Freeing the voices in my head

Archive for January, 2012

Under The Bridge

When I wander into Memory Town, I usually get stuck at the bridge.   I used to have a bit of a phobia about bridges – I hated driving across them.  My too vivid imagination could see me steering the car through those inadequate guardrails to plunge down into the water below.  There are a number of phrases about bridges.

“Don’t burn your bridges.”  Huh, does that mean I can go back over the bridge if I don’t like what I find on the other side?  Okay, I know it means watch what you say (or do) because you can’t take it back and the other person might shut you out of their life.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”  Put off the bad until we’re ready for it or can’t avoid it any longer?  I’d like to cross it now and get the agony over with, thanks.

“It’s water under the bridge.”  Meaning let the Past go, move on, etc.  Ah, but this one, this is the one that gets me stuck.  I climb down and have to look under the bridge.

In real and memory terms, the water under a bridge is always dark, murky, full of debris and dangerous currents.  Ugly things live under there, lurking, waiting, ready to snatch at the unwary observer.  Stuff that should be dead and gone get caught in whirlpools swirling around the pylons of the bridge.    Garbage that sank to the bottom reaches twisted limbs up to grab a swimmer’s ankles and pull the victim down into the mud.  An undertow can pull you to the center and suck you down, trapped in the dark shadows beneath the bridge.  You can drown under the bridge, fighting to scramble back to the bright and clear waters on each side where you can see everyone else enjoying the sun sparkling on the river.

I’d like to join them, I try to stay with them, but the dark mess under the bridge still needs clearing out.  I keep hoping if I push the crap around, the murk will flow away and I’ll be free.  It’s a big job and no one out there in the sunshine wants to help me.  They don’t want to hear about what’s hidden under the bridge; they believe I should just leave it alone and walk away.  A few friends have tried to help, but I don’t want them trapped under there with me, so I gently push them away.  Somehow, I think my beloved will be strong enough to help without getting caught, but he won’t go anywhere near the bridge.  They all want me to forget, move on, walk away, and never, ever speak of what’s under there.

But I can’t because the water under the bridge is flowing through me every day.  I live there every moment, unable to break free.  How can I escape when no one wants to hear my shout for help?  When no one will listen as I try to clear the mess out?  They have tried, for about five minutes, just as I’m starting to reveal the darkest debris.  They wave it off, send up a platitude or two, and scurry back out into the sunshine, leaving me to drown.

I thought Love would be the thrown life preserver…but that’s no life saver, that was just another trap…  Someday, I’ll write my way clear, someday, when it’s all on paper, in print, they might read it.  Someday…I’ll just swim away.

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A Question of Soul

A question came in from N’n, and my reply was so long I decided I’d better post it as a blog!

“If you saw your cat which is dead, can I ask, do the dead reincarnate, to your knowledge? As in, my Mother died (you’d know) when I was six. Is her spirit entirely gone? Where to? Reincarnation? Is there REALLY another world, of the billions of spirits that have died before us – BILLIONS? Do you know or have an opinion on this?

I once met a man who told me that to connect with my Mother, be alone & holding a photograph of her, stare between her eyes – that part on your forehead between the eyes – and believe she will come. He then warned me not to be scared. I did try it, but I didn’t achieve anything. I’d love to know whether you’ve heard of this method/is it workable?

Sorry so many questions – just, I’ve really never heard of anyone so in touch. So only respond if you are inclined to.”

Hi, N’n (and everyone else!)! Never apologize for questions, for how else would we learn? ‘Course, being curious and questioning got Brian (and me!) in trouble more than once, but…later for that!

I’m not sure if the gifts just “snap on” one day; I had believed it took a trauma to open a person, but my kids didn’t have anything like that going on in their childhoods, and as I studied, I met people who had had lovely childhoods without trauma or abuse and they were very psychic. In the case of my kids, I think they were seeing and knowing things long before the day Brian realized he was actually seeing his teacher’s aura. They grew up around it, around me (and my friends), grew up in places that had spirits around, and we had a ball connecting with Nature – so, I think, for them, it was always “on.” They just didn’t realize it until their teens – maybe because to smaller children, all this is normal.

My own belief system is very open, very fluid, because I do workings and aid for people of any belief system or religion. It doesn’t matter what you believe, as long you have Faith in Something. The best explanation I ever heard was that we are all climbing a Mountain. We are all taking different Paths to reach the Top of the Mountain, but there is only ONE TOP to the Mountain – it’s all One Source; we just give It different Names.

However, my personal experiences, and in working with others, is that Death here is merely a Door to another existence. Sometimes, we come back here, to try again, and learn the lessons we missed or failed at before. For others, they move on to another dimension or world or existence – and not necessarily as a human. Some want to rest, be at peace, never to have to fight, live or learn as a flesh being ever again – so they remain in the joining of the Divine, enjoying the experiences of others without needing to go through those lives again. (Sorry so wordy; it’s difficult to describe!)

That’s why true ghosts are actually pretty rare – they don’t hang out here, they have lots more to do, places to be, things to experience! When they do stay, it’s usually because they are confused and lost, and just need a nudge to journey on. What most people think are ghosts are actually residual energy signatures – strong emotions or imprints – left behind; the actual soul has moved on. Like a clip from a home movie, relooping over and over. It isn’t the person, just an image (or “ghost”…heh, pun intended!) of them.

So, yes, in my opinion, there ARE other worlds, where we go and live, or come back here – the dimensions really aren’t that far apart. Sometimes, I see those other worlds from the corner of my eye, barely hearing them, seeing people moving around, working, playing, living…I think they all connect somehow, but it takes a lot of energy to actually visit there when your flesh is in THIS world!

