And then there was Peace

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Hers was the only aura I saw without trying. Violet, like the energy of St. Germain, extending from the tips of her fur in soft flames. It was four years ago, and we were walking in the woods. I began our daily journey together distraught. My physical and emotional worlds were burning in a dark chasm I’ll call fear. It was February, that month that tests the limits of endurance. Within the span of a few short days, every heating system in my home and in my body went on overload.  The ancient furnace in the basement stopped breathing warmth and started emitting the poisonous gas that silently consumes the oxygen of life. The wood stove followed suit, deciding to search down, rather than up, for air, filling the house in a matter of panicked seconds with thick gray smoke. Fearing flames, I rushed my children, coatless, outside with Daisy and called the fire department. Then, the pellet stove decided it wanted to play the same game, vomiting an over-abundance of fuel that caught a fire that decided to breath in, instead of out, filling the house, again, with gray, suffocating smoke.

Sometimes the world outside mirrors the world inside, testing our ability to heal and release to the point of near collapse. That February day, after I safely shuttled the kids on the bus to school, I desperately sought release. Daisy, my faithful companion and guide, calmly led the way to the forest. Although it would have been impossible for her not to feel the fires raging through me, she was the epitome of peace.

It was the walk of  dreams, where time stands sentinel to bare witness. Sound disappeared into the blanket of snow and waited for me to emerge whole again. Yet, the air was electric, so alive I could feel each silent heartbeat I passed, and the Earth held me in reverence, as I walked her body in sorrow.

Each footstep brought with it a memory of the little girl afraid of forests and the secrets hidden in shadows. I wept memory to release her, and in my pure and open need, Nature held me in the full, unconditional embrace of love.

I can recall the moment my eyes turned down to gaze upon my guide and caught the purple fire of her aura. She had quietly, with the energy of pure love, led me along the path of peace until the forest outside replaced the fear-filled forest of memory.

This is the energy that filled the space when she passed 8 days ago. When her soul released from her tired body, peace took over, filling the sorrow that pervaded our home and bodies. My children stopped weeping and quietly entered the energy they saw mirrored on my face. In those moments after release, we were filled with the joy of her surrendering to pure love. “Can you feel it,” I asked them, “can you feel it in your heart.” “Yes,” they whispered as they clutched their hands to their chests. She was there already, always, our Daisy, restoring us to peace as she had some many times before.

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The house as body

It seems I cannot decide which house to claim as my own. This is clear in my dreams. Too much clutter leaves the residue of frustration and anxiety. Unstable walls and floors, the fear of collapse. Some nights I build palaces that rival Versailles. I walk gilded halls and call them my own. The rooms are endless, each floor more brilliant than the one before. I am a vessel of unlimited creation, before I crumble back into a buried fear.

Last night, my house made me uncomfortable. The bedrooms extended into living rooms without doors. The kitchen needed updating. There was a graveyard outside my son’s window. My own bedroom opened into a balcony of trees, and my heart filled with joy as I imagined waking to the ever-changing scene of wildlife, until I saw the gaps under the floor, and the futile attempts to secure a house against the elements that would inevitably pervade the constructed space. Who was I fooling? I could not live here.

Yet, I could not leave. This was the house I had chosen. It was mine. So, I began to clear the rooms, freeing them of the energy called fear. I did it alone, using my hand to feel the unwanted vibrations, my breath to clear the energy into light. There was no sense of discontent. I was not discouraged that each room seemed to hold pockets of energy that needed to be cleared. I simply did what I needed to do to make my house my home.

Perhaps tonight I will build a palace again. I’ll use my hand to paint the forest on the walls, upon the ceilings I’ll map infinity in stars. When I am done, when my hand is tired and my palace is complete, I’ll let it crumble. I’ll watch the walls recede into the body of the Earth, the ceiling dissolve into the heavens, and then I’ll know I’ve come home.

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Taking the lead

Recall the Bird of Spring who appeared to me on the the 24th of January. I have not forgotten her, nor have I forgotten how she appeared in the days before the 11th. She often watched in silent vigil from the bush filled with winter berries in the neighbor’s front yard, while I waited for Alex to get off the bus. You were usually inside.

There was the flock of robins, Dad said there must have been 20, if not more, outside his office. Did you send them after you came to him in a dream, telling him you were leaving? Of course, I already knew. How could I not? I felt you release the tug on the orange nylon that bound us together months before you finally let go. I knew last summer you were patiently urging me to take the lead, knowing well before I did, that I was ready. That you had, in the heart-beat of 5 and 1/2 years, shown me how to walk the path of love, and to take the lead. The last 6 months were a gradual letting go, your final gift to me in your physical form.

Oh, but you knew I would weep and rage. You knew I would cling fiercely to the memory of  the brown silk of your fur pressed against my lips, and feel of home when I wrapped my arms around your body. You knew, even, that I would miss the tug-of- war, the constant test of who was in charge.

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You knew I would hold on, even after I let you go. So you sent me robins and hearts. I saw the love that you wore on your face everywhere, in the days before you left, and even more now that you have crossed the rainbow bridge without me. One thought, and you are back. I see the symbol of your love burned into snow, etched in ice on windows and carved into the life-lines of wood. I saw your love two nights ago, when you sent me the barn owl (with face of a heart) in the cypress tree. I see it each time I remember your face.

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Your rebirth into pure spirit, was my letting go. To become my own spring and bloom new. Even though I still shed the waters of sorrow, my garden is ready to birth strength. How many nights, as I was preparing to let you go, did I dream of a home, my home, surrounded by the rebirth of life? I woke happy, filled with hope. Filled with promise.

