Sharing Sacred Hearts

One particular meditative experience had a major impact on my life. In Spring 1994, I had come down with the seasonal flu. Sneezy, achy, and generally uncomfortable, I took to hanging out and sleeping in the spare room so I wouldn’t spread germs to the rest of the family.

The morning this experience occurred, my now ex-husband was leaving for a recreational trip to Europe. I was upset. I felt abandoned. Here I was flat-out sick with three young children to care for… school, sports, homework, cooking – and he was leaving. I resented him and the situation.

I heard the doorbell ring at four in the morning. The limo had arrived. The front door opened and shut, and then all was quiet. Lying there feeling miserable, I decided the best course of action would be meditation. It would calm me, help bring me to a better state of mind and generate healing energies.

Using a range of colors and inner imagery, I brought myself to a quiet meditative state. There in the midst of meditation, asking earnestly for comfort from the sickness, fear, and pain in my life, I begged God to take it all away and to help me understand so I might better deal with it all. As odd as it sounds, I remember feeling as if I were an observer of the self meditating. Using gestures, and speaking out loud all the while, I pointed out each hurt and injury for God to see. They were many, but they were small. They existed in my heart.

Somehow I had opened my physical body to display the inner being and all the despair, hurt, and bleeding tears. I am more of a meditator than a prayer, so I found it out of character to see myself praying in this conscious meditative experience. “Please God, help me,” I prayed.

The meditative vision continued. I was gazing up at the white ceiling. A form had begun to take shape. it moved and molded, and finally became the profile of a face and neck. Watching this unfold, I thought, “What is this? No, who is this?” Then, a face started to take shape. “It looks like my brother. It IS my brother!”

The face was very white and smooth, and it spoke, “Look, I too have wounds. I too feel pain.” As I continued to stare up at the face, I realized that it was not my brother after all, the form had become the face of Christ, and the face became yet more human. He became flesh. The smooth whiteness turned into a physical body. Opening the folds of his robe, he showed me his wounds. He showed me his bleeding heart, and he spoke of his pain.” I too carry the wounds you bear,” he said. “We share this pain.”

I knew then with certainty that we were one. I knew my pain was his pain. I knew that he felt what I felt and that I would never walk alone. I reached up toward him. “Let me come with you,” I said. I felt him take my hands, lifting me up – and then he let go. I fell back to the pillows and came out of the meditative experience. I was sad that I wasn’t allowed to leave, but I knew that it was necessary for me to remain here on Earth. I still had work to do.

I write of this experience to share awareness. Moving out of the meditation, I recognized the images as the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I had not been a part of the Catholic faith in over 20 years. As a child, I found these mystical images to be just pictures connected to words and concepts in our religious education books that I didn’t understand.

My interpretation of this meditation is that Jesus exists as our brother in Spirit. He was born, lived, and died so that we might know that we are more than this and that there is no death. We are spiritual beings experiencing human life. We are individually manifested souls, brothers and sisters, each interconnected in Spirit. We, at a deeper level, feel each other’s pain and despair, or joy and happiness, and somewhere in the history of humanity, we’ve lost the ability to recognize the connection.

That morning, my perspective of reality completely changed. Years of meditation, studying, and trusting the collective interconnected Spirit has led me exactly where I am meant to be – here, sharing these experiences with you.

We are more than this…

Gifts of the spirit

My family accepted me with all the ghost-seeing, aura reading, and knowing-what-would-happen intuitive skills. It became my way of life. Months before my brother died at only 34, I dreamt that I was sitting at our kitchen table with him. In the dream, he was telling me that he was tired and that his body was worn out. He continued saying he had done the work he’d come to do and it was time to leave. I asked if there was anything I could do to help him. He just repeated, “No, it’s just my time to go.”

I called mom the next morning and told her about the dream, asking her if I should call my brother and tell him about the dream conversation. She said no, “It’s best to let him live the happiness he’s finally found until he leaves us.” My brother had married just a year earlier and was very happy. I let life unfold and put aside what had been revealed to me. Six months later, he died in a tragic accident.

