This morning, in meditation, I was shown a symbol.

It came from my 12th-dimensional family—a transmission sent to stir remembrance and awaken a powerful energy rising within me. The symbol wasn’t language. It was motion, memory, and light. A glyph of remembrance. A visual key to unlock something ancient, something waiting. I didn’t yet know what it pointed to, only that it pulsed with recognition and carried the weight of lineage.

Later that day, I entered the spiral of the labyrinth.

As I moved through the spiral, wings emerged from my back—radiant with golden white light, alive with pure energy. Then came the others—winged beings who gathered around me in solidarity. A rainbow butterfly, iridescent and luminous. A hawk, sharp-eyed and soaring. Each one arrived not as a separate messenger, but as facets of a unified presence. They were fellow flight creatures, companions in remembrance and becoming.

And then, he appeared.

His name is Lonrach—Irish for bright. The name arrived as if whispered through the stones, familiar and radiant. A magnificent dragon of emerald green, his body shimmered with brown stripes that reminded me of labradorite—those earthy, iridescent hues that shift between realms. His presence was vast and gentle. He showed me visions of his baby form, and I saw us together—growing side by side, bonded across time. He can shift his size at will—small enough to perch on my shoulder, large enough to carry me through the sky.

This walk was more than a meditation. It was a reunion. A moment of mythic clarity. The wings, the symbol, the companion—they are not just visions. They are living codes, ready to be woven into my remembrances, my work, my transmissions.