The Other Side of the Rainbow

Rainbow

I was a child of Doubt. I don’t remember playing with imaginary friends or fairies. I don’t remember believing in angels or a Universal Life Force/God. But, I wanted to, secretly. Everything I was told was not “real,” I imagined to exist. Inside the silence of my mind I created tiny winged beings flying amid the flowers. In the dark quiet of my bedroom I felt the heavy breath of spirits lurking beside me while I tried to sleep. Sometimes, secretly, I talked to a God I was told did not exist.

I think some of us need to forget in order to remember. I forgot who I was and where I came from at an early age, before memory imprints itself into the folds of the brain. Many of us forget our true, spiritual selves by the age of 7. As we learn to live in the world of our parents’ and society’s creation, we shed the aspects of self that do not conform to our perceived surroundings. The spirit guides, angels and fey that we used to play and commune with disappear into the invisible realm as our eyes close to the brilliance of frequencies too high to sustain belief.

There are moments, filled with a desperate hope, when I wish I could bring it all back, not so much for me, as I am remembering now what I have forgotten, but for my children and all children of our world who are forgetting. I wonder, as I looked at my practical preteen who loves fashion and sports, what happened to my little girl who used to close her eyes in pure bliss while she played and danced with “Raina.” When did my little boy stop going to sleep in room filled with colors only he could see? I didn’t intentionally will my children to lose their connection to the world of Spirit, but somehow, with the help of the artificial world we live in, I witnessed my children let go of the rainbow of magic.

How do I bring back their access to the realm of Spirit? Our children are brought up to believe in magic that is not real, only to discover that Santa Claus does not slide down the chimney on Christmas Eve, the Easter Bunny does not bring baskets of chocolates and toys, and the Tooth Fairy is not the one who saves their lost teeth. We do.

I struggle to make sense of a world of hypocrisy, while trying to retrieve for my children the real magic of life. We live in a world that has learned to fear the unseen forces that move through and around us. We do not trust what we can’t see, so we pretend it does not exist. Yet most of us believe in a universal life force from whence we all came into being. Why, then, is it so difficult for us to believe in a universal energy of Love? Why is it so difficult to believe that we are surrounded by sentient beings who share the same life force energy, as well as our innate desire for balance and love?

I have photographed my children dancing with fairies in the summer rain. I have channeled reiki energy into their restless bodies when they have struggled with sleep. Yet, they doubt what they don’t see. They doubt what is not commonly talked about on the TV, in classrooms, or among friends. I see my children’s struggle, I share it too. I am the “weird” mother they are both in awe of, and somewhat embarrassed by. In some ways it’s much easier for them to call me a writer, than it is to call me a healer who talks with and channels Spirt in myriad forms. I get it, though. I was that child too.

 

Teach Your Children Well

This morning, at the same time I was off-line erasing a page of my memoir manuscript into a poem about bringing lunches to grade school that were fodder for shame and teasing, a friend of mine was composing me a message about an unfortunate lunchroom experience regarding our daughters. It was not a joy-filled event, reading about my daughter’s unkind words and how they had hurt one of her peers. Things happen for a reason, the universe calls our attention to places where we need to focus our energies so that we can create opportunities for learning and shifting.

I sit writing this while listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Life is a circle of lessons premised on love. We learn from your children, they learn from us. Our greatest gift is to “teach them well.” This afternoon I will be sitting down with my daughter to talk about love and compassion. We’ll discuss the energy of words and how much it hurts when we are the recipient of an unkind word or action.  We’ll talk about how it’s okay to lead, as long as no one is left behind. That to be a true leader, one should lead with love that wraps and uplifts.  And we’ll talk about how it hurts ourselves, perhaps even more, when we hurt others. My daughter came home from school yesterday in a foul mood, and I knew something was bothering her from the events of the day, yet she chose not to share them with me.

When I was a child, I was shamed by my unconventional lunches. I looked at the slabs of nutrient-filled home-made bread only partially covering thick slabs of cheese and sprouts curling around the edges, and thought only about how much I wanted to throw my lunch away because my peers teased me. Yesterday, a child threw her lunch away because of my daughter. It breaks my heart. It brings me no comfort knowing that she is not the only child to do this in the lunchroom. Instead, it reinforces the need to teach my child well.

