Caretaking 101

Sara awakened from her dream that morning earlier than usual. It must have been the 7pm bedtime the night before. Oft recited words ran through her mind like a cursed mantra that almost blocked the images she wanted to savor. Remembering the dreams was a key part of Sara’s ability to survive in the world. They were her personal messengers of light, the only messages that allowed Sara to know herself like she’d always wanted others to know her.

“It’s better to give than to receive.” The words resonated as though it was 1960 again. Sara’s Mother taught her early on to be considerate of others, drumming that golden rule into every cell of her body. She wasn’t allowed to be an individual with her own thoughts and ideas, nor was she given many opportunities to speak or show that she had any of her own gifts, as she was busy making other people feel more comfortable.

Sara knew the words and the beliefs she developed from those words were a lie all along. She just couldn’t separate them from herself long enough to find the truth. At some point along the way they were so entangled with her sense of self, it became incredibly challenging to move them out of her head. So she just left them there and tried to overcome these “prickers” that grew like weeds on her lifeline.

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Last night’s dream was very pointed and simple. It’s amazing that at first she thought the dirty dinginess was hers. Amazing, yet not surprising, as the wiring of old was tenacious in spite of its fraying ends.

A house. It was a small house on the main street of town; a town that Sara loved and missed now that she’d been away for nearly 20 years. The walls inside the house were clean and white, even the kitchen was all white. The furniture and other accoutrements were sparse, orderly and arranged nicely. There was nothing on the walls. Sara stood in the middle of the main room, feeling enthusiastic about creating life in her new home, a place she’d definitely been before.

 When she began to place her things on the kitchen shelves, she found a cupboard that had not been emptied. “Oh, I guess the old tenant forgot some things,” Sara didn’t give it another thought and began to clear it out into a box to give the landlord.

 “This is strange,” Sara said to herself, her arm immersed up to her shoulder, wading through things in what seemed to be an endlessly deep hole in the wall. “Why can’t I finish? I’ll never have time to make-up my bedroom and unpack my clothes.”

 As she spoke to herself in her dream, she looked up and saw an open window. Walking through an opening in the wall, she went to that window to close it. “I think it’s going to rain, I’d better shut this.” As she slid the window closed, she looked around and found she was in a large open living space with many doorways at all the directionals. The place was a mess with furniture, overflowing boxes of junk and smelly old clothes. The floors were filthy and the table lamps were on.

 As Sara made her way to all the doorways, she switched off a lamp or two and looked into the bedrooms. “What a mess! My God, the tenants have left this place a total wreck and I had no idea it was so huge!” Sara scratched her head, looking around in shock, wondering what she’d gotten herself into and how she was going to clean out all the junk. “What exactly am I going to do with all these extra rooms? I had no idea they were part of the deal.”

 All the windows were open just a crack; all the lights were on–all but those she’d closed or switched off. And as Sara took inventory of this place, she slowly stepped back to get a wider view, realizing this was not her job.

 “Oh,” she said it matter-of-factly, “I don’t have to handle this mess.” She turned the lights back on and reopened the windows.

 In a flash, she was up in the air someplace looking down. For the first time ever, in that moment, she saw the dividing line between her little white home and the other dark shambles. The houses were close together, but they weren’t overlapping; they weren’t even touching. She knew right then what was true.

 None of this was her job to manage in anyway, it never was. From her vantage point on the ground, the line was never clear to Sara. Wherever that command had come from, she always took on the work as if it was her own.

 “Never again,” she said. “Never again. 

When Sara awakened that morning, life was different. As she went on with her day, she found herself deeply saddened, intermittently crying, feeling lonely, lost and unworthy, as if some larger part of her was missing. It felt as though all her connections to life outside herself were suddenly severed.

This is an excerpt from one chapter of a novel.

All rights reserved. Copyrighted 2012 The Energetic Connection

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Warrior of the Light: The Stand

A Warrior of the Light carefully studies the position that he intends to conquer.

However difficult the objective, there is always a way of overcoming obstacles. He seeks out alternative paths, he sharpens his sword, he tries to fill his heart with the necessary determination to face the challenge.

