The Hidden Mysteries of the Parrotfish #dreams #parrotfishdream #parrotfishsymbolism #hexagram #pastlives

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Dreams, Memoir, Reflections30 Comments

parrot fish
Have you ever really wondered who you are and why you are here in this body at this time in evolution? Deep inside the memory of your cells, and within the door of your heart, your answers to who you are can be found, but how do you get there? How do you unlock lifetimes of memories and wisdom? How can you find your Truth?

One night last week I entered the realm of dreams while visions of ancient Egypt played with the gods inside the garden of my mind. There was Horus with his maddening blue eye, Isis mixing magic, Ma’at with her feather of Truth, and Sekhmet, the warrior goddess holding the ankh and her secrets to heal.

I had recently finished reading Sue Vincent’s The Osiriad, and had just begun Denise Linn’s Past Lives, Present Miracles. In a shadowed corner inside my mind, amid the play of gods, I searched for myself and saw a woman bent towards the ground, drawing a story in pictures. Stand up, I begged her, Show me who you are. Tell me your secrets.

The last image I can recall before I succumbed to sleep, was of an ancient oak tree. I was traveling down its trunk into the heart of Earth. I can’t tell you were I went, only that I met a parrotfish. One stubborn image that stayed inside my brain after waking.

There was a part of me that found it rather funny and, well, random that I had dreamt of a parrotfish. It seemed completely nonsensical and unrelated to my night musings. I had, after all, never before given the parrotfish much thought. I only vaguely knew what it was.

I’m not much of a believer in random signs, especially a sign that stuck so stubbornly inside my mind. It was, it seemed, a messenger from Spirit. I just needed to figure out what it was trying to tell me. I opened the computer and did some research while Sue Vincent quietly nudged me along across the ocean.

I silently thanked the divine for my friend who doesn’t appear to think I’m crazy, and happens to possess a wealth of esoteric knowledge, as I decided to explore the messages of my colorful messenger. While Sue wrote about polarity and the “surrender of self,” I thought about a fish that has the ability to change gender, color, and size.

The parrotfish is, you could say, a shapeshifter, having the ability to adapt and transform to its changing environment. It is, in essence, neither wholly male nor female, but able to harness the universal yin/yang energies we all have within us, at will. The parrotfish also wears the colors of the rainbow, the pattern and hues displayed subject to change throughout its lifetime. It is a chameleon of the sea.

The parrotfish, although residing in the warm waters of the tropics, is also connected to the element of air and land. Named after the parrot for its colorful scales that resemble the tropical bird, the parrotfish also sports a mouthful of impressive teeth that are shaped like a beak, as well as a second set inside its throat.

The more I read about this remarkable fish, the more my head swirled with symbolism. Here I was trying to evoke the memories of a distant past life I had led in ancient Egypt as a woman scribe, and it seems Spirit had scent me the parrotfish. It was a lot to digest.

Later in the morning, a dam inside of me broke and the waters of my emotions spilled from my eyes. I sat in my blue living room and looked up on my wall, noticing for the first time that the Chinese checkerboard my late grandfather had carved into wood was actually two interlocking triangles.  The hexagram is a magical symbol that Sue explores in-depth with her coauthor Dr. G. Michael Vasey in their book The Mystical Hexagram.  As I gazed upon this beautiful representation of united polarity, this union of opposites, I felt peace settle over me.  I knew in that middle space I would find my truth. Or, to put it another way, the truth was already there, unfolding like the roses etched into the corners of the square.

My Grandfather's Chinese Checker Board
My Grandfather’s Chinese Checker Board

If you happen to encounter the parrotfish as a messenger, consider asking yourself these questions: Is there something you are hiding within that seeks to be found? Are the energies within you in need of balance, or are you being called to express more of your inner yin or yang? Are you comfortable speaking (and digesting) your truth, or is a fear holding you back? Are you expressing your true, colorful self and your innate talents? Is there an alchemist inside of you waiting to be born?

The parrotfish calls us to balance the energies within us. To connect the elements of air and water and bring forth our creative gifts into this reality. It calls us to fully and fearlessly express our true selves. This beautiful being reminds us that we are more than what we appear to be on the surface, and that our true mysteries lie within, waiting to be expressed.

