I was lying in a chamber under the sea. The murky green of the ocean and all of its life surrounded me. It was impossible to say where my body ended and it began, except I was aware of my presence and the sea of life around me. I was both observer and participant as I watched the dance of life, sometimes struggling to break free, sometimes weaving together. Dark shapes moving through the soupy sea in what felt like an endless play called “Life.”
In the background, somewhere unseen and only heard, was the voice of God on the radio.
“So, you are saying that the individual will eventually become the we?” the host asked.
“Yes. The individual is finite, the we is ever-lasting,” God replied.
My ears listened to the interview with God as my eyes watched the play of life searching for individuality around me. I felt their struggle as my own, sensing myself as separate from the whole that encompassed me. I felt lonely with separation until I gave way to the concept that felt like Truth of that everlasting “we” that was waiting. This inevitable return that was waiting not just for me, but for every being. Peace replaced fear and anxiety. The struggle of the individual cells to join into a self gave way to the rhythm of the sea, which I began to realize was a part of me. The fear of a loss that was only mine left me. This me that I called “I,” I realized, could never feel whole until it gave way and became the whole. I could live this life, and whatever ones that came after, to feel the struggle as I must, but I no longer would fear that inevitable union. That coming back to the whole never to be born, perhaps, again, into separation. For the eternal we felt like bliss.
We’ve had Millie now for three weeks and one day, to be precise. Millie came into our lives when she was just nine-weeks-old. It wasn’t a spontaneous decision. The four of us had been discussing what we would do once our terminally ill, 19-year-old feline companion Penny had passed. We knew our 11-year-old cat, Yoda, would miss his sister, but we also knew that the cats and the dogs in our house had chosen to live separately since we had welcomed our dog Daisy, and then two years later, Rosy, into our lives.
Zelda & Millie after two weeks together
Three-and-a-half years ago, after our beloved Daisy passed, we adopted Zelda. We didn’t know how Zelda would respond to our two cats who had long ago established their separate space inside and outside the house. Being a rescued dog with an unknown past, Zelda soon decided she would stick by her new “mom” wherever I went, which included into the cats’ space. Often Yoda and Penny would scoot outside their cat door when they saw Zelda, but not always. Over time they learned to walk around together and mostly leave each other alone. If they felt threatened by Zelda’s presence they would give her a quick swat to the nose, hiss and run away. Rosy, rarely dared venture into their space.
Zelda trying to figure out how to lick the plate around Millie
Adopting a nine-week-old kitten, though, felt like an offer of sacrifice. What was I thinking? I often asked myself over the course of the next two weeks. There were days when I felt like we had brought home a live meal for the dogs, and the stories well-intended friends were telling me about kittens murdered by their canine companions certainly were not helping to assuage my fears. I knew this would be a test in more ways than one. . .
Our tiny and fearless Millie
And did I mention how tiny Millie was when we brought her home? About the size of a chipmunk, an animal that both Rosy and Zelda tried to chase and capture any chance they got. What were we thinking? What was I thinking? After all, I was the one who would be in charge of Millie’s care for the majority of the time.
Mille atop the stairs to the healing space where I assist others in letting go of their fears
The first two weeks seemed to test every fear my cells were holding onto. I feared for Millie’s life like a mother fears for her child’s. What will I do if they kill her? This thought filled my mind more times than I cared to count. I was, I realized, living my days on the edge of fear. Until I began to let go…
Mille the ever-curious kitten
The first time Zelda lunged at Millie, I thought she was trying to eat her. The second time it happened, I thought maybe she was jealous. The third time she tried to intercede, I thought maybe she wanted to play. By the forth time I realized the miracle for what it was. Instead of trying to protect me, or something worse, Zelda was trying to protect her Millie.
Zelda and her Millie
I’m not going to tell you the fear has entirely disappeared now that Millie’s been here for just over three weeks, has grown to the size of a small squirrel, and now snuggles up next to her dog sister Zelda on the couch when she wants to nap, and bites her ankles when she wants to play. I still don’t leave the dogs and the kitten alone together for more than a couple of minutes at a time, but I am learning to trust in what feels like a miracle to me. That one tiny cat named Millie, so filled with love and trust, can bring a harmony to our house that I never knew would be possible.
Sisters
As I write this, I can hear Zelda snoring on the couch in the other room beside Millie. Rosy isn’t too far away, but for now Zelda has decided that Rosy isn’t quite ready to be beside Mille, and Rosy doesn’t seem to care all that much. A sense of peace has settled into my body, reaching its hands into the corners that once held fear. Anything seems more possible now. Outside the sun shines through autumn leaves and in this ever-turning cycle of life and death that we are all a part of I feel the deeper harmony of balance beneath the outer fears we are collectively holding onto. If this little world inside my house filled with different species with different backgrounds can coexist in a harmonious state premised upon love and trust, maybe, just maybe, we can find that place in the larger world around all of us and realize that core that binds us all together. That core we call Love.
