Freeing the voices in my head

Archive for the ‘Energy’ Category

High Peaks Summer

We ate our way up the mountain. Grabbed what we could as we walked and crammed it into our mouths. We didn’t worry about rinsing off any dirt, bird poop, or germs; it had rained last night and the sun hadn’t yet burned off the morning dew. The lush purple goodies were ripe and sweet and irresistible.
Fourteen girls, the current residents of Cabins Six and Seven, on the last summer of childhood before high school, make up, cars and boys, no, we didn’t care. We were still invincible, still innocent, and we were conquering the world. Or least some of it.
Echo Camp for Girls on Raquette Lake in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York offered a full summer program. Six weeks of swimming, boating, archery, horseback riding, hiking and camping. Arts and crafts, talent shows, and for the older girls, a dance night with the boys from the camp across the lake.
So many choices, so much to do and see and learn, every day structured except for Sundays and yet we didn’t feel restricted or restrained. Our parents paid for all of it, but we could choose; not interested in learning how to survive when your canoe capsizes, well then, use that extra hour to go down to the stables for more time with your favorite horse.
I had made a choice that summer, that last summer, to miss the final dance and go on the week long hiking trip. I wasn’t interested in the boys from the other camp because I had a boyfriend at home. We had shared our first kiss on the last day of eighth grade, the last day of junior high. I was true blue to him, so I chose to climb mountains.
Not just any mountains; these were the Adirondacks and we were climbing five of the highest peaks in the state. We would join an exclusive group of adults who had hiked up these mountains. It was a big deal back then to be part of the High Peak Club.
We started the journey by crossing the broad expanse of Raquette Lake in the camp’s two big motorboats. At the public dock, we piled into three canoes. Our lone camp counselor was Patty from Cabin Six, my counselor and at eighteen, four years older than us and our hero and mentor. We paddled our way to the first stop, put on our backpacks and hoisted upside down canoes on our shoulders to hike into the deep forest.
We dumped everything at the campsite near the first mountain and Patty led us up the trailhead. It was our first challenge – hike the smallest of the High Peaks before we ran out of energy and sunlight. We almost made it.
We reached the summit of Phelps Mountain and marveled at the gorgeous view, nibbled gorp (trail mix), and signed our names in the hiker’s book. Patty found it in a small wooden box nailed to a tree. The little notebook was filled with signatures and had room for many more. Phelps wasn’t a popular hike for day-trippers – it wasn’t steep, but the trail was a find-your-own-way-up once you reached the midway point. Day hikers wanted easily marked and cleared trails. Intrepid adventurers, like us, just scrambled through brush, scraggly trees and around boulders until we reached the top.
After signing my name, I glanced at the opposite page. A familiar name caught my eyes. “Hey, I know this boy! He’s one of Sean’s friends.” I probably blushed saying my steady’s name; Love was brand-new for me and one of the few things I was shy about learning.
Patty leaned over and pointed out the group name at the top. “Boy Scouts. They were here last week.” I smiled, feeling a warm connection to this boy I barely knew, we had climbed the same mountain, this Randy Eldred and I, what a coincidence.
The beginning glory of the sunset spread out before us, so close and breath-taking, was our nudge to return to camp. We scampered down the mountain, laughing and screaming, mere steps ahead of the dark, and landed in breathless heaps at the bottom of the trail. Patty grinned at us, a serene goddess of fitness, barely sweating, and sweetly said, “Time to make camp.”
We groaned and stumbled forward to pitch tents, build a fire and cook over it, but a glorious smell hit us when we entered our clearing. A cheerful fire blazed in the pit, the tents were pitched and an actual dinner had been set up on picnic tables. Patty informed us that this was our first reward. There would be different ones each time we conquered a high peak.
“But how?” someone asked. Our counselor pointed at the line of trees. “There’s a road and public campground right over there. The Skipper sent the kitchen staff here to set us up for the first night. After this, though, we’ll be on our own, so enjoy it!”
The next day, and for the rest of the week, we shouldered our canoes and packs, trekking through dense forest and tiny creeks, to reach open water. It was always a relief to get in the canoe and glide across a lake to the next mountain. Paddling was easier than walking, at least for the first hour or so.
We followed a stream up Mount Marcy, the tallest peak in New York. It wasn’t the toughest mountain and it took forever to reach the summit. Once there, we received our geography and history lesson. The owner of Echo Camp, the Skipper, made sure her girls learned about the land. Marcy was a long boring hike, made fun only because Patty let us play in the stream. That became a tiny trickle near the summit and disappeared into the bare ground. Patty pointed to the spot and proclaimed, “Girls, this is where the mighty Mohawk River begins.” She turned us around. “And from here, you can see across five different states.”
I was impressed, but too tired to hang onto the feeling. This tallest peak was, for me, a disappointment and all I could think about was that long boring hike back down to camp. Lonnie, my best buddy that summer, suddenly said, “Well, I don’t know about five states, but I do see thunderclouds.” We all turned the other way and squealed at the black masses of clouds heading toward us. Patty shouted, “Go, follow the creek, but do NOT walk in it. Go, girls, fast as you can!”
