Posted in Society, Winter 2015 - 2016

Light vs. Dark

Is the story of light versus dark the same as good versus evil? Dark demons and angels of light are integral parts of my tales so the question must be answered. To be brief, “no” dark is not necessarily evil and light is not always good. Rather, here is where I must credit the wisdom of Taoism because both light and dark are good in there own way and each can be destructive.

The argument for light is most obvious. Light is needed for most forms of learning. The Age of Enlightenment was called that because of the strides made by scholars, (not because the sun was any brighter.) Enlightenment in Buddhist terms also means an awakening to knowledge in a spiritual sense as opposed to actual illumination. 

Light has another meaning though in referring to the weight of something. Is that a coincidence? Maybe not, when someone is described as lighthearted, they are using the word not only to mean cheerful and carefree but also to mean with few worries to burden them. In my spiritual learnings souls that are light in appearance, glowing white like the moon, are also light in weight because they leave by floating straight up to the heavens.

The argument against darkness is just as plain. The Dark ages were named for the lack of scientific achievement and the accompanying rise in superstitious beliefs. My friend Vibrant used this meaning in his thought provoking piece, Beyond Being Helped. Interestingly by linking darkness to both ignorance and suffering, darkness becomes like a “heavy weight inside you.” My own experience follows this track. When I meet dark demons, they are tethered firmly to the earth by their pain and bitterness.

Fortunately, in my mission to help these trapped demons, I have been gifted with an alternate view of both light and dark. The argument for darkness begins with the womb. This is where our mortal lives begin. Again and again when I have known difficulties and pain, I retreat like a hermit in a cave. Reminiscent of the womb, I find my ability to heal and grow, magnified in an environment of quiet, darkness and security.

Sometime ago when I wished to become a teacher, I took a class on positive discipline and self-esteem. There I learned of emotional-intelligence. The idea, as I understood it, was that even when a child seems not to be progressing at all, in a visible manner, the child is likely learning essential things inwardly, emotionally. The theory made so much sense I converted immediately. Now I understood the need for darkness like I never had before. There is a reason we sleep better in the dark and (traditionally) had sex in the dark and like to cry in the dark. Darkness gives us a sense of privacy. It gives us a safe haven to experiment with new things, feelings and thoughts that allow us to grow inwardly; emotionally.

As for light, just as too much time in the sun can give you a painful sunburn. Too much time spent in front of an audience, being judged or tested is damaging to your soul. We all need to feel free to try new things, make messes and mistakes, to grow our own sense of spiritual well-being. That may be what Heliopolister was onto when he said, “contained in even that which is judged to be horrific is a certain divinity” in his stirring post Gratitude Unbound. Often it is from our greatest mistakes we learn our most deeply valuable lessons. I have found that the most grotesque spirits contain the most beautiful and powerful souls.

In the end, light and dark, like day and night, move in a cycle of inner emotional study and outer intellectual reaching. A floating detachment is associated with light while firm attachments tend to darken and weigh down our spirit. Neither is entirely good nor evil, both have their purpose. Attachments teach us how to care for our physical bodies and empathize with others, detachment allows our spirits to soar through intellectual learning and spiritual awakening. Attachments give us a sense of identity as a single unique being, detachment teaches us we are but a piece of a far larger whole. I believe we are on this earth to learn both and through the balancing of light and dark enrich our souls beyond the reaches of either alone.

Posted in Dark Dreams

Box On Fire

Pyra was the first to call me and ask me to free her from the prison, the Hell, her own mind had created. Her hands shook and her eyes shiny with tears as she begged me to punish her, so she could move on. Pyra wanted to go anywhere even Hell, to get away from this crime she had committed. Looking around it seemed to me that she was stuck in a box on fire.

The flames kept changing, they were around the house, then in the house, then just a little crackle creeping from the fireplace, then everywhere again. There was a man in a chair that kept disappearing. He never moved his blackly dark staring corpse. But the corpse would disappear then reappear. The box looked like a house but there was only one room as far as I could see, the dining room where the man’s black corpse kept popping in and out unexpectedly. Yet there must have been more rooms Pyra could see, because she walked in and out of the flaming doorways as if she was going to different rooms.

