A Lamination of Light | Catherine Viel

By Catherine Viel, August 4, 2022

(Golden Age of Gaia)

August 3, 2022

Life is bare
Gloom and misery everywhere
Stormy weather
Just can’t get my poor self together
I’m weary all the time, the time
So weary all the time
~Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler, Stormy Weather



We’ve got weird, heavy weather right now. One of the bank employees called it “monsoonal” yesterday. Petite thunderheads coming over the Santa Ynez Mountains, mixed with morning fog coming in off the Santa Barbara Channel.

Things feel unsettled and awkward, somehow not quite right. Either I am mirroring the weather, or the weather mirrors me. Perhaps it’s symbiotic.

*****



Ambling about, negotiating endless chores, I stopped in the middle of what I was doing, aware of a state bordering somnolence even as I was navigating through the house.

When I stood still a moment, I briefly sensed the ghost of a second body, adjacent to this heavy, dragged-down yet miraculous network of cells that make up the me within the skin. A flash of awareness so quick that when I mentally registered it, it had already vanished and I wondered if it was purely imagination.

A few minutes later I watched a common white butterfly alight on the newly blooming pink valerian. It seems that this butterfly has already merged its lighter self with its earthly insect body, wings over wings, the insubstantial lightness of the one imbuing the visible framework of the other with a radiance barely perceptible to human eyes. The light wing and the physical wing seem to be laminated together, fused with a spiritual glue I can only envy.

*****



I’ve noticed that elders in care homes spend much of their time sleeping outright, or dozing in the twilight between worlds. Unless bedeviled by physical pain or other importunities, many seem to surrender to their limitations with relative peacefulness. There can be a luminescence in their faces, unaccounted for by lighting or positioning.

I imagine that they are beginning the fusion, the lamination of light, as they lie sleeping or dozing. The translucence of their skin is akin to that of the butterfly’s wings. Their bodies of light seem to hover closely, protectively, just a hairsbreadth from their physical skin.

In the cacophonous predicting of what will happen to humans who physically ascend, I’ve yet to find an explanation I can fully believe. We are flesh and we will still be flesh, but we will be in 5D…even though 5D is a different physical realm than what we know, and our present physical bodies would find it insuperable.



Perhaps I can get an inkling, watching the butterflies and hummingbirds, and the luminous resting faces of our elders, of how this paradox may materialize. We don’t leave the bodies that we are. We alter, and we emanate a brighter and more pure version of light, laminating unimaginable future selves with the all-too-prosaic present bodies we inhabit.

When I return to doing what needs doing, I sense a ghost of that ghost of light, its radiance infusing the mundane with a magic I can just barely believe in, and reach toward with wondering, hesitant fingers.