A lot of words and emotions are stirring through all of us right now. There is anger, fear, combativeness and there is also a deep sadness and despair for many. We are in a time of struggle and upheaval. Our world, in many ways, appears to be falling apart. Yet, it is always darkest before the dawn, and here we are, collectively, standing on the brink of the dawn.
Before the light can break through, we must individually and collectively face the darkness. We must peer into those shadowed depths and face what can only be described as fear, head-on. The shadow-self cannot be ignored, because turning away from it is a form of denial of the self that seeks to be healed and loved the most. The shadow self is a reminder of our humanity. It is not wholly to be seen as our failures, but our lessons in Life. The full breadth of the spectrum exists within all of us. What sparks the fear, can also spark the light.
“I am human, therefore, I am imperfect.” A statement of acceptance and not denial.
“I am sorry for what I have done, but I have learned from this.” An affirmation of growth.
“You are not different from me. You are my mirror for what also exists inside of me.” A statement of profound truth.
“I love you and I accept you.” To say this, but also to know it completely is the path to unity of the individual and the whole. We cannot truly love ourselves and others until we accept and love, unconditionally, all aspects of that self.
There is the still pervasive belief that there is an “other” that is disconnected to the self. This allows us to defer blame and culpability on another, giving us a false sense that it is the other that needs to be healed or changed in order for justice to be achieved. It is not justice, though, that needs to be achieved, it is a balance.
Until we peer into, examine, and ultimately love all the shadows tucked into the crevices of self, how can we truly heal and move into that state of peace and unity? To examine the “you,” we must also examine the “I,” knowing that they are, in essence, one and the same.
The impulse to harm, or even to kill, exists in you, as it does in me. As does the ability to love and everything in between. The full spectrum of the self cannot be denied when the “body” seeks to be healed. Polarity exists to bring us back to the true center.
The body dances with energy that some call the dark and the light. Others call yin and yang, or the Ida and Pingala. Some call these two energies the masculine and the feminine energies. Here is the thing with naming and defining, we can get caught up in semantics.
Right now, people are posting “black-outs” on their profile pictures as a call for awareness of violence towards women. Yet, there is also the violence that occurs towards men, and to all forms of living beings, including the planet Earth we all share as our home.
The polarizing energies that dance inside of our bodies are actually unifying energies. they swirl like DNA around our spine, joining at their nodes into a central channel that carries the unified energy up and down our spine, and horizontally out to the cells of our body that join into tissues and organs. A healthy, harmonized body has an equal balance of both energies. A dis-eased body has an over-abundance of one, and an underabundance of another. Sometimes there is more Ida in one place, sometimes there is more Pingala. More masculine in the heart (which can result in heart-disease), let’s say and more feminine in the thyroid (which can result in hypothyroid disease). The body knows how essential balance is.
We are not simply man or woman. We are not simply “black” or “white.” We are not simply “you” versus “me.” To heal one half, we must heal the other. To find the light, we must also embrace the darkness within. One teaches us about the other. The balance of the whole is the balance of the individual.
The washer is dead, the kids are back in school and the new neighbors are murdering felling all the trees in their front yard. The tears are simmering just below the surface, but I’m feeling the urge to rant more than cry. It’s one of those lifetimes days when you find yourself asking (over and over again), What is wrong with this world?!
Here’s the thing with the washer: I had a feeling it had officially kicked the bucket, but we decided to pay the $99.95 service fee to find out that it is not only dead but unfixable. Even if we wanted to repair its multiple issues (there was talk of the display board being broken, as well as the motor), we can’t. It’s ten-years-old, apparently long past its predicted lifetime, and its parts are no available to fix it. I’m really wishing we had not bought that new dryer still sitting in a box, waiting to replace our still-working, albeit-not-very-efficient, yet rarely-used-because-we-let-the-sun-dry-our-clothes-for-free-dryer that is at least forty years old, even if it is a fire hazard…because you see, there was a time when we built things to last, and not consume and throw away.