I’m so glad you’re here.” She spoke timidly, her body shaking, rubbing her hands in anxiety. “I know I must be punished, please don’t make me wait anymore.”

The woman’s eyes tearfully pleaded. Her clothing was from 1870’s I guessed. I sensed she wanted to hold on to me and stay with me. But for some reason she suddenly started moving about terrified. She was reliving her crime.

She was packing, she had to get away. He was coming. She was so scared of him. She’d rather die than stay with him. He came home, she pretended everything was fine. But he knew better, he yelled at her, saying nasty things about her, hit her and kicked her, like a dog.

Then it gets blurry, she isn’t thinking straight. Things happen in a rush I can’t keep up. Next thing I know his corpse is in the chair and she is sobbing beside it. He is dead and Pyra has killed him. How I can’t figure out.  There is no blood and no wound. Hit over the head? His head looked fine, there is no sign of bump or bruise, not even a hair seems out of place. Heart attack? That would be convenient, too convenient. Prya clearly thinks she killed him. But she is so passive subservient, like a servant! That is when I see the wine glass on the table. Poison, that makes sense.

Prya had thought of poisoning him first I realize. She had it all ready, but then she got scared and didn’t want to kill him. Oh my! She still loved him. This man had made her life unbearable but she still loved him. She had changed her mind and decided to run away. She would have, if he had not come home too soon. She gets up sadly and starts spreading the fire. She had planned it that way before, she would poison him and then burn the house down with his corpse in it so no one would know how he died.

The fire spreads fast. She is moving slow. Suddenly she realizes she could be killed and starts to run for the door, but stops, turns around and looks at her dead husband. She doesn’t move as the flames lick her. She thinks she deserves this, to burn in Hell. So she executes herself and has been stuck here ever since.

Her soul couldn’t really go to Hell I know, because she died with love in her heart. It’d be like trying to drown a balloon. No matter how many times you push it down it floats to the surface.

I took her hand, full of sympathy. As I led her to the door of her burning home I kept picturing a field of flowers. When I opened the door, it was there. She tried to argue, I kept insisting, “this is where you belong.” Finally, I told her it was all a bad dream, (as it was for me.) “You got away before he came home. The rest never happened.”

I don’t think she believed it, but Prya took her first step into the meadow of flowers and disappeared in a flash of light. I never saw her or dreamed of her again, but every once in a while when I dream I’m helping a woman get away from her abusive partner, I feel like Prya’s there, cheering us on.

Posted in Fate, Winter 2015 - 2016

Darkness Falls

He was my daughter’s oldest friend’s father. I met him only once, but I think of him whenever I hear James Blunt. He even looked like Blunt. He looked at me like I was an angel, but I had no time. I was busy with my own kids. Walking them home from school., I worried he was making a pass at me, when he asked me to watch over his son. He killed himself on Valentine’s Day, less than a week later. I’m sorry, I’m not that kind of angel. I chose darkness not light.

I tried to be angry at God, “Why is my life so full of sorrow?” I wanted to yell. But the words never left my head, as soon as I thought them I knew the answer. I picked this path of my own free will before I was born.

I picked it when I saw her die in the snow, my beloved from a past life. A demon took her soul and if I am ever to find her I must search every shadow. Darkness will not tolerate light. So I tucked away my light and concealed myself in misery and loneliness. I chose to be born in virtual Hell, that I might serve my Lord best by finding and purifying the darkest demons. In so doing I serve my own soul by reassuring myself, she that was lost, can again be found.

When he died that winter, it was so hauntingly familiar.

How many die of broken hearts?

Millions every day. They suicide or have heart attacks. Some drink themselves to death, or overdose on drugs. Some have accidents because they were too distracted by pain to watch what they are doing. Many just don’t take care of themselves, they die from their own neglect.

Others die as a result of the broken hearted. Victims of murder and terrorism die when the broken hearted take out their pain on the world. Even those that die from natural disasters. Those disasters are caused by the power of demons fed by bitter heartbroken souls.

