The Archiereial Men’s Choir “Axios” from the Chelyabinsk Metropolis performed an Orthodox prayer on the Russia-1 television talent show.

The show features a panel of 100 vocal experts who vote on each performance by standing for approval or remaining seated. After the choir’s performance, all 100 experts stood up, awarding it a perfect score of 100 out of 100. Several of the judges crossed themselves and were visibly moved to tears.

another rendition:

How often do we see beautiful Souls reveal themselves…

Such different facades/expressions of personalities, all expert at what they do…yet all moved from deep within by a connection that is real.

The Jesus Prayer … Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Sine Bozhiy, pomilui mia greshnago. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

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After yet another long and arduous search for a place of worship and higher learning, I finally settled on the First Church of Bob.

How one finds a church like this must remain undisclosed, you understand.
Perhaps ‘It’ finds ‘You’.
But what works for me would probably never work for you...

Bob is a kind and enquiring soul who has provided a certain sort of education to me. I met him early on in what I call ‘The Inner World Tour'.

Backing up a bit, in my fiftieth year I traveled around the world solo.
There is something that comes with being fifty and above...that is, if you are still growing.
Life takes on more depth, surprising new vistas, richer magic and more hilarity.
That journey stirred up far more questions than it answered...

On my return, I shipped myself off to a spiritualist camp for a different kind of sojourn. I went there to mull things over, do a bit of writing and see if I could get a few answers to my questions.
My plans for a 3 month stay unraveled almost immediately and I found myself in the somewhat embarrassing position of explaining to friends and family just what I was doing years later in this quirky out-of-the-way spot in America’s Heartland.
I have sometimes wondered myself...
I told them the most honest thing...that I was now on ‘The Inner World Tour'.

The Inner World Tour can be trying at times for there are few reliable roadmaps... and that is where a word of tribute must be given to my mapmakers.
They are few.
I have had a ragtag assortment of zany spiritual teachers along the way...
Among them...Psycho Taxi Boy, Deaf Steve who taught me telepathically, Roland "the Kid Next Door," Shirley the reluctant psychic, Patrick (of "Hello My Heart") and 2 Joes (one of whom is described in "Tokyo Joe" from “the travelled heart…in celebration of an unexpected life” (Amazon)

But when things get really out of hand and I find myself on the most precarious precipice where only Pan and naïve goats would plant a hoof, it is the veritable Tom Robbins who shows me that I am Still on the Path.
I credit much of my sanity to his unorthodox guidance.
“I know my sheep and my sheep mostly know me.”

So back to Bob... Bob was my neighbor at the spiritualist camp.
He had overseen decades of seekers and séances, frauds, fakirs, trance mediums, trumpets floating in air, table-tipping, transfigurations and spirit manifestations of every kind imaginable.
Bob had investigated most all of what can be seen there.
He somehow manages to retain a certain compassion for all the foibles carried out in a place like that. He keeps one of the best libraries there, to boot.
He became my trustworthy guide to the mysteries along that path...
a kind of teacher-in-residence.
And that is how I came to ‘The First Church of Bob’.

The FCOB boasts no regular hours of service and is open to all inquirers.
Weekdays it is held in the back office of Bob’s appliance parts shop.
Just walk in the door, pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a well-worn seat.
Above the old coffeemaker is a sign that reads 'Hebrewing all day'
which is about the only concession old Bob makes for the Bible.
I asked him again recently, “How old were you when you kicked yourself out of the Catholic church?’”
He repeated the story to me with the same dark relish as before.
You’ll have to fish the details from him yourself, but he was about 10 when he had the run-in with the Bishop in which some tart words were exchanged.

No collection plate is ever passed around the circle of congregants. Offerings of a can of coffee or a package of Styrofoam cups are accepted if you’re a regular.
It’s ok to bring lunch. It’s ok to spend the entire day if you want.
Most people come and go according to who they like or dislike in the congregation.
Bob is curiously welcoming of all comers...

While you’re there, pick up a book, try out the ozone, put questions to Bob about the bicameral mind and the origins of civilization or the search for Omm Seti and off you go for a day of unscripted spiritual finding.

Old Bob has been on the path for a fairly long time, even for this life.
As he tells it, things started heating up for him when he was three or four years old.
Most nights he would wake in the wee hours to find a group of rather porous appearing people crowded around the foot of his bed.
They watched him, wordlessly, night after night.
Young Bobbie ducked under the covers in fear, but found over time that they meant him no harm.
He eventually got a little used to the spirits.
He never got to the bottom of that mystery, but he’s tackled a few others along the way...

Now you can’t get all your Enlightenment in one place, but many fascinating bits and pieces of enlightenment were gathered at the FCOB.
Bob has a few arcane talents that drew me in his direction...

For instance, he has a way of scanning a crowd for the one person in it who doesn't fit in. With a detective's eye, he would spot someone wearing antiquated clothing or a hairstyle from another era. Another time it might be someone looking the other way from the action. These people would appear in one moment and disappear in the next.
I’ve seen him do it...a kind of ghost-spotting.

He also has a talent for analyzing handwriting that he learned from old Esther who learned it back in the day when they called it ‘grapho-analysis’.
Esther was my sprightly, elderly landlady at the spiritualist camp.
I remember the day of our 1st meeting...
I handed her a check for the rent. A quick glance at the single scribbled initial at the bottom of the check was all she needed to describe my entire relationship with my mother. She did so with impressive accuracy.
Given the complexity of said relationship, she was pretty darn good.
(Esther's story is found in "Girl in a Hurry").

Bob does pretty well with hypnosis, too.
He turned out to be a good partner in past-life regression escapades.
Given the sensitive nature of those sessions, the reader will have to wait until the Cosmos deems the material appropriate for sharing.
I’m not sure Bob ever got over his early predilection for using hypnosis to get girls, so there came a time to bring that avenue of research to a conclusion.

Most Friday nights, the 1st Church of Bob convened at The 3 Pigs...a throwback era bar and restaurant, replete with burgundy imitation leather banquettes and antique lighting that had seen better days.
The 3 Pigs still served up a good steak and cheap drinks.
When so inclined, many a Saturday and Sunday evening were spent there, as well. "Dammit Janet" was our faithful server as we communed over wine and garlic toast.
The 3 Pigs was a veritable portal to another time and place and that made it the perfect spot to venture between the worlds.
What conversations we had...
We had some formidable debates, too!
An education from an old master that couldn't be gotten in a better way...

I had a relatively good sojourn at the FCOB…that is, up until the time that Bob informed me that I was to be his reward for following the Path of Enlightenment.
The problem was that I had not been similarly informed...
I was not up for grabs.
A classic pitfall between teacher and student...
In a carefully calculated response, I asked Bob when he had converted to Islam.
I was met with a dark scowl.
Bob was notoriously anti-religious.
"Virtue is its own reward, Bob... Don't you agree?"

Nothing like mixed motives to mess up a good thing...
And so, once again, after thinking that I had finally found a true teacher, he turned out to be like the others.
Seems they were always after your money or your power or your other attributes...

He remains unconvinced…

(from Psycho Taxi Boy on a Terribly Hot Night with the Southern Baptist Convention)

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3:33 am Sunday morning

I suddenly sat up straight in bed, startled out of a deep sleep for no apparent reason.
It was strange how vividly awake and aware I felt.
I knew that there would be no more sleep.
I wondered what was going on. I felt a visceral sense of urgency.
I dressed quickly and headed downstairs, wondering what I would do with all that time.
Once downstairs, I felt an urge to get into my car and drive to town…an unlikely thing to do on a chill winter night.
I felt rushed along- hurried out of my own house.
I was a bit disgruntled getting ejected from my warm bed and cozy home at such an early hour.
Once I was driving, I tried to figure out where I would go.
Let's see...what was open? A couple of 24 hr. restaurants, a few gas stations and Walmart.
I had no desire to eat, no desire to shop, but I felt a slight leaning toward Walmart.
What would I do there? There was nothing that I needed...
Then it kind of hit me. 'Well...one always needs new underwear...'

When I got to Walmart, I parked amid a scant handful of cars and headed inside.
It was predictably deserted at that hour.
I made my way across the store to ladies lingerie.

What I found there proved to be anything but predictable...
There was a veritable swarm of men!
They had commandeered the whole department!
I slowed way down trying to take in the scene.
There were 10 or 12 men, ranging from about 16 years old to 80.
They were fanned out among the racks of bras and panties...
They circled slowly, lingering in a curious way...not speaking to one another.
However, I soon realized that there was plenty of communication of another kind...

I spied one young man running his fingers slowly along the lines of a lacy black bra while gazing seductively over his shoulder at a middle-aged man.
Another man was twerking panties over his backside while trying to capture the attention of another man who was vying for yet another man’s attention.
They were all preening and prancing around in an awkward little dance of male seduction. Ugh!

What was more concerning were the wedding bands that most of them wore.
I wondered about the wives and children who slept innocently in their beds while their husbands and fathers were trolling the lingerie aisles at Walmart at this ungodly hour.
Ungodly, indeed...