Yesterday, while emptying the dishwasher that is only a year old, I found myself putting more glasses in the sink than in the cabinet. Spots. Tiny spots, all over them. Thoughts of going back in time and living the life of Anne Shirley (my favorite childhood heroine) danced across my mind while I hand-washed glasses, and later, sodden laundry that smelled like gym shoes after being stuck in a locked, broken washer for two days. I could see myself in a gingham dress, my hair braided and tucked behind my ears while I sat with my bucket of clothes. My arms felt the satisfaction of racking the dirt free across the imaginary rippled back of the washer-board. And, I was smiling. It was a happier day in my mind. Life simple and unblemished by the advances in technology that distract us and push our minds away from the present moment. There is a certain satisfaction that comes with doing a job yourself, instead of letting a machine do it for you. I thought about how much I enjoy hanging laundry on the clothesline and pressing my face to the dry cloth that’s been kissed by the wind and the sun before I fold it away; running warm water in the sink and watching the bubbles multiply before I scrub clean the pots and pans I have used to cook a meal for my family.
Where do you think a washer goes when it’s time to bury it? I Googled the question, and actually found this article in Scientific American, “Where Do Old Appliances Go After They Die?” Since the author sounded like a kindred spirit, I decided to read what he had to say. I was already feeling a bit lighter after the first paragraph, which is actually a question posed by a concerned consumer who does not want to “add to the waste stream” and would rather repair her old appliances. Good luck finding parts, I smiled wryly before I continued on.
But, there’s hope, the article reveals. Utility companies will sometimes recycle your old appliances if you buy a more energy efficient one (at least when it comes to fridges and freezers), or you can go to Earth911.org to find a recycler near you. Aside from the annoying pop-up asking me to subscribe, I’m already loving this Earth911 site, which I’m pretty sure I’ve visited before. It appears to be updated regularly with great articles on how you can reduce, reuse, and recycle, and find more Earth-friendly products. It’s Lupe’s kind-of site, and I think I’ll dedicate this post to him.
“Each time his peers showed off their newest smartphones, Lupe thought of children in China walking barefoot through acres of discarded electronics, picking cadmium and copper from metal circuits with bare hands. He thought of poisons leaching into the porous tissues of skin, coursing through blood with oxygen along pathways to hearts and brains.” (chapter 5, The Labyrinth)
It literally takes two seconds to type in your type of dead appliance and zip code to find a potential appliance recycler near you. I found one in the neighboring town. Looks like they take washers & dryers, so I’ll be investigating this a little further. There are also links on the Earth911 website for recycling a whole host of other products including yoga mats and nail polish. Yep, things are looking a little brighter around here (there’s also a LOT more sun in the neighbor’s yard).
The grinding of machines crunching tree limbs can still be heard, though, and I am doing my best to breath in the possibility of new life forming to replace what has been lost. I know we will soon need to take some of our own trees down that are dying and diseased, and top others to provide enough light for our solar panels. It will not be easy, I will be blessing the Earth and the trees once again for their sacrifice. If you have a moment to add a personal blessing to the trees and the Earth, adding with it the vision of new life flourishing next door, the elemental spirits, (Lupe), and I would be very grateful.
Not at the neighbor’s but down the road where a forest was destroyed for a new safety complex
As for the kids going back to school. There’s not much I can say about that aside from this: I feel like I didn’t sleep at all, but I must have because I can recall having a dream that I was their age, struggling to decide what to wear, and then missing the bus. They both made it to school on time, though, and it’s rather quiet here, aside from the machines next door. It will likely take me a couple of days to get used to it, but I will. Maybe that’s why I agreed to have a tooth filling replaced on my birthday tomorrow. A little pain distraction is sometimes welcome.
Wishing all kids and parents much happiness at this time of year, and if you’re in the market for a new washer or dryer, don’t buy one “made in China.” A word of advice from the serviceman who declared my washer offically dead. May she rest in peace and be repurposed into some new form. And, may our new washer last at least as long as she did.
Sue Vincent of The Daily Echo kindly nominated me for the 3.2.1 Me Challenge, giving me the word “Inspiration” for my topic. Thank you, Sue. Do check out her response to the challenge, “Time.”
The seemingly inert forms of rocks inspire me, even those found in New England. In this photo, taken at Acadia National Park in Maine, I can see dozens of faces, each with a different story to tell.
Did you know “inspiration” not only means “that which spurs creativity and action,” but also the “intake of breath?” I rather like the link between these two definitions. What inspires you to breathe life in? Fully and completely, capturing its essence as you do so? Connecting your life to its life…Your form to another’s…
I think, perhaps, the key is a connection. Finding that which sparks the synapses to fire across the bridge of singularity. That moment when we inspire the breath and say to ourselves, “ah ha, there is a certain something here I need to explore,” and in that exploration don’t we inevitably discover something about ourselves? A deep-seated longing, perhaps, that we now cannot ignore?
While looking up quotes on inspiration, I came across these words attributed to Bob Dylan,”Inspiration is hard to come by. You have to take it where you find it.” I find this rather sad and tend to disagree with it. Are we really that disconnected from life, and, one could extrapolate, the source of the air we breathe?