Not Just a Name #namesymbolism #pastlives

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections4 Comments

Have you ever thought about why you have the name you do? What does your name mean to you on a personal level? Does it feel right? Does it resonate from a deep place of truth within you? How did you get your name?

Some people believe, myself included, that we choose our names before we are born. As we review the life we wish to experience before we incarnate, we select the name that will resonate with the energy we wish to embody or experience. Sometimes, as Denise Linn observes in her book Past Lives, Present Miracles, we are named after a particular person because we have a  karmic connection to him or her, and often our names can link us back to a geographic location where we had a significant past life.

When I was a child, my mother told me my name, Alethea, came from a book. When I was 36, my birth father told me a different story, I story that I know believe to be true. In the year of my birth, the TV series Kung Fu featured an episode with Jodi Foster called “Alethea.” The wealth of symbolism in this episode is, for me, too significant to be a mere coincidence.

Despite the phonetic spelling of my name, my parents always called me Aletha. Aletha, from what I have found, has connections to England, a land where I enjoyed a very happy past life as a writer. Is it an accident that my parents chose to overlook that second e? Without the second e, the meaning of the name changes from truth to truthful.

As a young child, I felt bound by, and intensely bonded to, my name. On the one hand, I loved it. I thought it had a beautiful ancient strength in its sound. Alethea reminded me of Greek goddesses and the wonderfully mythology that fascinated me from a young age. It also constantly reminded me of  the concept of “truth.”

My name felt like a stamp on my soul. It still does. My obsession with my name and its meaning of truth would often cause great conflict and turmoil within me. If I felt a compulsion to lie or cheat in any way, I would have a visceral reaction compounded by an overwhelming sense of guilt.  When I knew someone was lying or being deceitful with me, I would have an equally strong reaction. Truth, it seemed, was a vital piece of my being. It never left me wherever I went, whatever I did.

Although I didn’t realize the soul significance at the time, I had many encounters where truth was subverted or hid during my childhood. I was told secrets and stories by my family and friends I was not allowed to share, secrets and stories that I sometimes realized were not grounded in “truth.” Yet I clung to their truths until the pain from harboring them became too much. My body literally could not take it.

Deep within, there was the ever-present soul truth yearning to be free. In college, I became enthralled with Keats’ odes, in particular “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” For my honors thesis, I chose the young poet, who, like myself, seemed obsessed with the idea of truth.

Truth haunted me with each life stage. If you have been following my writing, you will know that I wrote a memoir, called A Girl Named Truth and named my healing business Inner Truth Healing. Truth is always inserting its presence in my life.

When I decided to write my book manuscript as nonfiction instead of fiction, A Girl Named Truth was the first and only title I considered. It felt destined. I started healing my truth when I began writing this book, and by the time I was finished, I knew I needed to use my experience and gifts to help others heal.

I no longer view circumstances in life as coincidences or random occurrences. I believe the Source behind all life has a wonderful, vastly intelligent way of weaving a tapestry of deliberate scenes for us to personally experience and learn from. No character or event is irrelevant.

When you look at life this way, circumstances become more, and less, personal. For example, what I used to consider unfair personal attacks on my being, I can now look at as learning experiences designed for both me, and the other individuals involved.

In Past Lives, Present Miracles, Denise Linn also writes of the significance of nicknames. When I was a child, my paternal grandmother, with whom I had a strained relationship due to my parents’ divorce, used to call me “Leethie.” This nickname, as you may have noted, is similar to the world Lethe, which also has Greek origins. For those unfamiliar with the word, Lethe is the name of the goddess and river of the underworld in Greek mythology. The River Lethe is also called the River of Forgetfulness, from which the dead drink in order to forget their earthly life.

You could say I (almost) never drank from that river. My sister often remarks on my ability to remember life events that she has forgotten, even though she is older than I am. It’s almost as though I refuse to forget. I believe it’s significant that only my grandmother called me by this nickname. The year I turned 14, the last time I saw her, I felt as though she had forgotten me.

I didn’t have many nicknames as a child. Most friends and family simply called me Aletha, never choosing to shorten it more, and I never insisted upon being called by any other name. On the other hand, I hated, yes hated, my middle name, so much so I tried to hide it. According to my mother, my birth father insisted on giving me the middle name Eamon because he was expecting me to be a boy.

