This brief passage contains so much. It’s worth a read, and Sue’s book The Osiriad is a wonderful text.
Source: The illusion of power
When I close my eyes (in meditation)…
I see eyes open to awareness
restrictions letting go
as a patriarch’s staff is laid down
I see golden wombs growing light
and wings emerging out of clouds
I see the vast body of the ocean folding into self
Volcanos erupt secrets
as a mighty oak grows strength
A queen with red hair waits underground
Above, the sky fills with ships ready to be seen
while Hathor holds the moon
On Earth, the rainbow goddess resurrects Truth
and a Green Man becomes me Home
“Red-Winger”
Another (short) post in the series about the power of names…
I find out after everyone else. Apparently my boyfriend has been spreading rumors that we are doing it, and not only doing it, but while I am having my period. What provokes him to do this, I’ll never know.
“Hey, Red-Winger,” his friend shouts the name down the full table at lunch, and I blush, knowing it can’t be good, before I look at my boyfriend. He tries to wear a face of innocence, but I know he is guilty.
A friend takes pity on me, later, and shares the rumor with me. By now, everyone who wants to believe it is true, does. Including, of course, my two former best-friends. I can see their gloating smiles. They don’t know the truth, and they don’t want to believe it. Instead, it seems, everyone wants to believe the good-girl really has gone bad.
My Names…A Stream of Consciousness
Alethea, Greek for truth. When I was a child I imagined I was Aphrodite when I wanted to be beautiful. Athena when I wanted to be strong. Once, my friend told me I looked like a Greek goddess in profile and I’ll never forget that. Lethe is a river where one goes to forget. I tried to dip my thoughts in its current to wash them clear of the pain. Too many memories fog my brain, most of them not mine. Grammy called me Leethie, which is only one e away from the river of forgetting, reminding me how we tried our best to forget each other, but she is still with me know. When I smell roses in winter, I know she is beside me. She whispers I love you into the cells of my heart, filling it with the grace of forgiveness. I have been called a lot of names and my life is not over yet. Alethea is not really Alethea, but Aletha according to my family, but not according to one of my best friends who refuses to drop the e that is there. I have no preference for either name, it’s the others I won’t own. Althea sounds like sandpaper. Ah-leth-ia, like a lisp. Then there are the others that are so far off I have to laugh. I’ve been called Bitch, Moody and Too Sensitive. I’ve been called Fish because my last name was Fischer, but I used to wonder if I also smelled like fish, which I might have once a month when I was too afraid to go to the bathroom. There were also the nice nicknames. Eeesh from my family when I was young, and then not so young, spelt Ish by my stepfather who sang me the song about sunshine when he was happy with me. When I smiled everything was okay. Now, my daughter calls me the master healer to tease me, and lots of other whoowhoo names that make me laugh because I know she loves me and in her 12-year-old way, she is proud of her mother. My husband calls me the Love of My Life, and sometimes that sounds too big. I am now Honey by my birthfather when he hangs up the phone and inside the warmth of the word I feel Love.
“Eamon” v. “Elizabeth”
Second in the series about the power of names and what we can learn from them.
On August 30, 1973 a child was born inside the bedroom of a tiny house that looks like a milk carton. She was supposed to be a boy.
“Dave [my father] always wanted you to be a boy,” my mother often told me.
“I thought you were going to be a boy,” my father tells me now.
She was given the name Alethea Eamon Fischer. Alethea for the truth that cannot be agreed upon.
My mother tells me she found the name in a book. My father, that it was from the 1973 episode of Kung Fu with Jodi Foster called “Alethea,” which aired months before my birth.
My mother tells me it was a typical rainy day in Portland on the afternoon of my birth, my father remembers sun. He’s the one who gave me my middle name. Eamon became my demon. As I grew this name fueled the fire in my belly and the hatred I tried to harbor against my father.
“He never really cared about you girls,” my mother would tell us. How could he, I would think, if he gave me this name?
When I was a child I longed for an ordinary middle name, like Ann or Marie. Like the middle names my friends had. When they would ask me what my middle name was, I would refuse to tell them.
I tried to hide my middle name until it was shared without my permission, on the graduation program at the end of the 6th grade. There it was for everyone to see, beside my misspelt first name. “Eamon.”
No one said anything until the 8th grade, when I heard it sung down the hallways from the voices of boys becoming men. Each splintered note stabbed my heart and flared the fire in my cheeks.