Millions die everyday of broken hearts.

Was it my fault he died?

No he chose death, just as she did. You chose life, that is why you can help them. Only the living can save the dead.

I can feel the truth of it, I don’t know why. Only the living can save the lost souls of the dead. So I have to live, to embrace darkness despite my fear, and keep feeling and loving. For love is the magic that transforms the darkest demons into beings of light and joy.

I chose darkness, happily and humbly, and hopefully. Love is the only light I need. It blossoms in my heart like a flower. I water it with tears of joy to know that I can love have been loved. I know death and misery, but I remain unstained so long as I keep love alive in my heart like a lotus. When at last I drop the mantle of misery, darkness fades before my light as night disappears before the dawn.

Posted in Thankful Thursday

Grateful To Gibran

When people tell me I am too easy going with my children, I remember the words of Gibran.

Your children are not your children . . . For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow . . . Life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.”

And I rejoice to let my children follow their own path.

When people tell me I am too generous, giving to those that don’t deserve it, I recall Gibran.

You give but little when you give of your possessions. . . .For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow? . . . And what is fear of need but need itself? . . . And there are those that have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty. . . “

And I feel blessed to be able to give knowing whatever I give away makes me ever richer in faith.

When I fell guilty for my debts, I think of Gibran.

And you receivers – and you are all receivers –assume no weight of gratitude lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives. . . For to be overmindful of your debt, is to doubt his generosity who has the free hearted earth for mother, and God for father.”

And I rest easy knowing my acknowledgement of their gift is the best repayment.

When my heart is broken and bitterness would make me curse my ex-lover, I reread Gibran.

“When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
 Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
 He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you
 that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.”

And I kneel with tears of joy, to thank God I have the choice to let go of bitterness and when I remember my lover . . .

“To know the pain of too much tenderness.
 To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy; to return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.”

To not let go of love but to feel it ever stronger, as I let my lover go and return to my Lord’s embrace.

Thank you Khalil Gibran.

Posted in Why? Wednesday

Why Frodo Couldn’t Fly to Mordor

Do you suppose when Gandalf said “Fly you fools,” he meant for them to get the eagles to fly them to Mt. Doom?”

It’s a pretty good joke for fan’s of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. (Flee being a common definition for the word fly.) But as a devoted lover of the books (and movies) as well as a fan of British Mythos, I know the answer all too well to laugh. It is not the destination nor the winning in the end that denotes victory in good literature. It is the lessons learned upon the winding path that transform the orphan boy into the king, the clumsy peasant into hero, and wise wanderer into supernatural spirit. This is found in Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain, J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books and most interpretations of the King Arthur legends, as well as Tolkien’s trilogy. (Plus the Nazgul would have taken down the giant eagles before they reached Orodruin if Eowyn hadn’t defeated their Witch-king first.)

The art of Feng shui teaches a similar lesson in the importance of making a path that twists and turns slow but steady. A straight path moves too fast. Both wind and water that move too fast are destructive. Tornados and floods result from wind and water that build up momentum moving without barriers across great distances.

So too, is it true in life that the wise seek to improve, change and grow slowly, naturally in tune with the seasons. With reverence for those who go before and mindful of those that follow we in whose hands the fate of this world rests need not rush to save the world all at once, nor alone. Walking sure and steady encouraging others to join our march is the way.

If the giant eagles had successfully flown Frodo to Mt. Doom, they alone would have been the heroes and all the glory of the triumph of light over dark, good versus evil would belong to them. Instead through the company’s struggle “The Lord of the Rings” is filled with heroes of all shapes and sizes, no one single character stands alone. Frodo is carried by Samwise and Gollum destroys the ring. While Aragorn raises the army of the dead, and Peregrin helps Gandalf to save Faramir, it is the courage of a woman, Eowyn and a hobbit, Meridoc that brings down the Witch-king. Thus the story’s victory of good conquering evil is shared by all and glorifies the contributions of the smallest as much of the greatest.