Reincarnation? Each person’s idea of Heaven? Possibly; it may just be that we flow along through these worlds, living and learning, maybe stopping back here in this dimension if we need or want to.

Do I believe in a Hell? No. I have felt the Divine Presence, been held in that Loving Embrace, and know that the Divine Parent – who is the Perfect, Loving Parent – would Never condemn His/Her Children to eternal pain and damnation. Even when blistering angry with us, our Great Parent still Loves and would never harm us for eternity. We might go through a trial to learn our lesson, but never for eternity – the Divine always welcomes us back into His/Her Arms.

No, Hell (and rigid religion) is a creation of human men to control and subjugate the actions and minds of many people as quickly as possible. “Do that and you will burn forever! Obey me, follow me and my rules, and I might get God, Allah, Frank, on your side to save you!” Pfft…. Our souls don’t need saving, for we are always Loved, no matter what we are or what we do.

Some people would have us believe that suicides are eternally damned. Nope, been there, met that, and that soul is happily learning his lessons, in a new life, in another Place. I only had one reassuring contact from him and at the end, I could see the Door he was shimmering off to – very lovely place, lots of gold and green… Will he ever come back here or contact me or us again? I don’t know, but I do know he isn’t suffering somewhere.

Same with my father. He had many lessons he had to learn, but in his case, I can sense he’s going to be learning them here, in this dimension. One brief contact, then nothing more. It’s like they need to break from us to move forward.

Mind you, when I speak of contact, they aren’t spirits/ghosts. These are brief visits of their souls, either sent to me/us in trance or dream, reassurances that all is well, so let go, for they must move on.

Even the animals – like my cats – only stick around for a short time, just a visit, and then, onward they go to the new Life and more experiences! The one cat, Dodger, in fact, became impatient with my grieving. He basically urged me to let go, that he wouldn’t be visiting anymore – oh, not in words, but in the whole sensation of his essence, his soul kinda said, “Leave off, woman. I’ve places to be, things to do. You’ll be fine. Buh-bye!”

In the case of your mother, N’n, her spirit, her soul, isn’t gone (you can’t destroy the soul, it just moves and grows as it needs to); she’s most likely moved forward in her Journey. And because of the circumstances of her life and death here, yes, most likely to a different dimension since this one wasn’t a good fit for her.

You may be able to contact her and have a brief visit. (Maybe, since reaching a soul who has exited our world like your mother and my son-in-law did is difficult because they move quickly to the next dimension life, or they are very busy learning the lessons they couldn’t grasp while in flesh.) But I think you can still try.

The gentleman who tried to help you was close, but not specific enough. The space between the eyes and just slightly above them is called the Third Eye. It is the seat of Intuitive Sight, an opening, if you will, to seeing what is unseen, to seeing what is Beyond. The meditation he gave you isn’t quite what you needed. It assumed she was around and would be looking for you.

In fact, she’s kinda busy, so you’re going to have to be more pro-active. Hold the photograph, but instead of focusing on her Third Eye, focus your own. Visualize an Eye there, blinking open in your own forehead, seeing past the photograph to your mother’s soul. Touch your dominant (the hand you write with) index finger to the photo, caress your mum’s face, trace her features, send her your love, and call to her. Ask her to come say hi, to just visit for a moment. Assure her that if she can’t come right then, she can visit you in a dream, that she can visit any time, that your love will always be there for her. (These particular souls have been so bruised, they need to know we still love them, no matter what happened here while they were flesh.)

Then, sit quietly, remembering good times with her, watching her photo, just relax, don’t TRY to see anything, just flow into the picture of her, pretend she’s right there….
And if she can, she’ll give you something – a scent; a brief brush of touch on part of your body; a breeze when there should be no breeze; a slight whisper of sound, barely heard, that might be your name; goosebumps along your flesh… Use every one of your senses, because our physical eyes are usually the last sense to notice anything.

Yes, lovie, it can happen. This method can work, now that you have the full specifics of the meditation. And if it doesn’t work during the meditation, then go to sleep that night, thinking of her, tucking the photo under your pillow, reminding her that she can visit your dreams. We are most free in our dreams, where our rational mind can’t jump up and down, shouting to us that it’s not possible or not real.

Heh, even our Messenger Brother Jesus said it, “With Faith, ALL things are possible!”

I hope this helped or was interesting. May you Journey in Love and Peace! 🙂

Knee-Deep In Ectoplasm

Not exactly ectoplasm, a substance alleged to emanate from a medium and produce living forms.  (I read the dictionary for fun.  Where did Webster’s get this definition from?)  I’ve sensed plenty of spirits and energy entities, even seen a few ghosts, ahem, apparitions, and not one of them ever produced a substance or manifested a living form from pink goo (Ghostbusters, baby!).  They can appear solid and do have visible shapes, but they can’t emanate anything but their presence, soul, energy, whatever.  But it sounds cool as a title, so…there ya go.

Mostly I sense energy forms.  My karaoke friends and spirit circle used to like to play a game with me.  We’d be in the bar and one of them would say, “Close your eyes, Eileen.”  Or one of them would clap their hands over my eyes.  “Okay, now point us all out.”  I could sense them, “see” their energy forms, pulsing at different rates, strengths, sometimes with colors.  So I’d identify each friend.  Then, the fun part – they’d shift positions, scurrying across the bar to the crowded dance floor, hiding in the rest room, ducking down behind the pool players.  I would scan the area (eyes still closed or shielded by the non-participant), pinpointing each one, and wait for them to return to me.  As they sat down again, often giggling, I’d tell them where each had tried to hide.  I would almost always be right.  They thought it was cool, I thought it was normal.

