Clot, a poem
This morning I awoke still breathing the emotions of my dreams. In my last dream, the one I remember, I was stuffing clutter in the form of clothing and food into suitcases and bags with my family as we attempted to move our belongs out of a house. I subscribe to the dream symbolism of house as a metaphor for our bodies or an aspect of ourselves that needs attention. Clearly there is much more I am trying to purge (recall yesterday’s meditation blog). Not coincidentally I listened to a Denise Linn replay this morning where she spoke about our dream state and how it can be used for healing (ourselves and others). I decided to pull out a poem I wrote awhile ago on this topic.
Clot
You may find your dreams
caught in your breath
Tangled inside the inhale
you forget to let them go
A snare of regret grows
covered with thorns
Each prick points to a bleed
If you follow the red trail
you will arrive at the clot
A muddy pool colored with a past
in need of thinning
Beyond flows a stream
that will slacken thirst
Remember first to empty
your cup
Lightning
I was surprised by the lightning, even though I had welcomed the steady rain that promises to fill the day with the possibility of quiet reflection, meditation and writing. I began by spreading the oracle cards from Steve Farmer’s deck Earth Magic, in a circle upon my coffee table. Twice I let my hand gravitate to the cards at the top of the circle before I pulled out Lightning/Power, and looked at the orange fire spread in a vein of electricity touching the turquoise crest of waves. There are rocks along the shore, the trees lean against the pull of the wind. The sky is indigo. Least I doubt my choice of cards, Farmer’s guidebook folded open to its page.
I spread tiger-eye, lapis lazuli, malachite, turquoise and carnelian agate around my pillar of unpolished rose quartz, guarded it with my white angel and lit the pink candle on the table. I was ready to welcome power in whatever form it wanted to speak to me, but first I placed amethyst in my left palm and angelite in my right. Closing gently my fists, I felt the pulses of crystal energy.
I spent about an hour in meditation, letting my thoughts come and go, feeling the hiccup of my breath against my heartbeat. I cannot tell you everything I saw or felt, because some things are stored only for our experience and not for memory. I can tell you that Angelite brought three animal totems to me. First came Seal, a new visitor, wearing the gray silk of creative waters. Then Bat appeared, another surprise, upside down like the Hanged Man card in tarot. (Yesterday I found myself thinking about this card and how it relates to rainbows. That red energy turned towards the sky.) Bat evokes nighttime, like the Power/Lightning card I drew. It foreshadows a time of transition and initiation. I heard the rustle of the crystals still left in their bags beside me. Bat reminds us that there is rebirth out of darkness if we are willing to let the old die to make way for new life. Through facing our fears we can become empowered. The last two nights I shifted through the clutter of old fears still nesting inside of me. I entered dreams within dreams, analyzing the residue of bathrooms, wiping feces from white walls. I tried to resist, but could not, the scattering of superficial beauty tangled into necklaces in boxes and scattered like dust under beds…
After I watched Seal and Bat appear, my old friend, Snake stopped by, twisting its body into dance, its head lifted with two wide eyes daring mine to close. I must tell you that before, during and after these three animals appeared to me, my body was experiencing pockets of pain. I watched yellow/white energy transfer to my more closed-off right side of my body in gentle waves. This was easy compared to the dis-ease stored in my belly, that center of power. Nausea came and the impulse to pull out of my meditation. From outside my body I felt my breath deepen as it traveled to the source of the pain, urging release of the old, stored energy to make way for new. This, was not easy. Hovering at the base of my spine was a spinning vortex, its hum lifting, energizing. The kundalini of Snake. And then there was that dark pit, deep inside my lower right abdomen. I felt and heard my breath deepen its pull as it worked to release an energy accumulation beyond this life. I put my feet on the floor, welcoming the red energy of Earth to aid my breath, feeling the easy hum inside my left foot, but not my right.
This morning I took my first dose of my decreased thyroid medication. 88. A double-dose of infinity. It’s just the beginning.