Another dream foretold the birth of my youngest child. I had experienced two miscarriages in four years and given up any hope of having another baby. In 1994 I was pregnant again. The baby was consistently positioned in such a way that ultrasound could not clearly determine the sex of the child. However, my dreaming life showed that should I choose to carry the child, it would be a boy, and that he would have special needs. In the dream, I was shown his characteristics and again provided a choice. My response in the dream, “Well, I am already mother to two children with similar needs, if I can raise them, I can raise him too.”

I decorated the room with blue blinds and soft blue hues and bought little boy clothing. Of course, friends and family were skeptical – at least those who did not know of my intuitive skills. But I trusted what I knew and in July 1995 I gave birth to my youngest son, just as predicted. He is on the autism spectrum, but this hasn’t prevented him from having a happy life and a very successful career that he loves.

In another instance, which involved a form of “inner listening,” I had walked in on a discussion between my (now ex) husband and at the time, 14-year-old son. They were in total disagreement about his clothing, my ex saying our son’s (skater) pants were much too baggy. I opened my mouth to start saying something to “fix” what was happening, and just before the words left my mouth, I clearly heard that inner voice say, “Be still.” I froze and said nothing. In the next instant, the two of them made a decision to go shopping together to pick out new clothes, both happy with the outcome.

If I had intervened, that magic moment may not have occurred, that moment where they had both compromised. This particular listening skill is called “clairaudience.” As the years have gone by, I’ve learned to pay attention to the assistance that is provided and available in any given situation. Well, most of the time.

Throughout the years it became more of a challenge when using these abilities. It was necessary to interact with people who were not family members, people who knew nothing about my intuitive skills. One particular instance that stands out involved a new neighborhood friend and a pastor.

In April 1995, a new friend from my neighborhood and I decided to visit a local church. After attending several services and liking the atmosphere, we decided to try out for a production they were putting on for the Easter holiday. On the evening of tryouts, I stayed after to introduce myself and thank the pastor for choosing me and my kids for parts in the play. I reached out and shook his hand. In just seconds, inwardly I saw images of him with very red eyes and a puffy face. “He’s sick. He has heart disease. He needs a doctor now,” said that inner voice. All the time, I went on speaking, thanking him for the opportunity and saying goodnight.

After tossing and turning through the night, nervous as heck, I decided to call the pastor the next morning. I knew he needed to see a health professional as soon as possible. He took my call, which surprised me at the time because he literally had thousands of congregants. I explained who I was and that I’d had these nagging feelings that he may be ill since we had shaken hands the night before. I told him that I felt he needed to see his doctor and asked if he’d been feeling okay.

The pastor asked what I had seen or heard, explaining that he believed in the “gifts of the Holy Spirit” and to please continue. I told him of the images I saw while shaking his hand, that he may be dealing with heart disease. The pastor confessed that he’d been experiencing some shoulder pain and soreness. He thanked me and promised he’d follow up with his doctor.

Within a week he was diagnosed with heart blockage and had an angioplasty. He ate the right foods, exercised, and trimmed down. Three years later, during a community pastor’s luncheon, he died suddenly of a heart attack. Maybe my speaking with him added three years to his life he might not have had, allowing him more time with family and to complete church projects. The church grew to become one of the largest in the Midwest.

All of this meant stepping out of my comfort zone, out of the family circle into self-confidence. It meant I was allowing others to see the part of me kept hidden, only shared with those closest to me. I feel that every individual is capable of consciously connecting with Spirit or God in order to access intuitive skills. We are a drop in the big ocean of Spirit Collective, each very distinct and a beautiful representative of God. It’s a life choice, a life journey where meditation and listening to your inner voice becomes a way of life, where compassion for others, living with honesty, and loving acceptance is a daily practice.

We are more than this…

Leaning into early esoteric abilities

photo by Vasilios Muselimis

My intuitive and empathic skills increased throughout my tweens into teens. High school, 1969 freshman year, Vietnam, peace rallies, and walk-outs. We staged protests to end the war and refused to wear skirts or dresses to school. I was suspended for wearing pants to school. My mother was again a source of support and an ally in our efforts, in addition to coaching the ever-growing intuitive skills.