As most of us know, bullying starts from a place of fear. A child will bully to be popular. Children want to be loved and accepted by their peers (just as they want to be loved and accepted at home). I am comforted in the fact that I live in a community where many parents care enough to be involved in their children’s lives, and not to turn a blind-eye when their own child causes pain and suffering to others.

Now, I await the passing of hours until my daughter comes home off the bus, while I thank the universe for sending us this lesson and opportunity for growth. I hope that together we can shift this lunch-room atmosphere into a place of love and acceptance, that we will be joined by other parents and children who sit together and learn from each other in order to create an environment where everyone is treated with respect and compassion.

“Teach Your Children Well” — Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

The Number 5

When the number 5 comes into my life, whether in dreams, a memory, or as a number that appears throughout a particular day, I think of self-empowerment, independence and the “free soul” (as Denise Linn refers to the number in her book, The Hidden Power of Dreams). When I think of the number 5, the color blue comes to mind: the color of the throat chakra, self-expresison and inner truth.

The number 5, of course, also represents a physical age. When we are 5, we are, ideally, just coming into the expression of our independence and personal truths. By the age of 5, most of us are able to feed ourselves, tie our own shoes, go to school, and express our minds with clarity and conviction. A 5 yr. old child is still close enough to the world of spirit to remember, to believe and to see.

When one wishes to heal and reclaim his or her Inner Truth, it is often beneficial, if not essential, to reclaim the inner child. I have found that the age of 5 is a good place to start. There have been many events, and numbers in the form of ages, that have been essential to my own life journey, and for the healing of my inner truth, but I can think of none more important than 5. Let me share a snapshot of this child who still lives inside of me.

Picture, if you will, a pretty little girl with deep blue eyes and wavy hair the color of ripened wheat resting past her shoulders. She has the round cheeks of a baby and a dimple on her chin, and, sometimes, she has a smile that lights up her face. The little girl, Alethea, has just moved to Henniker, NH with her  mother, older sister, and a man who is trying to replace the father she has left behind in Oregon.

Alethea loves playing with her dolls and her two cats. She loves her best friend in kindergarten with the soft brown eyes and curls, her sister and her mother, but she’s not sure she loves her new father. Alethea misses her small white house in Portland with its TV and indoor toilet. She misses her friends and her grandparents, but she knows she is not supposed to miss the father they left behind.

The little girl knows inside her heart that fairies play under the clusters of star flowers, but she has already forgotten how to see them. The magic of her world is fading quickly, being replaced by fear, secrets and doubt. By the time she turns 6, Alethea forgets she has her own voice.

This 5 year old child, in many ways, shaped the woman I became. She is the little girl I see when I need to heal my inner child. The more I heal, the more radiant she becomes. Now, instead of a  small child hovering inside the shadows of doubt and fear, I see a magnificent little girl full of joy and love. She sparkles with possiblity. She sings with the clear voice of her truth.

Reclaiming the “free soul,” is a journey of many steps. Sometimes when one aspect is healed, another appears to take its place, reaching with desperate hands for light. Healing can come in many forms. Writing is one of them. If you want to learn who you are, a good place to start is by rediscovering who you were at 5.  Write down everything your remember. Write what you loved. Write what you feared. Write your sorrows. Your joys. Write what you believed in. Write your truth.

Luminous Beings We Are

My daughter, Ava, came into this world remembering. I hope she never forgets. Between the ages of 1 and 2 she fell in love with birds, remembering her wings. It was a game we played, especially her “Gampy.” Two souls on very different levels, teaching each other. She would sit on his lap in front of his computer screen, while he pulled up the songs of the birds she was learning. “What’s this one,” he would ask, and she’d identify the voice. For her second birthday I gave her a “Bird Party,” and she dazzled the guests with her ability to identify and name.  It seemed fated that my husband and I had chosen the name “Ava” for our daughter.  A being of the earth, but not bound to it.

When she was two, Ava traded in her passion for birds for a new love. Yoda. My husband had begun showing her nonviolent scenes from “Star Wars,” and Ava developed a crush on the adorably ugly green being. Again, we all jumped on board. I found her a Yoda costume for Halloween, my parents a back-pack for her birthday. When she turned 3 we urged the party-goers to hit the dark side of the pinata, which bore the taped figure of Darth Vader, to release the prizes held within.

As with the birds, I found my young daughter’s natural attraction to the essence of her existence fascinating and beautiful. Today, my wish is that each of you be reminded of what “Luminous beings we are.” – Yoda