But as he advances, the Warrior realizes that there are difficulties he had not reckoned with.

If he waits for the ideal moment, he will never set off. The Warrior requires a touch of madness to take the next step.

The Warrior uses that touch of madness. For–in both love and war–it is impossible to foresee everything.” An excerpt from Paulo Coelho’s “Warrior of the Light: A Manual.”

The mature warrior stands up without standing up. He has become one who does not need to stand up because he is, at the very least, aware of the contents of his life and his actions, even if he does not know the results beforehand. He knows his intentions are to serve. He is curious and disciplined, often conservative in his stance.

Before he matured, he searched for other warriors; in his seeking he often found himself begging his closest friends and family to give up their lives to accompany him on his journey. He frequently laid himself out as a personal sacrifice to show those comrades how to survive even the biggest blows to the ego. He stood, like a baby deer, on spindly, clumsy legs.

At one point, long before he began this search, the warrior believed he was one of few people willing and capable of drawing his sword to fight off the dark and angry foes. Acting mostly alone, he used his point to do damage and power-over people, standing strong and loud in the battlefields of his life, wondering why no one ever came to support him in his quest. He destroyed almost everything he wanted to stand-up for.

His own rage was preceded by a long and quiet self-imprisonment, during which time his only weapon, his deep “wanting,” was turned against himself. Living in a self-fulfilling prophecy of helplessness and hopeless collapse, he was a soul without purpose, destined for failure. It is to this place the Warrior returns now and again, the place from which he first grew and one day will leave to those who are at the beginning of their journey.

These experiences have given the Warrior strength, conviction and trust, to climb up and out of the abyss, and to finally crash through the glass ceiling, into the place he’s envisioned all along. This is the place he’s always known, the place worthy of his lifelong warrior’s stance.

Paulo Coelho is a light warrior whose stories relate many of his own journeys, inexorably linking the inner and outer terrain. I find his stories both intriguing and somehow comforting as he is always reaching beyond his known world into new and different frontiers. Tens of thousands of miles and usually continents away, his journeys bring me close to a group of souls I feel I’ve known for aeons. Each of his books not only feels very real to me–whether he writes of men or women, via fiction or non-fiction; they are all quite personal.

This in itself, is incredibly captivating, and certainly why his stories are translated into 71 different languages, selling over 100 million copies.

From his beginning with the “Alchemist,” to his more recent publishing of “The Aleph,” Coelho’s characters–which no matter how obvious or obscure, I see as reflections and vignettes of his own life–are consummate warriors: both arrogant and humble, curious and complacent, fearless and afraid.

After reading through “Warrior of the Light: A Manual” for the second time, I now pick it up a couple of times a week, randomly thumbing through to find a pertinent verse. They are all pertinent, and as this next verse implies, hold a quality of humility and receptivity.

Coelho speaks from the heart every time.

The Warrior of the Light views life with tenderness and determination.

He stands before a mystery, whose solution he will one day find. Every so often, he says to himself: “This life is absolutely insane.”

He is right. In surrendering to the miracle of the everyday, he notices that he cannot always foresee the consequences of his actions. Sometimes he acts without even knowing that he is doing so, he saves someone without even knowing he is saving them, he suffers without even knowing why he is sad.

Yes, life is insane. But the great wisdom of the Warrior lies in choosing his insanity wisely.” An excerpt from Paulo Coelho’s “Warrior of the Light: A Manual.”

Purchase Paulo Coelho’s book.

Faery Singers

Singer of Initiation

Last night I was awakened in the wee hours, most likely by the wee people!

As I lay there trying to find some physical comfort in an otherwise rather twitchy hour, I closed my eyes, looking behind the veils to breathe and practice opening my inner eye.

It’s not a new practice, it’s just that last night something different sort of, well…happened. Sometimes I see a lot of orange, other times it appears to be outlines of people and their faces, and frequently I see the Blue Pearl.

Not so last night. And even though I’ve seen this particular phenomenon before, I’ve never heard the singing that accompanied the visual brilliance. Last night was a first for that.