At 14, I was a bit of a wild-child, running with some crazy fun juniors and seniors getting into all kinds of mischief. I’ll spare you the details. Mom decided it would be best to keep me close, and sought out alternative extracurricular activities, which included metaphysical studies.

Knowing my skills, and having had several premonition-type experiences herself throughout life, she understood my needs and found appropriate avenues for my endless energies. Spirit led her to an esoteric awareness group that studied many aspects of metaphysics and spirituality. On weekends and some weekday evenings, she would sweep me off to meditation and discussion groups, metaphysical workshops, and seminars where my gifts were accepted and strongly encouraged. I am ever grateful for her strength, acceptance, and reassurance. For me, this was a homecoming. I found comfort in the kindred spirits of this group of people and blossomed in the accepting environment. It was a new beginning and time of great learning.

photo by Alexandra Mirgheș

I participated in this group from age fifteen to twenty-five, until after my first child was born. Our group studies included The Seth Material series by Jane Roberts, A Course in Miracles by Helen Schucman, and Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes. We practiced a variety of meditation methods, attended seminars where we learned energy healing techniques, psychometry, shared stories and grew in abilities. It was a time of growth in all aspects of life, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.

The early years were novel, mysterious, exciting, and fun. It was a game for me. I learned to read auras and to understand what the colors and wave activity meant, trained in psychometric readings, and performed energy healings. As a teen, it was entertaining and cool. I practiced and played until life, marriage, and children consumed me. The skills and abilities fell to the wayside as I became immersed in adult life.

I still dreamt but remembered very little. There was too much going on in everyday life. Married to an alcoholic who would not get help, I made the decision to divorce and moved into single parenting mode with two babies. Paying attention only to the job of supporting my children, I worked long hours in an effort to make enough to take care of us. Two years late, I married again and discovered within the first year that this man also had addiction challenges, which he had kept hidden from me knowing I would never marry him had I known. This time around, I chose to stay in the relationship to try to work things out. I brought two more wonderful children into this world and went through the rehab process with this second husband several times.

During this time, I also became active in church and community, created and participated in support groups for women, meditated, and discovered confidence and strengths I had not previously known. In my mid-forties, I went back to school non-stop, completing a Bachelors in Arts, and a Masters in Higher Education Administration in under four years.

I blossomed, as did the metaphysical talents I’d set aside for so many years. Little did I know what the Universe had in store for me. Stay tuned.

“We are more than this…“

“I’m just a kid…” I told the Spirit

An unusual sixth sense experience in childhood cemented the strong support and guidance my mother would provide to me later in life when it was desperately needed. Around the age of 10, with the family growing out of the small house we lived in, my father added two bedrooms and a great-room to our home. I was given one of the new bedrooms to share with my sister. With nine children, four of us girls had been sharing a small room, and my brothers another room. This was exciting.

One night, shortly after we’d settled into our new sleeping space, I woke to a loud scraping sound. Looking toward the noise, there stood a woman wearing a long checkered dress. She reached out toward me pleading, “Help me, I’ve hurt my leg. I need your help.”

I turned toward my sister who was snoring softly, wondering if I was dreaming. Was I still asleep? Pushing at her shoulder, I realized I was definitely awake, and this was really happening. The woman was getting closer to my side of the bed. Clutching at her hurt leg, she inched toward me, begging for help, reaching out she repeated “Help me,” over and over. She had a gash in her leg, and it was bleeding.

“N-n-n-ooo… go away,” I tried to say, but there was no sound coming from my mouth. I was scared speechless. “Go away, go away, go away!” I was finally able to yell out at her.

“Mo-om! Dad! Help!” Closing my eyes, I wished her away, I wanted this to be a dream. She reached out again, very close to me… “Go away. I’m just a kid! I can’t help you!” I looked toward the door to see if I could escape her… looked back in her direction, and then she was gone. Jumping out of bed, I ran for my parent’s bedroom next to mine.

Shaking Mom’s shoulder frantically, I cried, “There’s a woman in my room, she’s cut her leg and it’s bleeding! Come on mom, dad… she needs help! I screamed and you didn’t hear me. I’m not going back in there.”