Mr. Dylan seems to be implying that inspiration is an elusive object, which is hard to obtain. I tend to think of it as just the opposite. Inspiration, I find, is everywhere, waiting for us to take notice. To take in the deep inhale of its life into our cells and allow them to spark fresh awareness. It’s a sad thought to think most of us spend our time breathing stale, shallow breaths without any sense of wonderment, but maybe Bob is onto something here…
While searching for actual quotes on inspiration (rather than “inspiration quotes,” which seem to occur in abundance), I came across this an interview with Ray Bradbury that appeared on Fresh Air, where he stated, “It’s lack that gives us inspiration,” he said. “It’s not fullness. Not ever having driven, I can write better about automobiles than the people who drive them. I have a distance here. … Space travel is another good example. I’m never going to go to Mars but I’ve helped inspire, thank goodness, the people who built the rockets and sent our photographic equipment off to Mars. So it’s always a lack that causes you to write that type of story.”
Again, I find myself in partial agreement. Lack of oxygen quite literally causes us to inspire, adding more air to our lungs. Bradbury, though, seems to be talking about what spurs creative inspiration. The lack of knowledge, causing us to seek. I suppose if we were full of all life, of all the answers to each and every question out there, there may, in fact, be nothing to inspire us. Why draw the breath in if the lungs are already full?
A full brain has nothing else to learn, but really, is that ever really possible? I may think I know the mechanics of driving, having driven for nearly 3 decades, multiple vehicles, with automatic and standard transmissions, yet I was still inspired to drive recently in England and found there was much to be discovered in this adventure of driving on the wrong left side of unfamiliar roads.
The ordinary became extraordinary, as I pushed past fears to find wonderment. Yet one need not, I believe, try driving on the opposite side of the road in a foreign land to find inspiration, one need only look with a little more depth at familiar surroundings, or breath in a little more air.
I often say I travel to England to find magic. In this ancient landscape, there is much that inspires me. It’s virtually effortless to find inspiration there, for me. Yet, here in New England, I find it is easy to fall victim to the mundane, or the Bob Dylan syndrome if you will. Yet, I realize, that is my fault, and not that of the landscape. There is magic in each blade of grass if you are willing to look at it more closely and marvel at the intricacy of its creation. Even the rocks here have much to offer, even those not aligned to the stars.
The key lies in the word itself. Allowing myself to inspire life, and breath deep its essence, even if that life is seemingly inert, there is always something new to take in and discover. Endless layers…endless molecules of air. The lungs always seeking more breath after exhaling that which has not been absorbed by the body.
While writing this post, a male cardinal appeared outside in my Rose of Sharon bush. It created quite a scene, as it flew in and out of the blooms and around the nearby foliage, as though it was trying to get my attention. Later, I thought about the cardinal feather I found years ago and had studied closely in a meditative state as part of a lesson with the Silent Eye School, discovering the feather was not merely red-orange, but filled with all the colors of the rainbow. “Now that’s something to write about,” Sue replied to my discovery.
It’s raining. Again. We have been having a tropical summer filled with heat and humidity. It has been raining nearly every day for the past month-and-a-half. There are usually breaks of sun in between, but the clouds seem to want to linger over this area of the world.
Zelda the dog
I am sitting on the screened in porch with Zelda the dog, watching the fall of water from milky skies. We’ve had to empty inches from the pool more than once this season. That never happens. Usually, we are adding water with a hose after long stretches of heat without precipitation. This summer is not normal, but then again, neither is the weather normal for most of the world right now. The Earth is changing, trying to adapt to, but also protest, our impact. Some believe we are already in a period of crisis. It’s difficult to believe we are not. With fires raging worldwide, and too much rain in other areas, it’s hard to deny that there is a global imbalance to the elements. We like to blame Mother Nature, forgetting that she is merely trying to keep us all alive. Her children. Not just us, but all life on the planet, including herself.
My Children Dancing in the Rain Several Years Ago
We are playing with extremes, testing her limits like unruly teens. Refusing to believe that there is not an endless supply of resources to sustain us, we turn a blind eye to excess in our quest for gain. We play a game of “I” v. “We,” without realizing both the “I” and the “We” are one and the same and no side will win if the other loses.
My Daughter with Orbs of Elementals
I did not sit down to write a rant, but rather a reminder. Today, as I sit watching the rain fall, I am remembering joy. The play of my children as they danced amid drops of water many years ago. And, I, with them, taking photographs and laughing through the feeling of bliss. When hearts open to magic, it finds us. The simple joy of being breaks the veil of separation and the universe dances with you.