Eamon was the name I tried desperately to hide, which I did until it appeared on the program when I graduated 6th grade. The name Eamon has Gaelic and Old English origins. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that I have always been drawn to the Emerald Isle, as well as England. The slightly differing translations of the name all center around the theme of protection and  defending. As noted above, I tried desperately to protect my family’s truths for man years. I also defended their truths at the expense of sacrificing my own.

According to this site: http://www.sheknows.com, people with the name Eamon are creative, often writers, and are drawn to beauty in their lives. It took me a long time to let the writer inside of me out, but before I did, I traded in the name Eamon for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, chosen when I was 18 by me and my mother, is the named shared with my maternal grandmother and great-grandmother. The name Elizabeth also has Greek origins, and can be loosely translated to “I am God’s daughter.” When I ceased being a protector of my family’s secrets, I also found my spiritual self.

So, even if you don’t love a name you were given at birth, it may be worth doing some research into how it was chosen for you and what it means. The more we explore the origins of our names, the closer we can get to our own personal truths.

What’s Left Behind #tarot #death #rebirth

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections4 Comments

What's left behind

Three days ago, on the 6th of January, I had an impulse to cleanse so I grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and wrote each fear as it rushed to the front of my brain. With each rush of words, I ripped the paper, allowing each item its separate place. I stopped, I believe, at nine. Nine fears my soul asked for release as I begin this New Year in the quest for the balance of inner harmony and fearless creation.

2014 is a year of balance. When you look at the cycle of life reflected in Tarot, the number 14 typically symbolizes balance, or temperance as seen in the images below taken from the decks in the order below:
Universal Waite, Winged Spirit, Goddess and Thoth Tarot.

Temperance in Tarot

When you look at these 4 cards, you see different, yet similar representations of balance being sought. In the first card, from the Waite deck, an angel stands in human form, somewhat precariously balanced between the elements of water and earth. S/he holds two cups, representing the emotional and creative element of water, defying the force of gravity as s/he pours the blue water of truth between the two without a drop falling. I see this card as not only a balance of emotions, but also the peace that comes from finding and accepting one’s soul’s truths. It’s a gentle, yet powerful fulfillment. You can hardly miss those mighty red-orange wings lifted, ready for flight.

In the second card, from the Winged Tarot, a less serene image of balance is depicted. Here we see more of the temperance aspect of card 14. The angel-like figure in this card literally pours her emotions in the form of water onto her face, catching them, again without spilling them over, in the cup below. She is literally cleansing her face as she dances, almost impossibly balanced like the previous card, in the air.

When you turn to the 3rd card I have shown, from the Goddess Tarot deck, Yemana, the goddess of the sea/water, is seen emerging from the waves with sheets of the element falling from her hands. In the final card, from the Thoth deck, we see a figure of duality with two heads performing alchemy with the elements of water and fire/wands. A more active rendition of creating balance.

Back to my impulse to cleanse three days ago. I had a fire raging in my wood stove. It was, after all, a cold winter day. I took each ripped fear, and one by one, tossed them into the orange flames. I called upon the fire dragons and salamanders, asking them to burn away that which I no longer need, and watched as my pieces of paper were quickly consumed. All, except one, which partially transformed, becoming a curl of gray, stuck stubbornly to the top of a log with one word still etched firmly on its surface. “Guilt.” (Unfortunately this did not show up in the photo.)

This is what remained, that emotion that comes after rage,  bursts of anger and words we later regret after our fire is spent. It’s the charred remains of the fire element inside of us, and, I have found, it’s not so easily released. It’s no secret I have my share of lingering guilt. Some of it still carried over from childhood when I absorbed guilt from pain that was not mine to take on.

There’s the more freshly layered guilt too, that comes from motherhood and the seeking to find a strong, balanced voice that is not laced with fear (i.e. anger) in those moments of trial. Healing a silenced voice, I have found, is not easy. Fear tends to linger, and so does its aftermath, guilt.

We have just emerged out of the year 2013. The year of Death or Transformation in Tarot. I have placed the corresponding Tarot cards for 13 over the 14 cards in the figure below. Take a moment to note the symbolism.