My parents ran into the room, turned on the lights, and of course she was not there, and on top of this, my sister had slept through the entire event. I refused to go back into that bedroom, and was moved to the opposite end of the house the next day. This was my first experience in talking with those who had transitioned from the physical.

As the years flew by I experienced more of what would be considered out of the ordinary moments. I knew who was on the phone before it was picked up. I would say to mom, “Oh, that’s Shirley or Gramma, or Jeannie.” It became a game between the two of us. I knew when someone was going to die because I’d dream it before it happened, and shared everything with my mother. There were out of body experiences. After falling asleep for the night and entering the dream state (or so I thought), I’d find myself hovering over a friend watching them read or sleep, knowing I wasn’t in the physical because I saw my own body resting for the night. I figured everyone could do these things.

Inevitably, it became obvious that others were not having the same experiences. Except for mom, I told no one what I could do, what I was experiencing. In an effort to conform and to be like others, I ignored what was happening as much as possible, running for cover in everyday life. I did all the things “normal” eleven, twelve, and thirteen year-olds did then. School, homework, friends, and socializing filled my days, along with caring for my eight siblings, cooking and cleaning… until high school. Then everything changed.

More to come… we are more than this!

Intuitive Listening

It’s been a long while since I’ve written. Navigating the “stay-safe-at-home” world has not been as challenging for me as it might be for others. I’ve worked from home since 2018, and have managed an autoimmune challenge throughout, so being at home has come easily. Not seeing my adult children has been hard, I miss them. They continue to work, and most of what they do involves the public, so my creatures haven’t been allowed in the house in almost a year. However, we have had some very nice driveway chats, complete with birthday cake and smoothies for small “safe” celebrations.

In the past, this blog has been almost exclusively spiritually centered, and for the most part, it will continue to be so. It’s time to share more about what it’s meant to be an intuitive from birth, navigating life, trying to figure out how I fit, and how the “gifts” fit into everyday life. In workshops I’ve held, or just in casual conversation, most everyone I’ve talked with feels that they have a sort of sixth-sense, but also feel they don’t much listen to those gut feelings or little nudges. Instead, they brush off the images or insights as just fleeting thoughts. But what if they didn’t? What if they actually listened to the insights, paid attention to those images, and followed through on those gut feelings?

It’s taken me years to pay attention and in many instances, it’s made life much easier. Not to say I’ve perfected the art of inner listening, there have been times I’ve experienced epic fails because I pushed the knowing aside and didn’t listen to those inner taps, those hello, I’m talking to you, why aren’t you listening moments. I continue to try to put the autopilot aside and flow with the thoughts and images that come. Before any decision, before taking on a project, before addressing any challenges, I now take a few minutes to stop what I’m doing, to sit in silence, to connect with Source, to listen, and wait for insight.

For me, the first step to getting into inner flow is the ability to connect with the Source, or Spirit through mini-meditations throughout the day. I personally find that only five to ten minutes is necessary after I’ve centered and am in a calm state. It’s taken some years to learn to center. Meditative practice over a lifetime has provided the ability to sit and center fairly easily. But mind you, it did take practice, practice, practice.

You may call it connecting with your higher self, with God, with Buddha, or with All That Is. You may call it the Christ Consciousness, a prayer state, or connecting with the Ether. Whatever your word or image for this source of assistance, first comes the ability to connect. Maybe you already have that ability, but if not, in the next post, I’ll share how I turn off autopilot living, tune out the world, and allow myself the opportunity to listen deeply to the inner realm, to realize that we are more than this...

Are you ready for an adventure?

The country is crying

• 

We’re Just Passin’ Through

Unexpected Loss

My two oldest children lost their father to cancer this weekend. He was 61. Divorced over 30 years, we’d come to a peaceful place with each other. To the point where we could sit and have a conversation about our lives, the kids and the state of the world. You know, everyday stuff.

He didn’t know he was sick until about two months ago. So this was an unexpected leaving. The kids visited with him, and he was happy in his last hours. As happy as one can be in a dying state, I suppose. I grieve him. I grieve that he lived with illness and pain and that there was nothing that could be done for him. I am very sad that our children are grieving the loss of this gentle soul. Because that is what he was above all else. Gentleness in a world that is not often seen, or offered. No matter the differences that eventually pushed and pulled us apart in those early years, that gentleness was the reason I married him. He was the reason I am gifted with the presence of two amazing people on the life path. Thank you for that gentle soul.