I decided to approach the area anyway, not willing to be intimidated by them.
It WAS the women's section, after all.
But when I was discovered, I felt what can only be described as a force field surrounding them. It almost knocked me backwards.
I was NOT wanted there.
And they were NOT about to give up their space or their game.
They were defiant and highly annoyed that a woman would step into what was now their domain. I endured several very hateful, angry glares.
They were furious at having their game intruded upon.
I walked away, but soon decided to double back in an inconspicuous way.

It was all clear to me now...
Why I had been woken from sleep, urged to dress and drive to Walmart to get undies, of all things...
What was I to make of what I encountered?

I continued to watch them from behind a pillar.
This was definitely gay behavior, but there was something about them that didn't fit the scene.
I have lived in NYC and Atlanta and had seen plenty of the lifestyle and the players.
They didn't have ‘the look’, somehow...

On the other hand, they were all curiously uniform in their appearance.
There was something about their stilted manner...
They HAD a 'look'.
Short flattop haircuts, Sunday morning suits, polished shoes, faintly effeminate personas…the emasculated pseudo-Christian man.

Then it hit me. They had an unmistakable look, alright!
They had the conservative evangelical Christian look.
My stomach twisted...

Leading double lives...in this tawdry display at Walmart.
I could hear them as they left their beds that morning...”You just sleep in, dear.
I'll go get the Sunday paper, orange juice and doughnuts. Home soon!”

I waited, I watched and then I'd had enough.
I marched back into the department, uttered a few choice words and chased them all out. I broke up their party, blasted them out of their trances and scattered them in all directions, shaming them all the way.
They were incensed, irate!
I didn't care.
I wasn't done with them.
I gave them no opportunity to regroup...This show was over!
Then they acted miffed and indignant-suddenly innocent and above reproach!

They finally started leaving the store, heads hung glumly.
I monitored the escape route, heading to the aisles that held orange juice, milk and doughnuts.
There I found the last little huddle of 2 elderly males toying with a teenage boy.
When I stepped between them, smiled sweetly, and asked them which church they attended, they dropped their things and bolted.

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"Want to go for a ride? We haven't talked in awhile..."

I recognized that drawl...
Mike Bacon...miscreant, Atlanta Chess Champion, cum gypsy cab driver...
Against my better judgment, I said ok.
"Meet me out front in half an hour."

The uniquely infuriating Mike Bacon, aka Psycho Taxi Boy...
Our last big blowup was 5 or 6 months before.
He had insulted me to the limits of my patience over some alleged scandalous behavior of church leaders.
Now Michael had no patience for religious types.
I had little myself, but he had brought his point home in a stunningly dreadful way.

Now, word for word, no one on the planet has a better command of the English language than a denizen of the American South.
They are easily the most colorful, artful and entertaining of the speakers.
They certainly do the most with the least.
Homespun wit and native intellect merge in a wickedly punchy brew.
Consider the likes of Tom Robbins if you don't believe me...

Having ferried all manner of people from around the world in his cab all those years, Michael had an endless supply of quirky stories.
Ever the acute observer of the human condition, driving cab allowed him to travel the world from the comfort of his front seat...affording him not only a unique education, but the freedom to compete in chess tournaments and still keep a roof over his head.
We had met in his cab, in fact.
It was Halloween night, but that is another story...

Michael had surmised that I was still somewhat in the chokehold of old-time religion and needed some wising up.
There was nothing defensible in religion, according to Michael.
We debated the topic hotly one more time.
He told me exactly why he had no faith in those hypocrites.
Michael waxed virulent that day and we blasted apart.
I was still stinging from his attack months later...

Mike claimed that the most lucrative night of the year for Atlanta's cabbies was the last night of the Southern Baptist Convention.

After sending their families and attendees away in time for Sunday services back home, a select group of pastors, choir directors, youth leaders and the like stayed on for a little private convening of their own...at the infamous Cheetah strip club.
Now the only strip club that was open on a Sunday night was the Cheetah.
Cab load after cab load of these church guys were ferried from their fancy midtown hotels to the club all night long.
Mike went into shocking and sordid detail, much to my horror and dismay.
He just wouldn't let up!
Tempers flared!
I didn't care if I ever saw Michael again!

