Category: Memoir

A Walk in the Woods with Tess & the Offering of Feathers: My Final Day in Cumbria #england #cumbria #travel

On By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures5 Comments

After the experience at Castlerigg, I needed some time to process, accept, and surrender as best I could to what was. We had planned for a laid-back morning for my last day in Cumbria, and after I awoke I asked if I could take Tess for a walk. I should probably clarify that. Tess is not a dog you actually have to walk. She’s one of those rare gems that walks herself, and you, without the trouble of a leash to bind you together. I didn’t have to worry about finding my way, getting lost, or losing sight of my companion. Tess not only leads the way, she stops to wait for you and makes sure you know where you’re going. It was quite the treat for me, as I am used to walking two over-zealous dogs (on leashes) who could care less if I want to go where they want to go, which is often in a completely different direction from each other, and me.

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Tess during our morning walk stopping to check on me.

Anyway, back to my walk with Tess. It was another glorious morning. Filled with sunshine and just the wisps of clouds to compliment the blue, blue sky.  And as we set out, down the old canal path beside Bernie & Steve’s home, I began to allow the beauty of the day to sink into by body, as well as the many unexpected gifts the weekend had offered.

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Fairy Woods

The paths that I had traveled these last few days had been filled with the warmth of the sun and of friendship. There was the ever-present reminder, albeit sometimes difficult to accept, that I do not walk this path in life alone. Although Castlerigg was not appreciated in the way I had intended for myself, nor revered in the way I might like to see other visitors revere it, it had still been appreciated for its outer beauty on a beautiful day. Long Meg and Little Meg had offered to me a more intimate visit in contrast, reminding me that the magic is always there, even though it may sometimes go into hiding.

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The green, green land of England.

Another day was unfolding before me. A quiet day filled with the grace of the present moment, if I chose to reside in it. Tess and I passed only two other travelers during out walk, and our passing was uneventful and unobtrusive. It was easy to allow peace to settle in and take the place of heartbreak as I walked in the beautiful land of Cumbria.

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It was nearly impossible not to appreciate the beauty that surrounded me.

I could have walked for miles, and so could Tess, as she reluctantly turned around after  we got to our third “bridge to nowhere” to lead the way back home. We, or rather I, had toast and Bernie’s prize-winning marmalade waiting for us. And, boy did it taste good. Rather like you might expect a drop of sunshine to taste, if one could taste sunshine.

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The gift of white feathers

The four of us, Tess, Bernie, Steve, and I, spent the afternoon at the seaside, enjoying the beauty of the day and the presence of good company. Following tea beside the water, Tess and Steve played frisbee on the grass, I took photographs and breathed in the sea air. Along the path of my feet, white feathers scattered the grass. I had been well taken care of by my wonderful hosts and Mother Nature during the weekend, and perhaps that’s just what I needed most.

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Steve overlooking the sea

But the journey was not yet other. I had more time adventures awaiting me in London and a magical day with Sue and Ani in the land of dragons and “castles.”

To be continued…

To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

 

Castlerigg at High Noon #castlerigg #stonecircles #cumbria

On By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures14 Comments

I had been forewarned. Silence can speak volumes, and the early spring was impossible to overlook. Yet, there was that glimmer of hope that the mysteries of Castlerigg would somehow be open to me.

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The Welcoming Information at Castlerigg, which sits atop the charming town of Keswick.

We are waiting for you.

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Unlike some stone circles, Castlerigg is easy to find and access, and with unbeatable vistas it’s nearly impossible to have the place to yourself.

I had heard the ancestral call. I had felt the cells stir through centuries past with a visceral memory that fired my body into deep longing in the weeks, months, and even years before I made this journey. Yet it was not to be. Not this time anyway.

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The stones felt lifeless to me, as though their energy had retreated deep within their forms.

We drove up the hill that holds the stone circle known as Castlerigg at high noon on a brilliantly warm spring-like Sunday. Cars flanked the roadside, and at its crest an ice cream van sat in wait for the throngs of hungry tourists. The urge to turn around and hop back into the car nearly consumed me. You can’t erase first impressions.

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Castlerigg is an undeniably beautiful place any time of the year.