Even the 3 crows that caught my eye, circling the invisible wheel, made me think of the magic of birth and not death. You were the 3rd, though, in a close trinity of passings. My days and nights were filled with the numbers 3 and 7, even when they appeared with the numbers 10 and 11. The 10th was the day I knew for sure you were leaving, the 11th, when I opened the door to let you go.

On the 8th, two days before I decided it was time, I saw two robins. That evening I fell into dreams of rebirth. I played through the game of life, recording scores, which reduced to the number 9 – the complete cycle for birth. I searched tables of food and ate. I took the driver’s seat and drove, with the top open, over a bridge, where above me a green wheel turned. I watched my child (who looks so much like me) let go and felt only peace as he released his hold. I turned back time and became a young woman again. It was summer, 74 degrees (reduces to 11), and I was among a crowd of peers heading down a hill to swim. At the intersection of paths, I decided to walk alone. I went to the rocky shore, instead of the sandy, sun-filled beach, and stripped bare of my white shorts and flowered blouse, before I lay my body on the pebbles and let the water wash me clean. Here, I felt freedom. I felt release. I shouted back, fearless, to the girls who taunted me, calling them out on who they really were. I swam away from the boys who followed my naked form through the water, and pulled my clothes over my wet body before I walked back up the hill, alone. Later, in another dream, a messenger hugged me and told me it was time to surrender. To let [you] go. So I did.

 

 

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Grief

there is no map for grief

this I know

grief is water

raging the chambers of the heart

grief is noise

ugly

loud

heart-breaking

grief is the absence of touch

the ache of memory inside skin

grief is silence

where beauty dwells

with love

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To break the code

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Our bodies weep salt

of mother tears

forgotten memories swim the blue

river of veins searching for air

truth is a code of genes

resequenced in each birth

fear, a pattern of dis-

ease when left unraveled

to break the code release

fire under your skin

to break the code

burn free

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Each knot holds a memory that seeks to be free

Remember the robin in my last post, appearing blatantly bold outside my window during the snowstorm? The only bird to be seen by my eyes that day?

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Somehow I had forgotten her, amid the daily struggles of life this last week. Yet, she was there, a silent reminder as I opened my blog to write this morning, showing me that her message had come full circle. Yesterday, without thought given to my friend the robin, I reclined on a couch with my left hand cradling the orange energy of my womb, my right, the blue energy of truth held inside knots along the right side of my neck.

The robin, I am reminded on this morning as I watch another snowstorm fall outside my window, is the bird who welcomes rebirth each spring. She wears the color of creation without fear as an apron of feathers that spreads from her upper chest down to her lower abdomen, where it meets the purity of white. Here, in this lower region, she releases into her half-moon nest, a brood of sky blue eggs each spring. Her creation in the beautiful hue of truth.

When I saw the robin a week ago, my neck felt fine. But, as I think back now, it was a prelude of what to come, as soon after that last snowstorm, my neck formed a rope of knots connecting the base of my skull under my right ear, down into my shouldere where it wrapped into a pile of more knots.

The energy held inside the knots seemed to tighten with each day of a week filled with surreal reminders of the cycle of loss. Within the space of a few days, two children passed in my town. The loss of a child, even if it is a child not well known to you, can unearth a well of emotions and memories inside of you. There is, arguably, nothing quite as poignant as this form of loss.

I will not enter into the details around the passings of these two children, as their stories are not mine to share. For me, and my family, they were triggers, as all death is, impacting each of us in individual ways. My son, who wears the open cloak of an empath, struggled I believe the most. That is his story, but I will share its effects on me.

My son, is in many ways my mirror. His eyes are mine, and when I look into them I see the little girl I once was. In his moments of struggle last week, I was brought back to that child inside of me as I watched his over-taxed body attempting to process and release an emotional burden that was mostly not his. I was thankful, in the midst of feeling heart-broken and helpless, that he did not swallow his storm, as I had so many times as a child.

What brought me to the couch yesterday, was that desperate need for release. My emotional limits were crumbling, but the rope of knots that held the right side of my neck in traction was stronger than ever. I thought about hiring help to release the tension, but it wasn’t until two of my friends, in separate messages, spoke of going inside, that I allowed myself to acknowledge what needed to be done.

Even though it was a Sunday, and I was sharing the space of my home with the rest of my family, I retired into a semi-quiet room to enter the energy inside. Here, as I channeled healing into my body, I found myself returning to that little girl named Truth.

“You were a beautiful child, so open to love.”

These words, I knew where not mine, but there was a part of me that cringed before I began to release. This was not a truth I held onto for long as I grew in this life. Instead of lingering on this notion, I let these words unfold into memories and the tears that come from release. Scenes flooded my consciousness, each one gently unraveling a knot. Each memory was a mere snapshot of a larger plot, but there were themes I could not miss.

Each memory was formed outside, where walls do not exist inside the expansive womb of Mother Nature. Inside these snapshots from my early life, I was welcomed by the energies of freedom, peace, beauty, magic and love. Each held my truth before it was changed.

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Bird of Spring

There’s a theme running through my dreams these nights. Springtime. I find myself in houses, and when I step outside spring is unfolding into gardens  abundant with the colors of rebirth. These dreams bring me hope – the promise of new life and all that it promises.

Today we had a nor-easter in New Hampshire, and life is still outside my home, save for this robin who has boldly braved the snow to remind me of that promise of rebirth.

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