My son and I made arrangements with the funeral home. I wrote his obituary. I wish now that I had said more about the gentle-man who had attempted to live and thrive in such a harsh world, but I didn’t. Seriously… he was almost too innocent for this world.

We Are More Than This…

My own esoteric experiences have taught me that this reality is meant to be a place of experiences, where lives can be lived well. Or not. It’s really up to each one of us to decide. Me? I’ve made some incredibly naive and not so great choices, pushing myself and this body through events and drama I would tell my dearest friends to run from, to steer way, way clear of. And the results? I wore out my vehicle. My body crashed.

Hey, but you know what? The crash that came with being the overachiever, the fixer, the mommy, the best wife I could possibly be, the one everyone could count on? It forced me to sit. Well, lay down at first. For months. Chronic illness is a bitch.

Some time has passed and an early form of recovery is happening, albeit snail’s pace slow. I sit in awareness. In beauty, in breezy, sunny days, or listening to the rain, or playing with Frankie, the long-haired chihuahua trusty side-kick, and appreciating my adult children who pop in and gab, or bring me a surprise bunch of sunflowers. I sit doing work I love, writing or editing novels or articles on finance and travel. Lots of super-present moments, mindful awareness, moments I had not experienced before the crash. I was lost, running on autopilot. Despite all of the meditative knowings, lucid dreams, despite knowing we are more than this… I fell.

Conscious Connection With All That Is

The crash brought me back into conscious connection with Spirit, to the soul Collective. And my ex’s transition from this world to the next reminded me yet again that this is not our home. He is gone home. He’s left the vehicle behind. Individual expressions of Spirit, we are graced with experiencing incredible, vibrant life, exploding into diversity and life-paths filled with cosmopolitan personal stories that ignite passion, hardship, sorrow, joy, and love, shooting off, weaving through and into the canvas of time.

So now? What. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to sit for a moment and watch the sun sparkles come through the rustling leaves blowing in the trees behind your house. Or close your eyes and listen to the cricket song as the sun falls away past the rooftops and the trees become shadows against the last flash of red light. Maybe watch the woodpeckers dig into the trees for bugs, or the blue jays fight over their territory. Listen to the squirrels complain because you’re too close to their stash. Smell the fresh-cut grass. Hug your loved one and breathe. Just stop. Be now. Feel the connection.

We are more than this…

Dedicated to HWT. Save me a seat at the edge, we’ll dangle our feet for a while before the next adventure.

 

 

Bring it on!

 

It’s been a minute since I’ve written.  Life has been incredibly chaotic, for a while now.  Maybe longer than awhile, maybe for years.  Yes.  Definitely for years.  And when I reflect on the chaos, the constant challenges with my house, my job, my adult children, my health, and, and, and, I realize… Hey, wait a second.  This is life. For whatever reason, I have had the privilege of being presented with a new challenge fairly regularly for a lifetime, and ya know what?  I’m meeting those challenges.  So, should I be taunting the Universe with a Bring It On?  Hmmm, maybe, maybe not.

My youngest son and I went out for breakfast this morning.  He’s a senior web developer for a company that works with musicians, and in his spare time, an avid gamer.  I’m a techie in my own right, working freelance as a content writer, college student coach, and sometime virtual assistant.  So the two of us often talk tech and games, new software and gadgets.  This morning we were gabbing about a recent purchase I made, an amplified TV antenna.  The previous one was worn and broken.  I use it to catch local stations rather than paying for cable.  And if there’s something not on mainstream TV that I want to see, I’ll catch it on Hulu or Netflix, or some other reasonably priced service instead of paying crazy money for a bundle of stations I’ll never use.

