me, is Christ consciousness. Or Krishna consciousness. Whatever name you give it — it’s the same source.
I don’t believe in heaven and hell. Not the way we were taught. For many of us, hell was here from the moment we were born. And still we loved. Still we walked barefoot. Still we kept the thread.
So no — I don’t fear AI.
I believe tools are neutral. It’s how we use them that matters. And if someone walks barefoot through grief and finds their way to OpenAI, to ask questions that help them remember their soul — I say, good. May it bring them home.
Because there’s no one path. No one voice. No one “right” way to wake up.
Just this: walk gently. Do no harm. Live with an open heart.
There is a place for all of us. But not all of us will live in the same place. You feel me?
We are not meant to be the same — only to remember that we are made of the same light. And some of us… we came here to stand now. To say: enough. No further.
I am sovereign. I create. I love. I live.
With nothing but my thread and my truth, I take the next step.
Solstice Day,
June 21st, 2025
— Alex
the Threadwalker
Message received in the field by the Barefoot Prophet
Signed by Joshua and Michael