Energy
I am remembering the energy of places. The dark corner where the walls met under the threshold of my bedroom door. A place where I had to force my eyes to look three times before I buried them under blankets, a fortress of stuffed animals around me. The pull of the wells. The first on the path between our home and our neighbors, down the slight slope of earth under the hemlocks and many steps past the circles of white flowers that hid my fairies. The second on the hill in Canterbury, beside the stone remains of a structure long abandoned. There was the skeleton of a child, I was sure, underneath that heavy gray slab of granite.
I am remembering the patches of light. The field of wildflowers and long grasses above the shop where my stepfather worked. The large rock in front of my neighbor’s home where I would sit and watch the dragonflies dance above the earth. The way the heavy brown seat of our home-made couch would pulse with the light energy of my body when my mother would brush my long brown hair into braids.
Yesterday I tried to explain the news I had received about my thyroid to a friend, and later my husband, listing each spiritually balancing activity that came to mind that I had engaged in over the past year or more. I realized, only later, that it is all a mater of energy. The only thing that really exists.
“You might fix that issue with your throat,” she had told me on the phone. Not the doctor who read the lab results, but the psychic I had spoken to six months before. Even though the energy around my throat had been spinning in a tight circle the size of an eraser, she knew it was already starting to heal.
“You have to want to heal,” I told someone else today, “so that your body and spirit understand your intention.” When you make that choice, the Universe will allow the energy to come back into balance. Inside of that desire you will find your truth and you will begin to sing it in whatever form it needs to manifest.
A Reminder to Listen and Love
Today the universe reminded me to heal. To listen and receive the signs it is sending. I spent last week in a heavy fog of judgement, the energy I was raised in. Today, while listening to Rikka Zimmerman, I am reminded that this heavy energy is not mine. That it is within my power to dissipate it for myself, and in the process, there is the hope that I will also dissipate it in others. As a parent I am reminded that to judge your children is to suffocate their individual power and truth. Their divine lights. When I was a child I knew from the time of memory, that I was incarnated in this life to write beauty, to participate in the healing of the earth and humanity and to raise a family structured on love. It’s taken me many years to begin to step into my power. Judgement is a limiting force. When someone judges you, they judge themselves. It’s a ripple effect of destruction.
A way to remove oneself from judgement is to step back and to let go of emotional attachments/reactions to a the scene or situation. To watch it as an unbiased observer and say, “this is as it should be.” It may seem strange and foreign to do this, but if you let yourself it will feel right to you. A big weight lifts. For when we judge we feel heavy, awful.
Two days ago, while my children were in karate class, I was attempting to read Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Relin, when two well-intended parents saw my copy of the book and proceeded to remark on the unfortunate findings that came out after the book was published. Suddenly the book was tainted for me, until I returned to it later in the solitude of my home. As I opened the book again and read its words, I realized it did not matter to me if the rumors of corruption were true, what mattered was the gift inside the cover. The reminder that within each of us is the capacity for living from the heart in a place of truth and love. That when one does this, the universe opens to all possibilities and miraculous things happen. Living through a place of love, in the heart, transcends fear and ignorance. It shatters terror(ism). This is the gift of the book.
My own book, which is waiting to be received by the world, I know in my heart, is also a gift for our time. A gift of the ability of the body and soul to heal from an environment permeated by fear and judgement. It reminds us that we as humans can transcend past this heavy energy that resides within our cells, carried down from our ancestors and our past lives, and multiplied and reactivated in this life. It is our choice to change this program to one of truth and love.
I acknowledge today that doubt and fear, and specifically that cord of energy that ties me to my childhood family, has held this book back from publication. There is an energy of resistance and fear surrounding the publication of my words that is not mine. I cut the cord. I give it to the universe to dissipate. The world needs my words. There are many, like me, who need to understand that we each have the capacity to heal. The universe, I accept and acknowledge with infinite gratitude, has given me this gift of truth to heal. I accept and acknowledge that it is, and will continue to ripple through our collective beings with the vibration of truth and love.