So many bright little lights, swirling wisps of pink, white and golden light, in all shapes and sizes–moving this way, dancing that way. I looked and looked, and at one point one of the faeries transmitted this to me:

We are the Singers! 

Unity, Ekstasis, Guardian of the Gate

If it hadn’t been so late, no, I mean so early…if it hadn’t been dark and if I’d wanted to come out of that brilliant space, I might have consulted Brian Froud’s, “The Faeries’ Oracle.”  I knew there was a section on the Singers of the Realms.

According to The Faeries’ Oracle, the Singers have many names: angels, devas, gods, dakinis…I can think of a few more too.

Faery Singer of Intuition

“And they sing the song of the underlying universe,” according to their Oracle anyway.

I have to say, this felt so true last night when I was beyond those veils, inside myself, in my inner world. It felt as if they were knitting me together in some way.

But that’s just me, I always feel like I’m being dismantled and taped back together, especially in the wee hours of the night. It’s an inner journey, personal transformation kind of thing; a shamanistic initiation of sorts in which one is shunned, dismembered and near death. Luckily for us, me in this instance, when the Faeries are the root of it, it can be a wondrous, even charming journey. Although when the Challengers are out in force, it’s a very shadowy experience, indeed.

You see, there are five different Faery clans: The Singers, The Sidhe, Faery Guides & Guardians, The Help-Line Troupe and The Faery Challengers. They all have different types of jobs and various vibrations, and depending on what kind of help our Earth and we humans might need will determine what clan makes its way into the land of potentially “seen.”

Yes, I did say potentially. Not everyone sees them, though I’m pretty sure everyone senses them on some level. If you don’t sense them, I think you just don’t know you do, or maybe you’re really dense! I don’t know, you’ll have to reflect on that for yourself.

I’ll bet the Faeries can help you with that!

The Faeries have a lot to say right now, and in this particular time on Earth we had better listen. FYI, I’m sure you can get a more intellectual book about Faery and study a much more intense vein of Faery wisdom, but it might not be as much fun.

G. Hobyah a Faery Challenger

Singers are the angels, the Sidhe are mediators of the singer energies, Faery Guides & Guardians are in direct relationship with we humans and our creative gifts, the Help-Line Troupe are the elementals, and the Faery Challengers help us with our shadow work: bringing it into the light, helping us confront our fears, denials, traumas and bad behaviors.

Pretty important role they play, isn’t it? Yes, actually all of them are critically important to the balance of the Earth and Cosmos and the humans in between.

Get the book. Get it now! It’s been around a while.

Inner Journey: Redwood Dimensions

When manmade noise abates and the whispers of nature become musical expressions in simplicity, the question of dimension arises, only because the line between sleeping and waking is more apparent then.

In contrast, the veils between the worlds are very thin. It must be dusk.

Walking down the trail, time, even seasons, are elusive among the majestic Redwoods and loyal Madrones. Mere minutes separate us from the city drones, yet this walk is like a trip into before when the sounds of horses hooves pounded out the smells of earthen moisture dwelling underneath the dust. In a moment, it can shift the obsession of achievement into accidental vulnerability and soft focus.

With a fast and steady pace, the heart rate quickens, challenging oxygen uptake, ultimately stimulating the endorphins of any hiker, elite or novice.

Try a sauntering pace, take time to look up before the light is stolen by night. Redwood branches and foliage scrape the sky–the view is dizzying–carving out a kaleidoscope of shapes and tones. These old souls somehow influence consciousness.

And the luxury of drawing breath goes mostly unnoticed, yet eventually opens a door allowing fragrance to sachet through the senses. Gentle as the breeze, it flows in and then out again.

Darkness advances.

The aging eucalyptus tree creaks like a rusty hinge on an old farm gate in the gloaming wind, always mysteriously half open. Coyote and bobcat eyes peer out from within the brush on the ridge top as humans depart and the lifeblood of this sanctuary, everything authentic, waits for the footsteps to cease.

Nature’s daily expiration crosses time, cooling the light sheen of warmth and moisture on skin, now thin with sensation. Intrinsic excitement explodes into goose bumps, frosting its surface as this coupling of life’s forces gives birth to enchantment.

