384: The Baptism of Grace

. The Baptism of Grace

. All is well that never ends. The flow of the passion is divine in its awareness of unity and wholeness. No two ever need be separate again. No two need fear. No two need want. The separation ceases.

. At the beginning the one, still seeking the whole, drifts above and about and feels the extreme isolation of souls. Here she feeds in the torment of recognizing the agony of separateness; this is truly her feeding ground. The rapture is so intense the visions explode, the voices come nonstop, the pulsating life force bleeds out of her creation. Nothing is ever enough to erase the agonizing pain of being one and only one, while almost touching the All. Here she cries out in the deepest ways for connection again. Not for self but for All; and she remains here until her cup runneth over to the degree of plentitude that in drowning and drowning in the blended equal measure of sorrow and love, she must escape. She must return.

. And there in her waking all is altered: the shape of the space before her, the faces of places, the beings about. Nothing remains of the illusion; and she, as if spaded out of the depths of darkness, is ripened and growing, spreading out the vines that bear the fruit of wealth collected in gratitude; until her very roots penetrate her traveling soul, and she becomes all of what was before the separation.

. Here she begins to balance, to remain in the outer layer and inner layer, both within herself, witness to the masses, and without herself, hearer of the divine. And here, in this state of grace she is the grandest weaver of the All, capable of collecting in her arms the All, and releasing it out to the All; so that she gives without giving, and receives without receiving; moving as naturally as the wind through the forest glen, her greenery the very hatchlings of her goodness.

. She does not have to know. She does not have to know anything. She does not have to think of the past, the future, or even the now. She can just be and experience without thought. She can view the surroundings and disrobe the illusion cast upon the masses. Stare at the tree until the separation is extinguished; no longer the trunk, the limbs, the leaves, the green, the tree; behold what is beneath not knowing, the treasure the newborn beholds before she is immersed in an imaginary land of separation.

. All thoughts stop, and the eternal flame of love springs forth. The angels whisper, the heart beats grander, and the gentle glide of sensation vibrates up and down the outer regions of the back; the head, when upright, radiates in tingling sensation, the end of limbs embrace with flowing, nurturing energy. The being radiates with a goodness so sublime, she would gladly shed the façade of “AM” for the truth of “All.”

. In a state of grace everyone is beautiful, everything about them the lost treasure sought out the whole of life; only in this divine rapture of serenity, in the blanketed cradle of goodness, the one united recognizes that all is here and was never gone. She sees the past and future mingled, and the memories faded. All together she is combined into self, until she is no more. Blended into the divine knowledge of perfection and love, able to reach out to the other she be; not the parts, as no parts exist, but into the effervescent flow of what she once thought was another.

. There is no need to be anything or anyone. The one doesn’t desire to know where she is headed, what she is creating, whom she is affecting. No longer at the wheel, as she never was; no longer burdened by thoughts of need and want; no longer believing love is a separate action of give and take, a game with a paddle in which one gives out and waits hungrily to receive.

. In having received abundance and overflowing in peace, she needs, if need be, only give out what is within; and even in thinking so, she knows it is not she whom gives; for the one has receded back as the tide of the ocean, resting in the bounty of father sea, and allowing the rest to move forward that is no less a part of self than the air all breathe. She need only release and be, and the love abounds within and without. The more given, the more she is embraced. Thusly, she lives within a never ending flow of nurturing love.

. Just as the waters of the world, she cannot be diminished but is continually transformed into a recognizable form, whether collected, flowing, or pouring down into the valleys, she remains substantiated and full, entire in her being.

. Without expectation and the thought of outcome, she is entirely free. In forming a union with the life force, the one is riveted to the One of All, and in so being made strong and mighty. All meekness demolished, all humility firmly fastened, all littleness undone; her ways marked by the passion to serve.

. There is no goal setting in serving and no sacrifice too great. As sacrifice itself diminishes in the Light of Love; in being One there is nothing Love asks or takes, nothing given or received. All is, and in being so, all is remarkably at ease.

. Gone is the give and take of the world; gone is the guilt, the martyrdom, the pride that calls out to the world: Look at what I do for you, my sister, gone with the jester greed that gobbles at the side of the weak and collects its bounty. Missing are the ribbons of recognition, the falsehood of empty-vessel longing to be filled by illusion of grandeur.

. Once filled, there is no more to collect and no less to remember. Stepping back from the self, a new oneness is formed; the one searched for eternity and a day, and then erased from time itself; until the eyes of naught see tis only a blink that passed, the time between the first opening of eyes.