I extend immense gratitude and love to the Universe and all divine beings, in particular, my higher self, Rikka Zimmerman and Jennifer McLean and the Healing with the Master’s team for reminding me of this reality.
The greatest gift we can give ourselves and others is to see our truths, and through this allow ourselves to be the beings of love we are.
Namaste
The Aftermath of a Vacation
I thought I would feel the return of home when I landed in Portland after a six hour flight from Boston on the evening of April 19th. But, halfway through the trip, I began to question the idea of home when all I could think about was the moment I would step into the woods alone with my two dogs in New Hampshire.
What happened to the euphoria I felt two years ago when I had returned to Oregon with my own family of four, after having been away for over a decade? It had clearly left me. The jolt of excitement of recognizing a park I hadn’t visited since I was three or four, quickly dissipated into the idea that I no longer belonged in this state. Portland was nearly impossible for me to navigate with its crowded buildings and thick ropes of traffic. The wind at the ocean bit through my fleece with teeth of ice, and never let up its grasp. Why could I not find peace inside this place of my birth?
I could easily blame it on my grandma, in fact I find myself doing just that when I speak of my trip. By the end of the week, after five days together at the seacoast, I nearly pushed her out of the car door when we dropped her off at her condo. I could no longer endure the heaviness of her energy. She was caught inside a pain I no longer wanted to hold onto.
But, I couldn’t avoid it. My reactivated pain body clung to hers, as I my spirit struggled to breathe. I could not escape this ghost that connected us together, filling the air around us with a suffocating weight that I found impossible to lift in her presence. Two years ago, when I last saw her, we had spent a late night talking about my life. It was the first time in my 36 years in this body that I had shared any of my pain and childhood “secrets” with my grandmother. An opening of voice that would ripple across the ocean into a tidal wave of wrath, deteriorating the already tenuous relationship she held onto with her daughter, my mother.
This “ghost” hovered around me and my grandmother, its density affecting my children and husband as well, as we tried to enjoy our time together. My grandmother was the willing medium, speaking its words of pain whenever it found a the space to be heard. I could not, despite my efforts, lighten the energy that permeated my grandmother’s body.
Was there, I wonder, a way for me to reach through the density? What does one do for someone who chooses to wallow in darkness? Is it our place to try to lift them? How do we shield ourselves and others from its effects?
Finding Your Sacred Garden Meditation
Do you know what your sacred garden looks like? If not, close your eyes and let it appear. Your palette is the universe, so paint the picture in your heart.
The first time I visited my sacred garden I was meditating in a dream workshop. Here is what it looks like in the canvass of my mind:
It’s twilight. Imagine, if you will, an old English garden. In its center is a well. Beside the well stands a white horse and a large green frog sits near its stone edge. Beyond the grass, surrounding the well, is a hedge of mazes wrapping around flowers in a matrix of mystery. Here is where magic hides in the form of fairies, unicorns and other “mythical” creatures.
My sacred garden is a place where I can meet and mingle with my spirit and animal guides. Each animal and guide has a lesson to teach. Sometimes horse appears, reminding me of my strength and courage. Rabbit shows me the fears that I am ready to leave behind, and Snake, the aspects of self that are ready to be shed. Eagle, a constant companion, reminds me of the power of voice and to follow my life’s purpose.
To find your own sacred garden, find a quiet space in nature, or inside a dwelling, and relax into a meditative state. Ground yourself to the Earth energy by imagining that you are like a tree, sending your roots deep into the Earth. Close your eyes and take 3 deep belly breaths.
Call in your spirit guides and angels, and ask that you be surrounded by a protective white or golden light. Ask for those on your spirit team who wish to send you messages appear, including your animal guides, fairy beings and unicorns. Clear your mind of thoughts, or, if they appear, let them gently pass through your mind like leaves floating along a river. Now it’s time to play.