It was a tool of hatred, of shame, of regret. My father’s gift to remind me I was the boy he didn’t get. It was the demon I held inside of me, reminding me why I shouldn’t love him. And it was the knife that stabbed through my thinning layer of self-esteem wielded by my former best-friends’ boyfriends.
I couldn’t wait for the day to come when I could get rid of it.
When I was 18, my mother, sister and I booked the appointment and spent a pleasant afternoon debating our choices. We settled on Elizabeth for me. My maternal grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s name. Elizabeth, one of those names that any girl might have.
When I signed the paper with my new name I thought I was erasing the boy that was never born. I thought I was one step closer to erasing the man who I thought never wanted me. A father who never could have loved me.
I was wrong.
“Leethie”
I believe strongly in the cathartic power of writing. The energy of our words can free the trapped energy of our emotions, providing us with a pathway to our Light and truth. I am starting to offer workshops on spiritual writing that will focus on understanding the self through the written word. In the first series, we’ll be exploring who we are through the names we are given by others and the names we give ourselves. In this blog, I will be sharing my own written words around the stories of my names. Here is one:
“Leethie”
It’s just three months into my first year at Bowdoin when the phone rings beside my roommate’s desk. I watch her pick it up, listen, then hand it over to me. It’s my mother.
“Dave [my birthfather] called. He wanted me to tell you his mother died.”
While my mother talks, I stand beside my roommate’s desk, emotionless. I can feel her eyes on me, questioning, but I ignore them.
“How’d she die?” I ask.
“I don’t know. He didn’t share.”
I can tell she’s already annoyed, she always is when my birthfather is a (rare) topic of conversation, so I don’t press it. Instead, I let her move on to other topics, half-listening as she shares stories about what has been happening in town during my absence.
While my mother talks, I think about the grandmother who, when I was very young and she was happy to be with me, used to call me “Leethie.” I feel the warm wrap of a name that was only hers to give me, until I remember the grandmother who seemed to have forgotten she had two granddaughters across the country. I recall how quickly the gifts sent from Oregon on my birthday and Christmas disappeared after I said goodbye to her when I was thirteen. I think about how soon she became just “Grammy” in quotes signed on a card, then nothing at all.
While my mother talks, I realize I cannot remember the last time I heard my grandmother’s voice, or if she ever told me she loved me.
My roommate looks at me when I hang up the phone, her face a mask of concern. “Are you okay?”
In response, I tell her I’m fine. I tell her that my grandmother has recently died, but that I’m okay because we were not close.
My roommate looks at me like I’m a freak, and I realize if she had just lost her grandmother, she would be devastated. The emotionless words that have left my mouth mirror my truth on the surface. I honestly don’t know what I feel after hearing the news that Grammy is dead. Tears do not grace my face, nor do they simmer near the surface, waiting for a private moment to erupt.
I can almost ignore the loss that hides deep within me. I have gotten used to its heavy weight. In that unreachable place, I realize there will never be a chance for reunion. Grammy will never hear my side of the story, and I will never be able to show her that young girl, barely a teenager, signing the papers to make her mother and stepfather happy. But, I don’t know if I care. Loyalty, on that day when I am 19, is still heavily weighted on the side of my mother’s truths.
The Memory of Home
In the pause between thoughts
silence whispers the language
of the forgotten self
I’ve been dreaming of home
the land outside walls
offers the great hope of peace
Inside the body
mind chatters fear
while the memory of love
hides in the fragmented soul
I’ve been dreaming of the womb
I thought I was created
from a legacy of cells
I thought home was a structure
subject to decay
until I remembered light
crumbles the illusion of Truth
returning home to the opened heart
One moment…
Wonderful post by Sue Vincent that will get you thinking…
Source: One moment…
Coming of Age
This poem is based upon a past life memory of my daughter’s. It is not easy to put into words the sacred experience of witnessing the resurfacing of this Coming of Age moment, but I felt moved to try.
She remembers standing
on a mountain open to wind
Her face painted in the 4 directions
like a compass pointing her home
red, white, blue and yellow
lines with dashes leading to the center
A neck draped in stones of water
5 triangles tipped to her womb
and the Mother she was leaving behind
There is nothing below me
she reveals open space
her hands holding what she will take
the feather of a hawk and another stone
flat, cold and smooth
The ceremony held without her
as she becomes a bird
flying into the Light
Co-Creating a New Earth Meditation
While I was having a past-life regression with Karen Kubicko on 11/14/15, I was given information by my spirit guides about how to co-create a New Earth. I would like to share this information with you so that you can perform a meditation privately, or in a group setting, if you feel called to do so. Performing this as a group will magnify the vibration, but as I was shown, one person holding the light can also have a great effect. We sometimes forget how powerful we are. It’s time to remember the Light, which we are all a part of. It’s time to create, together, a New Earth.