Then the soft drawl of his voice that late afternoon...
Much as I hated to admit it, I missed him...his surly, recalcitrant humor, his edgy droll outlook, not to mention the peculiar metaphysical experiences that spontaneously erupted whenever we got together...

~~~~~~

Dedicated to my ragtag collection of way-showers and sacred teachers, with special affection for Tom Robbins, wordsmith extraordinaire…

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Available from Amazon, etc…

Often times I am asked by well-meaning Christians and some nosy ones, as well, about my church affiliation.

Sometimes I feel as though I must pass their ‘Test’ before any further conversation can follow.

I must be pigeon-holed and categorized to be understood. They must know to whom I belong. I can sometimes feel a little judgment coming on...

I am pretty squirmy on this topic. As you get to know me, you will understand why.

“Church” has been a pretty squirmy experience from the start...and I don’t just mean the kind of squirming in the pews that we generally do as little children, though that should have been a tip-off.

But I honestly don’t have the kind of answer that anyone is particularly pleased with... and I’ve been working on this for a long time now.

It was never my intention to become the kind of believer that I wound up becoming, but after awhile, you know ‘the Voice’. And you follow...

Don’t worry, I’m not hearing voices...I’m talking about the ‘still, small Voice’.

It has been an offbeat journey, to say the least, but it has also been potent and authentic.

That works for me...

But back to the question...

In the kindest, softest way that I can, I tell them that I have come to understand that it’s ALL church.

I count myself lucky if they don’t quite hear me and move on. But that almost never happens.

“Why, what do you mean?!” they ask with a puzzled expression.

Or... “Oh yes, I believe that, too.” (not knowing a thing about what they just said)

“But, WHERE do you GO to church?” they persist . “You HAVE to go somewhere!”

“Well dear heart,” I say, “ Right here and now, where we stand is ‘Church’ even though it’s Tuesday at 2:15 pm.”

I am already categorized as some sort of heretic or new-ager.

Not good enough, I realize.. It’s going to be another tricky encounter.

“Well, where do you go on Sunday MORNING?” (as if I’m some idiot child)

By now they have had just about as much nonsense from me as they are willing to take.

Taking my life and what’s left of my reputation in my hands, I reply along these lines, “Well... these days I can usually be found at Prairie Creek Reservoir on my pontoon boat.”

They are immediately offended, but I also know that deep down they are envious, as well.

Now...if this person attends the so-called megachurch in town, I might follow up with the declaration that I have been hanging out at God’s megachurch. And then, depending on how feisty I’m feeling in that moment, I’ll continue with “It’s just me and the ducks, the herons and the fish, just breathing in the fresh air and watching the water sparkle with sunshine.”

“You know...you can really hear God out there...all day long, if you like. How’s THAT for a sermon ?!” I smile.

They are usually a little flustered by now and will shift to another line of questioning.

“Now you know scripture requires you to be in submission to a pastor” to which I reply, “I am under Jesus’ authority...is that not sufficient?” (apparently it’s not)

“But you MUST be in submission to a pastor and not forsake the assembling of yourselves together.”

“Well, you may have a point there. I have been searching for a long time for a pastor who knows more than I have come to know in my simple way...one that can bring me closer to God. So far I haven’t found one. Most of the ones I have encountered are more concerned with their programs and budgets and membership drives.”

“Oh...and then there is the other matter of finding one whose life is a worthy example. Your new pastor is what now...33 years old? Now why would I go sit under a child? From what I understand of his family life, his life isn’t working out so well. If the pastor isn’t making his own life work, then why would I sit under him and let him tell me how to make my life work?”

“But you must go somewhere to be fed!” they cry, intent on winning the argument or my soul...I’m not sure which.

“My dear,” I reply, “I have been walking with God since I was 22. I am now 60 years old. If I don’t know how to feed myself by now, I should be ashamed of myself, don’t you think?”

⛪⛪⛪

As always, thanks for reading! Feel free to like, subscribe (free) and restack.

I’m going to follow up with a short series of posts on varied church experiences…a bit of tragic-comedy here…with the occasional sublime moment. These stories are all true and unembellished…Enjoy

Gypsies are the conscientious objectors to factory work and to all the soul-killing inventions of grim society...

Gypsies retain the good human sense to enjoy life.
They remember on a deep knowing level that life was not always like this...

They may disdain society's harsh ways, ignore, stand aside, do without if necessary, partake little.
Anything but let their life force be compromised by inhumanity in the form of self-important institutions and self-declared authorities.
Man is free. Man is sovereign. (of course that encompasses women, as well)

At times, they will suffer these things, but they will never ally themselves with them.
They will not forget. They will retain the truths at their core...

Do not be entranced by the causes and concerns of the sick culture that surrounds you. You were never part of it. You are not required to partake.

They say that the Gypsy vocabulary lacks the words for duty and possessions...

Can you imagine?

My first experience of this concept was on Cape Breton Island many years ago.
I lived down the way from a Welsh village. I tell people to this day that everything I ever learned about giving, I learned from those good folk.

If you were walking down the road on a fine day and the weather turned blustery,
it was perfectly acceptable to enter the nearest house-always unlocked- and find yourself a sweater or jacket or a pair of galoshes to keep you warm and dry.

You might return them or you might not... No one gave it much thought.

I was told that the Welsh language lacked a word for personal possessions.
No word....thus no mental concept.

You could say that a house or a coat or a pair of boots was ‘at me’, but you could not call it ‘mine’.
It was a shared life.
It allowed for the unfolding of kindness and generosity of soul...
These are needful things for a good life...

Consider the difference for those living at the opposite end of the spectrum.
How much energy and precious life force is lost to greed and overconcern with possessions?

I know a woman who meticulously destroys everything she discards so that no one else can have the use of her things. Old lamps, clothing, furniture, what-nots...
What madness and ill-will...

Why would anyone hinder anyone else's course through life? Curses are born of this...

As a wise Gypsy observed:
"Duty and possessions limit the emotional capacity of modern man...
They are the boundaries beyond which he cannot go..."

Bercovici expresses it well…

It is said in error that they lack the word. It is truer to say that they have a different relationship to the concept...the word.

I hope these words have awakened or reawakened something in you…something that may be needed in times ahead…

𖥞 𖥞 𖥞

(dedicated to the 8 yr old gypsy fortune teller)

As always… Thanks for reading. Feel free to like, subscribe (always free), share and restack…💖

Half of the troubles of this life can be traced to saying ‘yes’ too quickly and not saying ‘no’ soon enough. ~~ Josh Billings

This is a favorite teaching…

It comes from Cherokee friends in Georgia. This insightful story has to do with seeking out an Elder for help.

A man approached an old medicine man asking for help with his problem.

The healer looked down for a few moments without saying a word. When he looked up again, he said to the man, “Come back in 3 days."

But the man was in great distress…

"But you don't understand!! I need help NOW!! It's urgent!!"

"Come back in 3 days."

The man pleaded with him. “But you don’t understand how serious this is! I could be dead by then!

No matter how the man pleaded, the implacable Cherokee elder did not change his answer… "Come back in 3 days."

(though it struck me as heartless at first, I learned the wisdom of his approach)

The Elder had heard him…and he had engaged him. Both energetically and intuitively…while listening Inwardly for higher guidance.

"Come back in 3 days."

Let’s look now from the perspective of the healer…

He would have 3 days in which to pray…but not as we might.

During this time of fasting and prayer, the 1st question he would ask Spirit is:

"Am I the healer for this person?"

And then he would wait for an answer.

If the answer was no…if he was not the helper…then Spirit had a better plan.

If the answer was yes, then the healer would next ask God about the man and his illness.

What level of his being is the illness coming from?

Is it mental, emotional, spiritual, physical, etc.? Again, he waits for the answers…

Then he prays and works according to what God shows him.

He doesn't take his marching orders from the man, but from God.

When the man returns, the Elder is fully connected, instructed and prepared.

TMeanwhile, the man has had a chance to calm down, to settle himself and to be still. He returns a little differently. He can hear and he can receive the help most needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In our fast-paced lifestyle, many of us would never take the luxury of giving ourselves 3 days to come to a decision and respond to a request or invitation.

Rushing decisions short-circuits our ability to mull things over and decide for ourselves what is best.

I see this with young people I’ve counseled, but it’s a mistake anyone can make.

For instance, one young urbanite gave to everyone who asked…panhandlers, homeless, preachers, charities, down-on-their-luck friends, etc. She was always struggling to pay her bills, fix her car, afford a dentist, etc. She was overextended with all her friends and family…emotionally and financially.

I took her in hand at one point and asked her one simple question…

“Where did your last $5 go? And the $5 before that? And the $5 before that?”

In pinning down those small, seemingly negligible amounts, she began to see how haphazardly she had been living her life.

She was always at the behest of the extended hand, the upset text from a deadbeat dad, a needy mom, the friend who needed an ear, the $5 coffee runs, fast food snacks, etc.

Her life, time and resources were eaten up by a constant whirlwind of concerns.

(that had been pretty much the pattern of her life from early on, so it went without question)

Next we looked at her bills. Rent, utilities, gas, food, college debt…the usual things.

Then I told her:

“You don’t have the right to give away money that belongs to someone else!”

(I knew she was too soft to act on her own behalf… A little shock value was needed)

“Your money belongs FIRST to your debtors!…and then we can talk.”

And I taught her the 3 Day Rule…

“From now on, when anyone calls on your time…your money…or your heart, I want you to tell them ‘Let me get back to you on that.’

No more automatic, unthinking, undermining ‘yes’ responses. No exceptions, ok?

Take the full 3 days to consider before answering.”

That simple act gave her some agency in her life. She began to hear her own voice for the 1st time. She was allowed to say no or to re-negotiate a request. She began to hold the reins of her life for the 1st time. She wasn’t being jerked around constantly by her sympathetic nature and habits. Slowly she became self-referral.

Being out of balance like that takes a hidden toll…

Nervous upset, overeating, depression, anxiety, restlessness, other overindulgences, feelings of spaciness, helplessness, etc.