Sometimes, though, we must face our must crushing moments head-on and take the lessons they give us. Disappointment can be a gift, leading to surrender and acceptance. And so I climbed to the top of the hill and met the stones filled with visitors.

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I wanted to spend some time with this stone in particular, but as you can see it was a popular spot.

It’s a beautiful place, I am sure, in any season, and that day Castlerigg shone with the light of the noonday sun. Bright and golden. It lit the faces of the picnicking family having lunch in the sanctuary (hence the absence of photos of this intriguing area of the site). Its rays played through the shadows of bodies as they wove in and out of the standing stones, and lit the smiling faces of selfies posed amid the inert bodies of rocks.

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Although I didn’t do a great job capturing it, the stones of Castlerigg shadow the contours of the surrounding landscape.

The site was filled with energy, but it was not coming from the stones, or the distance hills that rim the landscape. Instead, it came from the revelers of humans visiting the site.  It was, in many ways, the antithesis of the encounter with Castlerigg I had envisioned.

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Even the faces one expects to find in ancient stones were virtually absent during my visit.

If I could, I would take it all back. I know that this may be the wrong response, but it’s the truth. There’s no point in lying to oneself, it merely pushes the truth into dark corners where it festers for light. It is not an easy thing to do, writing this post. It would be impossible to describe the full impact of my first encounter with Castlerigg, and its effects on me. Yet, it is for me, and me alone to process as I attempt to dig inside and find the gifts from this experience. Not the “why,” as much as the acceptance of the “is.”

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It was as though the spirits in the stones had turned their backs to me.

What felt, in the moment, as the ultimate betrayal and rejection — a date to meet the beloved, only to find the beloved had receded back inside the the distant hills — led to the inevitable acceptance that the beloved resides within. Always present. Yet, this is not an easy acceptance. I still long for that promised (re)union. To place my body supine upon that open hillside in the middle of the ancient stones and hover in the liminal space that bridges the Earth to the heavens. I still long for that moment where I can open myself completely to the spirits of the land and listen to all they have to say. To feel the wild wrap of the elements and the stirrings of a long held magic waiting, just waiting, to be brought to life in that perfect moment of union.

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Below Castlerigg, the lakes of Cumbria mirror the glory of the land.

There is, though, a comfort in the mundane, and the knowing that I made it through this trial. This test, of which I am still unsure of the answers. That I am unscathed, albeit a bit heartbroken. My beloveds surround me in physical form back home in New Hampshire, and little, in the greater vista of life, has been lost.

Later that night, when I closed my eyes to sleep I saw the girl standing in the hallway and the wrap of cloth around her eyes had disappeared. I still had two full days ahead of me, and I was determined to make the best of what was offered to me.

To be continued…To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

I Journey from Long Meg to Little Meg #longmegandherdaughters #longmeg #littlemeg #stonecircles

On By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures21 Comments

The pulse of red spiral of light emanating from the Long Meg stone lasted mere seconds. As the stone returned to its outer stasis, I found myself catching my breath in wonderment. Had I imagined the red eye? I examined the place where it arose, and before me was a spiral, inlaid in the stone. Surely I had not, but what did it mean? I am not, by nature, prone to seeing the unseen with my eyes open. Each time it happens it feels like a rare and precious gift, and this was no exception. I had not expected to have a connection such as this at Long Meg. Rather, I had thought my moment was intended for Castlerigg.

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Long Meg looks over her daughters

Like with each visit to these sacred, ancient sites, I found the time passing all too quickly. Time that could not be spent with each individual stone, whereby it might offer some of its secrets. Instead, I felt the whole of the landscape as best I could. Opening to whatever it had to offer. As I looked from Long Meg’s vantage, down the rippling slope that held the oval wrap of her daughters in stone, I felt the blindfold slip from my eyes. There was a longing within me, but the longing was not mine alone. It came from the stone standing beside me, and in chronicled a time that stretched through thousands of years. It was filled with loss, but not the same ravishing loss that I had felt at the Raven’s Nest.  This was not the feeling of sudden, violent pillage and desecration. This was the loss of a slow diminishing of the magic held within. A loss spread out over centuries. And a longing for it to be returned. To be remembered and revered once again.

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I would have liked to have spent more time with this large stone, which shows a bird-like face rising from its left side in the photo.