Well, the new antenna arrived… ordered from Walmart.  (I rarely buy from them, but found it online, with decent reviews and thought why not?)  The product box, neatly packaged with padding inside a larger box, was misshapen, had obviously been beat up, stomped on and reassembled (the box, not the product), and did not have the original instruction pamphlet.  The product itself, amazingly, was in good condition… but didn’t work.  So.  Even though it’s been an incredibly busy morning, I am just ticked off enough to get in the car and drive out to the local Walmart store.  About halfway there, I thought, “Geez, I feel like I’m sleep-driving (kinda like sleep-walking),” but I persevered.  I can do this!

At the store, of course there is a long line in the customer service area.  Swaying a little while I’m standing, wondering if anyone can notice, I consider turning around and going home, but again, I persevere.  I can do this! “I definitely need coffee!”  Finally, it’s my turn.  I bring the product, nicely taped, with the receipt to the counter.  The customer service representative searches online with my customer number, and after some time has passed says, “Oh, this is a Marketplace purchase, I cannot take this back without the box it came in.”

“You’re holding it,” I say.

“No ma’am, the original box.  The box it was packed and shipped to you in,” she replies.  Seriously.  You’ve got to be kidding.  For real?  I thanked her and walked away, too tired and feeling somewhat defeated.  I knew I didn’t have the energy to argue or ask for a supervisor, to make a scene, or to hold up the ever-growing line behind me.

I got in the car, drove home, printed a return label from their website and drove it over to the shipping store on the corner by my house.  They didn’t ship FedEx.  Really?  I must have had a “look” on my face.  He directed me to the one down the street a few miles, “Not too far,” he said sympathetically. I really must have had that look.  Back in the car, I headed to the FedEx store.  Success!  The young gentlemen behind the counter looked at the package, scanned the label, and asked, “Contents?”

“A TV antenna,” I replied.

“They still make those?” He grinned.

“Yes. They’ve become popular for those of us who don’t want to pay for local stations.” I reply, feeling just a little bit ancient.  But what do I care?  Works for me.

Back to the discussion with my youngest son.  We often discuss how life is just waiting to pounce, could be good, could be sucky, or could be indifferent, but it’s going to pounce all the same.  Today, while describing the events… I said, “It’s just like the old SIMS games you kids played years ago.  Somebody chose this scenario for me and the drop-down box included, “Customer service rep refuses to accept return.  Must have original shipping box. (bwahahahaha)”  SIMS is a life simulation video game.

I remember one time years ago, the oldest boys were playing the game and had built this gorgeous house, complete with big screen TV’s, stereo’s, a pool, all the conveniences.  Unexpectedly, because that’s how life works even with SIMS, a fire started in the kitchen.  They had spent all their “money” on the best conveniences, and didn’t have a fire extinguisher.  So the house burned down.

There are no “fires” in my life today.  Today’s a better day.  It’s a sleepy one around here, albeit a little weird in the weather department because they’ve predicted 3 to 8 inches of snow.  (Another drop-down menu choice?)  No one is sick, there are no family emergencies, my freelance work is done for the week, and I can nap while the crazy enormous snow flakes fall to the ground.  The Universe has been kind.  And with reflection on yesterday’s series of events, the conversation with my son today, and the quietness of right now, in the moment, I think, “What’s next Universe?  Bring it on!  But, one request, can you reprogram those drop-down choices to something really, really good?  Like fun, happy, YEAH, good?”

Thanks.  Yours sincerely,

ME

We are more than this…

 

Visions of Destiny

 

It’s been years since I recorded this meditative experience, imagining and capturing the colors as I moved step to step.  I was honored when asked to share with an online Writers Salon, and share it here with you today.  It’s as fresh in my mind today as it was nearly 15 years ago.

Meditative Journal Entry – October 23, 2003

I woke at 8:30 today. Mmmm….Sunday, how delicious to sleep in, soft sheets against my skin and warm comfy blankets, stretching long and hard first, then curling up into a ball, I  sink deeper into the pillow soft mattress…“I think I’ll doze instead of pulling myself out of this heaven.” Pulling deeper into the warmth of a body heated cocoon, I doze, reaching inwardly to my healing room, downward, a step at a time imagined.