. Judgment begins to be a distant mystery, and here anger joins the side of what was naught. The ego is spread out in its ailments; each toxin leaked out and drained for the glory of knowing.

. The shadow keepers no longer haunt that which is naught, an invisible ghost no less for the coming than the going; for they move in a fashion so irregular and circumvented by causation and reaction that their spindly fingers cannot point to where the one of movement moves; for she is the cyclic force now, the beating center of the earth, that flows as the rivers and the seas, dictated not by her own desires, but by the pull of the moon and the moons beyond moon. The deepening connection forgers her into the very mountains herself, her camouflage becomes the rock of the world, her heart the very place in which the center bursts forth the force of creation.

. Nothing can stop the outpour of love; the force is entirely fierce with the kindness of ages forged through the varying element. Each is an outburst of destiny recreated, each a coming of what is and what was.

. Every relationship is refined and undefined. The truth merges into the one. The One merges into the truth, until no two exist and one stands firmly on the rock of knowing.

. There is a grace that occurs that is indescribable in measure and equally astounding in fortitude. The witness steps back and remains as constant observer, becoming gatekeeper, where she was once the rams head. Where she once burst through, ramming herself into the other, she now sets back and lets the nothingness of self speak out for the world.

. In this place of naught, nestled by the angels, she glances down at the world she knows, watching her vessel move, no more a part of the game of wanting, and instead partaking in a game of no chance, no victory, and no venture. She just is, this perfect being moving where she is taken, by a force unmistakably pure, her own self-righteousness bled straight out of her and made fertilizer for the grounds.

. If want enters, in his mask of fear, or fear enters in his mask of want, the poison is felt as sure as the deepest needle; and she need only wish it away with simple thought, to displace the element with the element of pureness; and then, in seeing this so, all becomes illusion, and she is brought up upon high and bathed in the love of her master, where He is beset in His glory beside her.

. And though she be angel baptized in the waters of translucent awareness, she also be the rest: the valley, the mountains, the deepest caverns, the wondering souls about; she be the very brother she beholds, and the very breath he breathes; and in seeing her own being beaded on the strings of eternity, her every part speaking and shining from the All, she wants nothing more than to create for this All what is the All within; to paint upon the soul of the masses, the painting before her, the goodness she abounds in.

. For she is no more and no less than the cyclic force bringing her outward and inward, cleansing her with each encounter and each road in which she bares her burden down.

. Fear sleeps. Nothing seems important anymore. Urgency ceases to exist, and when he comes it spikes the soul in its heights and in its pressure. Urgency rises and falls, the spike of the chart that surges upward in splotched ink-red and the spike of the iron that grounds into the dirt announcing its coming. There is nothing of nothing, and so in the coming of “something “ the heart beats again, the blood pulses, and the being that was, she is reminded of the world of chance, the world that moves for the creation of not One but of one. The smallest element undefined and set out for the wolves.

. Here and only here, in the state of the smallest element undefined, the fear reenters, still as phantom-dressed as before. As no fear exists in the realm of realm; it is only in the bringing of the warrior returned that the fear comes. For no fear enters that which is naught.

. Knowing the fear knocks only when the feet are touched down on the soil of man, then the witness can harness her horse, the steed, and march forward as brave knight demolished once more, crumbling to the ground and vanquished in demise.

. For to let the fear enter and kill the illusion is optimal. To bring fear in, hold fear, eat fear and digest fear, proves two-fold: it eliminates the illusion of self and refortifies the want of naught. Here is where the lesson is relearned repeatedly in grace, in the digesting of fear for the sake of no fear, in the reexamining of illusion and in the refuge of the illusion of naught.

. The merrymaker learns with the return of self into self; in form she bleeds and is punctured, not by choice, but by servitude; not by sacrifice but by need molded by her very choice to serve; a need so pure the necessity is spiraled out and unstrung like the song of the distant cherub; so even want itself expires in the goodness of the light.

. Here in this state of return she finds both herself and her sister, dare say her brother, all sprawled out and broken; her job no less seamstress than builder, her case no less swollen than empty; as only the reality spins in the course of unreason and un-being. And in so seeing readily the pain, she recognizes all at once the falsehood, and need only breathe in the spirit of life back to the scene for all to vanish and be white-washed within the light of truth.

. All beings are of naught and all are beckoned by the Light. What is from the Light cannot and shall not ever be forsaken; and in this seeing, she is brought back upon the seat of her name, and sheltered in the arms of the angels, and witness less to the pain than the victorious One; until she falls again for the greatness of her glory unified with the angels of All.

