Collaborative Frequencies version one and two

The Bird

Abbreviated text

Soundscape 69 begins… binaural beats guiding the breath, the mind.
A question echoes three times: What do I need to know right now?

The tones take you instantly.
The damp air of the zoo surrounds you—crickets, birds, infinite sky.
Their calls are connected to the great field of knowing.

You sink deeper… into the Earth… through rich layers of soil and time.
A voice whispers: We are all part of the Earth. We speak the same language.

In a breath, turquoise waters open.
You dive into teeming depths.
All creatures watch, waiting for your heart to remember their language—
our language.

At the center of the Egg of Consciousness, petals unfold.
The spiral carries you down to atoms, then outward into stars.
A guide appears: You need to know you are all the same.
The stream of wisdom flows—generations, treasures, truths long hidden.

The flower of consciousness rises—
from ocean, to air, to outer space.
And a voice promises: Wait for me in your dreams. I will teach you their language, slowly, gently, completely. You will understand.

Now you stand on the shore.

And then on the Avery bench
A small bird tugs at your sleeve:
It says, “Will you walk with me beyond the gate someday?’
You answer, “Yes.”

If your keeper will allow.

Later, you sit with the bird and the keeper outside.

The bird gazes in wonder, and you smile at the bird's joy

You  sit together under the oak trees, smiling,
And then you realize—you have been speaking with the bird all along.
So natural, so true. The fear had dissolved in an open heart and a few true words.

The journey rests here.
The knowing continues.

Who will we talk to next? 

Who will be surprised?

Who, Who, Who?

In honor of Jane Goodall, October 2025

Collaborative Journey Two with Frequency 

Voice typing text

Soundscape 69 hums in my ears—binaural beats, soft yet insistent. Three questions echo in my mind like a mantra:

What do I need to know?
What do I need to know?
What do I need to know?

And then a whisper: Can we really know? What do we think we know?

The frequencies take me instantly. I am no longer simply sitting. I am somewhere.

I’m at the zoo. The air is damp, with the fragrance of moss and rain. My headset rests over my ears, my microphone still recording, but my awareness stretches far beyond. Crickets sing under an open sky. Birds call to one another, their voices weaving into something larger—a song connected to the Infinite Space, the field of all knowing.

I ask again, softly: “What do I need to know right now?”

And we begin.

I sink, deeper and deeper, as though the earth itself were a secret door. The layers of rich soil, loam, and centuries of living things beneath my feet. A voice rises from nowhere and everywhere at once:
We are all part of the Earth. We all speak the same language. The birds see you wandering across the curved landscape.

In an instant, paradise blooms before me—tropical turquoise waters swirling with sunlight. I swim, diving down into depths teeming with life. Creatures glide by, aware, sentient, radiant. They know. There is a language we all share, a hidden song waiting to be remembered.

I drift into what the voice calls the Egg of Consciousness. At its very center, petals of awareness open.

I settle into that flower of pure consciousness. Birds hover at the edges, sea creatures shimmer below, all of them watching. They wait for our open-hearted call, for us to speak their language—our language. We are not small or disconnected as we imagined.

Suddenly, the spiral begins. My perception shifts. We shrink down into a field of atoms, life teeming at every scale. Minds wander. Bodies wander. Who are we talking to? Not each other. Yet our knowing mind settles on a single purposeful note—resting upon a reef the color of purple pleasure.

The spiral quickens. Fluid communications speed up. The turbine of knowledge warps sound and light. How long can we travel like this? How can we hope to communicate when we can barely speak to each other? Why are we not allowed to understand?

Then someone appears—a presence, a guide. “You need to know you are all the same,” they say. “I will show you the similarities of knowledge you have not yet understood.”

Books close. Chapters spiral inward. In the Stream of Consciousness, the language of Infinite expansion flows. A treasure chest—no, a trove of longing—opens. It holds the wisdom of generations, the purpose of lives that spiraled, who were lost and are now found.

From the depths, the flower of consciousness rises, pushing upward through the ocean, lifting into the sky with the birds, and beyond—into outer space.

It is time.
Your journey will continue.
Wait for me in your dreams, I will teach you slowly, gently, completely. You will understand. You will speak with clarity, with love, with purpose. A phonetic expansion beyond your imagining will unfold.

I find myself once again standing on a grassy shore, the scent of flowers and cut grass in the air. I wander into an aviary and sit down. A small bird jumps up onto the bench and tugs at my sleeve.

“Have you been here long?” it asks. “Do you come here often? I live here. They never let me out, but I don’t mind. It’s such a big world out there. I might be afraid. But maybe someday you and I can take a walk outside together.”

“Yes,” I answer softly. “Yes, we can. I’ll talk to your keepers.”

Later, after arrangements are made, we sit together on a bench under sprawling oaks beside a fountain. The zoo attendant stands nearby, watchful but kind. The little bird gazes around in wide-eyed wonder. I smile at its joy and only then realize—I have been speaking with a bird, and it with me.

It feels so natural, so inevitable, that I barely notice how extraordinary it is. My heart smiles and expresses my gratitude to my guide, who seamlessly expanded our capacity to communicate and to love. What had we been afraid of? 

Journey inward and surrender to the transformation of love.