If we all do our part, perhaps we will make a difference for the greater good:
Author: Alethea Kehas
Author of A Girl Named Truth and The Labyrinth, and owner of Inner Truth Healing & Yoga.
Seeking the Sacred in Uluru
I never quite know where they are going to take me, or what will happen once we get there. It’s become a game of trust and an adventure that teaches me as much as I hope it will teach those who read their stories.
The first character made her appearance as an orange and black butterfly. Later, when she transformed into a girl she gave me her name. Aponi. Then the five others started appearing on the page. Three adolsecent girls and three boys about the same age. I thought more might come. I waited for their arrival and even tried to force a few onto the page, but it seems there had to be six warriors. No more. No less. So I allowed them to take their places on the points of a star, which revealed itself to be a labyrinth of broken light in the body of Earth.
Our journey together has only just begun, even though we’re nearly ready to release Book 1. The cover is being designed and the formatting will follow soon after. These 6 teens, though, are not ready to wait. They have me working on Book 2 (which I must confess I began nearly a year ago, and put aside for other projects).
Now it is time to return to their stories, only there’s one small challenge I’m hoping you might help me face. You see, one of the six has decided she wants to land in Australia. I’m not surprised she chose Uluru, but she’s thrown me for a bit of a loop. You see, I’ve never been there myself. I’d like to someday, but I don’t imagine that day will come for awhile yet.
Here’s where my request comes in. If you have been to Uluru, I’m hoping you might be willing to share a bit about your experience there. In particular:
- What did it feel like to be in this sacred place for you?
- What did your eyes notice?
- What was the air like while you were there? The sky? The ground beneath you?
- Most importantly, what impression did you have when you first saw Uluru, and what has stayed with you since?
- Did you have a mystical experience that you would be wiling to share?
Any other stories regarding Uluru or related areas, such as Kata Tjuta in Australia would be welcome and can be sent to me via my email aekehas@gmail.com.
With much gratitude in advance,
Alethea
March For Our Lives
David Hogg, (AP Photo/Andrew Harnik)
Most of my followers have heard me mention a time or two that my youngest brother was a victim of gun violence. Fifteen years ago this summer, he was shot in the head inside his home. There was no national coverage, no thoughts and prayers from politicians. He was just another gun death among the thousands that occur in the US every year, most so routine that we never hear about them.
These days, there are too many to report.
Mass shootings 2018 to date: 69
School shootings 2018 to date: 12
Approximately 33,000 Americans die from guns every year, that’s the equivalent of a 9/11 every month. On average that’s 96 gun-deaths each and every day. The statistics are plentiful and horrifying.
“March for Our Lives” rally March 24, 2018, in Washington. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)
When I was a grief counselor for children and families…
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#Carved #Writephoto
She said, “Show me your soul, and I will take you inward.”
I looked across the vast landscape that surrounded me and back to the well. The ground felt firm beneath my feet, and I could feel the warmth of the setting sun strong against my back. The infinite sky above offered a dreamscape evoking heaven as we like to think of it. Yet, my eyes were drawn to her offer.
I peered over the edge of her basin. “You will not see the bottom, for there is no end.”
Fear rippled my heart. “That is good,” she told me. “Allow yourself to feel before you let go.”
My hands, gripping her rock shook with tremors of emotion. My eyes added salted water to the pool below.
“All life begins in darkness,” the voice urged me closer to the center. “But the soul resides in the Light.”
My contribution to Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt challenge. To participate, please click here.
The road…
I left after work on Thursday, driving north for the last Silent Eye meeting before the April workshop. The sun was shining, the day was balmy… spring had, it seemed, finally sprung after the torrential rain that had battered the land all night. Six counties, several road closures and five hours later, I had driven through spring and back into a watery world where the rain lashed the windscreen faster than the wipers could clear it.
Yet the sun greeted me again as I drove over the Derbyshire hills and into Yorkshire. Traces of white winter lingered in the lee of stone walls where the shadows preserved the last remnants of snow. Daffodils strained at the leash, wanting only a little warmth to burst forth in all their golden glory… and then I hit a wall of fog and I was glad to reach my destination and dinner.
The next…
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Surrendering & Gayatri
The first night in Bermuda, my daughter came down with a cold. I could hear her coughing and blowing her nose from the other room, and wondered how the night would play out. She came in after midnight. My husband transitioned to the pullout couch in the main living space, while my daughter settled in next to me so that I could give her Reiki. It was a night of little sleep, but it was also one of blessings and surrender.
There was no cough medicine to grab from the bathroom closet. No diffuser filled with oils to plug in the wall. I had only my hands and the energy I opened them up to. Fear can creep in when we find ourselves in situations that draw us out of our comfort zones. We are used to habits, and come to rely on certain things to get through life. Sometimes, though, we must work with what we have inside of us.
