Journey Inward: At the Edge of the Forest

Life is a sacred journey; we need only go within. This is the first in a series of inner world, shamanic journeys.

The Pathway In

The Pathway In

At the Edge of the Forest

“Who do you want to be–you or some accommodated version of another person’s projection you believe is a true reflection of you?”

I sat on my stump at the edge of the forested path, contemplating his question, looking out at the rounded landscape embroidered with the last vestiges of Spring’s wildflowers. They were almost impressionistic, maybe like the surreality of Monet’s inner world.

Trying to make it all feel less like a dream, and avoiding my own inner world, I searched for the sea beyond the fog. As always, in the Summer months, it was there, just beyond my vision, at the edge of the hills behind a fluffy yet formidable white wall. If I touched the fog in my dream, it would dissipate and I would find my answers lying out there lifting with the swells in one moment and lost in the troughs the next. Right now though, I wasn’t ready to see.

He was standing nearby, one foot on his own stump, breathing down on me like the wind and towering above me like a giant tree god. His skin was the same rusty color as the local redwood bark, his hair polished, long and black. Almost like the searing and burnished charcoal wounds inside the remains of a fire-gutted trunk, I’m certain lightening had struck his foliage many times too. Even his gaze matched the lifelong scars of courage and resilience on those gigantic trunks, his formidable stature was powerfully duplicated in each of his subtle bodies.

As age rings on a tree claim another year of growth and wisdom, each layer of his energy was individuated and clear. The golden threads of connection sewing the memories together synergistically, and like the volunteers growing from dismembered stumps into a circular fortress of new growth, he was also immortal. When he glanced down at me, his eyes contradicted this mystery. One blue, one green, each reflected a picture window to all souls. In them, I could view the history of the Universe, if I chose to see it.

“Are you searching for acceptance?” He prodded me again.

“Yes,” I said. “From myself.” Then I became whiny. “Why do people feel so put off by me…as if I have an expectation of them?”

“Because you carry pictures in your field as you work through the old energy,” he was still standing on one foot, gazing into the forest in the opposite direction of my outward view. “As it is scraped from the marrow of your bones, its dust covered gumminess begins to surface. Eventually the rain washes it away. Because you don’t hide it, you expose it. Because they don’t want to deal with their own lack of acceptance, you light them up in ways they don’t want to acknowledge…ways they feel they are superior to you. Just by doing your own housecleaning they are shown the dirty corners of their lives they believe they’ve already cleared. You show them their lies,” he sounded as though this all came from a place higher than the tree tops.

“Maybe they’ve already completed those lessons and they have no tolerance for someone like me who is just now getting to that sticky stuff,” I was so willing to dismiss myself and my progress.

He stood there for a moment, the precise triangular corners of his eyes looked at me with one eyebrow lifted, seemingly debating whether or not to give me any more input. I could tell he wondered why, in these moments, he even wasted his time. It was his usual response when I disrespected myself, yet this time he showed me some mercy. “No. They are projecting onto you so you not only do your work, you also hold their secrets. Why would you want to carry all that?” This was a constant question. Why would I want to carry all that?

“If you believe you aren’t equal to them, if you give them your power and recoil, you also allow them to lord their illusion over you like an invisible ceiling.” I turned away from my fog bank to look up at him. He’d definitely used the right words. I was suddenly and totally present.

“Unconsciously they want you to believe you are the cause of the upset inside them. What you expose in yourself uncovers and mirrors the secrets they try desperately to hold in place. If you anchor your truth in your belly and your feet on the ground, their lies will ultimately be revealed to their own consciousness and they will no longer stomach the energy as it rushes upward giving them a big nauseating headache. One day they will spontaneously throw-up when you aren’t around, projecting this delusion onto themselves. That’s when they’ll know.”

My eyes were closed through the last bit; I wanted to envision this part of the story. Then I swiveled around, slowly lifting my lids to the wild flowers looking through my eyelashes at the golden hills. And turning the rest of the way around, I looked out wide-eyed at the ocean. It was calm and flat, like glass, the still pool of true reflection.