There are stones in the oval below Long Meg that appear sad and forlorn. Others feel empty and forgotten. And then there are those that stir with life still held within. Some watch, while others wait. Some feel like they are missing entirely, and now only empty space remains.

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Some of the gaps, such as this one, feel purposeful, as though they mark an entry to the “circle” flanked by recumbent guardians.

As I relaxed my gaze to take in the landscape before me I saw the ghosts of a distant past. A ceremony filled with life and purpose played through the sacred space. I saw our ancestors walking through grass that rippled like water, the heavens arching above. I saw a merging of the sacred. Each element aligned within and without. As natural as the breath that is not held back. And I saw a path leading to a smaller circle down below.

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You cannot see Little Meg from Long Meg, at least not now, but it is not far away.

When we left Long Meg, I asked Steve about Little Meg. “It’s not far from here,” he told me. “I’ll take you to it if you’d like.”

Little Meg is tiny in comparison to Long Meg. The stones arranged intimately, as though to contain a fire. Not an outer fire, though, as much as an inner. Whereas Long Meg feels open and exposed to the outer, sharing its magic to many in a larger ritual of ceremonial reverence, Little Meg seems to represent a space for the individual relationship to the “teacher” within and without.

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Little Meg in its present state.

The path, if there once was one, which I feel strongly there was, is no longer marked from Long Meg. Instead, one must either wander through farmers’ fields and over stone walls, or drive as we did. The distance between the two sites is only 0.5 kilometers. Situated in a farmers field amid a rubble of smaller rocks, the circle of stones that is called Little Meg looks and feels disrupted. But, it has not entirely lost its magic.

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The stones of Little Meg are not likely placed as they once were, but they still hold a magic of the past.

It is still being used, and honored in individual ways. Most likely not the same as it once was. When I was there, I saw crow’s feathers arranged in its center, and the offering of a polished pillar of quartz. It did not necessarily feel misused, so much as neglected.

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The more you peer at each individual stone, the more faces and figures you see. These stones hold stories for those who wish to hear them.

During my brief visit to Little Meg, I had the impulse to sit in her center and open to the inner world that might be revealed to me. Yet time did not permit this. There was also the impulse to clear away the debris that didn’t feel like it belonged. The litter of smaller stones…the fallen branches…but there was also the feeling to let it be. That although in some ways forgotten and neglected, Little Meg was living out her legacy as a part of Earth and there was a feeling of peace to this acceptance.

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This stone looked as though it was missing a part, perhaps chiseled off years ago, but one cannot mistake the connection to Long Meg with its spirals.

It reminded me of circles I had seen in landscapes that were both intimate and vast. Like Barbrook and the Nine Ladies. It offered an inner wisdom for those who wished to find it. A union of energies. The outer to the inner. The masculine with the feminine. And, the human with the animal nature of self. It was both lovely and serene. And it offered a peace and acceptance I would soon need.

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The faces in this stone are hard to miss. A human face intimately joined to a feline/animal form hints at the melding of these energies that exist inside all of us.

Once again, I left with the pull of longing to stay.  Both Little Meg and Long Meg had offered gifts, and I was filled with gratitude for their presence. Tomorrow would not be easy to accept, but in the meantime, I had the companionship of my lovely hosts and their furry friends, as well as a delicious and grounding dinner awaiting me.

To be continued…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

 

 

 

 

Keats & The First White Feather #keats #keatshouse

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures11 Comments

I woke to sunshine and the sound of my friend hollering across the room. I had slept for two-and-a-half hours, our agreed upon time so that we could venture into the land of Keats.

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The Bust of John Keats. A rather handsome man, as my companion declared.

More than two decades ago, I had fallen in love with the young poet and his bold, unapologetic, and hopelessly romantic poetry and writing. Before the tender age of 25 when he succumbed to death by tuberculosis, Keats had managed to produce an astonishing amount of work filled with the beauty and pathos of life. Truth and Beauty. Those words haunting the Grecian Urn to extend time into eternity. You can imagine my surprise and delight to discover that the poet was also an amateur artist of sorts and had drawn the actual urn he had poured his musings into.

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Keats’s Grecian Urn

And then there was his beloved’s engagement ring. A hopeless romantic myself, I had fallen in love with their love. So much so, I had written my honors thesis comparing Keats’s poetry to his love letters to Fanny Brawne.