Surrounded by the “Fairies”
We knew we were not alone. I could feel the elemental energies dancing with us, and my camera saw them. My children, as many children do, also knew of their presence. I wonder, sometimes, if we have, collectively, forgotten how to dance in the rain with open hearts. To feel the sun not as a bronzer to the skin, but as a fire igniting the sun within. I wonder if wonder has been replaced with artificial pleasures created behind windowless walls. Have you forgotten how to dance in the fall of rain? To breathe fully the joy of being as the sun sparks the cells within? I know sometimes I forget. Too often, I believe.
Rainbows remind us of the Joy of Balance
I wonder, if we don’t stop and remember, will the “we” and “I” survive? I know we will not thrive…for right now there is more of a global struggle occurring than a global dance.
It was approximately 9:30pm, my husband and I seated on the sofa downstairs watching Victoria and Abdul, a bowl of popped buttered corn between us. Our son upstairs behind shut doors, our daughter and her friend taking a night dip in the pool after their evening run. The door dividing the screened porch open to the elements but screened from the bugs. Or so we thought.
“How did it get in here,” my daughter later asked.
“Maybe it was following a moth. They eat moths, don’t they?” someone offered in reply.
We can’t say for sure what drew it in. It had never entered our house before, nor had any of its kind. It seemed to be in a hurry though, its beautiful, silent body flying soundlessly through the opened doors of the porch, past the mesh screen to dance a circle around our heads in pursuit of an unidentified prey.
“There’s a bat in our house.” I don’t know who said it first. More husband or I. We were both equally startled. We’ve had uninvited visitors before, mostly courtesy of the cats, but no cat had invited the bat in. Nor had the dogs, which remained, somehow, blissfully unaware of our visitor for the 30-45 minutes it was with us.
And so began the pursuit of our graceful guest. How does one catch a bat? I am not sure. I got a net from the pool box used for retrieving frogs and the unfortunate rodents who have ventured over the edge. My husband, a pair of leather gloves from the basement. Thinking that the net might not be enough, I grabbed a thick cotton blanket from the closet and began to search the rooms with my husband.
Here’s the thing about bats. They are not only silent and swift, most of them, like this nocturnal flyer, rely upon echolocation for their sight. They are much better at navigating space than we are. It was a comical chase, to be sure, but we really didn’t think so at the time, well not all of us. Bats have a way of opening our fears, as well as our sense of wonder. I realized in those 45 minutes what our unexpected visitors was triggering in each of us.
My daughter and her friend found amusement, laughing when they discovered what we were dealing with. They were also safely outside. My son seemed satisfied enough to stay behind the closed doors to keep the bat out of the room. Those of us tasked with the challenge of leading the bat back out to where it came from, were not as stable with our emotions. I was fine until it flew by, my husband less so. “I’ve been bitten by animals before,” he reminded me when I told him that our panicking would likely only increase the bat’s panicking.
When we stop to observe and watch ourselves in these moments when our fears are triggered, we can learn a lot about ourselves. Having had more practice in this than my husband, because of my studies with the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, and yoga, I was able to step into that role of observer.
What if you get bit? I asked myself. I thought of rabies and decided I didn’t like that option, but I also thought about the bat as a teacher and as a guest who was there for a purpose that might not be entirely obvious at first. Here before me was this magnificent animal, a mammal like me, but with the ability to fly at will. We were, I realized, both night-flyers. While I released the weight of gravity while I dreamt, this night-flyer was showing me the beautiful blind dance of trust in my waking state. And, I realized, when I took the time to be still and let go my fear of being bit, that before me was a gift.
How remarkably beautiful you are I thought as the bat flew a millimeter in front of me in search of an exit. There were moments, many of them, when I had no idea where our visitor was until it soared past on its silent wings. There was even one moment when I was hunched in the hallway as it flew around me when I thought it had landed on me. It wasn’t, I discovered, an unwelcome thought. I had this crazy notion that if I remained calm and still, it would land on me if it chose to, and we would both be okay.
Or was it so crazy? When we choose to dance beyond our fears into that state of stillness and peace, the world has a way of responding in kind. Those zen-like moments you read or hear about, and maybe even have experienced for yourself, are just that. The letting go of what binds us to our bodies and minds and allowing our cells to dance in unity with all that is around us. It is, in essence, like flying without effort. This bat, I realized while it was with us, had been a welcome visitor after all. I was almost sorry when my husband declared after our second attempt at releasing it (we had at one point thought it had exited an open door only to discover after we had settled back onto the couch and our movie that it had not), that he had, in fact, watched it exit the same porch door from which it came from. It’s job here, it seems, was done.