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

Little Brother

Every time Sara thought of her little brother, she wept with a depth she’d never felt for anyone else.

She loved her little brother.

And she was always responsible for everything he did wrong.

Constantly confused with someone who didn’t love anyone, her heart was often distracted with projections of heartless-ness.

“WHYyyyyy!?” Sara screamed it into the mirror so no one else would be harmed by her rage.

Even today, no one really understood how deeply Sara loved. At least that’s how it felt to Sara.

Not even her brother for whom she cried everyday could see past his own dark and heavy need for love. No, her brother couldn’t see her at all. She went to war with the devil for him as a baby, she stood for him as a tortured little boy growing up. She took risks with everyone in her family for her brother–the man who was willing to sell his soul again and again because he was desperately seeking recognition by those around him, anyone.

And Sara recognized him no matter how far down he went.

Even when the demons took over his body, she always saw her little brother’s soul, lost behind the glaring red eyes and pointed teeth, lost under the decaying skin of beings no one should ever have to see. She saw Gerard even when he blamed her for everything that went wrong in his life.

“It’s just the demons in him, that’s who’s talking.” Sara continued to believe, even after a lifetime of the same grueling hopeless fight, to find the light in him.

She didn’t want to believe it, but in her heart she knew it was over the day he met Diana. If even one bit of his soul had survived the first 50 years of his life, he’d be hard pressed to save himself now.

Two weeks later while in England her niece Kaitlin called to report that her Father had abused her. She was so frightened she ran down the street to her younger sister’s school to call their Mother. Sara wasn’t surprised, but her chest cracked from the weight of Kaitlin’s emotions.

Six months later, Diana spat in Sara’s face from the altar at her wedding to Gerard. her face was like a beautiful maiden’s on one side. On the other, that familiar disintegration was happening and only Sara saw it. Everyone else in the congregation that night sat staring in unconscious bliss. Even the minister’s skin was decaying.

“She’s got control over him,” Sara felt her own bones turning to dust under her skin. “And now she’s going after  my parents and the girls.”

Kicks in the Wind

“Finally,” she said. “A moment to myself. No more communication from any source. It’s been a long month.”

Spent, Sara went down on the bed, into the milieu of propped-up pillows placed ever so carefully, in just the right way to create some neutrality for her aching back. Her landing on that cushy cloud of white and green was not graceful. Yet it didn’t matter that the pillows squished out from underneath her body, flattening into a bumpy pile of sponge. Anything to allow her back a reprieve from all the hard work it had been doing was welcome. She couldn’t wait to be still, clear her mind and relax her body, releasing all the thoughts that came to her, everyday, from places mostly unknown, save the few that she’d experienced over and over through the years.

Those, in some strange and self-defeating way, were her constant companions. Most shrinks, most friends, and most anyone who’d offered professional assistance over the years-certainly all the ministers-wanted to make Sara out to be in denial or a state of delusion, even dissociated. She knew though, these were not her thoughts. In fact, they were often the thoughts of those so-called friends and professionals, violently projected onto Sara where they froze in time and space, collecting the dust of similar thoughts that rode in on the wind.

It had now been close to three weeks since one of those bludgeonings had come in on the breeze in the restaurant during brunch one morning. And like many of the negative thoughts that appeared on Sara’s radar, this one was accompanied by a swift kick. That day it went right to the sacrum and lumbar spine, the precise point where her vulnerability had been all her life.

“It’s truly amazing to me, that after all this time, they don’t know I’m paying attention!” Sara laughed to herself. “But maybe the joke’s on me. After all, I keep taking it,” she said it with the wonder of a new perspective. “What would people think or do if I spoke up every time they kicked me?!” Something in that was actually pretty funny.