In her case, she described throwing herself down on the bed, crying from exhaustion, thinking ‘is this all there is to life?’…and she was only 22.

Within a year, her debts were paid, she bought a decent car and had money set aside for emergencies. She had a little bit in her emotional bank account now, as well. She was able to start directing her future. Where she had been bent only on survival before, she now had a foundation, new-found time and energy. Room to grow.

So we took the lesson deeper…

She had unearthed a Self at last. She was getting pretty proficient at operating out of that self. She was becoming aware of her expenditures…of time, attention, money, and sympathy, etc. She was learning the power of no for the 1st time.

Breaking out of the habits of being ‘other’-referral and becoming ‘self-referral’…

But, as we saw with the Cherokee Elder, we can become God-referral…and that makes all the difference.

That was tough for her. Taking a moment to interrupt her thinking once again in this new way to check in…to see if she was making the best decision…and waiting for answers…was a different level of engagement.

Though she professed to being aware and spiritual, she was running on automatic. While raised in a church and a family of pastors, all she knew were rules about behavior and what was expected of her. Second-hand ideas and methods of conduct that were handed down from family, church and culture held sway. She might consult her horoscope, reference a bible quote or any number of tools…a patchwork of what was supposed to work.

In fact, she didn’t know how to connect.

She knew how to ask, not wait for an answer and muddle through…and her life reflected those choices.

She learned to set aside all the other voices, so she could get quiet. That included turning off the phone except for a short period. No podcasts or frenetic reading, trying to keep up with everything in the world. Just stopping the presses. Stepping out of the frantic habits… Making that her new normal. This removed so much stress and confusion. Once all the chaos was set outside her door, she began to experience peace.

She could deviate as needed, but her basic stance needed to not be the knee-jerk responses she was accustomed to. Life had taught her to be on high-alert at all times.

It was unnerving to sit quietly…to still the waters of her mind so something else could get through. People often burst into tears from the unfamiliarity of the feeling of stillness. It will bring peace eventually…but not at first. It can be uncomfortable, even disorienting, in the beginning.

The Still Small Voice was there under all the commotion. She became attentive to it

There was a whole other conversation waiting for her…

We get distracted away from our inward self with it’s Knowing…

In a practical sense…and that is all important…she started to be guided by Higher Wisdom. Guided toward certain people and situations and away from others.

Every part of her life got a makeover. I gave a little guidance and confirmation along the way till she was walking well.

She learned to be mindful that money is an aspect of one’s energy…and should not be squandered or leaked unnecessarily. I challenged her now and then in the language she was familiar with:

“Where is it written that you have to go to the mall with every paycheck?”

“Where is it written that you have to have 3 meals and 2 snacks every day, along with 10,000 steps to work off the excess calories??”

You don’t have to be led through life by your appetites or the advertisers! Think about where that will get you!

(there was a time when we were considered ‘citizens’…but now we are considered ‘consumers’ and our job is to prop up our economy)

“Why would you buy a car or a house based on how much you can afford?” (a favorite way to keep people poor)

“Are you sure you really want to go through the bank and pay 3-4x the price of that house? Is there another way?”

I taught her that she did not have to follow the cultural norms…and that it might actually be healthier to follow her own inner guidance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years later, she had enough savings to pay cash for a house that she was guided to…with enough left over for needed repairs. Then covid hit and her business was on hold for 2 yrs. I asked her how she was faring…

She had enough put back to weather the crisis. I smiled, knowing the answer.

What a change from the struggling, storm-tossed young woman she was at the start…

“God-referral.” This is what made my life work, as well…

And for those averse to and/or stung by religion, this is truly not a religious exercise. This is above those controversies and strivings. This exists apart from that troubled world.

It is about a clean slate and a search for truth in its raw form…and for the self you were before they tried to step between you and your own connection…and mold you into something unwholesome.

It is a return to self…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3 Day Rule…

I check in on my energy and guidance as I go through life. Keeping it fresh and not so routine. I also pay attention to the 3 Time Rule when giving of my time, heart and resources.

The 3 time rule is simple and reliable...

I give once and watch the response…twice, if necessary…and rarely a third time. By the 2nd or 3rd time, I should know everything about the trajectory of our exchange.

If it brings out the best in a person, I can continue.

If it brings out the worst, then it’s time to cut it off.

The idea is that when anyone asks something of you, you don't tell them ‘Yes; right away. You have now created a space for your inner knowing and Spirit to enter into the conversation.

Why does this matter? Well, we are trying to live effectively in a fallen environment.

The world makes many demands on our time, our attention, our resources.
We are urged and pushed in so many directions by the culture, the advertising and the expectations of family, friends and culture. Pretty soon, our paychecks are used up.

But also our precious time and energy and attention. We are run ragged and exhausted and our lives aren't working well. We're trying to do all the right things as we go through our days, but things just aren't working out!

How to turn it around…
How is this done? It's actually quite simple. When someone asks you for something, you tell them you will think about it and get back to them.

You might have to rehearse your lines in the beginning. We're so used to giving automatic answers.

Lots of times, after giving the automatic or expected ‘yes’, we regret our words. It's awkward to backtrack. Usually we just suffer the consequences. And we repeat those mistakes again and again…

But there is a better way. If you just interrupt your automatic response with the little phrase: "Let me think about it and get back to you," you have just created breathing space for yourself.
You’re not likely to make a mistake if you have a chance to mull it over. You also can't be pushed or manipulated...ever.

Everything in life is really quite simple. There are 2 choices for every problem.

Change or stay the same.

Consider the alternative...
Do you really want everyone else running your life according to their whims?

Do you want to give your life energies to the daily disasters they keep creating?

Probably not...

You may be the only person seeking wisdom for a situation.

Most people are unaware, still asleep or simply not interested. They just get tossed around by every mood, appetite or whim. Their lives are haphazard...without direction.

Haphazard people should not be in charge of your life.

Bringing wisdom into a situation will ultimately impact everyone for the good.

Remember...you don't have to explain yourself. Just tell people politely, but firmly, that they will have to wait for your response.

”Our first teacher is our own heart.” Cherokee proverb

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always… Thanks for reading. Feel free to like, subscribe (always free), share and restack…💖

Following up on

Food for Thought...musing about muscles.

People walk for all kinds of reasons…

Some people walk to get their required 10,000 steps in, to walk their dogs, run errands, enjoy nature, people-watch, etc.

Me? I walk to relax and let my brain drop down to my feet for awhile….

You know…to get out of my head, especially after a long work day.

To just be a body for awhile…

It is meditation for me…I am too high-powered for sitting still. I was glad to find that a walking meditation works just as well!

I walk until I am no longer thinking…just feeling.

I feel the air around me, I hear the birds, the traffic sounds, the rustle of of leaves or critters, the silence before the noisy world wakes up.

After awhile, I feel my blood pulsing, my body loosening up, my stride lengthening. I feel my energy for that day. I become aware on those other levels.

I remember what was lost or overlooked in the busyness of the day. Solutions come to me or associations are made that help illuminate my understanding.

My mind and body become more of a receiver.

On one of those walks, I found myself musing about muscles.

Just a series of simple thoughts, really.

“We are mostly muscle… (650 skeletal muscles alone)

So…muscle doesn’t change its character. Muscle is muscle your whole life, right?

So what happened to the muscles that you had as a kid and the muscles you’ve got in your 60s?’

If muscle doesn’t change its character…what changed?

The muscles that were young and supple, the muscles that felt downright delicious, tireless and ready for anything…

compared to these 60 year-old muscles that hurt and cramp, that feel weary, weak and stiff with age? “

We have headfuls of random knowledge that fail to answer this basic dilemma.

We are urged to exercise, rest, seek all kinds of treatments, swallow handfuls of supplements, drink protein shakes and smoothies, etc. etc. It seems like you would have to devote a large part of your life and income to achieve excellent muscle health…or at least our American concept of it.

And yet….

I continued to walk, softly pondering, when it began to dawn on me. The answers were simple in a way…

“Young muscles don’t hurt. They feel good to the touch. They give pleasure and ability. Old muscles hurt…a lot.

Young muscles are soft, elastic and fully mobile…(thoughts of toddlers sucking their toes with ease) Young muscles give alive expression to the body…

Old muscles are stiff, unyielding, inelastic…more liable to tear than stretch. They bind the body!

What happened? Muscles are muscles our whole lives. Their character does not change…

The experience of children… Clean muscles that don’t hurt…and Soft muscles that are relaxed and stretchable.

Clean and Soft…as opposed to old muscles that are dirty and stiff. That was essentially the difference between young muscles and old muscles This was the answer!

Just 2 problems… Dirty muscles and stiff, dry, calcified muscles. So simple!

Clean and Soft were the elements to strive for…”

My experience with Thai massage some years back, had provided a startling change in my understanding of the body. A child of the 70s, (mostly) all-natural, or so I thought… By 40, I had the beginnings of health complaints typical of Americans…overweight, stressed, hypertensive, prediabetic, with the onset of middle-age aches and pains. There had been some injuries along the way, a couple of minor car accidents…the usual things.

When I had my first round of 3 hr-long Thai massages, not only did I realize how inflexible I had become, but I found that every inch of my body hurt!

Most of us would not know that about our bodies unless someone put a heavy thumb into those muscles….a thumb that should go all the way to the bone…without resistance or pain! Not many of us can experience that by the time we’re in our thirties.

It is our expectation that we will age, get stiff and begin to hurt…and go downhill from there…the only variable being the pace at which we will decline. We believe that this is inevitable. Unfortunately, so do our doctors…