A few years before I met those friends, I was working as a waitress.  I came back from serving a customer and remarked, “Oh, he is so nice.  And he shines!”  I hadn’t quite learned to keep my mouth shut around people who didn’t know me very well.  My snippy and somewhat prejudiced co-worker whispered, “What?  People don’t shine.  And, and, he’s…black!”  She sounded so angry.  I turned around and looked at my customer again.  “Oh, so he is.  He’s still nice and has a shining soul.”  Apparently, I don’t notice things like skin color, race, so-called handicaps, even gender or sexual orientation.  I see energy first, then the normal human stuff.

In grade school and high school, I had a friend named Peter.  He taught me how to leave my body and hang out near the ceiling, usually during lunch, so we could watch everybody below us.  I worried about getting food stuck in my hair or being poked by a fork (do kids still throw stuff up into the ceilings of cafeterias?).  Peter laughed and said I’d be fine.  No one noticed us up there, and since I had a tendency to sleep during lunch (eat that food?  No way!), no one noticed me slumped in my chair.  ‘Course, no one noticed Peter – I was the only one who could see and hear him.  He was such a sweet spirit.  He stopped hanging around when I started tenth grade and was suicidal.  I think that drove him away and I’m sorry about it.  I missed him.  But I did make new (flesh) friends and school was a wonderful place; I made sure I signed up for things that let me stay until long after dinnertime over at the house of Hell….I so wanted to live at school full-time…

Anyway, sometimes, it was hard to differentiate between my energy friends and my flesh friends – to me, they all looked like they belonged in this world.  I never talked about my spirit friends, though; I must have mentioned it when I was little and got beaten for “lying.”  That’s a “black hole” memory – one of many black chunks in my memory and if my siblings’ stories are true, then I really don’t want to open those black holes, thank you very much.

It was nice to meet like-minded people, form our circle, practice with our meta abilities.  I’d been a solitary for too long.  It was great to discover I wasn’t completely crazy!

Then, things happened when we lived in Arizona that really made me feel good.  They didn’t start happening until the boys were in their teens.  Our oldest son came bounding in from school one day and said, “Hey, Mom!  My favorite teacher is surrounded by blue light!  Is that her aura?  What is an aura?  Does that mean I can see auras?”

They wanted me to give them Tarot Card readings.  Then, they wanted their own Tarot decks.  We started basic energy lessons and discovered the younger son had an affinity with EVERY element.  My strongest affinity is with Air.  Sister Air and I have a playful and refreshing relationship.  When I’m sad, when I feel blocked, when I need Her, I can step outside and She’ll blow through me, a gentle greeting, a breezy tug, a cleansing that soothes and invigorates me.  Because of years of training, I can get every element to respond to me, but no newbie just steps up and gets Them ALL to respond in the first lesson.  My youngest boy did.

Brother Fire is the most willing to respond, and also the most unpredictable.  You can’t, and don’t, want to control the elements; just get them to play a bit, respond, and help you if needed, when asked.  That’s Rule Number One:  Always ASK, Never Command.  So, there we were, trying to make a candle flame respond to our wills.  And JR’s danced beautifully for him.  “Oh, cool, you have a Fire affinity,” I said.

Then, it was Water.  Ask the water in the glass to go from cold to warm to cold again, then ask Sister Water to bubble for you.  Sure enough, Water played with JR almost immediately.  Okay, people can have a strong affinity to more than one element…

I had to go stand across the room, nearly out of sight for Sister Air to respond to him; we had to make sure She wasn’t coming to my call.  Goosebumps rose on his skin and his older brother watched the fan start slowly spinning (windows and doors closed, no one moving; we were barely breathing!).  JR said he could feel his hair moving and smelled fresh rain. (Note here: It was clear and hot that night with no wind, and while it DOES rain in Tucson, it has to be a long rainstorm going for almost a full day before it smells like rain or smells fresh.  When it rains in Tucson, it smells like dust or mud.)

By now, older son had given up and was perfectly happy to watch his brother.  I sat back down and didn’t have to hand JR the stones representing Earth.  He picked them up and described the sensations, let us feel them warming to his slightest touch…

I grinned.  “Well now, I’ve never heard of this.  I’ll ask around if you want more training or a different mentor.”  A few days later, we discovered I was probably the best teacher for him at that time.  We were doing something at the kitchen table (I think reading the Tarot), and hubby walked by.  One glance and he grumped, “Great, you turned my son into a witch.”  Then he smiled to let us know he was joking and it was okay.  He’s good like that, even though he doesn’t want to know anything more about our “woo-woo” stuff!  🙂

My two favorite stories…I was in drum journey one day, having a lovely time with very interesting visions, when a door slammed downstairs.  A second later, Brian shouted, “Mom!”  Now, it doesn’t matter how deep a trance I’m in or how far of a journey I’m on, my child’s call will snap me back instantly. I sat up and said, “Up here!”

Feet pounded upstairs and both boys were staring at me.  “What were you doing?  A tornado just touched down on Ina!”  Tornadoes are VERY rare in Tucson and they just do NOT touch down on a busy road in the middle of a clear day.  Dust devils might swirl through, but a real tornado, nope, not the climate for it.  I was flattered that they thought I, or rather, the Energy that works through me, could be so powerful, but had to correct them.  “No, no, I don’t play with, manipulate or control the weather.  In fact, any human who thinks they have such power over Mother Nature is an arrogant idiot.”  And we went on another lesson regarding the elements.