The Death and Temperance cards in Tarot

What was the year 2013 like for you? I know for many, including myself, the last year or so has marked a stage of transformation. A calling to shed the aspects of self that are holding us back from living our true selves. Death, in this sense, is about ridding ourselves of the burdens we have too long carried within us. Note the skeletal figures in four of the cards, which are labeled “Death.” Look beyond their grim forms. In the first card, we see the promise of rebirth in the form of the family kneeling in supplication below  Death armored upon the white horse. The promise of new beginnings is just beyond those sun-filled gates in the background.

In the second card, Death appears as the Grim Reaper, yet look inside his tattered cloaks. This is where the angels reside. Here is the true, divine self, wrapped, yet emerging, from the wrappings of Death. In the last card, from the Thoth deck, the struggle is more forced and active (as it was in Thoth card for Temperance or “Art.”) Here we see the active struggle to get rid of the old and start anew.

The act of transformation is literally seen in the Goddess deck with Ukemochi, who is rebirthed from death into a fertile supply of life. She is the symbol of life transformed from death. She represents what many of us are feeling inside of us right now.

What new life will you call forth this year? What fears have you already shed? What still lingers within, stubbornly seeking transformation? What will you do to let it go? How will you find temperance and balance this year. What will you create from your soul’s truth?

Constructing Happiness

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections10 Comments
Fairytale Castle
A Fairytale Castle

It was only our second family trip to the “Happiest Place on Earth,” but before we stepped through the gates leading to Cinderella’s castle, the “magic” of Disney was fading.

Don’t worry, we had fun. Quite a bit of it actually, mixed in with the stress of crowds, the humid heat, and our search for a healthy meal. The waiting in long lines, sometimes never to get on a ride, was mostly shrugged off as an unfortunate side-effect of this popular place we were visiting.

Those of you who have been there will know that although Disney may strive hard to make its properties the “happiest” on Earth, there are moments of unhappiness experienced by its guests. Over-tired children dissolve into tears, while their over-heated and over-stressed parents try to weigh the probability of arriving at happiness before total melt-down occurs. Disney is a landscape of extremes. Turn one way and you will see joy, turn another and you will witness a face of frustration, or even fear amid a back-drop painted concrete. It’s a place of princess dreams coming true, but only for as long as you’re inside those magical Disney gates.

When I was a young girl, I dreamed of going to Disney, but I was a child of modest means. Disney is for the child who rarely wants for anything. Perhaps that is why I’ve brought my own children to Disney twice, to make up for what I felt I “lacked” as a child. Through my children’s delight, I am able to experience the wonder of Disney I missed when I was young, yet in this atmosphere of opulence, I can’t help feeling lack. Strip away the canned smiles and the concrete megaliths painted to look almost real, and what is left? The masses searching for happiness, including those not there by choice.

Caged Freedom
Caged Happiness

If you strip Disney down to energy, you can see how easily one can be left feeling every extreme in each moment. With little personal space, there is ample opportunity for energies to mix and mingle. Disney is not only haunted by the “living,” but also a popular retreat for the”dead” still searching for happiness. Take a ride through “It’s a Small World,” and you’ll feel what I’m talking about.

A Favorite Haunt
A Favorite Haunt

Not surprisingly for an empath, after my first trip to Disney I returned home completely ungrounded. I had temporarily lost my vital connection to the Earth after spending 5 days in the world of make-believe filled with the energies of thousands of souls.

We all were a bit more prepared for our second trip to Disney. I brought along my crystals and made use of AA Michael’s shield of protection, while my family and I let go of too much expectation. We chose to leave the crowds behind when we were all tired, even if it meant we only put in 5 hours of “fun” at a park. After all, there was always the pool.

The Grand Floridian Pool
The Grand Floridian Pool

The Disney resort pool, where every girl is a “princess” even when donning a tankini and racing (“Princess, no running please.”) her brother to the water-slide for the 5th time in an hour. The tired affect and notable lack of smile on the life-guards’ faces were hard not to miss, despite their kind words. One can’t help but think of those “cast members” who, each day or night, step out of their realities into the world of make-believe. Those thousands of employees whose job it is to make you believe you are living your dream in the “Happiest Place on Earth.” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend for that long. And, what exactly is this dream of make-believe we’re all taking part in? Why do we keep coming back?