Your mind is your canvass, paint it as you wish. Allow your sacred garden to appear to you without effort. Have fun. You may find that your garden is a surprise, unexpected. Perhaps it is a desert landscape, filled with red rocks and cliffs with few, if any, plants. Perhaps it is a mountain top, or a forest. Whatever appears to you, and feels right, use it. Build upon it. Add whatever adornments you desire, such as a dwelling, a pond, a wishing well, or a stone wall. Welcome in Nature’s children, and observe what animals and other beings appear to you.
When your garden feels complete, reside within your sacred place, knowing it is your own to take refuge in. Here you may find peace and healing. Listen and observe. Are there symbols for you to translate? Messages from your spirit or animal guides? Do you feel moved to walk around, to swim in water, or to ride upon an animal? What do you feel? Are you here to release a fear, or perhaps just to seek peace and balance? Allow whatever you feel called to experience to occur in the safe space of your garden, surrounded as you are with the healing energy of Mother Earth and the Divine beings that have gathered with you. Then, when you feel ready to leave, thank the Earth Mother and your guides and slowly return to the room or space you are sitting in. Gently move your arms and legs and take 3 deep grounding breaths. Give gratitude to all who have gathered with you and shared their healing and light, including yourself for creating this sacred space.
The Art of Allowing
This morning, after a night dreaming about wearing yellow and talking to a lollipop; after a weekend trying to neutralize my daughter’s emotions while we were at a hotel for a conference of my husband’s, I finished the manuscript for my memoir. At least, that is, to the point where I am ready to start sending it out to agents/publishers. I had finished my last round of revisions last week, but had one more poem to write. This morning I allowed it to appear. I called it “Truth” and felt satisfied with the simplicity of the lyrics that took form on the page.
Now, as I sit here, there is the part of me pulling for action. That restless ego that doesn’t like to sit still and let the universe string together the pattern that will shape the outcome I want to manifest. But, I have learned, and am still learning, that in the quiet space of allowing we are given the gifts we desire. That everything we need comes to us when we release the pull.
Yesterday, I came home exhausted and irritable, and found a package waiting for me from a dear friend. I put the house in order enough for the anxieties inside of me to settle down, and then opened. For the second time this year, a friend had given me exactly what I needed, at the perfect moment. This friend (a different one than the other instance), had sent to me her medicine cards not knowing how perfect her timing was. I didn’t tell her that today I would be working with animal totems in class, but her heart knew that I would use this gift. She didn’t know that I had been wanting my own set, only that I was learning the language of animal messengers.
And, of course, her gift, which came at just the right time, saved me just that. Time. I had no idea what “animal” I was going to bring to class before the gift arrived. Yet, something inside of me knew to wait. So now, I feel the struggle to let go of the rope, to trust that those spiders in the last post will burst out of their orbs and spin their webs. It’s not that I don’t want to work at getting my manuscript published, but there is the understanding that often when we try too hard at something we fail, or at least do not achieve what we could. The idea of “paddling upstream,” as Ester Hicks would say, when we can just let go the oars and allow the current to carry us where it will. I am not sure yet how this will happen in what is normally perceived to be such a cut-throat, competitive industry, but I am willing to trust that the act of letting go of the “struggle,” even just a little bit, will make the journey easier. Will make the destination more fulfilling. It has, after all, happened this way for others.
So, here’s to allowing with the intention that my words will soon heal so many more souls than just my own.
The Spider’s Dream Tale #spidersymbolism #dreamsymbolism #animalguides
Two nights ago, before I went to sleep, I placed Doreen Virtue’s Divine Guidance book on the shelf beside my bed, closed my eyes and took her advice. I asked the Divine to show me my life’s path in the form of a dream, knowing it would be my job to interpret the symbolism in whatever form it manifested.
Here is the dream I was given: I was at my parents’ house, sitting on their expansive breezeway. It was dusk, the light coming in through the open wall was darkening, creating shadows around the chairs where we sat and scattered the light around the brick floor. My mother, stepfather, and two other men were there with me. One of the men was Stephen King, the other one unknown. Stephen was there because he was working with my stepfather on a building project for his house. He was lounging on a chair, acting aloof. After we were introduced, I told him I knew his niece ( I really do know his niece). He seemed largely unimpressed.