So it is today as we pray to God and his angels (with wings like eagles) to save us, that the wise know in their hearts, when He lets us fall, it is because He know we are capable of so much more. Like a parent watching their child take those first steps, He knows He must let go or we will never learn to walk much less fly.

Posted in Texts Tuesday

A Day of Rest

Is the Sabbath best spent as a day of rest, community or worship? And why do the three major Abrahamic religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam each celebrate it on a different day? Is a three day weekend necessary to show respect to all?

Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you , nor your son or daughter, nor your manservant or maidservant, nor your animals, nor the alien within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.- Exodus 20:8-11 New International Version

The Sabbath part 1 – A Day of Rest

To take the seventh day off every week sounded so easy when I was child. But in my own modern life, it is the one commandment, I break the most. While Saturday and Sunday are days off from school and some places of work, there is always housework to be done. Occasionally, I am able to get caught up enough to take a day off from dishes and laundry and eat leftovers instead of cooking. But it takes planning and dedication to do it every week. On those weeks when I do manage a day off, I am amazed at the energy and sense of renewal I experience. To just sit, listen, breath and relax, that is when I think the Sabbath is important and would like to improve myself and my life by observing it weekly.

But the first order of planning for it is deciding which day to call Holy. Going back to the root of it, Saturday is the obvious choice. One of my few friends is a Seventh-day Adventist, that means that even though she is Christian she holds the seventh day (Saturday) Sacred. She is quite devout and I admire her dedication to her beliefs. Most of all I applaud her abstaining from any activity on Saturday where anyone might have to work for her benefit. No stores, no movies, no restaurants, no carnivals will she attend on the Sabbath. Only church, family or friends will she visit, nor will she eat any cooked food. I also, had a friend who said that in a very Jewish neighborhood, you’ll notice everyone walking on Saturday because they forgo even driving cars on the Sabbath.

How beautiful I think, to spend a day so in touch with the natural and spiritual, to be able to avoid the material, industrial, commercial influences in our lives. It also makes sense for those who wish to cleanse their bodies through fasting, not to go out on your day of rest.

There is a problem, though. I like to think of the Sabbath as a day of rest sleeping in at home, but what about going to church? Next week The Sabbath part 2 – Community Matters

Posted in Gratitude, Winter 2015 - 2016

Full Moon Reflections

Saturday was the full moon in Cancer, which put me in mind that now is the time to “reflect” on the past month and look to the next.

Undeniably, the best thing that happened this last month is what didn’t happen. My severely autistic son didn’t have a single seizure. (Sorry, I never mentioned his being epileptic.) No matter what else I do, taking care of him is my first job. He likes getting up early and finding me typing away. But then he is always happiest when I stay in one place, am available to him and in a good mood. We share sweet tea with milk and giggles at four am. This is my bliss.

After that, writing again is my biggest personal accomplishment. I feel like I have been waiting for years for everything to line up. Not just me realizing I’ve had enough little tries, and deciding to go for my dream, but things all around me pulling towards this future. Like this broken shoulder which makes everything else I do incredibly frustrating, and all the other ways I’ve tried writing online that never felt right. All the different times I’ve tried to share my weird dreams, but there was never enough time to explain it all, nor could I reach more than a few somewhat interested people.

And then there’s the money, which kept me ever on edge. While the federal government gives money to my son for his care, those of us who care for him get nothing. It’s been quite a struggle. After all these years my mother finally said she wants to help financially, so I can be with my son. And thanks to the tireless prodding of one sister and months of searching by another, we found a home for my mother that is affordable, suitable to her needs and best of all run by loving and kind couple who authentically felt right. Only now I can accept the money without fear or shame. She was my first reader and would love to see me get published as much as I would.

Next is how wonderfully well this website WordPress works. My daughter recommended it to me when I asked about blogging sites. I was quite uncertain and confused, there is too much out there for a web-wader (not surfer) like me. I have thoroughly enjoyed the Blogging 101 class. I think we had about a hundred students from all over the world. It kept me from being too overwhelmed, trying to figure out everything at once. Each day I would try one new thing and that was cool.