But, they would give me a look, sometimes, when they knew I was wishing for rain when there was absolutely no chance of rain…and it would rain.  Hey, it wasn’t me!  But, yeah, Sister Air likes to make me happy…

The other story…I was sitting in the office one day, playing on the computer.  The office shared a wall with the garage.  Brian was out there, working on his Mustang.  I noticed a ripple in the air to the side of the desk and our black cat, our DEAD black cat, Sunshine, sauntered through the wall and walked past me into the living room.  He twitched his tail at me and disappeared when he reached the couch.  Barely a breath later, Brian slammed into the house from the garage (yes, he likes to slam doors).

“Mom!  Sunshine just walked across the garage and disappeared through the wall!”

“I know, honey, he’s hiding IN the couch.”

“Holy shit! I guess this means I really can see ghosts!  Cool!”

“Wait, what?  When have you seen ghosts before?”

“In New York, in the Fort Plain house.  There was an old guy who would stand at the top of the stairs and yell silently at us.  Oh, and the dark Thing in the cellar behind the old cistern.”  He glanced around.  “But they aren’t here.  Did you know this house is alive, too?”

“Yes, sweetie, the House’s Heart is in your sister’s room.  That’s why it’s always so comforting in there.”

At that point, his sister (who, like her father, wants nothing to do with our “woo-woo” stuff, but I know is a strong psychic who has blocked her gift) was coming down the stairs and calmly said, “No, Mom, it moved.  It’s in your bathtub now, where you do your meditations.”  She promptly left the house to meet her boyfriend, leaving us wondering how much of our conversation she had heard with her physical ears and how much she had just “picked up on.”

I love my kids.  They are just THE coolest people!  Why were they so accepting, calm, curious, about all this beyond-real-world stuff?  Maybe because, to their mother, it was normal to see ghosts, talk to energy beings, play with the elemental entities, sense the Presence of a loving Divine…I treated everything like it was normal because, to me, it IS normal, just part of Life.  They never got yelled at or slapped for sensing otherworldly things or talking about them.  No one freaked out, it was all fine.  Even their non-believing father accepted that his wife was a bit weird, so it was all good.  And yep, while hubby jokes we are knee-deep in shit, I prefer to call it ectoplasm; it’s easier to clean up and doesn’t smell.  Hey, it’s three (possibly four) ectoplasm believers against Capt’n Poopy-head!  We win!   😀

 

Quantum Energy Quips

Before I get into what may be a rambling, confusing blog for some, let me define a few things:  I hate labels, but others find labels comforting.  A label lets them pop me into a definite spot in their relations with me.  So, I call myself an energy-worker or a spiritualist.  Others call me a witch.  No matter, it’s all good as far as I’m concerned, and none of it really fits.

I’m a catalyst.  The definition of catalyst is: 1. a substance that causes or speeds a chemical reaction without itself being affected.  2. anything that precipitates an event.

I’m definition number two.  An odd pattern became noticeable as I traveled the journey of energy-work.  The first time I would do a spell, ritual, meditation, drum walk, etc. it would be great.  I’d get wonderful results.  If I tried it again, it would fail.  Within a week or a month, I’d meet someone or someone in my energy circle (we called it a circle instead of a coven, since a few of my darlings didn’t want to be labeled witches) would ask about the particular working I’d just done.  And, ping! – the light would go on.  I’d pass the info along or do the working with my friend and there you go, they’d have it, it was learned.  And working with me, made it easier for them.

Once the torch (so to speak) was passed, I could again do the working with positive results.  Those were small changes, though, and fun.  Learning, discovering, sharing, is always fun.  To me, all energy work is fun, and when it benefited others; ah, that was the best!

I also learned a bit about quantum physics, quantum mechanics, and how quantum energy worked with metaphysics and regular energy-work.  The definition of quantum is: 1. quantity or amount.  2.  Physics. a very small, indivisible quantity of energy.  3.  sudden and significant : a quantum increase in productivity.

I always knew I was highly empathic, able to feel or sense the emotions and pain of others.  Maybe it became honed on its own because of my childhood – when you live with cross-addicted and abusive people, it helps to sense their mood immediately.  Those few seconds of extra sensing would allow me to decide if I needed to run, hide, or silently obey.  It was a useful gift, and also a curse.  Sitting in the Emergency Room to pick up my mom after work was a confusing trip inside me – I could “feel” everyone’s aches and pains.  The woman in labor on the chair opposite me – yep, I’d get cramps.  The guy with the broken foot, indeed, my own foot would flare into an ache.

I had no mentor or teacher then, no idea how to control or shield, and, again, I think that household inadvertently trained me.  It’s a fact that when people live or work together, they “mesh” to a degree.  Female co-workers suddenly realize their menses have synchronized; if one person in a house is broadcasting high emotion, everyone else will begin to feel the same way.  Humans are all empaths, in varying degrees.  We can put ourselves in the other person’s shoes; empathy allows us to feel compassion and mercy toward others.

But the gift of metaphysical empathy, talented empathy, takes it to the quantum level.  Meta-empaths go beyond just feeling the normal range from others.  A meta-empath can reach through anyone’s natural mental and metaphysical shield to sense exactly what the other person is feeling or touch a person exactly where they are hurting.  A trained meta-path can take that negative energy into her hand, without absorbing it into herself, and flick it away, making her subject feel better.  She can manifest a sudden and significant change in her subject.