During my 6 days at Walt Disney World this December, I was constantly searching for anything “real.” To be more specific, my energy moved toward Nature in the most natural form I could find it. While my children swam in the turquoise water chlorinated crystal clear, my eyes strayed to the fairy-flight of katydids. When the insects happened to fly into the pool, I was over-come with delight at their misfortune. A rescued “fairy” meant the chance to hold the magic of life on my hand.

My Rescued Fairy
My Rescued Fairy

Nature, and the reality I could create around it, became my sanctuary for those 6 days. The snow-white egrets poised in patience over the lagoon made me almost forget I was yearning for a Narnian landscape at Christmastime.

Our favorite cast member
Our favorite cast member

I was not alone in my search for Nature’s sanctuary. My husband escaped by running along the lagoon, coming back happier than when he left, with tales of herons and the bald eagle flying over the golf-course. My children spent more time searching for lizards among the rocks and bushes, than they did for Mickey and Snow White.

A Favored Character
A Favored Character

We unanimously agreed to return to Animal Kingdom for our 5th, and final day of park-fun. Here, the Disney visitor can find Nature amid the concrete, even if She’s in a tamed state. Walking through the garden paths, and standing in the sanctuary of birds, the energy lifts and the light changes from artificial to real, and sometimes magic happens on its own.

Nature's Light
Nature’s Light

 

 

You Can Go Your Own Way

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Dreams, Energy Healing, Memoir, Reflections8 Comments
What is your path?
What is your path?

Often, when I am feeling lost, confused or in need of direction, Spirit takes me back to school. I call it night school. In that often blatant, but still cryptic manner that Spirit has, I return to the scene of my high school, college or graduate schools while I sleep, yet the characters and events are exaggerated, twisted, and labyrinthian in nature, like an M.C. Escher painting. Usually, it’s not a very pleasant experience. Who doesn’t feel, at least at times, lost and over-whelmed when they’re at school, especially in the school of dreams?

Spirit though, has a way of hammering a point home until you get it. Two nights ago, I found myself back at Brown University, only it was vastly different from the Brown I knew for only a year. The campus had changed into a congested city of buildings hugged by the sea, and I found myself following my husband (who had not attended Brown with me). I was losing track of him as he wandered through the city on his way to class, and suddenly I was alone, by the wild ocean, with only his black cell phone. Naturally, the phone did not work, and I found myself panicking as I punched in numbers to no avail. I was lost and bewildered, unable to find my own way to where, I was not sure.

Instead of exploring all of the symbolism in this particular dream, let me take you to last night, where I again returned to school. This time I was at Bowdoin, where my husband and I completed our undergraduate education together. Bowdoin, when I attended the school many years ago, was a place of mixed blessings for me. My husband took full advantage of his time at Bowdoin, and found the rigors of the education and social environment fulfilling. I, on the other hand, found it hard to adjust to an environment I found to be, in many ways, a repeat of  high school, only here everyone was an over-achiever. I couldn’t find my place in the sea of cliques.

It was no surprise that the Bowdoin of my dream last night was an exaggerated scene of what I had experienced years ago, there were even characters from high school. Here I was in a crowded cafeteria of sorts, filled with tables and people figuring out their schedules and where they needed to go. In my personal confusion, I was trying to follow their examples. A confident and sure friend was going one way, my husband another. I tried to follow him to an early biology class, but I was late, twice.

The dream changed, and I was in a metaphysical store. A woman was making miso soup. I told her I loved miso soup. I could smell it. I could taste it in my mouth. The colors in this scene were vivid and more real than life. I was wearing a natural face devoid of make-up, and a peach-colored shirt. The walls were hung with hand-bags, just out of reach, and in the center of each was the rounded form of a globe. At the counter 3 or 4 women poured over a map. I approached them, looked over their shoulders, and watched their scenes unfold. The map came to life, characters interacted in scenes, which the women understood clearly, yet I struggled to make sense of.

Suddenly, in this room, my senses were becoming dull and tired. My face swollen, and my eyes heavy, as though I was taking on energy that was not mine, and in the process, draining my own. When I woke, this lyric from Fleetwood Mac started playing on repeat inside my head, You can go your own way. Go your own way. You can go your own way…or was it find your own way?