Last though is the dream, I have felt so haunted by, for the last eight and a half years. I never before told anyone about my dreams until after the stuff happened. Years of guilt followed Nine-eleven, and the Indian ocean tsunami of 2004. Nor did I speak about the voice that told me  things I could not normally know. The 2008 Sichuan earthquake and 2011 Tohoku tsunami filled my being with cold the day before they happened. I don’t know if I can describe how it feels, knowing people are going to die, hearing others cry, the earth itself saying why. It feels horribly wrong and yet . . . it all makes sense. We are all connected, the earth too. That was how the dream felt. Only this time I have a guess when, and clues to where. Things I lacked before. Believe me, I want to be wrong. I want to change this. I want this all to end up the ground work for a great fictional novel. But I’d be damned if I said and did nothing. Seven hundred and nine days more should give me plenty of time to explain.

Next month I hope to work on continuity, choosing what to blog with a little more flow than last month. I also want to cut the pieces shorter and if my arm is willing draw more pictures.

Thanks for reading. Love to all.

Carolyne

 

Posted in Society Sunday

Of Honor and Atheism

Last week after publishing Of Science and Spirituality I received comments from a fellow blogger heliopolister (who writes some of the most beautiful invitations to awaken the spirit I have ever read.) I simply could not reply to in less than 300 words. I can see where it might be supposed that by saying . . .

If a person denies the importance of spirituality in today’s world then “From where,” I must ask them, “do you derive your morals and ethical beliefs? If you throw away spirituality then how do you know that deceit, thievery, rape or murder are wrong? Is this not the basis of the now popular line, “It’s only wrong if you get caught.””

. . .that I think people who do not espouse a spiritual belief are without morals.

Rather I was attempting to explain that in my experience I have yet to meet a person, whatever they may say they believe spiritually, whose morals, when examined did have roots in spirituality. In other words, I think you have a spiritual belief whether or not you say you do.

I do know Atheists who have the highest morals, that is why I mentioned Humanitarianism, to show that Atheism and Humanitarianism are not incompatible, nor do I see Atheism as not being spiritual. Buddhism is highly spiritual but does not require a belief in God. It requires the belief that all life is sacred. Is not the belief that all life is sacred a form of spirituality? Here is where I made my mistake, in looking up spirituality as well as Humanitarianism, I find that there is not a clear definition for either. 

The New Oxford American Dictionary defines spiritual as:

adjective

1 of, relating to, or affecting the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things: I’m responsible for his spiritual welfare | the spiritual values of life.

(of a person) not concerned with material values or pursuits.

Where spirit is defined as:

noun

1 the nonphysical part of a person that is the seat of emotions and character; the soul: we seek a harmony between body and spirit.

such a part regarded as a person’s true self and as capable of surviving physical death or separation: a year after he left, his spirit is still present.

such a part manifested as an apparition after their death; a ghost.

a supernatural being: shrines to nature spirits.

Therefore when I use spirituality as a noun I mean anything which is meaningful to the nonphysical, true self which is capable of surviving death.

As for Humanitarianism, wikipedia defines it as:

a moral of kindness, benevolence, and sympathy extended to all human beings. Humanitarianism has been an evolving concept historically but universality is a common theme in its evolution. No distinction is to be made on the grounds of gender, sexual orientation, race, caste, age, religion, ability, or nationality.

I continue to suggest this as code of morality to all people I meet no matter their religious affiliation. However I do realize that the roots of Humanitarianism are not only highly spiritual but also highly religious. For they stem from the moral maxim known as the Golden Rule which is a

“ principle of altruism found in nearly every human culture and religion, suggesting it is related to a fundamental human nature.” – wikipedia

As for Atheism there is the same potential for corruption as in any belief system that becomes popular. In fact, it is the popularity of a belief system that tends to corrupt it. No matter the religion, once it connects to enough other people to be used for personal gain its spiritual sanctity is jeopardized, for where there was once only spiritual value in the religion now there is the temptation of material gain. This more than anywhere else is where Atheism gets a bad reputation, for nowhere can we see the result of its corruption better than in its use in communist countries. Communism, like Atheism, started as a good and moral ideology but both have been corrupted due to their lack of a clearly stated axiom regarding the spiritual rights of each individual person. While other religions such as Christianity and Islam have been corrupted to serve cruel and murderous people, scholars who study their texts can revive the true and loving heart from which these religions were born. But I do fear it may be much harder to cleanse an ideology, that lacks any maxims of spirituality, of corruption. That is why I urge you to look to the roots of all religions (including Atheism) to find the common principles of spirituality. 