Of course, there are also the wild cards of cancer, kidney stones, gall bladder attacks, MS, Parkinson’s, dementia, arthritis, fibromyalgia, etc. that can spring up for no particular reason, as well, and change the trajectory of our lives.

Actually, these issues have their sources…which are rarely hereditary as we’ve been led to believe.

With a basic understanding of the body, these conditions can be understood. They can be prevented, addressed and often reversed. We just have not been given the basic understanding that would help us. And so we suffer needlessly, spending a lot of our lives in sickness and worry and we die prematurely.

We don’t live fully while we are alive…

In fact, Americans seem to have the worst expectations for aging of any people I have seen in my travels…and then we go on to fulfill those expectations…never the wiser.

So…on to the issue of dirty muscles…How did they get ‘dirty’ and what can be done to reverse it?

In massage training, we often heard about toxins, but no one ever told us what those toxins are exactly. On the street, the word is bandied about and assumptions are made. These days, people tend to think about additives, pesticides, chemtrails and the like.

They feel there is no escape from deadly toxic environments…to the point where their pessimistic world view adds to their toxicity! They become paralysed, hopeless and weakened by dread. Their angry thoughts produce acid and toxins around the clock. They surround themselves with ugly black clouds of their own making. In the end, sick bodies and sick minds are feeding off of each other…a kind of quicksand sucking people under.

I think there is a saner approach…and a better way through.

Taking a more useful look at things:

When something goes wrong, we typically reach for something to put in our mouths to make it better, be it an aspirin, a medication or a supplement. We never stop to consider that all these things leave a residue in our tissues…a residue that becomes a toxic build-up and a burden to the body.

Consider this…

I once had a series of deep tissue massages from a Rolfer. It is painful work (brilliant, as well) that goes all the way to the bone. In my 1st session (which brought tears to my eyes), the practitioner quite surprisingly told me how many times my ankles had been sprained…and then he went on to tell me in which years the sprains had occurred, as well as the severity of each sprain. In another session, he told me where I’d had numbing injections at the dentist and what chemicals were used. He could tell me how often I’d had surgery and which anesthetics had been used. He told me what OTC meds and supplements I had taken, accurately describing the time frames. I was astonished!

“HOW do you KNOW all this?!” His explanation was simple…

As he released and mobilized the various levels of tissue, the chemical residues of ALL those substances were released through the skin. He could smell and identify each one. Not only that, but unhealthy tissue from previous injuries could be detected along with necrotic (decaying) tissue…

Imagine!

As the flesh was cleaned up and mobilized, it became healthy and pain-free again…all the way to the bone! A consideration here….the muscles that lie closest to the bone govern your structure and your ability to move freely.

What I had accepted as ‘aging’ was simply the sum total of toxicity and lack of good blood and lymph circulation. Everything I had ingested or had injected into my body had left a residue. Old injury sites and scar tissue had inhibited circulation, as well.

It could all be cleaned and restored. Such are the bodies that we have been given!

In a another example…this in a salon setting…herbal clay body wraps, which also draw out toxins, have to be removed and handled with tongs and heavy gloves. The wraps have to be laundered separately with special detergents.

You could tell who smoked, drank coffee or alcohol, took meds and supplements, who ate red meat, who had had chemo, etc. by the strong odor of the wraps. Whatever you put in your body is excreted through your largest organ of elimination…your skin. Toxic to the touch!

Thai massage was the big eye-opener… Five days of three hour-long sessions of deep tissue work coupled with full-body stretching and deep thumb pressing along the energy lines of the body released an avalanche of toxins into my bloodstream. Within a hour of my 5th session, I became so violently ill that I ‘knew’ I was dying of food poisoning. For the next 36 hrs I was incapacitated with nausea, fever, chills, deep aching, strange odors…everything coming out of everywhere (to put it politely). Everything was headed for every exit. There were ‘hallucinations’ in which I felt like I was experiencing every illness I’d ever had in reverse, going all the way back to infancy.

This is material for a longer story, but the illness was not food poisoning at all! It was the discharge of all the toxins already lodged in my 40 yr old ‘all-natural’ American body. Once stirred up from the tissues, the toxins made their way to the blood stream, skin and bowels for elimination…all rushing for the exits at once.

There is a term for this…’auto-intoxication’…a kind of self-poisoning.

It is the cause of many body aches, illnesses such as psoriasis, headaches, a sense of dullness, depression and more. In severe cases of constipation, it can mimic mental illness (increasingly common in young people.) It is like a clogged sewer…with the sewer gas and toxins backing up into the house…or in this case, our bodies.

On the other side of the detox experience, my body was running on a cleaner engine and everything started to work right again. I experienced a level of health, energy, aliveness and joy that I didn’t know existed. In a less polluted state, my mind cleared and the higher faculties opened. Over the next 9 months, my body continued to unwind and improve…and then I discovered to my surprise that I had NO pain anywhere! I had become a vastly different version of myself!

I could give a long list, but to give an idea… I’d suffered with an 8-yr long headache going into this experience. It never returned. I haven’t had a single headache in more than 30 yrs. even though I don’t live perfectly. Was that even possible?!

Everyone gets a few headaches a year right? That’s just the norm!

Well, this is evidence to the contrary!

In an ealier post, I described being carried in on a stretcher to various chiropractors, etc. I have never had to return. https://debra152.substack.com/p/dr-mace-to-the-rescue

And although I am a massage therapist, I have not needed a massage in 25 yrs. That came about as the result of a personal 6-month trial of magnesium gel to see if it was as beneficial as the nutritional doctors and the body builders claimed. I was so encouraged and felt so good that I continued for a year so I could demonstrate its benefits to my patients. That year turned into 25 years and counting…

In less than a year, I went from hurting all over (essentially the Latin meaning of fibromyalgia which I will cover in a future post) to NOT hurting anywhere at all!

(Over time, I became more aware of what should have been obvious…how many popsicles, how much cool whip, candy, flavored this and colored that, OTC meds, and supplements, etc. that I had consumed thoughtlessly. I was a mess! I had done most of it to myself. But it was fixable!)

Clean muscles…do not hurt.

Now…on to soft muscles…

The basic story here… Muscles work primarily through the dance of calcium, which makes a muscle work/contract and magnesium, which makes a muscle relax. It is a bit more complex, but this is enough to know for now. We should have roughly equal amounts of these primary minerals.

Magnesium, which is lost through stress, has been farmed out of the soils and not replaced. At the same time, we are urged to eat more dairy and take more calcium. Magnesium, which was the #1 remedy of the old doctors, performs many more functions in the body. But, for our discussion, magnesium relaxes muscles, balances calcium and makes calcium behave itself properly in the body.

Magnesium breaks down calcium where it doesn’t belong and returns calcium to the bones and binds it there. (arthritic or aging joints, stiff or calcified muscles, 80% of breast lumps are calcium, kidney and gall stones, the heart, arteries, etc.)

Hardening of anything in your body is simply calcification…

Calcification is often just too much of a good thing and/or lack of magnesium to maintain a balance. It is often just that simple…and easy to fix.

Again I mused…

“You know…kids put their little bodies through ALL kinds of stuff. Falling off their bikes, climbing and falling out of trees, beating each other up, getting into all kinds of mischief, but we’re not dragging them off to the chiropractor or massage therapist every other minute. They just seem to rebound all on their own, without anyone’s help! So why is that?!

Well, maybe it’s because their bodies are soft…they rebound quickly on their own…

Then it hit me! That softness…Kid’s bodies SELF-ADJUST all day long!

That was the way our bodies were designed to work!!

That was it! Just 2 problems…Dirty muscles and stiff, calcified muscles. So simple!

So what do you do about dirty muscles?

Putting less stuff in our mouths for starters…

Water, movement, clean diets, giving the body a rest now and then through fasting so it can devote it’s energies toward cleaning up and healing, deep massage, sweating, FIR (far infrared sauna) for detoxing the deeper organs. Nothing extreme. Nothing costly.

And what do you do about stiff calcified bodies? You de-calcify! Again, so simple!

How is that accomplished?

Far less dairy, NO calcium supplements (trust me…if you knew the source, you would not touch anything ‘calcium-added’-like dairy substitutes boasting more calcium than milk!) I added lots of regular transdermal magnesium gel to break down calcium where it’s not supposed to be (joints, muscles, hardened spines, hearts and arteries, etc.) and to return and bind calcium to the bones, where it belongs. Strong Epsom salt soaks work, but I find it cheaper and faster to use magnesium gel (magnesiumshoppe.com/ skydancer@ij.net)

It is possible to get too much of a good thing…

We Americans are overloaded with dairy and calcium supplements with all the resultant harm that has come since the Dairy Council got in bed with the government in the early 70s and changed the food pyramid in order to ‘sell more product’. Problems became apparent within one year, but it has taken almost 50 yrs. for the FDA to suggest a reversal of that advice. (I’ve not met a single doctor who has implemented the new guidance). Moreover, there is a lot of junk science and decades of TV and billboard advertising, etc. to overcome.

Then there is the matter of stimulants. We have been taught (mis-taught) to rely on them for energy. Coffee, nicotine, tea, coke, mountain dew,energy drinks, pills and all their chemical cousins. Stimulant medications such as ritalin and adderal, etc. have turned a generation of kids into meth and heroin addicts. Even stimulant herbs such as guarana sold in health food stores work against you when you’re trying to relax or sleep. When your muscles are tight and you splash caffeine/stimulants on them, it’s like pouring gasoline on a fire! It makes all 900 muscles tighter.

In the final tally, stimulants actually ROB you of energy Magnesium, on the other hand, converts your food into energy or ATP…the soft, vibrant energy you had as a child… Much preferred over the harsh energy of stimulants.

In general, we should not be putting more stuff in our mouths to get better. We should be putting less! It is a deeply-rooted instinct in our culture to put something in our mouths at the first sign of anxiety or discomfort (not all cultures operate this way, btw). But a little awareness goes a long way and you can dismantle that instinct. (think about it…they don’t call them ‘pacifiers’ for nothing!)

As I walked and mused, it came to me that if we could simply soften and clean our muscles, we might be able to return them to their early state of health and ease. We could self-adjust without any special thought or effort. We could remain pain-free.