Both versions, it seems, I needed. I thought of The Fool card in the Rider Tarot deck, blithely skipping along his own path, unhampered by the potential of danger ahead. I thought of the 2 of Wands, depicting a traveler holding the world in his palm, and I thought of the dreams I had just left.

That map on the counter was not mine, nor were those paths I was trying to follow at the revisited school(s). The world held inside that wall of handbags, which had seemed just out of reach, was waiting for me to reach up and grab it. To find my own way. I thought of Goddard College, the literal school in this life in which I found home. When I dream of Goddard, I dream of paths in nature, I dream of mysteries waiting to be found. At Goddard, I found my own way, through the gentle, nudging guidance of its faculty, my peers, and its wonderful connection to Spirit. I found home among a place where everyone was going his or her own way. There was no path of convention to follow. Instead, success was measured by the mostly personal barometer of finding and embarking on the creative journey of the soul.

I graduated from Goddard nearly 3 years ago. My environment, and the characters within it have changed, and I have been challenged by their individual lessons. There have been paths I have been tempted to follow, like the path of martial arts, which led me to the painful (yes, it is often painful when we uncover our truths and shed the weight we no longer want to carry) truth that it was not the path intended for my spirit. I have had to let go of judgement too, realizing that a path (martial arts was one) may be right for my husband and others at this stage of their journeys, even though it is not right for me.

There has been that struggle to find connection to others, along with the courage to travel my own path. Even though I am on my soul’s journey with my writing and healing work, I have sometimes struggled to stay true to my own voice and trust that my individual path will unfold it its own unique way. It seems to be the quest of humanity, to find that balance between connection and individual truth. How many of us have tried to follow a path of “conformity,” while forsaking our soul’s truth? We can too easily forget that we are all here to do something unique, perhaps radically, or only slightly different, from someone else, yet none-the-less, a purpose that is only ours. This is why we are here, to blend our own voice of truth to that universal breath we all share. This is how we balance the world, this is how we balance ourselves.

I am a writer and and a spiritual/energy healer, I have a path that is not, by nature conventional. I often find myself in places where I feel more alone than connected, yet when I fall to the temptation of conformity, I am quickly reminded that I am on the wrong path. I doubt I am alone in this feeling. How many of these people around me are trying to follow a path of conformity that doesn’t make them feel blissfully happy and free? I think, sadly, too many.

It is indisputable that the world, and its inhabitants, struggles in a battle for balance. We are striving for destinations that are not our own, we are walking paths of conformity that cause crowding and strife, and we are, in this sea of masses, often left with a feeling of loss.

When I opened the curtain of my bedroom window this morning, I saw the blue feathers of truth worn by a jay, flying into the evergreens. When I opened the door to my house to step outside, 3 crows flew in front of me, calling out to me in that loud, unmistakable voice of magic. Later, as I walked the dogs, those 3 crows became 4, and I was reminded that to follow the magic of individual creation does not mean we must leave those we love behind. That, in fact, each path will merge and mingle in the mysterious song of harmony when sung in the vibration of truth.

The Act of Being Still

On By Alethea KehasIn Energy Healing, Reflections2 Comments

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of speaking with a young woman about her health challenges. The Universe, in that uncanny way it has, brought me a mirror of my former self in her image. Here, before me, was a girl suffering the side-effects of trapped emotions held inside a swollen abdomen. She is only 16.

As I spoke to her, I thought, What are we doing to our youth?  Before me was a young woman already wrapped up in a culture of belief that to be still is wasted time; that to do more means a day well spent, even if our bodies cry out for rest. Her doctor (wisely) told her that her intestines where suffering from anxiety and stress. She is only 16.

Yet, she too is wise, beyond her years. Although she struggles with a drive to go, go, go, she knows that healing will be easier when she can learn the act of being still. Unfortunately, stillness has become something one must learn, an “action,” many of us must master. We are too used to over-stimulating our bodies and minds. Simply sitting, standing, or lying in stillness takes, in some cases, great effort.

Often, a busy mind and body is a mask for a soul in need of healing. We can fall victim to filling our days with activities, often multi-tasking in the process, in a subconscious effort not to go within. A quiet mind hears the truth.

