The Blue Flame Chronicles XVI: The Gloves

Power, Wisdom, and the Choice to Love

A Note Before You Begin

This Chronicle is different.

For the first time, I am writing almost entirely from “I” rather than through the lens of mythology or symbolism.

Over the years, I have experienced memories, dreams, visions, and moments of knowing that have followed me like echoes. Some feel like soul memories. Some feel symbolic. Some may be past lives, parallel lives, or something else entirely.

I no longer feel the need to know exactly what they are.

What matters is the wisdom they carried.

This Chronicle is not about proving what is real.

It is about sharing what transformed me.

It is about power, grief, forgiveness, wisdom, and the lessons hidden within our deepest wounds.

Most of all, it is about learning that love is stronger than shame.

And that sometimes the path home begins the moment we stop hiding from our own humanity.

With love,

Lisa 💙

⸻

The Blue Flame Chronicles, Part XVI

The Gloves

There are some stories I have never told.

Not because I was ashamed of them.

But because I did not yet understand them.

Over the years, I have experienced memories, dreams, visions, and moments of knowing that have followed me like echoes. Some feel like soul memories. Some feel symbolic. Some may be past lives, parallel lives, or something else entirely.

I no longer feel the need to know exactly what they are.

What matters is the wisdom they carried.

And no symbol has returned to me more often than the gloves.

I know why you came a year after I did.

At least, I think I do.

My arrival was an experiment.

There were concerns about whether I would be able to remain stable in a human body. Fire does not naturally belong in such a dense place. Maintaining the proper temperature was difficult, and there were questions about whether I would burn out or burn up.

As a human child, I experienced fevers often.

Later, I began to wonder if they were connected.

Even now, I have unusual reactions to heat. If I remain out in the sun too long, I can sometimes smell my own skin burning, even when I am wearing sunscreen and taking precautions. The scent arrives before any visible evidence appears.

Part of me wonders if my relationship with heat has always been different.

Very few Seraphim had attempted incarnation in this way.

To take a being of fire and place it within flesh may have always carried challenges.

Sometimes I wonder if my body has spent a lifetime learning how to hold a flame that was never meant to live inside human skin.

I remember believing that some powerful beings had to wear permanent gloves.

Not physical gloves.

Energetic ones.

Protective barriers placed over their hands so they would not accidentally harm others.

At the time, I did not fully understand why.

Later, I remembered another life.

Or another place.

Or another existence.

I cannot say for certain what it was.

In one of my QHHT sessions, I experienced myself as an immortal being living in hiding.

I concealed my location.

I concealed where I lived.

I was being hunted.

There were those who knew what I could do, and because of that, I could never fully reveal myself.

I possessed an unusual ability.

I could restore life through touch.

I remember seeing a dead butterfly lying on the ground.

I knelt beside it and touched it gently with my finger.

The moment I touched it, life returned.

Its wings moved.

It rose.

And it flew away.

The memory was simple, but it stayed with me.

Another memory followed.

I was walking along a shoreline and saw a horse lying dead on the beach.

Something inside me knew it did not belong that way.

I walked over to it.

I placed both of my hands on its belly.

I felt something move through me.

Life flowed where there had been none.

The horse breathed.

Its body stirred.

And it rose again.

The theme always returned.

Life.

Restoration.

Remembrance.

Yet that same existence contained another side.

One day, while I was hiding, they found me.

Five or six men arrived carrying weapons.

I remember opening the door.

I remember feeling completely calm.

There was no panic.

No fear.

No struggle.

All I had to do was focus.

The moment I did, they froze where they stood.

One by one, they turned to dust.

I remember understanding that I possessed both abilities.

The power to restore life.

And the power to end it.

Perhaps that was why I lived in hiding.

Perhaps that was why others feared me.

Or perhaps it was why I feared myself.

When I look at my life now, I sometimes sense those invisible gloves are still there.

I have never tried very hard to remove them.

Part of me simply accepts their presence.

Part of me understands why they exist.

Because I remember another version of myself carrying gifts that others could not understand.

I do not want to become that being again.

I do not want to live in fear.

I do not want to spend my existence hiding.

If these memories are true, then perhaps the lesson was never about power.

Perhaps it was always about wisdom.

Then life gave me lessons of its own.

In 2018, my father died.

My whole world as I knew it was collapsing around me.

During that time, Eric said horrible things about my father.

I snapped.

It was the most out of control I have ever been in my life.

I slapped him.

The impact ruptured his eardrum.

I am not proud of that moment.

At the same time, I cannot pretend it did not happen.

It is part of my story.

When I think about the memories of power, I sometimes wonder if the gloves are connected to moments like this.

Not because I believe I am dangerous.

But because I understand what can happen when grief, pain, anger, and power collide.

My father’s death shattered me.

For a brief moment, I lost control of myself.

That was not who I was.

But it was something I did.

And I carried the weight of it for years.

There is something else I have never told anyone.

A time when I hit rock bottom.

I was driving.

I had been drinking.

And for a moment, I did not care what happened.

I did not care if I crashed.

I did not care if I lived.

Looking back now, that realization breaks my heart.

Because my son needed me.

His biological father had already walked away.

And for a brief moment, I considered doing the same.

I am not ashamed to confess my human flaws.

And I am no longer ashamed of my mistakes.

They shaped me.

They humbled me.

They brought me face-to-face with parts of myself I could no longer ignore.

Most importantly, they led me to God.

For years, I thought I was alone.

Then one day, I looked up the meaning of my name.

Lisa.

God’s promise.

God’s oath.

And something inside me softened.

Because I realized I had never been alone at all.

Not during the grief.

Not during the mistakes.

Not during the darkness.

Not even at the bottom.

For years, I wondered about the gloves.

I wondered if they existed because power was dangerous.

I wondered if they existed because I was dangerous.

But age has a way of revealing things differently.

Looking back, I no longer see the gloves as punishment.

I see them as wisdom.

I see them as the lessons that arrived through grief.

Through loss.

Through mistakes.

Through moments I am not proud of and no longer need to hide.

Because I have touched both despair and redemption in this lifetime.

I have known what it feels like to lose control.

I have known what it feels like to stand at the bottom and wonder if there is a way back.

And yet, somehow, there always was.

Not because I was strong.

But because love kept finding me.

Sometimes through people.

Sometimes through unexpected moments.

Sometimes through God.

When I finally stopped running from my humanity, I discovered something surprising.

The flame was never asking me to become more powerful.

It was asking me to become more loving.

And perhaps that is the true purpose of every gift, every wound, every memory, and every mystery we carry.

Not power.

Not perfection.

But wisdom.

Tonight, I choose love.

Not as a distant dream, but as a living presence.

I send it into the world like ripples across water, trusting that what is meant for me will find its way home.

Until then, I become whole within myself while remaining open to the sacred possibility of sharing this life with another soul.

And perhaps that is enough.

Perhaps it always was.

💙