We might not have to go to the chiropractors anymore…

https://debra152.substack.com/p/dont-be-shy-get-that-2nd-opinion

Using just these 2 ideas, I practiced on myself. My sole aim was a child-like body. Soft, self-adjusting and not hurting. A body that was happy and self-healing.

I wondered how far I could take this idea?

I remembered my body at different stages…

How and when did things change? As kids, we were kicked out of the house to play. We played with reckless abandon! But when organized sports, dance class, etc. entered the mix, we became more self-conscious, regimented and inhibited…less natural. Back then, it was nothing to sprawl half on the floor and half on the couch to do our homework. But, as young adults, certain things became off-limits. No more careless play or free movement.

Our work lives lay ahead. We dressed and moved differently. We became increasingly body-inhibited. Eventually the fascia that surrounds your muscles shrinks to fit. Your body is becoming bound down now that you no longer move freely. You’re told to expect such things. You think it’s normal…

Society had steadily taken our pastimes away…no more dancing, goofing off, casual sports. We have been reduced to being spectators and consumers. And our kids have been especially targeted in terms of not having free time. We yell at the kids, but we did it to ourselves and now we’re doing it to them, by example and by caving to unhealthy, increasingly neurotic societal norms.

It’s all pretty obvious when we take a minute to think it through. Not only is the body inhibited, but the personality becomes inhibited, as well.

Back to the experiment…I remembered my youth…and leaving my youth behind, adapting to a culture that just wants us to work and consume and worry…and grow old along scripted lines. We fail to question it…

I thought with a smile about camping out on the ground with a flimsy sleeping bag when I was younger…even a bit of winter camping…sans frills.

On the opposite end of that spectrum, I noticed that my patients were spending crazy sums on special mattresses and pillows, seeking out practitioners and gadgets and getting less agile and comfortable by the year!

Why not just make the body softer?

I needed a baseline for my experiment, so I headed to the nearest campground and spread out a sleeping bag and a tent…nothing fancy. I spent a pretty uncomfortable night on that ground…and my body was cranky the next day. But I got what I needed. I took inventory of my aches and hard places…my stiff neck, the arthritic spots, the scoliosis that I attended to sporadically.

I ditched the dairy, upped the magnesium gel, and took an oral dose as well. I let the caffeine go and started relying on magnesium for better sleep and energy. Once in awhile, I would savor a really lovely cup of coffee in a special setting and sip it slowly, like a European or Bosnian (the photo above is my Bosnia journal), rather than guzzling a super-size beverage like we Americans do.

I softened my attitudes, and my pace. I stopped living such a hard, regimented life. In our culture, we push people to work harder at everything to better themselves. My feeling is that more work is not the answer! We need to come out from under that tyranny, as well! I questioned my unconscious attitudes toward living and aging…in my body and mind.

Where food was concerned, I thought “Where is it written that I must have 3 meals and 2 snacks a day?!! As if these were commands from on high… It was a tyranny that prevented me from reaching a healthy weight. And it got in the way of life! As a kid, I could hardly be bothered with food and I never came to the table without reading material. I was busy eating Life! and Knowledge!! As my Bulgarian dance teacher friend, Petur would remind us, we must also eat Beauty! In Thailand, a housewife will come home from the market with an armful of fresh vegetables and fruit and an armful of tropical flowers for the same reason. We must eat Beauty, Music, good Conversation…

I became indignant with the bombardment of half-baked information, advertising and the impositions of the over-culture. It is a nonsensical rotation of dieting and being derailed at every holiday or celebration. Food has become our ‘entertainment’.

I adopted a “who cares” attitude to their noise and returned to innocence and common sense.

An unhealthy, unhappy and neurotic culture that had lost its way had little to offer…

I broke with the habits that bound me. I broke up with the diet, self-improvement and supplement worlds with their incessant, commercial, life-gobbling demands.

I stopped being a slave to fads and schemes. I took back my brain and authority.

In tackling our own attitudes and expectations…

What do you think? What do you envision as the path your body will travel on? What unsupported ideas/beliefs have been handed down to you through your family and the over-culture? Why not write them down, taking nothing for granted….and question them?

I know from hard experience working with patients that it is very difficult to dislodge an idea like “I have my mother’s knees (so I will suffer now until I’m old enough to get a replacement).” Another person I know started to have annual pleurisy attacks and a chronic cough…just like her mom. I helped her challenge that and learn how to take better care of herself. She has been free of them…and the fear of them…ever since. She shares that it has been mostly doctors who have tried to instill the ‘fear of the family’ in her, raising issues such as heart problems, cancer, depression, etc. They want to ‘pre-treat’, urging hyper-vigilance rather than offering good health advice in its place. Fortunately her dad would often say that ‘we have good genes for fast healing.’ That was worth taking in.

“Bad” backs, migraines, heart problems, kidney stones, cancer, arthritis and a raft of other things have dogged us all our lives because a doctor or family member declared that they were hereditary.

That’s cheap, easy and convenient…and most often, wrong!

What is more likely is that our habits are hereditary, the environment is hereditary, family myths and expectations are hereditary.

Most of it can be challenged. Each person can carve out a better path for themselves despite the naysayers. What you believe and expect can make all the difference!

So I began to unwind, relax, soften and improve. I began to play, dance and enjoy my body rather than over-analysing it, constantly disciplining it and dreading the coming years. I don’t hang out with old people who are hardened in their attitudes and habits. I see myself as 74 years STRONG and wise, rather than 74 years old. A few times a year, I take the sleeping bag out and test my theories. There is improvement each time! At this point, I can sleep on a hard surface with just a foam pad and no pillow for 10 nights when visitors come. Each time my body feels more like it did when I was a kid!

Aging in reverse! Why not? It’s just chemistry…

I took another cue from the Thai practitioners. They rarely tell a patient what is wrong with them. They just fix the problems. Why is that?

“Well, if I tell my patient they have a problem, I now have TWO problems to fix!”

On one trip to Thailand, I decided to have a physical (Bumrumgrad Hospital in Bangkok. A very worthwhile experience for anyone!) It was an all-day very comprehensive affair…very affordable, as well. At the end of a day of testing, you have a roundtable discussion with all your doctors to go over the tests.

At one point, I was gently asked if I had ever required a wheelchair. (I have been prescribed a wheelchair and disability a couple of times, but deferred and worked out my own solutions when I was much younger) I had actually forgotten those early chapters and told them ‘No’, wondering why they would ask such a thing. They gently pivoted to walkers and canes. I again shook my head. “Any pain when walking?” I laughed at this. “I’m travelling with a 36 yr old 20 yrs my junior and I am outwalking her through all the maze of Bangkok!” (we are ferocious walkers).

I was completely perplexed at this point. “Why do you ask?!”

They faced a moment of confusion, as well, as they presented my spinal x-rays. I was taken aback by what I saw! I immediately deep-sixed the image. I would not let it enter my psyche. By all regular medical standards, I should have been incapacitated and in constant pain.

I thought for a moment about the disparity. And then I realized that the magnesium gel had made all the difference… It had kept my muscles soft, it kept bone loss at bay and helped ease me past most of the scoliosis (along with a single simple dancer’s stretch)

Further into that roundtable discussion, it was found that the magnesium had reversed active heart disease in a way never seen before in their extensive experience. Magnesium had also resolved a congenital heart murmur….and it had eroded 3 small breast lumps. ”You will never have to worry about these.”

*****

Did I work my way out of a job? Well…yes and no.

My feeling was always to educate my people so they could understand their bodies and be able to move beyond the need for inadequate or unethical, uncaring and self-serving practitioners. If I empowered them to not need me, that was alright, too! I wanted them to understand the basics, regain their confidence and authority and to be able to make intelligent decisions for themselves. I had to demonstrate it in my own body first. There would always be other hurting people to help. A patient should never be a meal ticket.

Am I anti-doctor? Not at all. They have a depth of training that I do not possess, though I self-educate constantly. We are all here to help each other. Perhaps I fill a gap in the current scheme of things.

In the old days, doctors were brilliant in terms of muscles and the healing abilities of the body. Magnesium in the form of Epsom salt soaks was their #1 remedy. That is not taught any longer. Again, since we are mostly muscle, that becomes a problem.

******

In praise of good doctors…there is a brilliant, caring former hospitalist now in private practice, who chose to work in a pretty beaten-down rural community. I remember sitting in his chelation room with 8-10 other patients. It was quite an assortment of people…hard lives and hard-living apparent (people that I would have seen little hope for, in truth).

But a year later, these same people were so elevated above their former selves. They were upbeat, intelligent, spiritually-minded, cheerful. They were educating themselves, helping each other and their loved ones. They were so transformed that I hardly recognized them!

“Doc! What have you done with these people?! How do you DO that?!!”

He said “You know, first you have to attend to their physical needs…put them on a good foundation…give a little encouragement, make them well in their bodies. People cannot take on the other aspects when they are suffering. When the foundation is secure, a person can naturally ascend and blossom. I just remove the hindrances. That’s all. Nature does the rest.” He was a canny blend of the best of allopathic medicine and natural treatments. I watched as he had the wisdom to go at each patient’s pace, never forcing one way over another. In time, they would gravitate to the best of what he had to offer.

*****

As always, thanks for reading. Revisit this post now and then…

Feel free to like, subscribe, share, restack and get in touch…

My first massage therapist was a retired prima ballerina with a prestigious dance company in Canada. When she became a bodyworker, she brought her matchless talent, enthusiasm and dedication to her new profession. She never tired of learning new techniques, combining elements of Abhyangam from India, Feldenkrais, Alexander Technique and more along with her own wealth of intuitive knowledge and experience.

I was fortunate to be her guinea pig. I certainly provided the challenge she needed.

I will never forget the time she reached in to the base of my rigid neck muscles and told me that she was going in behind those muscles and the clavicle to tickle my top rib!