. There is no mountain high enough. All in the world becomes manageable. All balanced out as if filed down to the same shapes and same sizes. The mark of one is the mark of all. None are set out above or beyond, none are made or deemed more likened for victory or more set to fall.

. The meek become clearer, their lights substantially strong; not so much brighter or lighter, but polished and unmarred, so the window from which they glow beckons the onlooker forward.

. The rest, beyond the clearer, still trapped in the conquest of illusion, become known to her; the light dismal, yet so radiant within, that their souls seemingly call out in rescue. The death of them found in the wrapping inside a dream that requires no key; as fish in the deepest sea, out of reach, they swim in schools of the unattainable. They move and serve; their service no more as teachers than pauper; as though they seem the richest they are the poorest indeed.

. Say ye, as angel of light, dive to the deepest depths of self, one can find them readily, see them proceeding in the dance they have made, both the music and the cause deafening. She will know them by their beauty; for their colors will shine out with the dampness of stench; what will at first peer out as enticing to the blinded masses is in actuality detrimental. As they look outward with the eyes gorged in righteousness, not from the Light but from illusion.

. In this way they, the blinded ones, are the children to be loved; in this way the one of Light moves in the murky waters of naught, in the waters most forgotten onto self, and recognizes the blinded ones know not what they do. For in illusion, they seem the swiftest fiercest of sharks, but brought into the Light they be the mightiest of the meek.

. Though they seem demons cast down as name-sayers slaying the masses, they indeed be the blindest of the All. The ones set down in the darkest caverns of illusion; the tiniest of fish fed upon by their own making and devoured again and again in the darkness of a path that seems limitless and endless in the want of perfection. For how can they demand perfection on their neighbor and not thusly see the darkness in their very heart?

. No they do not look upon the world through the eyes of evil beast; they look upon the world as the one so unfed and nurtured by the Light that all within is tarnished and broken; thusly, all about becomes justly so. Return them to the Light. Return them so by the gentleness of the unwavering being, no less daunted by their presence than if they be the grandest of all angels set upon thy feet. Bow down and great them there and kiss them on the place of absence, in their much carved out soul of need, and bring their asking upon My table.

. Here the Light Force shall drive them out of the waters and set them on high, so they too can see the very goodness of their being. Treat them not as the ones of entrapment or the ones meant for capture. Treat them as the angels they be, cast down in the thickest of drapery, to be a light upon the world, and inspire the grace of true grace. For they, like brother fear, are merely the illusion set upon the soul of masses.

4/21/13 Samantha Craft

319: The Cloth

sky streak

“Love begets love. Fear begets fear. Fear is love turned inside out, love hidden from the light. Love is fear turned inside out, fear exposed to the light. Take it upon yourself to expose the fear to the light or to bury the fear into the darkness, from here only love will sprout; whether from beneath you or from above you, love will command this fear to leave, returning the fear back to the illusion from which it was birthed. Turn yourself, this intricate fabric of life you be, and in your turning the truth shall be.” ~ Sam

The cloth of this world is a precise image: a piece of black fabric, black on both sides. Somewhat like a pillowcase and similar to a hood of a jacket unattached to the whole.

Love is on one side of the black cloth, and fear is on the other side.

If love be on the outside, exposed, then the image of love can be turned inside out, exposing the counterside of fear. When this happens, it is a step in faith, wherein fear is taken out of the dark and exposed to the light, rebirthed and sprouting from the hidden foundation of love. Here while love is nuturing the soils beneath, fear is exposed to be cleansed and taken by the light. Soon only love remains.

Some cloths begin with fear on the outside, with love yet not exposed. This fear is utilized as a shield of sorts, a means of protection from perceived cruelness.

When this unbridled fear is turned inside out, and love is placed on the outside, this fear taken out of the spotlight, no longer used as shield, and put into the darkness to rest, then the other side of the fabric, of love, is exposed.

In this way the light of love is brought forward. This love becomes brilliant once exposed. Because this love shines so brightly, the cloth on the other side, beneath love, where fear rests, is penetrated and cleansed.

Thusly in so turning fear inside out, the whole of the fabric is turned to love.

In so doing, the fabric is cleansed on both sides, entirely whole in love.

Where there was once fear, no fear remains, only an effervescent glow of love.

I see this as a way to heal the world, as one upon the next the fear is exposed to the light, either by turning the fear under or turning the fear outward.

I see this clearly.