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The ring Keats gave to his beloved. Sadly, they were never able to wed.

The house itself is both beautiful and understated, fitting for the young poet. Nearby is now a large library, of which we did not venture inside, but both felt a fitting honor for the poet. Outside the white facade of Keats’s home are beautiful gardens, which were in the full flush of spring. February spring. The day before I was in the throes of winter in New Hampshire. Wrapped tightly against 20 degrees Fahrenheit amid a land blanketed in white. Now, before me, purple and gold crocuses littered an emerald lawn where an old tree reaches toward the pathway that wraps the house.

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The guardian tree outside the poet’s home.

I felt the spirit guardians inside the tree watching me as I passed. Judging, perhaps, the worthiness of my feet to walk the path of the poet. It was, in many ways surreal. The sudden, early spring laid before me. I, treading the the role of voyeur through the rooms where Keats slept, ate, and wrote his heart’s truths on a wooden desk with quill and ink.

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Instead of the wall, I imagine the young poet gazing out the window at his gardens.

What did he see, I wondered? What was his land like many years ago? The house looked, in many ways, untouched. Outside, several of the same buildings still stand as they had during the poet’s lifetime. England is old, far older than Keats’s timeline.

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The poet’s home

It took but a short while to roam the rooms and gardens of his home, and we were soon venturing out in to his beloved Hampstead Heath. The afternoon sun beginning to turn the land golden. Its heady warmth lifting my sleepless form in a semi-somnambular weightlessness.

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Hampstead Heath is vast and filled with romantic beauty.

How many poems had been inspired by the poet’s walks through these woods? Woods so vast one could easily get lost inside of them. We did. For awhile, before we took out the phone and gave into the modern convenience of tracked navigation.

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This tiny pup stole our hearts with her brave determination to keep up with the big dogs.

It had been a full day. A day blessed with the quiet peace of a past mingled with the present. The woods were filled with dogs and their companions, the air imbibed with the mingled appreciation for the beauty of the early spring day.

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We ate outside, in the garden under a heat lamp. The air turning chill with the descending sun.

We had an early dinner at the Spaniard’s Inn before we ventured toward home. As I looked over the land, my eye caught upon a large white feather formed by clouds over Jack Straws Castle. I took it as a sign. Of what, I did not know, but there would be more white feathers. Many more, before my journey in England was over.

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White feather cloud

I had almost forgotten about the girl with the blindfold waiting in the hallway as we climbed the stairs to the flat. Overcome with the exhaustion of travel, the weight of the long waking hours over took me as I climbed once again into bed. I closed my eyes expecting immediate sleep, but there she was. Unmoved in the hallway. Waiting for me. The blindfold still wrapped around her eyes.

To be continued…

This is part 2 of my most recent journey to England. To read part 1, please click here. 

 

 

 

 

The Blindfolded Girl in the Hallway #travel #london

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures, Warriors of Light28 Comments
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Photo Credit: Pexels

It had been easy to plan. Perhaps too easy. My husband’s forwarding of the airfare deal had led to another trip across the pond that had been pulled together quickly and nearly effortlessly. I had two sets of gracious hosts, an almost absurdly inexpensive flight, and dates that fit the family’s schedule as perfectly as circumstances allowed. My feathered seer had appeared to me in dreams, visions ,and physical forms, and I felt I had to go. The pieces had seemingly fallen into place of their own will.

Perhaps too easily.

Life, I have learned, rarely unravels before us in the way we envision it. I had felt the shift. The silence in the weeks before my departure, but had tried to ignore it. The plan had changed, but I wasn’t sure how.

The inevitable test began during the flight to London. I was sandwich in the middle of the airplane, between two men, one much larger than the other. The armrests were taken and I knew I could easily succumb to the feeling of entrapment if I allowed it to cloud me in. There would be no slumber, not that I had planned on it. I rarely sleep on airplanes, even when the flights, like this one was, are overnighters. The large man to my right began to snore before the plane taxied down the runway, so loudly, heads turned from several rows away and looks of pity fell upon my face.

Yet, I was determined to make the best of it. I pulled my headphones out of my purse, plugged them into the seat in front of me, and scrolled through the dismal list of films. Two movies and one granola bar and yogurt later, we arrived at Gatwick. I, surprisingly alert.