And yes, even so-called normal humans, untrained humans, have a natural shield.  If you don’t want someone – even a trained psychic or meta-physician – scanning you, if you don’t want them in, sharing your energy or “reading your mind,” they can’t get in.  Everyone is psychic in some way, and Nature gave us natural barriers against unwanted intrusion – probably to keep us from going crazy.

But if you want help, if you are broadcasting a need, a meta can help you and you will let them in.  Again, we all do it, in small, untrained, ways.  The lady who gives everyone, including strangers, hugs – yep, she’s sharing her happy or soothing or motherly energy with you.  It’s a surface thing; it rarely goes deeper into your psyche, but, admit it, it does make you feel better.

Now take that small normal human touch and train it.  Strengthen it, focus it.  Now you’re sending quantum energy out, and in.

My younger untrained self needed a defense against all that and against the negative emotion in my childhood home, so my natural shield became stronger.  Once I started studying, and especially when I found a mentor, I learned control and focus and how to assist others without invading their energy.  I’m a diagnostic meta-path – I can sense something’s wrong inside you.  I can touch you and find old injuries, dark spots, stopped energy.  I won’t give a definite diagnosis; in fact, I just say, “Go to a doctor and get a check up.”  I’m not a healer, even though my gentle surface tissue massage will make you feel better.  All I do with that is help your body re-learn how to heal itself, unblock a minor flow, so your body can remember it can heal anything on its own.  It’s not really a massage; it’s a stroking along your energy flow, boosting it a little, so you’ll feel better (and stop making my hands tingle!).

Now, throw the energy catalyst into that mix and, wham!  When I’m “on,” I plunge right through shields, even a trained psychic’s shields.  My spirit-brother described it this way, shortly after we met:  “I have a very strong shield, no one gets in, but you just dove through it and found my soul.  How?”

I was so embarrassed; it’s such a no-no to invade someone like that!  I apologized and tried to explain.  He assured me it was all right, saying, “It felt good.  It was like a burst of Light.”  Oh, geeze, more blushing on my part.  Then he asked, “What is it like?  What did you see?”

Now, I don’t “see” auras (aurae?); I leave that to my son.  No, to me, everyone is energy, and, sometimes, I’ll see colors.  So, I told him he had a lot of blue with some orange and red in his energy, that he had a “good” soul, a long soul (I said “old” back then, but Time is an Illusion, so old isn’t the proper definition – long fits better.).

A few days later, he asked me, “What did you do?”

Do?  I hadn’t done anything, just peeked at his soul.  Brad told me he felt lighter and his psychic sense was stronger.  Curious, he let me check his energy.  Sure enough, the catalyst gift had kicked in and his molecular vibrational frequency had gone up a couple of levels.

Yes, Magic and/or psychic work is a science (and so is prayer).  It’s the science of manipulating energy with focused intent to bring about desired results.  Just because our technology isn’t advanced enough to consistently measure and record it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  Hey, no one believed in quantum physics until a few years ago!

We are all just energy in different densities and different forms.  Our molecules vibrate at different frequencies, holding us together, shaping us, and the physical aspects of everything in the world.  When a catalyst comes along (and they’re rare, so don’t expect your local psychic or medium to be able to do this), she can go in, mesh her energy with yours, and bring you up – increase your vibration – to another level.  What does this do?  Well, it increases your ability to use your psychic gifts, and it opens psychic gifts in some.

And, it can be used and exploited.  I had a friend who was already a trained meta-physician.  Unknown to me (and, yes, I’m too naive and trusting as an energy-worker), she was interested in power, controlling others, doing workings to benefit her at the cost of others (all of which I found out later, and only because my kids warned me – I’ve learned to listen and obey when my kids and pets don’t like someone – they are very good “readers” of people!).  She insisted I “turn on” and raise her frequency very high in one session.  I thought I was helping her, and I did, but it was wrong.  She had found an easy way to level up, instead of doing the work herself.  She was a psychic energy-vampire and almost sucked us both up to a level the human body needs decades to reach.

I knew it was wrong and brought us out of it.  I felt awful, sick, dizzy, shaking.  And the visions, woof, that level, that Dimension was not a good place for human energy to visit without an invitation.  Now, that’s how I knew it was wrong.  Energy-work, catalyst work, even channeling (yep, I’m a Voice Vessel, too, a medium, a channel, whatever, ‘cept I don’t get dead humans speaking through me, oh no, I get Higher Level Energy Entities…oh, joy.) – after any meta working, I usually feel upbeat, jazzed, energetic myself.  Not this time.  She had pulled me beyond where we should have gone without decades of frequency work.  I wouldn’t touch her after that and made sure to control any catalyst urges around her, but I still hadn’t learned my lesson.  I still hadn’t kicked her out of our circle.

Fortunately, the next time she tried something, a Great One stepped in.  I was doing a Tarot Card reading for her.  She wanted clarification, she wanted more.  She looked me in the eye and demanded, “Channel my patron goddess.  I command Isis to speak to me.”   Oh no, no, no, human!

First of all, while I’m a mostly conscious channel, I have no control over Who comes through me to visit.  Usually, it’s my sweet She-Who-Laughs (I suspect She is Bast, but She won’t give a Name.  She said, “What need of a Name when One is Energy?”), and, usually, I need to take my two or three cleansing breaths to sink into alpha trance and let one of Them through.

Secondly, you do NOT command any of these higher level entities, great ones, gods, whatevers.  Human arrogance; we have it in spades and it’s our downfall.  No human is a high enough level to command or demand or manipulate these higher beings.  We can pray, ask, hope, yes, but order Them about like lackies, um, no, not gonna happen.