It was a strange series of dreams, on the surface, but then again dreams are often strange…on the surface. I was in school, a large brick building that seemed nearly endless. My classroom on the upper floor and down labyrinthian corridors filled with turns and shadows. One could easily get lost there.
The labyrinthian school in my dream reminded me of this labyrinth from my new book.
I was studying art. The assignment I was given was to fashion a multilayered piece that appeared one-dimensional until you turned it, allowing the light to reveal the inner layers that appear shadowed by the surface. The finished piece had been created, somehow, by my hands, hands that I did not believe could create a painting, much less a rather magical one that. A painting that when turned to the light at just the right angle revealed beautiful, hidden layers beneath. Like a hologram, but there were so many layers to this painting I had somehow created, I could not count.
We were to take our paintings outside, to catch the sunlight so that their depths could be revealed. That is when I started to fly, with my two dogs. Normally, in my dreams, I fly alone…
The two dogs in my dream, pictured here on one of our walks together.
During the day, I had been thinking about density. How we create our own density in our bodies and in our physical environment. We fashion energy into dense forms, like the car I was riding in while I was thinking these thoughts. Cars to drive in, homes to house our bodies, furniture to rest upon, toys to play with…the list is endless. I had also been thinking about how the density inside of me lifts when I visit ancient landscapes where my inner child burst forth into a state of pure joy and sometimes it is as though my feet are so light they hover above the ground…
My feet “hover” above the rocks at Merrivale in Dartmoor as I walk in the pure joy of being. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson
I had also been thinking about rocks, nature’s way of creating density to store the memories of Time. These rocks that draw people like me to listen to their stories, and have the ability to somehow make us feel less dense and confined to the worlds we create.
This bird drew my eye to the heart in stone on top of a New Hampshire mountain years ago.
The day had not been particularly “light.” I had allowed myself to be bothered by others behavior and the nuances of life we can attach so much importance to but are in reality merely passing moments that we can either grasp or let go of. I was, you could say, feeling weighed down by the time I laid my head upon my pillow to go to sleep.
This image popped up on my screen this morning when I opened my computer. Sometimes there are no accidents in life.
I am not, therefore, surprised my dreams brought me into a school, where I was given the opportunity to learn and grow. It was a gift. An opportunity and I had a choice to hold onto the density within me or to examine the art of my creation and allow the layers of light to reveal themselves.
In The Labyrinth, the character Sula, and her five fellow teen protagonists must face their trapped fears and release their density in order to open the gifts of their light bodies. It is essential not only to their individual journeys but also to their collective, as they realize they are each a strand of light in the network of light that connects all life. As warriors of this light, they come to understand they must embrace their true selves and learn to fly above their fears to carry out their mission of repairing the broken lines of light within Earth.
And they are not alone…None of us are. Sometimes we forget we are all connected. That the same fears and light reside within all of us, and we can either create more density together or reveal the light of our creation.
When I left the confines of the brick school building and walked out into the classroom of Nature in my dream, I found myself walking with my two dogs. As my feet lifted off the ground, so did theirs. I lifted first, but they followed my lead. Their leashes weightless ribbons joining us together in a trinity as though we were one-self. I felt rather felt like Santa Claus (yes, I actually had this thought while I was flying with the dogs in my dream), with my companions Rosy and Zelda flying ahead of me over the landscape below. A landscape filled not with mortored walls, but with the classrooms of the ancients. It was glorious to be flying over these places that draw my soul, and allowing myself to notice, but not stop and linger, where I felt the density of fear. I was there to discover and learn. I will remember this, I told myself, so that I can share it with others.
When I woke, I felt much lighter than I did the day before. That is the gift of these sorts of “dreams.”
We’ve all heard about the dangers of gangs and cults, but it is alarming how prevalent and insidious the cult-like syndrome is. I’m writing this post because I have fallen prey to it one too many times and I know so many others who have as well, many of whom are completely unaware that they are willing victims of this dangerous power-play.
My latest episode involved joining a group of “spiritual” practitioners and healers several months ago. A group that was not a cooperative, but an oligarchy. Mind you, there were red flags from the start (one that I could not ignore was the tagline of being “highly enlightened,” which goes against the heart and feeds only the ego. I do not personally believe myself to be “highly enlightened,” rather I learn in every moment) but I chose to ignore them because of my ego, as well as my idealistic heart. Despite all that I disagreed with, I really and truly wanted to help others, especially children and teens and thought I had found a venue to do so.
As I became enmeshed in this group, I became increasingly uncomfortable with the imbalance of energy that it was creating. Not only was it creating a financial drain (in the requirement of a membership fee that provided no return in the form of clients), it created an overarching energetic imbalance. Although I didn’t want to admit it until it became glaringly obvious, I realized the system I had bought into was more about feeding the ego than the soul. No one wants to believe that about a “spiritual” cult group. Yet it happens all too often.