Or the time she was digging into my inner thigh and I begged her to stop, crying “Judith! You’re breaking my bones!”

“No dear…these are not bones. These are calcified muscles.” A few excruciating minutes later, I had to make her stop. “Judith! I KNOW my body!” Panting in pain, and feeling like a wishbone about to snap any second, I argued ‘You are about to break my BONE! I’m not kidding!!!” At this, she crossed the room, removed an anatomy chart from the wall and put it in my face.

“SEE??!” She showed me. “THERE ARE NO BONES where you are pointing.”

Ever her intrepid self, she continued her work.

“If you will give me a little time, I will turn those ‘bones’ back into flesh for you!”

And she did! An absolute genius with the body!

That genius was born of long experience as a dancer. She knew pain, she knew healing. She understood what the body is capable of. Nearly all her toes had been broken-some more than once. Add tendon injuries, muscle strains, the injuries from being dropped from overhead in rehearsals and more…

***************

A few years later, I was in Thailand on business and that is where I first encountered Traditional Thai Massage. I was so fascinated by this rhythmic ‘ballet’ of massage…spell-bound, really. I thought to myself, ‘This is the strangest so-called massage, but it looks like it could help me.’ So I took the plunge.

The system was revealed to the Buddha’s physician about 2500 years ago. A session can last 3 hours…and impact you in unexpected ways for months afterward.

The Thais also understood challenging the body, pain and provoking healing. But this was massage…and healing…redefined! It was holistic before holistic became a buzzword. Designed to bring a person to a high degree of health on mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual/energetic levels.

It had an extraordinary impact on my health. Their healing modality stood in such contrast to our medical approach! I thought “We need this in America!” (at the time Thai massage was almost non-existent in the US)

So I ran back and forth on business as often as I could for the next few years, tacking on a couple of extra weeks for training each time…in a remarkable school. Then I returned home and gave it away for 10 years so I could learn. Those years of receiving and giving helped to wear away my western haste and overcome my own temperament so I would be ‘fit for purpose.’

I was fortunate to practice on body-builders who competed around the world…the best of the best…along with the ballet community. These extraordinary young athletes were the perfect training ground. We taught each other so much!

Before a major competition or performance, these young people would have a 2 wk. period of intense training and dieting. One of the things I observed was that after a grueling 10-hour day in the gym, they all had this trick where they went straight home and hopped into a bath tub LOADED with Epsom Salts. Our big guys were using 15-20 lbs per bath and our little 99 lb. dancers were using 4-6 lbs! They would soak for half an hour, go straight to bed, sleep like babies and wake up the next morning fully recovered and bursting with energy. In fact, they couldn’t wait to go out and do it all over again. It was hard to believe. They weren’t sore or stiff anywhere and they had scary amounts of energy.

“So what’s this thing with Epsom salts?” I asked them.

“We don’t know…the coach makes us do it. We just know it works!“ Nobody understood the chemistry behind it…

We tried to tease it out, bit by bit. Then one day Mr. Georgia strode into the office…an immense black man with the temperament of a kitten. He grinned as he said “I think I’ve got a piece of the puzzle!”

“OK! Whatcha got?!”

He then proceeded to flex a bicep that was bigger than my head, saying “Feel THIS!” I did…it was a hunk of steel! “Feel it all over!” Impressive! All steel everywhere!

Then he laid his massive arm on the desk and said “NOW feel it!!” I reached out to grab the hunk of steel and my thumb went straight to the bone with no resistance! My eyes popped wide open! THAT wasn’t supposed to happen!! He laughed and said “Go ahead! Run your thumb along my bone! It’s ok!!” I did…I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and feeling! “DO that again!” He flexed and released his bicep several more times. It went from steel to Wonder Bread…softer than a baby’s bottom…in seconds!

“Wait a minute! I thought our muscles were supposed to be toned and tight all the time!'“

“No! In fact, that’s a recipe for a painful life….injuries, tight muscles that tear instead of stretching…and an early death!

“THIS is a healthy muscle!! When it’s time to work, it should be there for you, fully responsive! But when it’s time to rest, it’s supposed to rest completely! When you go to bed at night, all 900 muscles should go soft in about 4 seconds and you should fall into a deep sleep and wake up refreshed and full of energy in the morning. So…if your muscles are working for no good reason…working when they should be resting, then the athlete is malnourished…and magnesium is what they need.“ Not long after that, we looked at the back of the box of Epsom Salts…active ingredient 3-8% Magnesium Sulfate.

I learned that Magnesium fuels all of the electrical activity in the body…the heart, the brain and the nerves that fire your muscles. That was the secret of their bountiful energy! It feels like the energy you had as a child. Much better than any stimulant!

The Secret Sauce.

Within their community, it seemed to be somewhat of a trade secret…the thing that made them the best of the best.

I continued to be fascinated by Epsom Salts. How could that cheap, white stuff do all they claimed? So I decided to find out for myself. I shadowed the dancers for 2 weeks…both in dance class and the gym. The only problem was that they were 20 and I was 40…and I did not have the background. So I tore myself up, thinking I might have done permanent damage! But I had to see for myself what the cheap, white stuff was about. I hobbled home to the bath each evening. The results amazed me. Now, it took me 2-3 baths to fully recover, but recover quickly, I did!! For an older body, it takes a bit longer, but young bodies heal overnight!

I remembered watching Michael Phelps, the swimmer, the most decorated Olympian with a total of 28 medals. As he was kneeling in position waiting for the starting gun to go off, he flapped his arms a few times. I was almost embarrassed for him, his arms were so flabby…like elephant’s ears. (I still carried the old prejudice about muscles being toned and tight all the time). Then the gun went off and Michael leapt into action. As he powered into his 1st stroke, every muscle exploded into clear definition. The most amazing thing to see! Those same muscles rested completely in-between,

The perfect muscle…rarely seen. Magnesium had made him the best of the best.

For most of us ordinary mortals, the fastest and safest way to restore your magnesium levels is by soaking in 4-6 lbs of unscented Epsom Salts in a warm (not hot) bath twice a week for 20-30 minutes. An even better alternative is to use magnesium chloride gel twice a day…cheaper, easier and more effective. (magnesiumshoppe.com The site also has great, free articles)

On average, it takes about 4 months to get your levels up to where they should be. The good news is that you will feel improvement with every bath. At the 2 month mark…halfway through…people feel so good that they tend to stop. But I encourage people to go the full 4 months and see how good they are supposed to feel. It can be quite a life-changing experience!

I read books like “The Magnesium Miracle” and “The Magnesium Factor” along the way and I kept a very critical journal during my 1st 4 month trial just to see if all the claims were true. They were…

It varies with each person’s background, needs and lifestyle, but in general, the 1st improvements will be better sleep, less pain, muscles that are beginning to relax. In the next stage (2-5 wks) you feel the mental and nervous system improvement. Anxiety and depression lift, your heart feels more at ease and stress just feels less ‘stressy’.

Magnesium will steadily impact every system of your body. Brain focus improves, you feel younger, hormone imbalances that come with puberty and menopause will improve, sometimes dramatically. Issues like depression, anxiety. OCD and panic attacks resolve without effort. Eating disorders lessen, many people quit smoking or vaping because they no longer feel the anxiety that provoked their behaviors.

Once the deficiency is corrected, people begin to realize that there was nothing wrong with them as they had imagined for years.

For best effect, nutritional doctors recommend cutting out calcium supplements and limiting caffeine. In layman’s terms, calcium makes a muscle work, too much calcium makes a muscle work around the clock and cramp. And when your muscles are already tight, splashing caffeine on them is like pouring gas on a fire! It makes all 900 muscles tighter.

The 1st muscles to show a magnesium deficiency are the neck, jaw and shoulder muscles. Then people typically start having lower back problems, followed by hip and buttocks issues and then the rest of the body is affected. Leg cramps, muscle spasms, little spasms around the face and eyes, constipation, heart arrythmias and more.

Of particular note are chronic headaches and migraines. A migraine is a muscle spasm of an artery. Slowly weaning yourself off of caffeine, including over the counter migraine meds which are loaded with caffeine, while bringing your magnesium levels up is a gentle and safe way to reverse the problem. (I had an 8 year long headache in my 30s. Once I learned and made the adjustments, I have not had a single headache in over 40 years. I didn’t think that was even possible!)

As you heal, the last place to soften and let down will be the jaw, neck and shoulders.

Another note is that a craving for chocolate is a tip-off for deepening magnesium deficiency. Chocolate (esp. dark) is the last reliable food source of magnesium. Bodies are that smart! They know what is needed! So enjoy your chocolate for now. You actually need it! There will come a time when the craving just goes away of its own accord. A great barometer.

*The old doctors recommended Epsom Salt baths for so many things… It was their #1 remedy, in fact.

Lastly, we tend toward oral solutions. While an oral dose helps with your daily needs, for the backlog of problems, you always go through the skin. Magnesium has been the single most effective and helpful item in my health journey. The old doctors had it right!

And for our athletes, it is their Secret Sauce!

Here are 2 companion posts well worth reading!

https://debra152.substack.com/p/these-hands

As always, thanks for reading! Feel free to like, subscribe (free), share and restack.

https://debra152.substack.com/p/medicine-wheel-with-hyemeyohsts-storm

Picking up the thread from yesterday…

In the Medicine Wheel teaching, old age is regarded very differently than in our culture. Instead of being a time of decline, it becomes a time of greatest responsibility, fruition, power…and purpose.

We are heavily programmed throughout our lives for sickness, aging, decay, and death. Our lives are laid out before us in relentless and ruthless detail…and the body follows the mind.

In my travels, I have discovered that Americans have the worst expectations on aging…and then we go on to fulfill them! I had the opportunity to taste life outside the confines of America and it opened my eyes to better possibilities.

There is a part of me that has always rejected our sour outlook.

Death and taxes..inevitable they cry! Alright…so I pay taxes, but I really think that fallen society gets it wrong.

The Easter message says that death is the final enemy… It says also that ‘death could not hold him’.

The great Teacher and Way-shower inviting us into Sonship…into our full potential.

(you see how the message was hi-jacked…)