So, one second I’m sitting there aghast at her order, the next second, I’m cowering down deep in my body as an enraged Great Female took over.  I don’t remember exactly what She said to my ex-friend.  I do remember She stood up, threw the Tarot Cards in the woman’s face and shouted something like, “You Dare?!  This, none of this matters.  YOU do not matter.  Never again.”  BOOM!  Like a thunderclap of Power surging through me, my house, that ex-friend.  My throat was sore for days.  And that friend?  She never called me or anyone in our circle again.  We later found out her life and her psychic gifts went downhill from there.

Yep, Karma (or perhaps, Isis) is a bitch when you fuck with Her.

Whoa, okay, this ran much longer than I meant.  I just wanted to answer a friend’s question about my personal energy-workings.  I haven’t even touched on another friend’s question about my “group” soul.  I’ll save that for later.

I hope you enjoyed these snippets, and aren’t too confused!  Feel free to post questions and your own stories.  Let’s Explore this Journey further!  🙂

It’s A Doggie-do Life

I’ve been trying to write, but the weather keeps changing.  Every time the weather changes, the dogs go hyper.  They become the ultimate distraction.  I know, I know, I’m not supposed to liken them to human, not supposed to give them human attributes, but, come on, admit it, we all do it.  I do love our dogs, I also hate them.  Whoever said that a dog’s intelligence is almost equal to that of a three-year-old human was pretty close.  Except for the not speaking English part, dogs do remind me of human toddlers.

Our boxer is the one with ADD.  He can sleep for 18 hours and then bounce off the walls for 18.  It’s annoying.  It’s also funny because, yes, he literally bounces.  All four legs ramrod straight, bounce up and down like a child on a pogo stick.  Since he also thinks he should continue to grow and become a Great Dane – his head comes to my waist when he stands on four legs, he’s as tall as me (5’3″) when he stands on two legs – Mr. Pogo Stick can bounce to amazing heights.  This is fine and cute when he’s in our fenced in backyard and bounces up above our four foot high bushes to startle the golfers walking past our fence line (The 16th hole is directly behind us.).  It is not fine or cute when he does this on our walks, wrenching my fingers in the leash, crashing down into me, stomping on my feet.  I really need reinforced steel-toed combat boots…and, possibly, body armor…

I’ve tried to get hubby to come on our walks, help control the 90 pound toddler who has to investigate every movement and sound and fire ant hill, perhaps help protect me from the sometimes odd folk I pass while walking down the road to the pretty little park, spend some time with the wife, ya know?   Instead, he bought me a clip on your belt can of pepper spray…um, okaayyy…aw, hell, it’s kinda sweet, in a weird way….after all, he does know he married a woman who collects blades and keeps her double-headed battleaxe under her side of the bed…

Hubby often lets me fend for myself; I basically grew up in bars and have been a bar waitress most of my life.  Nothing too awful ever happened; and I was off the night one drunk shot up the bar.  Hubby was glad for that.  He could totally see me going for the gun and then pistol-whipping the guy for shooting at MY “girls” if I had been there that night.  He has yet to bail me out of jail and would like to keep it that way.  He did stop me from beating up one drunk bitch who kicked me in the ass when we were playing pool one night.  He said he saw me whip around, pool stick in hand, and the look on my face…well, he grabbed me and “escorted” me out of the bar.  He says I get “crazy angry” and he figures it’s safer to just whisk me away from situations.  And I don’t even drink!  Sheesh!

Our other dog is a mutt, part beagle, collie, terrier; she’s cute in a homely kind of way.  She’s 45 pounds lighter and much smaller than Ranger the boxer and she completely dominates him.  I walk them on a doubled leash, connected together.  They trot slightly ahead of me; the best way to describe it is that it’s like holding the reins to a two-in-hand buggy and I actually have better control with them connected.  Yo-yo is quite well-trained, Ranger, not so much.  If he gets loose, he runs and will not come back when called or whistled for.  Yo-yo will fetch him and try to herd him back, which doesn’t work very well; he’s too fast.  So, with her on the other end of the leash, if I trip and drop it, she will plant herself, all 45 pounds of muscle and barrel chest digging in while Ranger tries to take off for the wonderful busy road with all those pretty fast-moving cars dashing along it.  Yo-yo will lower her head, choking while Ranger pulls for freedom, and glare at me until I pick myself up and grab the leash again.

I am so glad we no longer live in the desert where a clumsy woman walking a dog like Ranger would be a death sentence, or, at the very least, a cactus encounter.  And don’t get me started on what Ranger might have done if he spotted a rattlesnake, scorpion or coyote!  It’s bad enough being yanked into trees or pulled off my feet to be dragged through a fire ant hill…oh, it’s okay, we’re doing much better now.  He’s still distracted by anything, but I’ve learned to stay alert!  Fewer bruises that way.

Growing up, I didn’t like dogs.  Granted, there was only one nice dog in our neighborhood – a big loving black New  Foundland.  He was a sweetie.  And Melissa’s dog was okay; he pretty much ignored me and I was cool with that.  But all the other dogs I knew when I was a kid were horrible beasts.  As an adult, I now understand it was their humans who were at fault for not training them properly.  I’m proud to say all our dogs that hubby and I have adopted were all sweet and well-behaved to humans and other animals.  They were not Hurricane Maryann or any type of Poodlepuff for that matter, or Chiayowyowchompers or yappyYorkies or ankle-biting bits of fluff.  We owned DOGS – as in medium to big and we were responsible pet owners who trained such dogs to behave.