Many of us have heard stories in the news over the years about dangerous cult-like groups and the horrors of what happens to their members. There are numerous cults who claim religious devotional ideals but corrupt the minds and bodies of their members due to the abusive nature of the ego. I was an unwilling victim of the Hare Krishna cult when I was two-years-old and the story is told in my memoir, A Girl Named Truth.
I was also the more willing victim of my family (cult), which is also told in my memoir. A strong statement, perhaps, but when we look closer at how our family units influence and shape us, we often find cult-like parallels and behaviors. Often, as children, we are completely unaware that there is a gross imbalance of power, and sometimes dangerous abuse occurring, because we so very much want to be loved and accepted. This desire can continue into our adult years, even when we should know better because there is a part of us that believes we need to continue to prove our worth.
Whenever there is an imbalance of power driven by the ego, individuals can become subject to a cult-like situation that can be damaging and sometimes dangerous to their wellbeing. It can happen in religious groups, spiritual groups, family units, schools, the workplace, etc. and there are usually some common themes which should trigger red flags.
One or a few people placed in a position of power/authority over others will often use this power to take advantage of you. This can include asking for services without reciprocation. (The leader of the “spiritual” group I was recently a part of would often ask for free services from the practitioners in addition to the payment of their membership fee. This is a gross imbalance of power and energy.) In corporations, sexual harassment and assault often occurs from misuse of power/authority due to hierarchical structures. “Favors” are requested from individuals who believe they deserve these favors because of their “position” in our life. In families, children are all too often abused sexually and physically because of the belief from their caregivers that they are subordinate.
What is, perhaps, most disturbing about this behavior is that it is often completely justified by the perpetrators. Some of which are completely unaware that they are doing anything wrong. In their egoic minds, it is justified. Why? Because we seem to be conditioned to believe that imbalance is acceptable. That there is a hierarchy to our worth as individuals and that it is okay to be above or below another. Not so. This needs to change.
Unfortunately, we see it all too apparent in our political systems. Dangerous misuse and abuse of power leading to harmful consequences, yet we continue to enable it. Why? It’s a tricky question, but when we look closely at ourselves and our vulnerabilities we may come to learn that there is a self-worth issue that needs to be addressed and healed. It can become a (sometimes painful) opportunity to heal and grow ourselves. When we heal the energetic vulnerabilities within us, we are less likely to attract those who tend to abuse and steal our energy and rob us of our self-worth.
I believe our individual and collective history repeats until we decide to heal and evolve individually and collectively. The inner tends mirror the outer, and vice versa. We are a funny race, as humans. We tend toward the belief of superiority and inferiority in our own cultures, but also when we compare ourselves to nonhuman beings such as animals and plants. The irony in this is if we want to ascribe to the belief of superiority then we are naively fooling ourselves. Nature knows better than we do that the web-of-life is about balance and cooperation. If we just watched and listened to what is occurring both within and outside of us, we would come to see this more clearly. We would see that when we struggle, so do those around us. The planet is in crisis, and so, I believe, are we. Our egoic minds struggle to hold onto the false belief that we are greater than others, when in fact, this division only breaks the One Light that threads through all of us. The light that is Life itself. When will we learn?
One of the driving forces behind this concept led me to write my newly released book, The Labyrinth. It is written as a young adult book, with its six teen protagonists, but it is not intended to be limited to this audience. I have, and continue to learn, from the characters in this book series, which I am calling Warriors of Light. Characters who must face their darkness to repair the light within and without. I still hold a crazy vision that unity can one day be achieved and that the broken lines of light in Earth and within Us, can be repaired into wholeness once again. That one day we may look at each other and see ourselves mirrored back, and the look given and returned will be filled with love and only love.
Meet Aponi, one of the six warriors of light in The Labyrinth.
“We can do Merrivale,” Larissa had announced after researching the sites of Dartmoor that were on our drive home. This time we were taking the scenic route to drive through a bit of the park. “We’ve got two hours, tops, so we have enough time for the crop circle.”
“I don’t like the name,” I kept announcing, without really knowing why. It just didn’t seem to fit. It still doesn’t, but sometimes we just have to go with what our more modern ancestors decided to call these sacred landscapes.
The day began with mist and ended with sunshine. I knew Larissa was a bit nervous, but truthfully I was in heaven as we drove through fog so think you could not see more than a few feet in front of us. My only regret was that I knew I was missing a lot, but the effect was all too perfect. Sometimes you have to accept the gifts of the elements, even when there are definite drawbacks to them.
