I am serving My mother. I am carrying her where I walk.

 

 I am carrying her into the realities of others, into where she wants to be. I am serving My mother by being her horse, her mouth, her hands, her voice. I am serving My mother when I sing, when I open the gates of her temple. I am one of my mother’s gatekeepers. I stand for her at the gate, I lift only the outermost veil so that others may enter into her strength and radiance.

When I am serving my mother, she cares for Me and allows Me to sit in her lap. Sometimes I am her channel. Sometimes I am her pet.
I manifest her energy, as presence. It is a dance of chaos. I manifest her energy by bringing her dominance into presence, so that others may give her what they will, what she may want.

She is a terrifying mother. When I create terror in another, by psychic or physical means, I take them into her presence. I enable transformation, if that is what is chosen.
What happens in the temple is not of me. I open the gate,
I guard, I wait outside, with comfort after the fear, after the power is revealed.

It is an odd dance of feelings, mother destroyer lover warrior.

My mother slays demons. I can only show her where they are.
I serve my mother by showing people their own demons, and leading them to her so they may make sacrifices of them.
Those who have enough of demons will offer them to my mother.

Some will choose to keep them. It is never forced. Those who keep their demons often turn away in rage. I wait by the temple gate.
Only sometimes My mother will catch Me when I fall, but she will always hold Me once I arise.

I have always served My mother.

 

 When I didn’t know her, I served her. I was told it was wrong, that she didn’t exist.

I was lied to.

My mother has many sisters. They all have servants.

Some of Us serve at the gates, some of Us tend the fires, some of us serve food. Some of Us serve for lifetimes, some serve only for moments.

All service is rendered due. One cannot pretend to serve. If one claims a role, it will be played eventually.

While I am bound by consent, she is not. She does not “demand” absolute submission, as that would imply there was a choice in the matter.

One can choose to directly acknowledge her, but there is no choice in where you walk, and what her will is. By serving My mother as gatekeeper, I have many aspects. There are no limits on how I play My part.

There are many doors, and no one uniform is required.

I am serving in My mother’s house. My key opens many doors. Not all. Not even one in nine.
Sometimes the key is a word. Sometimes the key is a whip. Sometimes the key is a hand on the heart and a soft lap. Sometimes the key is a rattan cane singing in the air.
Sometimes the key is shiny and sharp.
Sometimes the door opened is not the one expected.

I am serving in My mother’s house.

I am the machine and She is the operator. I am the house and She is the indweller. I am the chariot and She is the charioteer. I move as She moves Me; I speak as She speaks through Me.