Again I apologize for any offense or misunderstanding, but I must speak as I find. Dark as well as light must be acknowledged in order for truth to be revealed.

(24 – 734)

Posted in Dark Dreams

Death Was My Beginning

Dying even only in a dream is scary. Most people say they always wake up right before they would have died, and so did I until . . .

I dreamt I was sight seeing in a beautiful castle in a South America. I was wandering through the ornate rooms trailing behind a family with many young boys that reminded me of my nephews. The boys were loud and rowdy, I couldn’t hear a thing the tour guide was saying. I let them get ahead of me so I could enjoy the rooms in relative quiet. Each room seemed to be whispering to me, but I could not make it out. The further I went in the louder the whispering got. Finally I reached a room with a waterfall on the left hand wall which flowed into a pool taking up a quarter of the room. Greenery grew all about the waterfall and pool. But even more striking was a statue of a woman that stood near the middle of the room at the edge of the pool. She was so well carved, I felt like she was alive looking down on me. In the center of her forehead was a large triangular emerald.

I could hear the whispering now, it was chanting the days of the week. As I got close to the statue, I realized the sound was not coming from her. I turned around and looked at the waterfall. That was where the sound came from. Above the waterfall there were words carved. They were the days of the week. The voices chanted all the days but ended with “sunday is rest day, on that day I sleep.” It was different from the rest of the chant . I move as close to the wall as I could, climbed on the tree carved on the side, reached up my hand and touched the word Sunday.

The wall moved and a cave was revealed behind the waterfall. I entered the cave, it was totally different from the rest of the castle. There were two rooms, the first looked like it had been built recently, it had electric lights a large metal fan and an air hockey table. The floor was strewn with litter, lots of chip bags and candy bar wrappers. But off to one side I could see where the secret passage way would have gone originally. The walls were rough hewn and dark. I entered the side chamber and found a place where a group of people had died, long, long ago. Scratched onto the wall was an account of how the native people had risen up against their white oppressors and trapped them in this room. There was no way out from this room. I shivered realizing they did not escape. I could feel their ghosts watching me and wanting revenge.

The family group came back while I was reading, seeing the room open the boys ran to the air hockey table and loudly began fighting over who got to play first. A chill ran through my bones as I realized, I should not have opened that door. These dead will not take kindly to this intrusion. Looking up I saw smoke curling over the boys. I moved as quickly as I could to the door. But it was shut and before I could look for a way to open it, the lights went out.

How long I stayed there in the dark, I can not say. Nor could I say for certain what killed me or how. But the thing I remember best was the splash of water, it felt so strange. In the dark I thought about how I had learned that water is often used to symbolize death. For a moment fear beckoned, but I knew in my heart I was not afraid of death, not anymore. I embraced the water. The next thing I knew I was floating in the village below the castle and I felt free and alive and lighter than I had ever felt before.

As a ghost I got the attention of a young man in the village and led him to the smoky castle. Somehow the family was saved but my body was removed covered by a sheet. I knew it was dead. I remained a ghost in the castle for the rest of the dream.

Posted in Fate, Winter 2015 - 2016

Choose to See

When I was seven I liked a boy and that was not socially acceptable to my peer group. We, girls, were supposed to hate boys. So when I was noticed playing with a boy, I was chastised in the usual manner of seven year olds, with teasing. I knew the drill, I had witnessed it the year before when a six year old had made the mistake of smiling and laughing with a boy she sat near in our class. She was teased constantly. The more she denied liking the boy, the more she was teased. She spent the rest of the year avoiding boys as much as possible. If she ever even glanced at a boy, the teasing again.