Again, What are we teaching our youth? The younger generations learn by example, just as we, older generations did. They look to their parents, but they also look to their peers and the media, who are often feeding the notion that more is more, and to keep working harder to be “better,” and to “succeed” in a society driven by greed and competition.

I know it’s not an easy life to shed. When I am quiet, which I have learned to love, and even relish, sometimes the ego’s guilt will step in and tell me I need to accomplish more with my day. A quiet mind and body is open to receiving the vibration of Love and Truth.

A quiet mind/body/soul is in harmony with the Universe and receives its infinite wisdom and healing. 

How humbling and gratifying it was to stand beside this remarkable young woman and hear her speak to me about her efforts to be still. She is taking yoga classes, something that was not common when I was her age. There is so much hope for our future and for the younger generations. Can we teach our children to be still, and, in doing so, be embrace the stillness of being ourselves?

I think we can. I think we need to. I think we have no choice.

The Fall of Life

On By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Reflections2 Comments

I’m one of those people who feels the need to mourn summer, but secretly relishes the turning of seasons. Summer, I often find, is too full of life. The kids are home, and everywhere energy is bursting in a competition of color and song. I am easily over-whelmed and distracted.

Give me, instead, the slow grace of autumn. Let me linger on the resilience of life refusing to succumb to an easy sleep. Now, the forest chatter is filled with squirrels and chipmunks rushing to store sustenance for the long months of winter. The palette is painted in hues of the setting sun, and Earth still hugs the warmth of her heat.

IMG_0440In autumn, one can’t help but notice the endurance of life. How it springs from decay:IMG_0443 And burst forth from open wounds:IMG_0432 IMG_0434 IMG_0439
In autumn, the writer cannot help but be drawn to the lure of long nights, when the pull of the moon is stronger than the sun, and the magic of darkness stirs with creative potential. In the months when life is falling into “sleep,” I find the quickening of the soul, awakening the true self within.

A Collector of Hope

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections3 Comments

Sometimes, when I get discouraged by the trash that re-appears each week on roadsides, I think of the collector of cigarettes on the corner of Wende Dr. and Derry Rd. While I waited for the traffic to clear, I would watch him behind the windshield of my car. Trying to be discrete, I would peak at his bent form, his eyes focused on the task at hand, as he plucked cigarettes out of the sand and bagged them like precious peaches fresh from the farm.

He must have been in his mid-to-late eighties during the six years I lived in southern NH. His advanced age was obvious, the stoop of her shoulders, one could see, was not limited, but perhaps, accentuated by, the hours he spent each week searching through the sand. He looked, in fact, as though he were part of the landscape, weathered by time. Tan work-boots caked in dust adorned his shuffling feet, above which more dust colored his faded trousers and plaid shirt. The man I called the “Cigarette  Collector,” wore an untrimmed beard that covered lips I imagined mumbled sounds coherent only to his mind. While I watched, he greeted no one, but the earth below his feet.

As I waited for my turn to exit my neighborhood, I would imagine the life of this mysterious man. When I was a child, growing up in a small town in central NH, there was once an old man, we’ll call him Mr. Witherspoon, who used to live in a tiny run-down house painted red beside a creek. Mr. Witherspoon, as far as I knew, kept to himself and lived alone. This only added to his intrigue.

It wasn’t often that my path would cross by his house, but when it did I would stare at the trophies that lined his lightless windows and try to imagine him as a young man. It was easier to picture him as an eccentric recluse, shuttered against time. The tiny stream beside his house, I became convinced, was where he bathed, even in the snows of winter.

I never got to know Mr. Witherspoon, just as I never got to know the collector of cigarettes who spent hours each week clearing a small space of earth of discarded debris. As far as I knew, the mysterious old man that captivated my adult imagination, collected only cigarettes, for his plastic bread-bag held only their candy-corn colors.

I found the cigarette collector’s regular presence both sad and comforting. To me, he looked lonely and withdrawn, but perhaps I was merely projecting my own emotions onto him. Yet, he gave me hope. The old man was a symbol of timeless grace and compassion. His feet moved in a slow dance across the sand that was captivating and beautiful. His heart, I knew, was beating the sacred rhythm of the Earth he cared enough about to keep clean.