Hurricane Maryann was my best friend Nancy’s mother’s dog.  In her defense, Maryann was locked in the basement all day while Gwen was at work and Nancy was at school.  She was a gray poodle who never got any grooming and only wanted attention from Gwen.  Gwen would get home, say hi to us, then close the kitchen door and then open the basement door.  Nancy and I would stay out in the living room.  We could hear Maryann racing up the stairs, barking louder than a locomotive, and then the crazed animal would hit the kitchen door, growling insanely and actually rattling the thick hardwood in its hinges.  She would repeat her attack on the door until something Gwen did stopped her.  I never knew what it was – maybe Gwen would feed her or pet her?  Through it all, we could hear Gwen chattering away or singing while her demented poodle barked and growled and gnawed on the kitchen door.  I rarely saw Maryann, just a glimpse as she charged at my throat before Gwen slammed the kitchen door shut and told her, “Oh, sweetie, that’s Eileen, you know her, now stop that.  Here, have a cookie.”  Yep, not sure who was the truly fruit loop there, but I loved Gwen, she was more a mother to me than my own mom most of the time.  Just had to be careful if Maryann was loose…

Another neighbor had a Standard white Poodle, and white carpets.  Same situation except the guy never locked the dog away when we visited and this dog was silent and deadly.  He could fly across that white carpet unseen and be snapping at your legs, waist or hands before you knew he was on you.  And the owner would say, “Oh, he’s just saying hello.”  Then the dog would happily pee all over us while we dripped blood onto that somewhat white carpet…

One friend owned a Chiayowrat.  Ugly, nasty, noisy rat-dogs.  It never shut up and it loved to bite.  And, again, the stupid owner would just wave off the behavior.  Pardon me while I drop-kick your pet monster into next Tuesday on my way to the Emergency Room…

I was walking to the park with my three year old son one day and a cocker spaniel came charging across the road.  He went straight for my baby.  I scooped up Brian and the dog actually started climbing me to get to my boy.  With Brian on my shoulders, clutching my hair, head, throat, I kicked and screamed at that dog.  Luckily, I was wearing jeans – lots of bruises on my legs, but his teeth didn’t break my skin.  A lady in a bathrobe wandered across a yard and shouted for her poochie to come home.  She didn’t come get him, she didn’t obey my screams to come get him, she just stood there, watching her dog try to rip my jeans off in his attempt to rip open my son’s throat.  Stupid f@cking human…

We were a cat family.  My parents, crazy as they were, loved animals, but especially cats.  So it was a real surprise when they let my little sister adopt a beagle puppy.  We must have been around ten and eleven at the time.  Christine promised all the usual things a kid promises, and, of course, never followed through. And none of us had ever owned a dog, so we didn’t know how to train her.  Heidi was cute as a puppy but a terror.  She chewed up everything.  Our older sister almost killed her by kicking her downstairs after finding the puppy had chewed up all Mary Lou’s fancy high heeled shoes.  She was almost impossible to house-train.  I’d cover the kitchen floor with newspapers and she would still do her doggie-dos in the living room.  Yeah, me.  It fell to me to potty-train the puppy, feed the puppy, get beaten on when the puppy misbehaved…Our parents and Christine loved that dog, me?  Nope, not a lick.

So, yeah, I pretty much hated dogs.

Then, early in our marriage, hubby decided we needed a dog.  He had grown up with dogs and liked them.  He didn’t think he liked cats, but our Missy changed that.  At fifteen, Missy was a furry fluffy tabby grande dame.  Her favorite spot to lounge was around a man’s shoulders, purring softly in his ear.  What man, or sixteen year old boy in hubby’s case, could resist such feminine wiles?  Hubby married me, knowing my cats were part of the deal, but he wanted a dog.

I said okay reluctantly, wishing there was a dog breed that was more like a cat.  And, dear Randy went and found one.  We got a cream-colored Chow Chow puppy.  His official name was Tub’a Cream, but we called him Tubba.  He was adorable, soft, loving, loyal, and he’d groom himself like a cat.  Properly groomed Chows don’t even smell like dogs!  He loved kids, the cats, women, Randy and me.  But woe onto any adult male who came onto our property.  Tubba would lunge to the end of his chain, rarely barking, just softly growling if a strange man approached.  If it was someone I knew and I called to the dog while shaking the man’s hand, Tubba would stand down.  He also knew who exactly could enter the house and the route they would take.

He never lunged or growled at kids, any kid, known and unknown.  Only once: The kids were playing hide-and-seek and the one little girl hid in the garage, or tried to.  She startled Tubba and he snapped at her.  She jumped up on the car to escape him and the bite was actually just a scrape (fast little girl, thank god!), but it scared me.  I kept a closer watch after that, warning the kids away from the dark garage – Tubba was old by then and most likely losing his sharp senses.

He proved his loyalty a number of times.  Once in the summer, when we were out on the lawn, kids playing in the little kiddie pool, me lounging nearby with Tubba on his leash under my chair…the mailman pulled up.  Tubba knew him, knew he walked to the mailbox every day, but this time the mailman decided to leave his usual route of going to the mailbox and came over to give me the mail.  One tiny alteration to his usual route…He stepped onto the grass and Tubba exploded out from under my chair to defend his family from the intruder.

One day, I was changing the baby’s diapers and our toddler daughter managed to open the back door.  I came into the kitchen and found her diaper, an open door, no daughter and no dog.  A big gold Cadillac with an elderly couple inside pulled into my driveway as I hurried outside to search.  The man rolled down his window and asked, “Do you own a big blond dog and a little blonde girl?”