Sometimes those kicks and throttles came like buckshot from an unknown someone’s rogue spray, yet those who knew her, those whom she knew, focused and aimed. Something in the connection between she and many people—call it Karma if it makes you feel better— highlighted the bull’s eye that was tattooed on her body or somewhere in her aura. Sara wasn’t quite sure where it really existed. This one was no less on the mark, and this was friendly fire, so to speak.

“Maybe it’s my fault,” Sara said it casually to her friend Nora that day in between sips of their favorite chai tea. “Maybe I’m just masochistic enough, or guilty enough, that I point, saying, ‘it’s right here! Just a little to the right and up. There you go! Now you’re on target!’”

Anyway, this night, with all the pillows around her, she really wanted to drift off to sleep like she had several nights before, with a smile on her face, love in her heart, and two sweeeeet, sweet kit cats at the foot of the bed.

“Ah. That feels good,” she was settling in to clear energy and then read for a bit before she turned out the lights.

Twang! Sara’s tendons and ligaments actually sounded off as her neck lost all muscle control and her head snapped back. “Aughfff. Whoa, where’d that come from?” Sara said it aloud but softly to the cats, wondering why her neck was suddenly hinged back and stuck in place. “It’s never come at me like this before–from the front!”

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“I need your help,” it came as whisper to the light beings she knew were up there beyond that familiar black cloud. “I need your help, please help me. Why am I being challenged so much in this life?” Sara went to sleep with hopelessness in her voice and the old familiar loneliness in her heart.

“Why can’t I see you? Why can’t this be finished? I’ve worked so hard,” Sara was crying now. The tears came freely; it was the only outlet. Her back was too fragile to sob as deeply and convulsively as she really wanted, and needed.

“THREE, THREE, THREE! Three, three, three!” she chanted, doing the simplest possible proactive thing she could imagine, fading into a night of desperation. More softly now, “three, three, three.”

It’s All in the Numbers

Sara fell asleep with joy written all over her face. She felt in her bones, and for the first time in, well, maybe years, she awakened with budding enthusiasm for a new day.

“Finally!” She threw off the covers, stood naked in her bedroom window, exclaiming it to the world. “I woke up!” Something really subtle had happened the day before, yet the resulting shift in her deepest sense of herself was dramatic.

Five years before, her mentor Serge had mentioned a key to her, something she needed to find before she could unlock the power of her destiny.

“There’s a hidden key someplace; your own key, hidden very well before you were born. You not only hid it well, you encoded its location in something very simple. So simple, you’ll laugh aloud when you figure it out because it was always right in front of your face.” He laughed in amusement and never called again.

It had been almost 5 years since she’d spoken to him.

About a month ago Sara had a faint glimmer of memory—a baby star of truth in her mind that led her down what she thought was an ego path. In fact, as she sat her computer each day looking up meanings and symbology for the Triple Goddess, she was faintly ashamed at how she might have come to this conclusion so she stopped looking. It took another few weeks to get back to the task because she honestly figured it was all born from insecurity and self-loathing, a need for some outer reflection that she was okay.

“It was true,” she thought to herself. “I was right, it was born out of neediness and feeling unsupported. “I was searching for a reason to like myself, yet in the long run it didn’t matter why. All that matters is finding the links that lead me to my own personal key!” She was light and joyous, flitting around like a hummingbird.

The key was hidden in her birthdate numerology: 3-3-3. There were only 18, maybe 20 possibilities for three three’s. People born with that combination of numbers still would have to have been born after 1900. Before that, they would already be dead.

It was the sign of the Ascended Masters.

Copyright 2012 The Energetic Connection

Agreements

It was time.

Sara was both elated and fully spent after months of moving energy, shifting out of the old morphogenic field, the one she’d occupied with all her old friends.  She broke the agreements they’d made, just like they’d all said they would, long ago, in another world.

And because of that preparation, she could access the incredible golden light of the angelic realms more frequently now, whereas in the past, she’d only known, or maybe she’d always just pretended they were there.