While I rested my hands on my daughter’s head, I asked her to surrender with me. I felt the body gently release around the heart, and the womb of the Gaia surrounding us. The form of a great sea turtle appeared inside of my mind, holding the presence of Mother Earth. She moved gently through the darkness until my daughter found enough stillness to sleep. And, during those long hours before sleep found me, the notes of the ancient healing mantra of Gayatri played through me:
Om Bhur Bhuva Swaha
Tat Savitur varnenyam
Bhargo devasya dhimahi
Dhiyo yonah prachodayat
And the woman labours on!
A wonderful post for Women’s Day:
A balloon seller now she is
Her name does not matter
Married for she was considered a burden
By her very own parents.
A poor girl from the city of Rajasthan India
Surviving , living by and around
Cafes in the city of Pune
Just 19 solar cycles old
Her malnourished body has no signs of youth
She works all day selling balloons in hope
For one sqare meal to come her way
Often she says she eats only once in the day
If she is lucky she gets a bite sized meal .
She wanders around till late evening
and sells her wares outside the hip street cafes
Often times to children and some to grown ups too
My daughter is all of 19 too
Was visiting the cafe with friends
She chanced upon her last evening.
Begging her to buy some balloons
She took a bit of time…
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A Candle in the Mind
If we wish to make a voyage into the self, we need a set of tools, with which to:
a) Investigate, as objectively as possible, what this ‘me’ is doing.
b) Create a space; a different part of us, that our growing and real consciousness can ‘live in’.
These may initially sound somewhat forced, but that is only because western language, with its notional structure of “(I) do something to (that)” embeds the principle that there is an ‘I’ in the form we think of it; therefore we never question the root of the problem.
The ‘toolkit’, strange-sounding though it may be, is only there to correct the language-based falsehood within which we all live. But truly understanding that comes later, when we live on the upper floor of ‘ourselves’ rather than the ground.
When we begin to watch ourselves, we run, immediately, into conditioning. Conditioning is the result of…
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Arch #writephoto prompt
I dreamt of holding white dresses
like a wedding
because we all seek to be adorned with beauty
don’t we?
A brown cake rippled
in frosted garlands by a child’s
hand guided with a confidence
so easily lost to age
My feet run the hallway of records
life’s footsteps echoing off walls
which seem so solid to the mind
The light beyond the tunnel almost
an illusion
when matter enfolds the path
My contribution to Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt challenge. If you would like to participate, please click here.
Five Days with a Restless Gaia in Bermuda #bermuda #traveladventures
Gayatri: The feminine form of the divine, and therefore one may extrapolate that Gaia, or Mother Earth, is an aspect of her. (Note some associate the Gayatri mantra with the solar god, Savitr, as I mentioned in a previous post. As I work further with this mantra, I find myself returning to what I felt years ago when I first heard it, that it is an awakening to the divine feminine energy that resides in all of us. An energy that balances the fiery sun).
I wore her turquoise in the form of a teardrop in the well of my throat each day. The chip of stone the same shade of blue as her waters, which turned from tranquil to a fierce sea that I knew could pull me back to her womb in an instant. On the tiny sliver of an island called Bermuda, I was acutely aware of the power of water and the great womb of life. Water that in one moment held stillness, and in the next turbulence.
The first day mirrored calm. There were hardly any ripples dividing the liquid element from air, and my eyes could see an unobstructed bottom through several feet of depth. Often, I found myself looking for life in the great womb, but found only a few colorful fish one day in the deeper, darker blues.
Along the shoreline, the inorganic waste of humanity collected the memory of greed in forgotten areas. Finding this depressing, I focused the lens on beauty.
Until it was unavoidable.
By day three her breath, which blew in a soft caress upon my arrival, had turned into a gale force that permeated all the pores in my body. It was not an icy wind, but a penetrating one meant to awaken that which we tend to keep still not because of peace, but because of a choice to ignore.
So I welcomed her air and felt the exhilaration of life stirring through time. Nights turned restless and I woke often to hear her constant cry as she tried to rip the shudders of my the house where I was staying open.
What do you want from me? What are you trying to tell me? I found myself asking the divine mother, knowing the answers were held in the mirror of my dreams. They showed me the walls that needed to be brought down, and the shadows held through fear opened to the raw, untamed element of air. The spiral like a hurricane bringing me ever inward to the eye to examine and release.
The key, held in the open hands of surrender.
I will stir up your life, but you must examine what I bring forth.
Bhargo devasya dhimahi
Diyo yonah prachodayat
Often, I found my mind returning to the Gayatri Mantra, in particular, these last two lines. Seeking the cleansing through the goddess. Igniting the light more deeply within, while feeling Her womb enclosed around me. Wrapping me fiercely, but not consuming, while I stayed on her strip of land called Bermuda. The place some say is at the tip of a sacred triangle that points “up” toward the ever-present Light.
The Light Behind the Story 