I had my back to the group serenading me with the k-i-s-s-i-n-g song, and closed my eyes imagining doing what I knew I was supposed to, to deny it, to avoid all boys from now on and to never play with my boy-friend again. I wouldn’t even be able to look at him. I would have to pretend he didn’t exist as if I didn’t even see him. No! I couldn’t do that.

I turned around and told the whole school yard, “yeah that’s right. I love him and he loves me!” It wasn’t totally true, I had no idea if he liked me back, much less loved me, but it was so worth it to see the shocked looks on everybody’s face. I didn’t know then that I had just repeated (in a small way) the very act I had been killed for hundred’s of years earlier.

I had my clearest past life vision at the age of fourteen. My last name being alphabetically close to a girl who was a Jehovah’s Witness, we couldn’t avoid getting put together at random times. In high school our lockers were side by side. One day she confided to me, “ I was always scared of you. All those books you read about magic, I was afraid you were a witch and would put a spell on me.”

I smiled back but said nothing. My first thought, if I was a witch I wouldn’t waste my time with you, didn’t seem like the right thing to say. My second thought, good thing we don’t live in the middle ages I would’ve been burned for certain, wasn’t much better.

And the third thing that popped in my head was bizarre.

They can’t do that again, because they already did. The voice in my head came out of no where and took me back,

I was standing on a scaffold, arms pulled back around a pole, wrists tied tight, hands numb. Looking down, people were gathering. They looked grim. How did I get here? How did this happen I wondered? It was like watching your life flash before your eyes when you know your going to die.

I saw the life of an orphan girl, a wood spirit, the locals thought her. She had a strange gift of healing. They had much need of that healing in the land now. A sickness was said to be coming, a plague. I had met the source of that sickness, or so he had appeared to me; a great dark demon.

He was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. His face was hidden behind the helmet of a warrior the like of which I’d never seen before. A cloak of dark tortured souls enveloped him, hundreds of thousands of souls of his murdered victims. The hatred in his mind was fresh. We were dirty, ugly, uncivilized animals to him. He felt justified in killing us with a black and painful plague. Yet in his heart I saw a light. It shone bright, like a star on the darkest night. He hated us most for our blindness, our own cruelty. We looked at him with fear and revulsion. We refused to see him before us. He was sad and lonely, so lonely.

I found the key soon after, to purify the soul of the demon with compassion and love. But the demon, after returning to the shape of the man he had been before left me with a shadow of the very thing that had destroyed him, loneliness. When he left, I felt lonely and foolishly sought to alleviate it by telling the villagers of the miracle that love was the way to fight demons.

In medieval times the definition of a witch was a woman who married or otherwise bound herself to the devil. My talk of loving a demon was like an open confession. They had no choice but to put me to death. But they didn’t want to kill me. Over and over they asked me to renounce him. I would not, I knew it was shunning and loneliness that had made him a demon in the first place. I knew I could not promise the townsfolk not to see him or others like him, I could not promise not to help them, the demons I met.

Remembering that on the scaffold gave me strength. I felt sorry for the people who could not see the truth that was right in front of them. People that had to kill me, a young woman out of fear. Poor things. It was the best death I could ask for to die for truth and for love.

(22/734)

Posted in Thankful Thursday

Ever Indebted to Corrie

I became acquainted with Miss ten Boom when I was still young. About ten years old I think, the movie of her story “The Hiding Place” repeated on our paid cable channel several times. When I saw it, I needed to know more. I felt the story was only half told. Later when I came across the book by the same name, I found so much more than I expected. It is among my favorite books and I highly recommend reading it for spiritual growth.

It gave me a start to understanding that truth really is stranger than fiction, because it is a true story more poignant that any melodrama and more miraculous than any bible story. It speaks of the triumph of the human soul. And that is the one victory no gun, nor bomb, nor march of time can stain. It stands alone beautiful, elegant, immortal.

Cornelia ten Boom was a survivor of a Nazi Concentration Camp but she stands alone in that her story brought to life for me two especially beautiful and wise souls. Her father, Casper and her sister, Betsie died at the hands of the Nazis yet through her memories of them I found two teachers of faith and devotion to light my way.