Some of us had grown up in this area, played with family at Lake George, camped here before, but others were city girls and didn’t understand. I grabbed Lonnie’s hand and hurried her along. My New York City girlfriend gasped, “The stream is easier to run through.”
“No! If it starts to rain, it’ll flood and be too fast, too dangerous,” I said.
She stared at me and the ankle-deep creek. “Trust me. We have to get down before it overflows.” I lost track of the group, tugging Lonnie along with me, crashing into boulders and trees, frantically praying the storm would pass us by or hold off for just one hour.
Thunder rolled and rumbled. From one step to the next, it was suddenly very dark. Another slam of sound from the clouds and the rain hit. It slashed down through the trees with enough force to drench us in minutes. Lonnie started crying. I held onto her and remembered my woods-lore: keep the creek on my left and keep moving downstream. The sight of flashlights and the sounds of voices shouting for us almost made me join Lonnie in crying.
We had made it and were greeted by two park rangers. The girls didn’t know it then, but Patty’s route was being watched, we weren’t really as “on our own” as she made us believe. The rangers led us back to camp and showed us how keep a fire burning in a downpour (tucked halfway under a roof made of green pine branches). It got smoky under there, but it warmed us. They stayed for dinner, flirting with Patty among giggling girls. We were no longer cold, wet and scared. We had conquered another High Peak, so where was our reward?
We received it the next morning. Instead of breaking camp, we hiked to a road and climbed into a bus. Our ride took us to Wright Mountain. It was a pretty hike, with no surprises. The best part was the bus ride back and forth, giving us a chance to rest our legs and arms.
We canoed across Lake Placid the next day, easing up to a scrap of land at the base of Whiteface Mountain. We faced a wall of dirt, rocks and scrawny trees jutting out from the cliff. It wasn’t a sheer cliff and it wasn’t a rock cliff, but it wasn’t a normal hike, either. We would be doing actual climbing, like scrambling out of a ravine or climbing a tree that happened to be growing alongside a hill of dirt. But that wasn’t just a hill, that was a mountain and it would take hours to claw our way to the top.
Patty gave us a choice: We could get in the canoes and paddle to the other side of Whiteface and the easy trail or we could conquer this Peak from here, taking the expert way up. I wonder now if when our parents signed all those forms that they were told exactly what their daughters would face that summer?
We climbed. The dirt was firm enough to hold us and soft enough to shove fingers and feet into with the help of tree roots and rocks. We paused on ledges and turned to gaze out at the beautiful lake far below. We pretended to be mountain goats and jumped to the next ledge before sticking our hands into holes and climbing again.
The last few feet of the climb was the real challenge. There the cliff was sheer and hauling our tired bodies up to the overhang took everything we had. I scrabbled my fingers over the lip and found a surprise. There was soft grass under my hands. I scooted up the rest of the way and rolled onto freshly mowed turf, a manicured and maintained lawn. We all reached the top, helping each other over that cliff edge.  Our group stood up and broke into gales of laughter at the sight before us.
Tourists. Families in clean t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, drinking soda from cans and staring at fifteen muddy, bedraggled apparitions who had just appeared out of nowhere. Civilization in the form of a gift shop and ski lodge, the parking lot full of cars, the chair ski lift giving summer visitors rides here on the summit of Whiteface Mountain.
Our reward was a picnic lunch catered by Echo Camp’s kitchen staff and a ride down the mountain in another bus, sneering at the hikers walking the easy trail up the mountain that was next to the road. We did have to hike around the base of Whiteface to reach our canoes, but we were full of energy again because we had climbed a CLIFF!
It rained all night and cleared up in time for our hike up Mount Algonquin. The second tallest peak in the park was a beautiful trek with a delightful perk. This was our last mountain, our last day, and it was the best one of all.
On either side of the trail, in full rich ripe glory, we saw blueberries. The trees were few, the bushes were all. There would be no wandering off the trail here; the entire mountain was covered in blueberry bushes. We swiped handfuls of them in passing, the plump berries bursting with sweet juice, filling more than our tummies. Sun-warmed berries, chirping birds and a bright blue sky. We were young, strong, healthy, and we had done more in one week than most people achieve in a lifetime.
This was Summer.
My last perfect summer, it turned out. The summer I strive to remember when I feel I can’t cope with one more day of adult life. I did something that summer, something no one else in my family could lay claim to: I climbed five of the High Peaks of the Adirondacks. The chubby, half-blind, asthmatic child had been strong and brave, helpful and knowledgeable.
I sometimes wish I could freeze Time to that moment, that Summer, when the filthy, wet, muddy and tired girls of Cabins Six and Seven stepped off the boats and returned to Echo Camp to the cheers and hugs of the younger kids. We felt like conquering heroes, we WERE heroes, and it was glorious! 😀

 

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!  🙂