Night has come.

Adventures of Samba

Samba is a whale. He’s an Orca, and just for fun, he sometimes likes to go by the name, “ThrillerWhale!”

He just loves to lay on his back on the surface of the Sea, his eyes closed, soaking up the sun, kicking his fins, rolling over to blow and breathe, then rolling onto his back again, just reee-laxing.

Samba says this is the best way to reminisce…and whales have incredible memories so there’s lots to reminisce about! In fact, you probably already know this, Whales are the Record Keepers of all life in our Galaxy throughout eternity!

Mmmmm. Floating. Dreaming. Feels so luxurious. Samba re-membered his life before water, before swimming. It was his big journey, a once in a lifetime adventure.

A huge cluster of stars and planets appeared in his dream. They were filled with amazing beings who loved the Earth, humans and all who live here. Samba has always been great friends with the faeries and other Earthly elementals, even when he was a Starling high in the sky, and especially now that he’s a Whale swimming the wide open Seas.

Somehow, the sea was a lot like the sky.

He remembered his first really grand wish. During his baby Star years, Samba was gazing around the Galaxy and wished upon the bigger Stars for a visit to Earth one day. Suddenly, before he could blink even once in surprise, Samba’s little Star body started to jiggle and quake.

All the tethers between his aura and his Star Friends began to let go all around him. Even the strands that linked him to the planets were getting loose. And smack in the middle of all the links, his connection to the Sirius Sun broke free and he began faaaaalling from the sky!

By now you’ve probably guessed, that was the night Samba’s journey to Earth began.

And more to come as Samba the Great Orca from Heaven continues to dream.

Spider Brains: A Love Story

This guy is hanging on my wall this morning. His legs, as you can see, are bright green and his body looks like a halloween goblin!

He must have arrived just in the nick of time and in honor of Susan Wingate’s new young adult release, “Spider Brains.”

I’d just finished reading her post about the blog tour when this strange looking arachnoid appeared! Today Susan is featured at Cocktails and Books, an online book review and book club blog.

What an interesting way to promote a book these days. In fact, if you are a writer, you might want to look into this type of marketing at Pump Up Your Book, a virtual book publicity service. You can also get a schedule for the rest of Susan’s blog tour there.

I haven’t yet read “Spider Brains,” though I have read Susan’s 2011 adult release, “Drowning,” which won national fiction awards…in fact, it seems as though all her books win awards. She’s pretty funny too…you might just want to follow the comedy of her life (click on blog at the top of her home page) and the writing challenges she posts of Facebook.

Check it out..as far as I can tell, all Susan’s books are available on Kindle and other electronic devices….and she’s really interested in other writers’ success and evolution.

A golden quality, among all her other good stuff!

Meanwhile, I think I’ll try to find a way to put the green-legged monster outside. He’ll be happier there.

Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns

I adore Ireland; it’s in my heart, and my soul is just another tree, blade of grass, or one of the whispers of an Irish breeze. I long for that land’s misty climes, its green rolling landscapes and all its taunting and unseen inhabitants. I feel at home there and one day will mostly likely live there, at least part time. I loved Ireland even before I visited my first time, yet it wasn’t an easy relationship in the beginning, no sir-ree, not a bit! So when I read Tanis Helliwell’s new book, “Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns,” I laughed and cried and felt nothing but empathy for each of her true-life characters.

Imagine traveling to Ireland for the first time with great expectations that the country was filled only with love and a thousand welcomes. Isn’t that what slainte means? Imagine believing you would miraculously find yourself in some castle ruin and that this little stormy island would open it’s arms to embrace and carry you, like a long lost child of nature, beyond the veils of the otherworld, to a place of incredible beauty. Imagine expecting to find immediate work, to meet wonderful new friends and even a romantic soul mate.

Ha! Instead, you meet a bi-polar escapee from a mental hospital in the North. Turns out you are a total fool, setting yourself up as bait, good pickins’ for the little people’s antics. During the first week your fantasy turns into the rainiest, grumpiest, most confrontational inner journey you’ve ever taken, and until this moment, you had no interest in learning about your shadow either! Spirituality was only a lofty and serene place high above the clouds, beyond the galaxy we know.