The trip through customs was quicker than expected, and my train tickets easily purchased. My only mistake, not buying the combo tube ticket because the agent assured me I would get a better rate if I waited until I got to the station. Turns out it’s not so easy to get a ticket if you don’t already have one, or an Oyster card, of which I am now the proud owner.

After some minor scrambled confusion, I got my tube ticket, found the right terminal, and boarded the tube. My friend was waiting at the “meeting place,” and we set off to buy some provisions before we settled into her flat so she could get a few hours of work in, and I some sleep.

The bedroom was cool and welcoming. After I removed the layers of clothing that had enveloped me for the past night and previous day, changed into PJs, and brushed my teeth, I slipped under the duvet and closed my eyes.

And that’s when I saw her. The girl with a blindfold over her eyes. Standing in the hallway, beyond the closed doors. Waiting for me.

Part 1 in a series of posts to follow that will cover my most recent journey to England to study some of its ancient sites. 

A Marriage of Eastern & Western Medicine & my thoughts on the documentary “Heal” #heal #healing #medicine

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Energy Healing, Memoir, Reflections15 Comments

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If you haven’t seen the film “Heal” yet, the trailer can be viewed here. My husband, a family care physician trained in western medicine, and I, a practitioner of energy medicine (to borrow Donna Eden’s term which I prefer over healer), watched the documentary last night. A few days ago my mother-in-law had inquired as to whether I had watched it, so my interest was piqued.

We have been asked the question several times, in several different ways over the years, what it is like to be married to someone who practices “Eastern” v. “Western” medicine. As though they exist on the extreme ends of the a spectrum with no overlap. It is a question that involves polarity, which is always fraught with at least a small dose of misconception and judgment. We live in a world of polarities that can easily overtake our better sense of truth, serving to divine instead of unite.

Our marriage of seeming polarities works. for us. It is not always easy, we have our differences, but we balance each other out. My husband is one of the smartest and caring people I know, and I am not saying this because I am married to him. I have known him since  we were both 17. He is a genuine healer who came to medicine, not for the prestige or the money (hence why he chose family practice), but because he has a genuine interest in helping people.

In his office at work there is a salt lamp and a diffuser to balance the energies and help purify the air around him. If you searched his pockets, you would most likely find the polished gray of hematite and a blue andara crystal. He goes to acupuncture on a semi regular basis, and has had energy healing/medicine.

He has also referred patients to me, and to other “healers.” When we share our stories, we don’t doubt each other’s truths.

Many years ago, we studied science together. I graduated Bowdoin College with degrees in English and biology, thinking I would one day be a geneticist (and a writer on the side), while graduated at the same school to pursue his dream of going to medical school. From Bowdoin, I went to Brown University to continue by study of the biology and chemistry, but after one year there I realized I was not on the path of my heart. I still loved and valued science, but I knew there were other places for me to explore.

I am not finished exploring them, and I would venture to say neither is my husband. Many years ago, when I started venturing into the realm of energy medicine, my mentor at the time told me that my marriage would never work if we were both going in different directions. And, I believed her. I took her words as truth. She was my mentor, and I had falsely placed her upon a pedestal. Something we can all do, but should not. Our best teacher is always ourselves, and we should always check another’s wisdom with our own truth.

I have had to learn, through many difficulties, that a marriage is not about always walking the same path, but about allowing each other to walk their own path, while othering a hand in love to help each other along when it is needed.

We are each here, I believe, to see past false perceptions and to find that unifying force that unities all of us. That thing we call love. Limiting beliefs lead to polarity and false judgements arise from the fear of our own sense of inadequacy.

And now to speak directly about the film we watched together last night. “Heal.”  I am not writing this post to analyze the film, but to spark a different way of viewing medicine. There were aspects of the film that I felt were on-point, so to speak, and places where I wanted more, or different. No doubt my own beliefs and ego-centered judgements factored into my thinking, but one area I was hoping the film might venture into more is how “Western” medicine and “Eastern” medicine need not always be seen as polarities. You know, that “us” v. “them” concept so pervasive in our world right now, at least on the surface.