“Yes!”

“They’re walking down the middle of the road.  The dog won’t let us near her.  Get in; we’ll take you to them.”

It had only been a couple of minutes and they hadn’t gotten far (we lived in a small town then).  And they were actually on their way back home.  Tubba had turned Jessie around and was herding her back to the house.  There was my two-and-a-half year old daughter, babbling happily to her dog, sauntering along the middle of the road, naked as the day she was born…in tears, I picked her up and got back in the car with both babies, but Tubba wouldn’t get in.  He trotted merrily alongside as that sweet older man took us home.

Tubba died happy, doing what he loved – playing with his kids.  They had hitched him up to the toboggan one New Year’s and he towed them around the yard, down the snow-covered street.  Then they left him sleeping in the snow (which he preferred to his dog house, strangely, he was always quite warm and snug in his snowdrift, I know, cause I checked!) and went in to warm up with cocoa.  The next morning, he was dead.  We think he died of a heart attack; he was pretty old for a big dog by then, over ten years.

But the dog I really fell in love with was Dizzi.  Our daughter was in high school and brought home a pit bull puppy.  I so did NOT want another dog at that point in our lives; things were pretty troubled back then.  But Dizzi was delightful and Jess trained her beautifully.  So did Dodger, my 15 pound silver-tipped tabby cat.  Dodger thought he was a dog – he would play Fetch, he would run to the door when someone came over, and he taught Dizzi all his tricks.  They would chase each other across the house, across the top of the sofa, coffee table, dining room table – which was the funniest and I think Dodger planned it.  He would jump up and race across that long table and Dizzi would be right behind him.  Her nails didn’t have the traction the cat’s did.  She’d hit the table and skitter across it to fall off the end in a clumsy roll.  You could see Dodger laughing his ass off.  Good thing pit bulls are nearly indestructible and impervious to pain.  Dizzi would bounce up and want to do it all over again.

She’s the most intelligent dog I’ve ever met, loyal, sweet, loving…she thinks she’s a tiny lap dog and always wants to cuddle.

Ah, yes, welcome to some of my Doggie-do Life…train them well, love them and, yes, indeed, remember:  They are as human as you, and in many ways, far better people than any human could ever hope to be.

 

 

Versatile Blogger Award – What? Wait! Me?

Coming out of a depressive episode since last Monday – Christmas thru March 1st are bad times for me – and decided to catch up on the week’s worth of blogs I’d missed reading.

susanwritesprecise gave me The Versatile Bloggers Award!  OMG!  I’ve written 18 blogs and am just so thrilled!  Thank you so much, Susan!  Now, of course, I have no idea how to link back to her blog, but I’ll learn & either re-post this or edit it.   http://susanwritesprecise.com

Did that do it?  Not sure…I’ll check in a min because I want to get this done before I get dragged away from the computer or the power goes out or Comcast decides to do a test and trash my Internet connection or lightning strikes…Worst-Case-Scenario-Sucker, yep, that’s me.  If I hear sirens right after hubby leaves for the store, I just know he’s crashed and dying a block away.  If a ship is attacked by pirates and the crew taken hostage, I’m certain it’s my son’s ship.  If there’s a shooting in Tucson, I’m sure my younger son and daughter were shopping there and are part of the horror…yep, I’m frantic til someone answers their phone or I read the news and discover all is well.

Damn, wandered off on a tangent there…

Okay, I think this is the award where I share seven things about me.  I don’t know!  I was just so jazzed to get an award, I started blogging about it!  Lemme go see what the rules are….

Yep, seven details and choose 15 bloggers to award.  Mmmm, that’s gonna have to be another blog while I learn more about linking and downloading and getting my computer to behave long enough to allow me to learn!  (Note to self: tell hubby I NEED a new computer!).

My details, not organized in any particular order, maybe, kinda, sorta…

1.  I’m not a victim or a survivor; I just AM.

2.  I have a “group” soul.

3.  I like people…

4.  …But there are too many humans and we’re killing our planet…

5.  …So, come on, Mother Nature, exterminate us already! (Do 3, 4, and 5 equal one thing? Gack!)

6.  Ahem, um, where was I?  Oh, I’m absent-minded.

7.  I HATE, loathe, despise, need to escape, Texas!

8?  I talk too much!

Now to go hunting for my favorite or most versatile bloggers I follow, or just lurk on other blogs, going to new blogs, reading more….Hmm, this may take awhile…Thank you again!  😀

 

Update:  Am attempting to learn how to do links…hopefully, you can now go to susan’s blog by clicking the link of her URL.  🙂

Urgent! Read this, please!

There.  Now that I have your attention, I’ll launch into a shameless plug for a book I just read.  When I’m done extolling the virtues of said book, it would be awesome if you would go order it from the author.  You can find her right here on WordPress (and FaceBook).

We’re bloggers, which means we love to write AND read.  I will often stay up all night reading, but I went even further this time.  I read this book at the bar during karaoke in the semi-darkness, I read it while walking the dogs (and walking into a tree), I read until I finished because it is one of those books you just can’t put down.

Within the first pages, I was engaged, enthralled, eager to learn more.  The descriptive power, the word-play, and the characters pulled me in and I gladly submitted.  I didn’t just read this book – I entered the author’s world and lived there.  As any avid reader knows, that is the best kind of book, of Writing – to leave the (supposedly) Real World behind and submerge into a writer’s creation…That, my friends, is the Art of Writing.

Go now, seek out Melissa Crandall and her book, The Weathercock.  Support this author and her excellent word-crafting!  Enjoy!  😀