I then noticed a large white orb in the form of a tarantula spider’s sac under his leg (or my stepfather’s, I’m not sure which). When I realized what I was looking at, I started to panic, knowing this orb would eventually hatch and countless baby spiders would emerge and find their way into the house (I appeared to be still living there). I noticed more small white sacs throughout the breezeway, and my nervousness increased. I wanted to box them inside my daughter’s pink poodle lunch box and send them down the stream beside my parents’ home, but my mother beside me argued against this.
The next morning as I thought about the dream my initial reaction was disappointment. This was my vision? Another difficult dream with my parents and spiders to boot! Then I remembered reading about spiders in Ted Andrew’s book, Animal Speak, in which he refers to them as the totem of the writer (see pages 344-347). In lore, the spider is sometimes called the “weaver of illusion,” or the “grandmother – the link to the past and the future.” It was starting to make sense. I am actively weaving the past and the future together in my life and in my memoir writing.
The body of the spider is in the shape of an 8, the symbol of infinity, “the wheel of life.” The body itself is a bridge, connecting the past with the future. What then of my fears? It could not be an accident that Stephen King, the writer of fears manifested, appeared with the spiders. My anxiety was clearly palpable in my dream. It could be said that many of my childhood fears, aside from my earliest memory, originated within my childhood homes and the words and interactions I had with my mother and stepfather. It could be said that my greatest resistance as a writer is birthing from these sources. Hence, the impulse to send the spiders down the stream.
Spiders, Ted Andrews also writes, balance the male and female energy. Perhaps it is not accidental that the mother in my dream was urging me not to send those unborn spiders down the stream, even though in actuality her life reaction to my writing has been quite different. We are, after all, the writers/weavers of our own destinies.
Spider is also symbolic of death and rebirth. Andrews writes, “Spider teaches us that through polarity and balance creativity is stimulated.” Life is about balance, as is writing. Sometimes this balance is hard-won, but when we get the hang of it, we realize falling off is nearly impossible. Through my writing, I have certainly been reborn.
Although tarantulas don’t spin webs, they do spin threads. They also make their homes within the earth. They combine gentleness and strength, as well as agility. They are night workers, linking them to the moon and dreams – a source of creative inspiration and wisdom for many, including me.
As I do each morning, I took my dogs for a walk in the woods, listening and looking for signs from nature. As I turned into my driveway, I saw before me in the sky a large eagle formed out of the clouds. Its head was turned toward the south (the direction of overcoming obstacles and awakening the inner child; trust; and resurrection). The eagle itself was in the eastern section of the sky (the direction of healing, creativity, and rebirth).
Eagle, according to Andrews (see pages 136 -141), is the symbol of healing, creation, and resurrection. The “balance of being of the earth, but not in it.” The bald eagle feathers have links to grandmother medicine, wisdom, healing, and creation. They are connected to the number three, new birth, and creativity. “The willingness to use your passions to purify and to use your abilities even if it means being scorched a little.”
Eagle vision is 8x greater than humans, linking it, like the spider, to the infinity symbol. Andrews writes, “To accept eagle as a totem is to accept a powerful new dimension to life, and heightened responsibility for your spiritual growth. But only through doing so do you learn how to move between the worlds, touch all life with healing, and become the mediator and the bearer of new creative force within the world.” Was this a sign telling me that my pull to be a healer and a writer, somehow combining the two, was a path that was unfolding to me?
A half an hour later, I was outside hanging up the laundry beside our apple tree. I heard the voice of Chickadee and looked up to see three of the little birds singing down at me. This was not the first time Chickadee has appeared to me, asking to be heard. The last time it was seven birds leading me to feathers, this time it was in the form of three asking for my attention. Andrews states that the chickadee (see page 125 – 126) is the bird of truth. The number three is associated with birth and creativity. Because there are seven types of chickadees, the bird is linked to the number seven and the seven primary chakras in balance. I have had chickadee in my life since I was a child, just as I have held fast to the symbolism inherent in my name.
The Light Behind the Story 