Today she was both celebrating and testing the waters by taking a great chance going to lunch with someone still tied to that past. She’d be brushing up against the edge of that old territory with a friend who wasn’t really part of the destiny she’d collided with back in the winter months, yet it was someone who’d been pulled into the surging currents along the periphery of that energy field a few years back. Hovering in the outer rings all this time, the woman had only recently begun to navigate the maelstrom of its center.

Tables now fully turned, it was a strange set of circumstances at best. Sara was the outcast and this woman was in her place, with her old friends, taking up the space in her old field of influence. It was like meeting the new girlfriend of an ex-husband.

And even though Sara wanted nothing to do with that old group, she leaped out of the car, practically running to the restaurant door, enthusiastic about her lunch with Teresa. It had been three months since their last meeting, back when everything was still ripe and painfully acute.

Smiling, she scanned the restaurant, her energy field searching for that friendly signal or a vibration she remembered. “Where is she?” Nothing felt familiar, none of the old bright-eyed energy wafted through the air to meet her today. “Oh, there she is,” Sara’s hand went up immediately to wave hello when saw the face.

There, in the back corner was Teresa, standing up slowly, avoiding eye contact as she shuffled forward in flip-flops and a baggy old sun dress. As she approached, Sara noticed there was no make-up, not even a hint of mascara. Teresa’s posture was saggy and her sun-tanned skin looked wrinkled well beyond her 40 years.

She could feel the others’ presence hiding within Teresa. They were in her words and the tone of her voice, her mannerisms and the masculine way she held herself, and mostly in her lack of receptivity. There was a coldness in her eyes, maybe a deadness; at the very least her eyes were vacant and hard.

Later that same day, Sara glided into the underworld where she met her guides. Wordlessly, the instruction came through loud and clear.

“Go to the place where it all began, “ they said it in unison. “Speak from your soul to theirs. Break the agreements once again and remind them of their oaths to the Creators. You are to be alone now, learning to embrace your essence and your power within. They are three, because you are three and you always have been three.” It was like a song or a chant as the tones of their voices harmonized the information without words.  Three guides, three old friends, three of Sara. “The missing piece can be found in your commitment to the triple Goddess.

“She is gestating inside you, yet to be born.”

 

Copyright 2012 The Energetic Connection

Falling

Both the sea and sky roiled in anger as Sara watched through the window from her seat above the cliff.

She was a passenger in her own car and the symbolism really pissed her off.

“What’s wrong with me? Why do I continue to choose men who abuse me? Why can’t I just stand up, tell the truth and walk away?” She knew the answer, yet wasn’t ready to face it.

This lookout was the place they’d made love and as well, the place where war had broken out repetitively.

Sometime in the middle of their relationship, one of his ex-girlfriends came to Sara with a story about how Daniel had taken her on a romantic drive into the country one day. Unexpectedly he’d begun yelling and flailing at her, the car swerving towards a death crash with every swing of his arm. His profanities and accusations had sliced her to the bone before he’d finally spun the car around in a gravel turnout on some old unmarked highway and told her to get out. When she wouldn’t, he’d reached over, opened the door and pushed her onto the ground, speeding away.

Today, on the edge of the western sea, Sara sat motionless in the car as she always did during her visions, until she was rousted by a hot foreign energy breathing into her face.

“I just don’t get these visions of yours and honestly I don’t believe you even have them!” He turned toward her, his large frame hovering, his arms practically engulfing her after slapping both the dashboard and the head rest. She had no place to go, she couldn’t even turn fast enough to open the door and run.

And the only real safety she would ever have from Daniel and all the other men who came before him, was deep self-inquiry and fearless reflection about her past choices. The only real safety was to make the only choice she knew she needed to make.

Little did her conscious mind know that night, she would be awakened abruptly in the early morning hours by a swift kick to her low back. Little had she ever envisioned as a possibility, she would awaken a second time that morning, in the hospital, with the man who’d beaten her sitting by her side, holding her hand, crying into the stiff white hospital sheets.

Copyrighted by the Energetic Connection 2012