When a young Corrie asked her father the meaning of the word “sexsin, “ her father set down his case of watch parts and asked her, “Would you carry it off the train, Corrie?”

She tugged at it but, “It is too heavy,” she replied.

Yes,” he said. “And it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It’s the same with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you.”

Later when Corrie feared she would not be strong enough to endure should her father die, he asked her, “Corrie, when you and I go to Amsterdam – when do I give you your ticket?”

Why, just before we get on the train.”

Exactly,. And our wise father in heaven knows when we are going to need things, too. Don’t run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need – just in time.”

I love these stories for they taught me that not only is it not necessary for a parent to tell their children everything all at once but better still because it gave me the peace of mind to know it is not necessary as a child to have to learn everything all at once. We each carry what we are able as we are able and there is no shame in telling our Father, “This is too heavy.” He is proud to carry for us what we can not carry. We may have faith that He knows what we need and that He will supply it when we need it most.

Betsie though was the most amazing, she insisted on finding a way to be thankful for everything, even the fleas in the barracks. They kept the supervisor out . . . “ She wouldn’t step through the door and neither would the guards . . . Because of the fleas! That’s what she said. “ That place is crawling with fleas.””

It was Betsie who urged her sister Corrie saying, “We must go everywhere. We must tell people that no pit is so deep that He is not deeper still. They will believe us, because we were here.” Betsie died in that camp with a peaceful smile on her face. She had been gifted with a vision of a better future. Her sister Corrie saw that vision come true and spent her the rest of her life sharing her sister’s message.

Thank you Corrie!

(21-734)

Posted in Why? Wednesday

Why Heaven Needs Angels

I became a big watcher of shows on hauntings and other ghost stuff back at the beginning of the millennium. What I wanted was to know why I only dreamed about ghosts but didn’t see them when awake. Ghosts, I learned, would rather visit us in dreams. It is easier for them and it is less scary for us, so we listen better. It was watching those shows that I learned something that I did not expect. I learned why heaven needs angels and how spirit healers might save the world.

While most of the evidence in ghost stories is eyewitness testimony or reading of psychics, they also brought in some techno-savvy ghost hunters who would measure for magnetic anomalies. They had special cameras that caught electromagnetic images of floating orbs.

It was the electromagnetic orbs that set off a spark in my mind

You see I had also been looking up Edgar Cayce prophecies trying to figure out how to know if a prophetic dream was real and what to do with it. I came across one of his predictions that said the magnetic field that protects the earth from harmful radiation would weaken.

I didn’t need to look up why the magnetic field is important. I remembered from childhood , how similar Mars is to Earth. That if Mars had a magnetic field to protect it, life on Mars was likely. Mars lost its shield, no one knows how. It is also not known what causes our magnetic shield to fluctuate or weaken as it has. Most theories focus on the earth’s electrical currents at the core and it is being studied.

But what if those electromagnetic orbs had something to do with it? The image of angels in heaven, floating on clouds, looking down on their loved ones changes scope completely. I have been told that in Hindu philosophy, though the gods are awesomely powerful, they generally don’t bother with human affairs because they have far larger concerns like keeping the universe running. Maybe the reason the angels in heaven rarely visit is because they are busy protecting the earth from a solar wind that could wipe out the planet.

All of a sudden, I realized that helping those dead people I met in my dreams could be a lot more important than I had ever imagined. What if the reason the earth’s magnetic shield is so weak is because too many souls are earth bound? What if the earth’s core and the earth’s shield need balance to work? Balance is the key to life in Tao. But if the number of earth bound spirits is too many for spirit healers to free to maintain balance could that cause the weakening scientists have observed?

That was one of the many things I saw when I looked in His eye, its not enough to be a spirit healer myself. There are not enough of us. I was not sent to the buried metropolis in a dream to save the lives of those people. I was sent in that dream to prepare myself to gather millions of souls all at once, purify them and with the help of a typhoon arriving three days later to send them straight to heaven. Those millions sacrificed would save billions later, I had been told. Now it makes sense.

(20/ 734)