The rental car company, without notice, deducts three times the price of the quoted rate from your teeny tiny available credit card balance; you have crazy dreams and feel lonelier than you’ve ever been; you are fearful and lost, blaming the locals for giving bad directions and generally resenting their bright-eyed snickers as you drive away in some unknown direction. There are parking tickets, stolen hubcaps, and fights with the authorities about all of it. You are in a constant state of complaint as there is no internet connection; the truth is, you plain and simply just wanted to experience something fantastical, staying home and reading about someone else’s travels.

With what little money remains on your already bulging plastic ticket to a faeryland adventure, you eat potatoes, cabbage and carrots for five weeks straight, wandering around like a victim of the famine, at the effect of almost everything Irish. The brogue is so alien, it might as well have been Russian or Japanese. You look sheepishly and obviously, very American. Then one day the sun peeks out from behind the clouds and you finally find your inner Craic, your flow and your ability to meet the energies of this land which exist in a constant state of time warp and novelty.

This is my story, and now, 15 years later, I’ve been to Ireland many times, expecting nothing and coming home with everything. You get the picture. My own story, like many others, is similar to the tale Tanis Helliwell tells in her recently released, “Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns.” Different people, same sites. Different experiences, same lessons.

Eleven days on a bus with 30 people from varying levels of spiritual knowledge and even religious backgrounds; a matching number of journeyers who came specifically for the elemental experience, and those who doubted almost completely; at least 30 taunting elementals including goblins, trolls, brownies, faeries and leprechauns, all laughing while stirring the cauldron of inner growth; a stubborn bus driver who refuses access to the on-board toilet; a grumpy tour guide who is a self-touted expert and author writing about faeries yet doesn’t want to meet them, ever; and three different versions of a sacred site tour itinerary, planned 18 months in advance, all magnified by the tensions running between the three leaders who were attached to them!

Yet, as dramatic as this seems, this is quite like a typical trip to Ireland, filled with trip-ups and misfires, when tourists meet up with the local Craic.The superficial definition of Craic is a joke, an adventure, or a good time, an identifier known as something quintessentially Irish. And while it’s all done in good fun, the Craic these tourists in “Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns” experienced together was much more than a visit to a local pub and a sharp poke in the ribs.

At the very least, the Craic challenged everyone’s attachments and expectations. Some had physical manifestations, others more emotional and psychological experiences as a result of their own tightly held patterns and states of mind. The elementals were there “to help” each one of the participants get over themselves! In the end of course, some did and some didn’t learn to laugh at the inevitable reflections.

In “Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns,” Tanis Helliwell describes the Craic as akin to the Tao, or The Way.

The Tao is a life path; it is the meridians and other energy channels inside us that also weave through the planet and all its creations. Because it is nature, the Craic, like the Tao, offers a constant growth stimulus demanding surrender or else! Naturally occurring, there is darkness and light, balance and chaos living within each human and every little blade of green Irish grass. It’s all about the little streams and gentle currents, yet it is also the rushing rivers of change within every living being; that which we see and that we don’t see quite so easily.

Unless we drop our roles, surrendering to the ebb and flows of something much grander than we are, we get caught up in the whirlpools, knocking about underneath the surface and only coming up for air when the water spins around a rock or bubbles up, just because. We are choking, bruised and battered by our own resistance to this thing we see outside ourselves called nature.

In a time when the news is all pretty discouraging at best, “Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns” inspires us to be trusting and accepting without blinders. It’s an adventure story, a story of humans co-habitating with elementals; it’s about life lessons. It is told with humility and grace, a nod and a twinkle, and absolutely filled with Craic. Entertaining, insightful and provocative, I read it in an evening lying on the couch and am now working on my psychic transport skills. I’d like to smell the peat fires burning, to feel the wind and soak up the dew on my skin. I’d like to walk on that dark rich soil of Ireland again soon.

“Pilgrimage with the Leprechauns” is available at Tanis Helliwell’s website or at Amazon.com.