To be a conscious co-creator of this Light that is Love there are no physical tools needed. Of course you may use crystals, candles and other items that you wish to help bring you to the vibrational state of heart-centered Love, but really this is all that is required. the heart-centered state of Love. You may sit in silence, or play a piece of beautiful music softly in the background. Whatever feels right for you and your group is right.
If you are working in a group, you may wish to sit in a circle and hold hands. Joining your energy in this physical way can be quite powerful. If you are performing this mediation alone, you need only an undisturbed space where you can enter the heart-center that resides within you, connecting you to the universal vibration that is Love.
Once you are settled into this state, ask that the Rainbow Frequencies of Light be downloaded into your DNA, or if they are already downloaded, ask or feel your connection to them. Allow whatever time is needed for this to occur. Feel the wonderful sensation of this beautiful frequency of Light inside your body. Feel it connecting you to Source and all beings that exist in this high vibrational state.
See with you inner eye and feel these Beings of Love surrounding you and Earth. Allow yourself to receive the knowing that there is an abundance of loving guidance and help waiting to be given, you need only to ask. To be an open vessel to receive. Ask for it now. Ask that you and Earth be surrounded by the highest frequency of this Love-Light and that a New Earth be co-created, or resurrected. As the New Earth that waits to be created is actually a resurrection of Earth before fear was allowed to over-shadow Love.
Feel the grace of being, and the knowing that you are a conscious co-creator of this New Earth that is Love. See this New Earth as it manifests itself to you inside the palette of your heart’s eye. It is Joy. Pure Joy manifested. Feel it. Know it. It is Truth, which is Beauty.
Now allow yourself to become a channel of Light that is pure Joy and Love. You are a host, a vessel to bring forth this Light that is Love into Earth. Allow it to move where it is needed, spreading and seeding the Light into Earth. Know that this Light that is Love is connecting to the Love that resides in all beings who call Earth home, and that you are gently, and through the highest intention of Love, helping them to remember this Light that is also their Light. You are helping to reconnect the Universal Web of Light that is also the Sacred Song of “Om.”
If you feel inspired to do so, chant “Om” aloud, or within your heart-space, calling forth and connecting with the Sacred Song, the Universal Song. Feel and see your connection to all beings who sing this song, such as the whales and dolphins. Feel and know the indescribable Peace it brings.
You may now choose to continue spreading and seeding the Light, or you may choose to take it further, allowing the Light to not only spread and seed, but also to erase fear. Again, ask for guidance from these 5th dimensional beings and beyond, angels, archangels, ascended masters and the Divine, in the highest intention that is pure Love, to allow you to channel the Light while you, together, erase the habit of fear that is trapped inside Earth and inside the hearts of many of her children, over-shadowing the Light that is Love. This is allowed now, because it is needed. It is allowed because you are working in the highest vibration that is Love. Know this as Truth.
You might see this erasing as a large broom sweeping across Earth, gently brushing out the vibration of fear, or you may feel that you have become, in this state of intention, like a tornado of Light moving across Earth and her waters. The channel of Light that is you, moves to the pockets of held fear, opening them up to Light. Sending and transmuting this trapped habit of fear back to Light that is Love. That is Joy.
Again, allow this sweeping of fear and channeling of Light to occur as long as you feel is needed, or that is comfortable for you. Know that you will be this vessel for as long as is needed, or that you allow. Remember that you have free will and that this will be honored.
When you are finished, give gratitude and thanks. Send Love to Gaia and to her waters. The waters hold memories and emotions. When we send Love to water, in particular, we transmute trapped fear into Love, returning the memory of being in this frequency of Love that connects us to the Sacred Song, into the cells of our being. The water inside of us raises to the frequency of Joy at the same time, providing healing to ourselves and the waters of Earth.
Send gratitude to Source and all the beings of pure Love and Light who have helped you be a vessel of Light. Ask that they continue to work through you and with you to co-create and resurrect this New Earth. Ask that they inspire your work and your art with the Rainbow Frequency of Light so that it is infused with the Beauty of Truth. And ask that other Warriors of Light be inspired to co-create this New Earth in whatever way they are called to do so.
Perform and share this meditation as often as you desire, in the highest intention of Light that is Love.
My deepest gratitude and Love to you for sharing the Light, Alethea
The Light Behind the Story 