The downfalls of the practice if medicine driven by money and greed are not to be over-looked, as the film noted, but the focus was on the side of western medicine.  There is also, ego-driven greed in the practice of “eastern” medicine. It’s a fallacy to believe the ego plays a part in one and not the other.  Not always of course, but it is false to imply that this does not occur. There are also limitations to each system when the belief exists that “I know what is right for you.”

I had hoped that the film would attempt to bridge the divide, and to remind us that each extreme did not evolve separately, but that we have, in many ways, chosen to take the paths of division. The healing properties of nature are used in some of our pharmaceuticals (albeit not always ethically), a practice that arose from our earliest history. Hands are used as vehicles to heal in both, whether they are threading a stitch to seal a wound, or directing energy to release a pocket of density.

We have much to learn from each other to keep bridging the divide. The enemy does not exist on the other side, but in the false system of belief of the “other.” I see great promise in where we are heading, despite what we might see or perceive as the truth. I have encountered extreme beliefs based on ego on both sides, and have fallen prey to them myself. We must always check in with fear and weigh it in the heart of truth. But, science and ancient wisdom, or so called “new age” healing need not be viewed as separate and unequal. There’s a common thread that unites us all, and I believe we can weave it together.

The Perfection of the Unknown Life #life #acceptance

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections3 Comments
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The unknown road of life. Photo Source: Pixabay

I once read about a man who came into the world remembering everything. By everything, I mean not what had happened to him, but what was going to happen to him. He knew exactly what would happen before it would happen, including his own death. Instead of feeling relieved or in control, the man felt utterly depressed and helpless. The very joy of existence had been extinguished from his life before he was even born. Whether this was all true or not, I feel is of little importance. The concept is what matters.

Although I’ve had premonitory dreams and visions since I was a young child, I was certainly not born knowing how my life would play out. There were only two things I knew with a visceral conviction: that I would one day be a writer of books, and that I would be a mother of two kids. And, thank goodness for that.

Let’s forget about the really bad bits that are beyond our control. No one wants to know they will happen, and thankfully I’ve gotten through them thus far. Instead, let’s talk about the good bits. By good, I mean those bits that allow us to grow and truly live. Even those that come with much angst and the sometimes sharp stab of growing pains, They’re usually the best bits, after all.

I’ve been giving this some thought these days. How, for instance, I would never have imagined I would be traveling to England in a pattern that has become “once a year.” Ten years ago I would have labeled that idea as a fairy tale fantasy relegated to the world of dreams. Yet, this fairy tale has become a reality. And, although I would never have guessed it to be my future truth as a young child, it all sort-of makes sense. Yet, had I know these magical trips were in my future, they would have, no doubt, lost some of their magic in the knowing.

What about those books I always knew I would write? Well, that dream was adorned with embellishments in my child-mind as I devoured tomes by famous writers. Maybe one day, I thought, I’ll be just like one of them.

What utter nonsense that has turned out to be. Yet, how we can hold onto some dreams while forgetting the blessings of the life we do lead. I’m 45 years-old and I’m only just learning to let that one go. I’m currently reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, and cannot in the least bit relate to her claim that she never once held onto a fantasy that she would one day be famous. Nor, it seems, did she ever care if her books were ever read for more than mere entertainment. She wrote for herself, she claims, even Big Magic, which is, on the outside, a book intended to help others discover their own “big magic.”

Nope, that was not me. I’ve always wanted to make a difference in my outer world, and some days I’ve gotten so caught up in it, I’ve forgotten that I have made a difference in many individual’s lives, including my own. Just not in the way I once had imagined I might. And, that’s just perfect.

I’ve realized that “knowing” can be debilitating. I used to, not so long ago, rely upon cards and readers to predict my future. I can’t tell you how many “psychics” have told me I would one day write “best sellers.” Now, perhaps this may one day happen, as some of them also predicted I would travel to England, and frequently. But it may not, and that is okay. In fact, that is just perfect.

Life, I have gradually come to realize, is not about the striving and reaching for some set destiny. It is about the beautiful (and ugly) unfolding of the unknown. The “who” hiding under the covers, waiting to discover that life is moment after moment of becoming. If we are forever focused upon the destination we think we are meant to get to, or that label that is meant to become us, we forget about the essence. The pieces of the self learning be whole. The being, learning how to live. Truly live. Breathing each moment into existence with wonder and saying, “Yes. Yes, this is life. My life. In all its beautiful unknowing. I will take me for what I am. Forever and always, until death ends the mystery. And I will live, yes live, each breath with gratitude for what it unfolds within me and outside of me. Because, it is just perfect for this journey called “my life.”