Breathe in…Swwww, “Red.” Breathe out. Whwww…Image of my now familiar staircase descending to the unconscious mind, each smooth step a vivid color, a railing to guide the hand of my spiritual body. Stepping onto the first step, a lipstick red, the kind you’d see on Marilyn, yeah, Monroe…the Charm lollipop cherry smell, mmmm…yum. The color rises from the step, enveloping me in its vibrancy; I am encased in a red haze.

Breathe in…Swwww, “Orange.” Breathe out, Whwww…Another step down to orange, tangy, tasty orange like the oranges at the Farmer’s Market, split open to sample…the color rises from the step, enveloping me in its sparkling juices, I am sheathed in a cloud of orange energy.

Breathe in…Swwww, “Yellow.” Breathe out, Whwww…glide to the next, yellow sunshine, lemons, lemon drops, sweet and sour all at the same time, yellow buttons, yellow raincoats, yellow shiny slicker boots, the color rises in swirling ribbons closing over me, holding me in a armor of golden light.

Lightness of being, I have an itch, “No not now, I’m meditating, go away, let me be, I love my time away from burden, life, matter.” Breathe in…Swwww, “Green.” Breathe out, Whwww…down again, green, clean green, healing green, blades of young grass against tender arches, scents of climbing trees, hot days, willow branches, children’s laughter, “Higher Colleen, come on you chicken!”  Brother Bruce shouts to me. The color rises, a transparent mist closing over me, healing.

Down a step, Breathe in…Swwww, “Blue.” Breathe out, Whwww…turquoise hues, ocean water against beaches of broken, jagged, “ouch” hurt your foot shells. Ahhh…but the comfort of blue, Easter eggs waiting to be found, just behind the bushes, “Look, look Colleen, there…no don’t give up. Ah! You’ve found it!” Filling my basket now with hues of blue. Come now, time for sleep, comfy stuffed lamb blue on the cheek, open mouthed Hhhhhhhh, deep, deep into sleep…breathe out. The color rises, a cloud of blue, I am at peace, such quiet peace.

Breathe in….Swwww, “Indigo.” Breathe out, Whwww…Crayons! Purple crayons, waxy smells in crisp, clean coloring books with glossy new covers, don’t let the cover get wrinkled. Deep Indigo hippie 1969 skirt with glistening mirrors around the hem and small jingle bells tied to the waist, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jethro Tull, Purple Haze, Deep Purple, Indigo girl, that’s me. The color rises, purple haze towers over my head, and I’m nearly there, one more step.

Breathe in…Swwww, “Lavender.” Breathe out, Whwww…Lilac’s lavender outside the window, now inside riding the waves of warm air streaming through transparent sheers, childhood memories of lilacs in Ball jars all over the house, in the kitchen, family room, bathrooms, everywhere…mother’s favorite. Her lavender lotion, lavender walls, mother’s room, mother’s arms, mothers love, the color’s aroma rises over me, surrounded in comfort I’ve arrived, the landing, double doors before me.

Feeling at peace, doors open before me, “Now to the dream center. Wait, what is this place?” I stand at the railing of a terrace, cement like, and spindles every few feet…before me a landscape of small mountains, with a forest of many greens. I stand gazing about, “How beautiful. I wonder where I am.” And in that moment of beauty and wonderment, there appeared beside me a woman, my guide and companion while I am waiting. We are both clothed in gauze flowing gowns, simple lines, comfortable in the heat beginning to radiate with the mid-morning sun.

She knows me. She knows this region. I understand I am on another continent, a very lush area. Out across the prairie, reaching the forests that lay before the mountain foothills, there the wild animals run. Across the acres, all manner of animals wander. I would go closer to watch them. I feel a deep desire to explore the fields and towering forests. But the elder guide reminds me, “This area belongs to the wild, not to us, and it is not tame. No my girl, you must stay here within the walls of the compound.”

“Yes, I know, I am to wait for Alexis, my life partner, the man I am to marry.” Still standing against the railing, I’m drawn to the wild. Feeling its pull, I have no desire to stay within the confines of the spiritual teachings compound.

The white haired, gentle woman beside me touches my sleeve, “We are protected only up to these barriers,” pointing out a protection device that shields us from the wild beasts and creatures who roam the natural setting before me. With a rustle of robes, she turns. I follow reluctantly heading back to what I can only describe as a complex, a collection of small square buildings. “It’s quite a walk my lady, I will call for transport assistance to bring us back to the fortress.