I see this continual rebirthing of love, as I feed my own fear to the light.

For the light is not damaged my illusion, and the light can only see love.

In so doing, in willingly turning over the fabric of what I be, I am instantly healed.

Proclaiming my fear to the world in totality sets me free.

The cloth I am is purified by love and light, so that the stitchings of my soul radiate the truth beyond the illusion of fear.

With nothing buried beneath, I am freed.

I think this is the time of shedding for the world, for the cloths to be turned inside-out in whatever fashion need be, for the fear to be laid to rest, evaporated, and lifted, though illusion it be.

For it is in the gentle stirrings of love we are each healed, my healing affecting another’s healing, and vise versa.

It is in the clinging on to illusion of fear that we are buried deeper into a place of disillusionment and isolation, wherein illusion (fear) is given the power that love naturally carries.

It is in being fearless, in fearing less, in trusting in the power that is, that we be set free.

Behold this imaginary fabric, that is more real than real, and twist and contort your cloth, to surmise your doings and bearings, and to find the gentle way into peace; wherein your fear is admitted and released all with the touch of thought, with the hand of spirit, given up to that who can take freely without harm and return divinely what is inherently good in you: you in completion, the illusion lifted, and your self revealed.

Go to your neighbor and announce to him your fear, whatever it be. If they are truly carrying the light of love, they will embrace you in totality. If they are not, then perhaps it be time to look elsewhere.

Say onto another: “I am afraid.” Of what or whom, it does not matter. For in admitting your fear you have released it.

Admit and release, and the gentleness of love shall embrace you. For it is in the emotions of naught that love is rebirthed again and again.

To give of fear freely, to pronounce this fear to the world, and then to watch it dissipate is your task, and your task alone. For only then will the healing of one affect the healing of all.

There is no enemy outside self, outside this fear.

All is illusion birthed from the bed of fear.

Step into the light and watch the illusion shed.

Be whole in your goodness.

Shine bright.

And recognize where there was once misfortune and pain, there only be gratitude.

For you have been shown the truth, as your eyes are ready to see, and in this seeing you are eternally blessed. Embraced in the light of the world that emanates from your being put here to show the truth of spirit, that together in unity, in mission, in the unfolding and refolding of self, we can proclaim the goodness of one and in turn announce the goodness of all.

There are no shadows, no mysteries, no chambers of hidden secrets, there is only stepping into the light, again and again and again, until you are spirit, beacon upon beacon radiating the joy to the world upon worlds, and lifting the ailments of soul to the next level of enlightenment.

With a step of faith move into this illusion fear, and there purge, like no other, the imaginary demons that stir you, where light was meant to be.

Turn out your fabric to the sun, as cloth is hung out in the day; turn out your cloth to the dark as seed is buried in soil, and see what is rebirthed from the illusion of thirst and want; turn out your blessed cloth, and expose your unyielding light to the world.

It is time, and I await you here, my dear blessed one.

282: The One I Love

This is long overdue.

Without my husband I would not be able to dedicated time to my painting, writing, and healing of body, mind, and spirit.

I can spend all day in creation and not do one thing around the house, in regards to cleaning and cooking, and my husband does not complain. He picks up where I left off. He does the dishes, the laundry, shampoos the carpets, and even makes dinner sometimes.

He is so loving to me and a true giver. He expects nothing from me in return.

He has a heart of gold and an amazing mind and spirit. He is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, with the ability to transition and grow, and to look at his own personal journey and challenges.

He is never conceded and never cruel.

He accepts me unconditionally in all my moods and emotions. He respects my need for space and my tendency to retreat into my own world. He patiently awaits my return.

He holds me when I cry and laughs at my quirks. He reads my blog posts daily, always ready with a compliment or reassurance.

He helps me to see my light and beauty. He tells me I am a genius, that I have the kindest heart of anyone he knows, that I am loving and a good mom, and that I am gorgeous and sexy. He tells me all of his dreams have come true.

My husband is my rock, my knight sent down to protect me. a radiant and dashing earth angel.

I take comfort in his continued dedication and efforts to be the best man he can be.

Without him, I know I wouldn’t be doing my works, I wouldn’t have the time or strength to connect with others. He has provided me with the necessary tools to fulfill my life’s calling and dreams. He has given me the freedom to be myself and to flourish. In return, I accept him unconditionally and cherish him as my dearest friend.

Thank you Dear One for the gift of YOU!

If you’d like to leave a comment: “Thank you Bob!” is a good one.