Flying into Fear #dreamsymbolism #dreams #dreamhealing #feardreams #flyindreams

On By Alethea KehasIn Dreams, Memoir5 Comments

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It was an interesting night in the world of dreams. A night filled with a whole lot of flying, but for a very apparent reason. To fly into my fears. It seems my mind had decided to show me every fear I am holding onto at the moment, while my soul decided, you’re ready, let’s go. 

There is that saying that you see all over the place, “Whatever you fear most, do it.” Sometimes, for practical purposes, we simply should not do what we fear most. Say, for example, we harbor an intense fear of fire and being burned. Should we really step into a furnace? Probably not if we don’t want to seriously harm our physical bodies. What, though, of the metaphorical furnace?

If we examine the roots of our fears, we can arrive at a greater awareness of self. Sometimes what we fear can seem irrational until we realize why we are harboring it. An intense fear of being burned alive might lead us to a past life in Pompeii. Whereas an over-whelming aversion to speaking in crowds might point us back to circumstances in this lifetime when we were rejected for speaking our truths. There is always an origin to our fears, and it is worth exploring the roots if we want to heal and release that which is holding us back from living fully.

Fears lead to growth, when we allow them to. When we open the door to our fears and fly into them, examining all their nuances as we face them head-on, we can discover the core of our being. We are not here to live small, wrapped in the cloaks of protection that are so easy to don when life presents us with defining moments.

In each moment, we have a choices. We can live in stasis, or we can allow the true self to spread wide our wings and fly. Recently, I have made two choices that I would have shirked in the past. At the end of the month I will be vending at a local Paracon fair, where I will be promoting my new visionary fantasy series for kids and teens, Warriors of Light, and its companion teachings. This takes me out of my comfort zone, but instead of being afraid, I’m filled with excitement.

Next month, I’ll be flying across the pond. My soul is calling me back again to a place that feels like home, but for different reasons than my previous visits. In what might appear like a whim of fancy, there is wrapped within a nest of fears that I have decided to unweave. I have, over my years of self-investigation, discovered that it is not easy for me to receive. As I work with the truth that “I am worthy,” I have begun to allow myself to accept the hands that extend in offer to me. There doesn’t, I have come to realize, have to be a string attached to it, just an open-hearted gratitude to receive the gifts of love.

I have been so utterly amazed by the out-pouring of love that is offered when the heart is open to receive. It is a huge obstacle to overcome when one is used to conditions. Yet, so wonderful to free the tethered heart and fly into trust. I don’t know what I will meet in the hills of Cumbria standing among its ancient stones, but so many hands have extended their offers of love to help lead me there. My husband and children, who without even batting an eyelash, have accepted that I will be gone for a few days. My mother-in-law, who has offered to clear her schedule to be with the teenagers, should they need her, and the pets. And, once again I am amazed, humbled and filled with gratitude for dear friends who live in the land of Albion, some of whom I have only known for a few years. It is one thing to accept the offers of one’s family, it is quite another to accept those of friends and strangers. Yet, I have come to realize how much love there really is in the world. How much abundance housed within our hearts.

So, I am flying into my fears, literally and metaphorically, and instead of trepidation, I feel joy, excitement, and a wellspring of gratitude for all the hands that are lifting me into flight.

What are the fears that are holding you back from flying into joy? Perhaps it’s worth taking a moment of self-reflection and examination to discover what is weighing you down at this moment. Release is often much easier than you might expect.

The Pull of Stones Continues #wintersolstice #solstice #castlerigg #sacredsites

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Travel AdventuresLeave a comment
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The circle that haunts me. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

I wasn’t going to go. Well, I was, and then I wasn’t. As typically happens, I opted for  family before self, and my daughter had wanted to see a friend’s performance in “The Nutcracker.” The only show happened to fall on the Solstice, and so I decided I would miss my friend’s gathering last night.

When I picked my daughter up from school yesterday, she got into the car and announced, “I’d rather go to the basketball game tonight.”