“Dragon’s Breath” on Dartmoor
It was a little bit of a challenge finding the spot to pull over. Thankfully the navigation did a good job leading us there, and it wasn’t really a surprise that no other cars were parked in the lot. The weather really was messy. I rather like the term Stuart and Sue use for the heavy mist on the moors that gathers over the ancient sites. “Dragon’s breath,” along the dragon lines…
Larissa walks into the mist. Once you ascend from the carpark into the dragon’s breath, you are swallowed.
We were drenched by the dew by the time we returned to the car, but it didn’t matter. We knew we had a heater. I also could have used the umbrella I was carrying, but as so often happens in these places, the right side of the brain takes over.
A Guardian of Merrivale. One wonders how large the stone really is, with only its upper-half exposed and chin rested upon another stone.
A rather notable stone juts out of the earth and marks the ascend into the ancient settlement. There was no visible signpost erected by a modern hand, and we later realized we were not likely parked at the main lot. Just as well, though, like the mist, it seemed intended for the necessary effect.
Another notable guardian stone inside Merrivale. This one rather looks like a dolphin diving into the body of a protective seal.
I knew nothing about Merrivale before our visit, aside from it being an ancient settlement among many notable sites in Dartmoor. I like it this way. There is much to be said about starting your journey into an ancient land without preconceptions, allowing the nonlogical mind to take over. Here is where the landscape of the senses thrive, and the land of Dartmoor provides the ideal place to open the inner eye.
A sheep surveys the landscape.
Although there were no other people to be seen through the few feet of mist around us, it was not surprising to encounter sheep. They seem to own the landscape of Dartmoor, along with the famous ponies we, unfortunately, did not meet. The Bodmin Beast was also nowhere to be found, not that we were looking for it…
Sheep v. serpent stone face-off
So we had only the sheep and rocks to guides our footsteps, along with a rather fortuituous crow that kept appearing at just the right moment when I questioned whether I should continue on. There were signposts of sorts, but one could easily get lost in such a thick fog. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have cared all that much, but I did have my friend’s welfare to consider, and we did have that date with the crop circle…
It was rather comforting to have the sheep present while we walked through time.
Even so, time seemed to step aside to accommodate, allowing us to walk through the veil of its passage and return to a past now long forgotten. The stones and the sheep watched but didn’t interfere with our footsteps and I succumbed to the glory of just being in the magical landscape.
There are rocks everywhere, but their placements are deliberate, even though many seem much more hidden by the earth than they once were.
These places are mysterious, but not completely elusive. The arrangement of stones signal sites of burial and also gathering places. Avenues line streams and circles encase sacred space.
A place to gather?
Stones surrounding a probable cairn
Burial chamber?
Each footstep led to a place of wonderment, and I soon realized I would not be able to travel the full breadth of the settlement. The further I strayed, with the urgings of the crow that appeared through the mist atop the stones, the more nervous I knew I was making Larissa. She, though, was very obliging. We both knew what general direction the car lot was, and that we needed to descend into the midst to get there. At the very least, the avenues and stream would lead us back, once we found them again.
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A stream divides two avenues of stones at Merrivale. One is longer than the other. I walked the length of the one near the road when I entered the settlement, and the other upon my return. To our surprise, another visitor had quietly entered the landscape while Larissa and I were wandering. An elderly gentleman, whom I surmised must have been a local as there was no sign of another car when we drove aways, was seated nearby the marker stone at the end of the avenues. He lifted his head in a slight acknowledgment of greeting, and I glanced at the easel before him, and the unopened umbrella beside his chair. Noting, as I did, how seemed to be more than happy to be present within the dragon’s breath, and perhaps would rather us not be there with him. There was a sense that he belonged there more than we, and we quietly left, leaving him covered in another time.
Trees in the distance beyond where we walked looked like a mirage.
I climbed reluctantly into the car, noticing for the first time how soaked by the dragon’s breath we were. My jeans were an uncomfortable second skin thickly glued to my legs, and I turned the heater on full blast as I turned the car around. I would miss this landscape and its assortment of living stones.
Each stone held a story, but there was not enough time to stop and listen to all of them.
As we drove away, through the winding hills of Dartmoor, the heavy mist started to clear. The transformation was quite dramatic, and I found myself wishing I could pull over to photograph the land unveiled to the light above. It did not escape me how lucky we were to be given the magical effect of the dragon’s breath, followed by the sun-kissed landscaped in its full, bare beauty. As we turned corners, wonders appeared, included a large stone circle tantalizingly close to the road but with no layby to pull over. And, we were now pressed a bit for time.
We did, though, stop at the bottom of the hills of Dartmoor to admire a river running with the light of the sun. There were much-appreciated bathrooms too, and just enough time to take a few photos.
The Light Behind the Story 