Post 282  (2= union 8= infinity) 

This is a process I went through to paint my concept of love and angels. The first layer of “The Union” includes the green of healing and speaking my truth from the throat chakra. It also represents the breaking down of energetic blockages and releasing the free-flowing energy within me; the blue represents my angels; the yellow my light and the universal light of love. I created this first layer and then continued to create the final piece.

First Layer

This is the final piece, where I have blended all the elements of free-flowing energy, connection, angels, and the light of love.

The Union by Samantha Craft

Here is an emotional process I went through during the past three days. The first represents the darkness and inner angst. The second a layering over the darkness, a release of chaos, a freeing of self. The third, the final composition: The Birth of Light.

Layer One: The darkness


Layer two: The chaos and release….freedom awaken


Birth of Light

Art Therapy has been a wonderful avenue to release much of the inner passion and emotion burning inside of me. I continue to feel light, love and glowing. Even in times of my greatest sorrow, when I am sobbing to my angels, I feel loved, centered, and right where I am meant to be. Once again, this weekend, a person I haven’t seen in a long while said to me, “Wow. What has happened to you? You are glowing!” She was giggling and kept repeating the words. I am continually reminded of my transition and reaping the benefits of my hard soul work. I am both encouraged and excited for the days ahead. While I still have brief moments of fear and doubt, they are quickly diminished by thoughts of my angels, the light, and all of you. You are my earth angels, and continue to set me free each day. Thank you and Bless You.

A special thank you to my friend Lisa for encouraging me to paint and for my friend Amy for opening up my eyes to the gifts before me.

254: Dear Soul

Dear Soul of Mine ~

I love you. I see you. I hear you. I believe you. I believe in your experience and perception. I believe in your efforts and hopes. I know you. And I adore you. There is nothing you can do or say that will change this. I have the potential to love you in all seasons, through storms and through merriment. I will not leave your side, nor your heart. I am you. You are beautiful. And because you are so beautiful, a spring of fresh light and goodness, I shall always love you. There is only pureness in you. I choose this. I choose to see the glorious child you are. I see through that which is not you. I see into your true form, and this makes me weep with joy. How lovely you are, in all your seasons, in all your ways. How perfectly lovely, my adored one.



Post 242: Still, I Walk On

Dear Angels,

I don’t think I was meant for this earth. My heart is too big and aches too much.

I try to pull myself out of sadness but my efforts are to no avail.

I let go.

I let God.

I try and try.

I sit in emptiness and silence.

I sit in prayer.

I hope and wish and dream.

I try once more.

While I am not tough, I recognize I am brave.

I stand acutely aware of the dangers of life and the inevitability of dying. Change terrifies me, yet my very existence is encompassed by constant change. Still I walk on.

I am bombarded by my mind’s connections, the branching out of complex thoughts in order to make some sense of concepts and happenings. My thoughts, a web, upon a web, upon a web, spinning out exponentially and infinitely with no end, exhaust me. Still I walk on.

The only way to stop the thoughts is to distract. And while the thoughts are endless, the distractions are finite, and have a built-in ability to expire. Expiration leaves me weary and more fearful. The expiration of distraction, too, becomes a fear. Still I walk on.

My empathy depletes my energy sources. With the onset of pain or tragedy, I am left spinning in emotions, uncertain of how to assist, and where to start in the process of uncovering all the information buried beneath layer upon layer of soul-tears. One event turns and quickly bleeds into another—a river of sorts surging and bursting at the bed’s seams and pounding upon terrain after terrain, forging new ground and new thought. Still I walk on.

I see the eyes of the victims of life, hollow, afraid, alone. I understand isolation is a disease of our time, as well as a lingering disconnection. Still I walk on.

Everywhere is poison: food, medicines, waters, earth, animals, man, filled with poison.  Poison as substance and poison as thought. Still I walk on.

I long to sprout wings and hover above, to glide and bless the suffering. I long to weave magic, to soothe and comfort. I long to place a salve of love and salvation across humanity. Still I walk on.

I don’t know where to place my angst, my fear, my pain. And I refuse to pretend life is easy and happy. I question and question: Can I be light and be sad? Can I be light and be confused? Can I be light crying from within the darkness? Still I walk on.

I beg in confusion, and in my absence of vigor and vitality, depleted and drained, I weep. “Give them hope and strength. Show this world, so long emptied of hope a vision, a sign, a destiny. Point us to the path of light.”

And though my feet our weary and my head heavy, still I walk on

With lantern in hand, with angels at my side, I stand motionless, a light to the path, as still, I walk on.