“Are you sure?” I could hardly believe it. Suddenly, I was free to go to the gathering. I had no excuse not to, except no one really knew I was coming.

By the time I walked through the threshold and into my friend Deb’s home, I had no doubt I was where I was supposed to be for the evening. Three had became four.

“I didn’t know if you would be here,” Deb smiled as she embraced me.

Neither did I…

“The fairies said you might not come. That it was uncertain,” Sophia announced. “I drew a card for us before I left,” she told all of us. “It was called ‘Ancient Wisdom’ and it had an image of a stone circle.”

I was not surprised.

Minutes laster we are gathered in Deb’s yoga room, surrounded by the crystals of Earth. Four women seated in the four directions. I, positioned at Earth. In the center, our small altar is filled with offerings and candles. Hovering in a circle of energy around us are the ancients, holding space.

I nestle the rainbow goddess I have brought into the well of my throat and ease into a supine position on the rug. My mind follows the pulse of Sophia’s drumbeat down a stairway into Earth. I am in the ground below Castlerigg.

Minutes pass. More than I am comfortable with. Inside the canvas of my mind scenes morph and disappear. My body grows warm and restless, then cold. It wants to dance. To move. I know where it wants to go.

We are waiting for you, I hear before I return to the room.

 

Castlerigg from a distance #acceptance #castlerigg #sacredsites #ancientengland

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures7 Comments

 

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Castlerigg at dawn. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

I went as far as the hills in dreamtime while they gathered to greet the dawn below. Disappointment comes in many forms and sometimes it reaches out to hold the hand of acceptance. I’m not going to lie. This has not been an easy one to come by. The land at Castlerigg calls to me in a language the predates words. It speaks to the very heart of my being and fills me with the irrepressible longing for home. Yet, it is not my time to return here, and I know when it is, this body I wear must accompany my spirit. Sometimes the cells need to remember wholly and completely. And, Casterligg has called my whole being to be present someday. But not yet.

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Photo Credit: Lara Wilson. I love how the blurred image reveals the faces in the stones.

 

I didn’t know you wanted to go so badly, my husband told me afterwards. After he overhear words spoken with my dear friend who was there. I had, though, already chosen the hand of acceptance months ago, although sometimes I held only its finger tips. What do you do for yourself. I mean, only for yourself. You know, just for you? A friend had asked me a week before while the tears called despair rained from my eyes.

England, I told her. I go to England.

Yet, I was born here in New England. A cruel irony it can seem at times when one feels like she belongs in another land. This, though, is where I am, right now, and I have chosen to take that hand called “acceptance,” along with the belief that there is a purpose for me being here, and not there, for most of my time. This past weekend, instead of visiting a landscape that feels like home, I was home with my family. And, that was okay. More than okay. Love is limitless, even when it feels as though it is being pulled apart by longing.

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The season of long shadows. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

I was here, but also there. You were never not with us, my friend assured me. I called your name as I walked up to the circle, you must have heard me.

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The hills that called me home years ago, still enfold me in wait. Photo credit: Lara Wilson

I was hovering in the hills, though. The stones below obscured by the body of giants. They called me back home before the stones did. Opening the body of the goddess to enfold. I can stay here for awhile longer. I can wait. Even though the head of the dragon beckons in stone.

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There is a deep sense of comfort knowing how much these stones and the land is loved, even though I am pulled with that longing. I read gratitude and love in the face of the stone gazing at Sue Vincent, while the guardian stone reminds me of the slow time of patience. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

My lower body has been vibrating all week. Kundalini. The roots healing before the rise. We are often called to tend to the roots first. Healing the core of stability. Of origin. Our roots that bind us to one family, before we can return to another.

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Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

Acceptance holds my hand. I have taken her grasp in a firm embrace and she is becoming a part of me. I can wait. You asked for patience, did you not? I am reminded.

How lucky I am, that I can return to this place that feels like home. That I can allow myself to become lost only to become found, over and over again, filling each cell of my being with the memory of home. Until we meet in this lifetime, Castlerigg, I will hold the hand of acceptance.

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Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

A special thanks to Lara Wilson for lending me the use of her gorgeous photographs, and  to her, as well as the others who were at the Silent Eye School of Consciousness event this past weekend for taking me with them in spirit.