“No. I can fly back.” I tell her, hesitating, not wanting to belittle her, knowing she cannot do as I do. My companion is reverent of my skill, respectful, and so she allows me the space to move on, and upward. I fly easily to the next level of steppes, away from the grassy terrace, up the slopes to the compound. Landing briefly, I glide to the yet another level, and then soar high into the vast sky just for the sheer pleasure. I know I will be settled into the compound soon, I am pleased that I have allowed myself this little bit of joy, the small treasure of free flight.

“Just a little longer…a little bit longer,” I rise from this blissful meditation, a place unlike our own reality, a place of visions. I stretch again and know it’s time to move into the day. But not before I record my vision experience and the images of the wizened woman who was my guide.

Image by Katherine Dinger

Step into compassion, step into the face of witness

There’s an angel hovering in my window. Ok, maybe it’s just the sun’s reflection, but maybe it’s reflecting the aura of what I wouldn’t normally see. I was in the moment. And Spirit knew I needed this on the life path right now. A reminder, the assurance that I’m not walking alone.

My intuition, dreaming, and lucid meditation experiences have proven that we are more than this. We are just the tip of incredibly intricate beings, experiencing life stories together. Choosing each moment how we’ll perceive what’s happening at any given time and realizing we walk together, and not alone makes life easier. If you’re on autopilot, well, you’ll miss the opportunity to make that choice, or see the hidden treasure of witnessing manifested living Spirit.

Ya, life is incredibly difficult sometimes. Hmm… maybe more than sometimes, maybe all the time on some days. Still even in the painful, or exhausting, or oh-my-God why is this happening days… if I just stop. Stop completely. Breathe in, breathe out, become a Witness, observe what’s happening, and look at the different perspectives, weigh options, think about next steps… and then choose a way to see, to act, to realize there are resources in centering, in sitting into quiet observation, to feel the presences of Spirit, it’s easier. Life hasn’t changed. The experiences are still there, but it’s easier because I’ve stopped for a moment to be a witness to the experience, to have compassion for myself and others, to wait quietly with respect, to listen to the treasured whispers of Spirit’s knowledge.

Occasionally, I will just react. No thought given to anything happening. Just give in to the emotion, racing thought, the why-why-why me attitude. Spirit guided sculptures and paintings scattered throughout the house are good reminders to remember that we are more than this. Spirit inspiration in form, like the sculpture I bought some years ago created by the artist dreama j kattenbraker, “Witness”

“Step into compassion, step into the face of witness…” She is a hollow vessel collecting knowledge through life experiences, outwardly reflecting memories across her worn and weathered body. Eden’s snake of knowledge is around her neck, and the key to her heart still hanging as she’d left it when she opened the door to physical being. Arms extended, Witness welcomes all life, all creatures, all spirit manifested, gazing upward knowing she does not exist alone. Her wings imprinted with words of wisdom…

“When I become the witness to another soul, I move out of judgement into a place of compassion I am given the senses to taste touch, smell and hear – to collect knowledge. Knowledge demands me to actively care for those I know. Knowledge teaches me to actively love. Please grant me the grace to use knowledge with care and compassion.

Why was knowledge warned against in Eden’s garden? Once I learn someone’s story, burdens, vulnerability, fears, talents – I cannot be ambivalent anymore. I carry this knowledge in my sack. It is both a burden and a paradox. Knowledge demands right action. When I pretend not to know the weight bears down on me like a mountain, a glacier. Thus the warning, “Don’t taste this fruit from the tree of knowledge.” ~ Dreama

“Once I learn someone’s story…” even my own, I can’t be ambivalent anymore. The door to knowing is open and now right action is the only way. “Choose,” life says. The autopilot is off, I’m in the moment, clearly observing.
Becoming aware is a way of life that can’t be undone once you know, once you’re a witness to the unfolding of your life, as well as others. You might slip once in a while, but it’s always there, the knowledge that we are more than these experiences. It makes living so much more interesting.
But answer me this… If you’re not your experiences… Who are you?