The Open Channel

On By Alethea KehasIn Energy Healing, Memoir, Reflections6 Comments

This morning, while walking the dogs along the autumn roadside, I thought of my son. Last night the air was fierce with wild wind and rain, and I was walking through the aftermath of a storm. Maple leaves and golden pine needles carpeted my path, and the words of my son when he was 2 years old returned to me.  “Look, Mom,” he had once exclaimed with delight, while pointing to the ground beneath his feet “It’s Halloween Hair.”

Halloween Hair
Halloween Hair

We had been walking together in October, near our former home in Hudson, NH. The ground, much like it is today, was littered with pine needles, making it look like the scatterings of clipped, orange hair. My son had seen a poetic beauty in a scene many adults might have missed.

On another day, also when my son was 2, we were playing in a park and he pointed up to a maple tree with dark purple leaves (I believe they’re called Crimson Maples). “Look, Mom,” he said that day, “It’s a chocolate tree.” I thought for sure I had given birth to a little poet. You can imagine my delight!

Perhaps I had, we’ll see, but my son’s words were not in the realm of extraordinary. Have you ever listened to the language of a young child? Mixed with the stumble of syntax, you will often find incredible beauty and wisdom. A young child still holds onto the secrets of the soul, a young child is still an open channel to the world of Spirit.

This is why young children see colors, or auras, around people, play with “imaginary” friends (fairies, spirit guides, etc.) and live blissfully in the moment. Many of us spend our lives trying to retrieve this connection to source. Fear has a (not so) funny way of shutting off the light-switch.

You have probably heard some of the stories of “genius.” Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem  “Kubla Khan” coming to him in dreamy lyrics while he slept, and which he recovered hastily the next day onto the safe permanence of the page. The invention of the sewing machine, again emerging from a “dream” in the night. There are countless more.

I have a friend who channels messages from Ascended Masters during the night. She wakes to their words, grabs a pen and paper, and retrieves their messages in the fog of not being fully “awake.”

When I write, my best words emerge from an uncluttered mind. When I practice energy healing, the strongest effects occur when I let go of my fear. When we strip away the trappings of our fears and close off the chattering voice of our ego, Spirit comes through in that open channel of light. This is how masterpieces are formed, great inventions are made, and “miracles” occur.

One way to practice being an “open-channel,” is automatic, or channeled writing. I do this sometimes when I am experiencing writer’s block, or need an answer to a life-question that is troubling me. No doubt there are many ways to practice this form of communication, but it really is quite simple.

The key to channeled writing is to let the mind drift into a meditative-like state, where one is conscious, but not actively thinking. I like to use the computer to write, as my hands work faster on the keyboard. You might prefer to go outside with a pen and pad of paper, where the energy of nature will help you clear the clutter of your thoughts.

Once you feel relaxed and “open,” write, or mentally think your question. I suggest writing it, this starts the flow of writing that you will not stop until you feel finished. You can pause after your question, or you can simply start writing and see what comes up. Again, the key is not to let your ego’s thoughts enter into the space, which they might initially (the ego can be very stubborn). Don’t worry, you will see what is ego when you are done, and you can simply erase, delete or scratch out those early words. Think of it like clearing away the dustballs under the couch. It’s a necessary step to achieving a clean space.

Then write. Simply write. Without stopping, write whatever comes through your hand. Since I am empathic, I feel the energy of Source, or Spirit, come though as a tingling sensation in my hands. You might too, or you may see images, hear the voice of Spirit,  have a heightened sense of smell, or some other sense, while you write.

While you write, don’t worry about grammar or syntax, don’t worry about a coherent sentence, you can edit later. Stop when you feel ready. Again, there are no “rules” or right way to do this. I like to thank the source of the words after I feel finished, then I read through what I have written.

If you get discouraged and cannot seem to open the flow of communication, don’t worry. Try again later. Change your scene and method. Try it immediately after waking, or right before sleep. Find what works best for you. Perhaps you will only have a few lines, or a paragraph at first, don’t get discouraged. I find automatic writing to be fun and healing, and it often leaves me joy-filled, as I have connected to that energy of source, which is also referred to sometimes as “bliss.” Like anything else, the more you “practice” channeled writing, the easier it gets.