Medicine Wheel teaching is more aligned with those ideas…

Maturity / old age as a time of coming into power. A time when you gather up what you have learned in your experience of Life…A time of using your accumulated power to shape the future for the next generations...and the ones to follow. It is also a time to become stronger…not weaker…certainly not feeble, beyond what is absolutely necessary. A time for turning those things into medicine…and not poison.

Contrast these ideas with what we, as a culture, have absorbed… Without going into tiresome detail, we have lost our way...and we unknowingly turn our backs on the most dynamic snd potent chapter of Life. Instead we throw our hands up helplessly and bemoan the state of the world. We create an undertow…Life’s opposite. I could go on, but I’d rather not…

Another dimension of Medicine Wheel teaching is hugely helpful here!

Think of yourself as that embryonic self entering into the Medicine Wheel of Life…a tiny dot at the center. You begin your journey around the Wheel, day by day. season by season and year by year. Just like a tree… Each year is another ring of your tree…your life experience.

You grow into a baby, then a child, a youth and then a mature human. You pass through each season, again and again. Each with its lessons, tasks and challenges.

You go from seedling to tender and vulnerable sapling, then on to a mature tree. You weather every kind of storm, heat, cold, and welcome warmth in ongoing cycles. Seasons of growth, bearing fruit, shedding of the old and rest before beginning again.

We are formed of all these things. Nature is an apt Teacher. A generous Provider.

Now let’s take this into a certain setting…

This could be any place in America, but, in my case, it was the Midwest…

As I mentioned in the first part of this post, I went through an upheaval and a stripping away of my old life. There was a time of healing, rest and then preparation for the next chapter…at the age of 50. I didn’t realize until later that 50 is a pivotal marker in one’s spiritual life. You begin to learn service from a deeper part of self.

A lot of my earlier experiences were now woven into a new form…and a new classroom. I opened a Thai massage practice in a once-thriving town in Indiana…

I witnessed the decline of the GM factories and their town. People had been very successful and were looking forward to their ‘golden years’. But things were not turning out as they expected

Factories closed earlier than expected, There were forced buyouts. Their jobs were heading south. They had not planned or saved. They thought that they could keep taking advantage of the perks. They took vacations at every opportunity, they bought new cars every two years….and all the rest. They failed to support the companies so their children would have jobs in the future. The seasons of life were turning.

Just as they were ‘living the dream’ and lusting for more, things took a series of turns. Their parents now needed care and it fell to them to provide for them. It wasn’t long before their kids and grandkids were moving back in with them after their divorces. In other scenarios, the kids were on drugs and they suddenly had to adopt the grandkids. There were no jobs for the next generation.

They hated their lives! They couldn’t reconcile their pursuit of happiness with the harsh realities they were now facing. Their dreams were evaporating. Harsh stuff that they weren’t physically, emotionally or financially prepared for.

They felt bitter, sometimes suicidal, angry that their ‘disney world’ plans were being so hideously deconstructed.

I’d been through that process myself and I had to find a way to begin again and have strength and will to live. I prayed for some way to help them. What came to me was the Medicine Wheel teaching…

Again…We enter the Medicine Wheel of Life as a dot in the center. We begin to move around our wheel...like the rings of a tree. Each of us has 3 or 4 core issues to
develop in this lifetime. Identify them...your core issues.

For instance, it could be marriage and family, serving your community, the Body (sports, dance, being a doctor or nurse, etc.), developing gifts of music, literature, arts, science, philosophy. Earth-based studies, science, archaeology. Spirituality might be a teacher.

Concentrate on learning those lessons. You don’t have to bother with the rest. As you go round and round, year by year, you will revisit each in turn, growing a bit more each time around.
It’s like going from 1st grade math to 5th grade math to calculus and higher math. It
is learned layer by layer…from simplicity to complexity.

Add into the mix that we are eternal souls. This life is a stage of growth on a much larger continuum.

In our limited minds, we might think “Damn! Here I am AGAIN dealing with the same old crap. It’s wearin’ me out! Will I ever get past these things?! This is not fun! This is not the way I want my life to go! “

In actuality, you are simply making your way around your medicine wheel again…learning and growing a little more each time. Nothing to feel bad about!

It doesn’t help that the pursuit of happiness has been drummed into us as the ideal. We naturally want that. But that may not be the soul’s agenda or the best plan.

In the surrounding culture, most people just want to be big, spoiled, fat, self-centered babies. They want to be coddled, taken care of and live on a diet of mindless entertainment and junk food.

Definitely missing the Big Picture.

They don’t like growing up! They are intent on regressing to babyhood again as they grow older.
They get pretty gnarly when it doesn’t go that way for them.

But, from the perspective of Reality,...

We are eternal, tireless and ever growing into the magnificence that is still somewhat hidden from view. Each time we go around the Medicine Wheel, we revisit the same core issues, learn a little more and continue on.

Like the tree’s rings, each trip around the core issue is longer...and the lessons a little more challenging and complex...all as it should be. Divine Beings are being formed.

You learn to shift your perspective, embrace the next challenges and rely on the fact that we are eternal and tireless in this world of energy.

Our finite minds (what the Thai people call the ‘monkey mind’) will fuss and fume
and cry ‘What about MEEEEEEEEE???!!!

The monkey mind part of us will never understand. But a better part of us knows that struggle brings growth and forges character.

Each student is in their own classroom. Like classrooms anywhere, you have fast learners, slow learners and kids that don’t want to learn at all.
Go at your own good pace and don’t give too much thought to the others. Just do your
classroom well. Don’t let the others grieve your spirit. They will have some making up to do by shirking their work. None of our concern... Karma is pretty reliable..

Scripture says that “we go from strength to strength and glory to glory.”

(‘glory’ translates as Light)

Our culture teaches the opposite!

Many times in Scripture we are presented with a choice…

We are invited to “Choose Life!”

I spent a little time re-wiring my approach to Life! I realized that I couldn’t have it both ways…nor could I afford to be sloppy about it!

I had to choose…and keep learning and choosing. I had to unlearn the culture and work on the livelier side of the equation.

I would reap the results either way!

I felt Spirit’s prompting and help all along the way. There were many unexpected, sly and comedic moments…much gentle encouragement, as well.

It was as if I had finally started asking the right questions…and answers flowed in.

I hope these teachings have helped… Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, share, subscribe, comment and restack…

I’ll leave you with one more of Hyemeyohsts Storm’s teachings

I remember opening an Atlanta paper one day and seeing a headline that caught my attention. Medicine Wheel Ceremony with Hyemeyohsts Storm.

I had no idea who he was or what a medicine wheel was, but the words jumped off the page as though a bright spotlight was shining on them. The headline fairly shouted at me. On reading the article, it seemed to be some new age thing…yet another of the kind of thing that we were inundated with at the time.

Laying it aside, I moved on, but over the next several days, I kept being reminded and drawn back to it. Why was it calling to me?

Finally, I made the call to the organizers. They gave me the general rundown…location and time and what to expect. They said to bring a pillow for sitting on the ground. There was a small catch for me, as I had just had knee surgery and could not sit on the ground. When I told them that, I was met with a curt reply…

”Those are the rules. Come or don’t come.” It was a bit off-putting…

I wrestled with that on two counts. First, I didn’t want to get mixed up with some strange New Age stuff, nor could I meet their requirements.

Then something unexpected happened. A business associate and new friend invited me to her church in Tennessee. There was a healer coming from California that she wanted me to see. I’m not a big church-goer, but she was practically insistent.

It was a 2 hour drive…plenty of time to think. I wondered if he was all he was cracked up to be. And then I thought I was much more in the mood for the gift of prophecy.

I arrived and settled into a pew with her and her family. The congregation sang a few hymns and then they introduced their guest speaker.

He was a diminutive man, not flashy by any means. He struck me as sincere.

He told the story of his becoming a Christian. He wanted to be in close proximity to the church so he could grow. He had asked for a job cleaning the toilets…church janitor. From that humble start, he studied, he grew in the word…and in the gifts.

Then he started his work with the unexpected remark, that although he had been brought there to do a healing service, he felt inclined to do prophetic work instead. Just what I had hoped for.

I watched as he gave a few messages to the congregation. I was in no position to judge the caliber of his work, so I simply observed, but he seemed to be real. He would give a message and several hands would go up to claim it. He would scan the raised hands and direct the message to one person, adding further detail.

Then he started to give a message about a big wheel. When I heard the words, I started to tremble involuntarily…in front of my startled friends. I tried to quell the shaking and I kept silent. Surely several people would raise their hands for the message. But no hands were raised…very unusual in these settings. He elaborated a bit more and searched the crowd again. I couldn’t contain the shaking. And by now, I was feeling guilt-ridden over my medicine wheel venture. No hands were raised. He tried a third time.

I thought to myself, I’m sitting in a church full of Tennessee farmers with big tractors…with big wheels! Surely someone will take this message. Still no takers! Then he added more details…I knew without a doubt that the message was meant for me. He asked me to step into the aisle. I was so mortified, but I climbed over several people, crutches, and leg in a cast and stood there trembling.

In the most delicate and discreet way, he described my struggle around attending the medicine wheel ceremony and assured me that I was indeed supposed to go…

It was likely that no one else that was gathered there would have approved of such a thing. His message cut through the paradox. It was the final confirmation I needed.

I drove back to Atlanta in the most dazzling lightning storm. I have a thing for lightning… It is a totem for me…an indicator. I have history with it. This storm was breathtaking… As I followed the storm, I missed my exit and found myself halfway to Alabama. I turned around to retrace my steps. It was a magical night in so many ways!

As I drove, I began to feel an urge to look up my name in a concordance…Deborah. I had already done that and had memorized the few lines that it contained. But the urge kept coming. I got back home just before dawn, so tired that I nearly forgot to do it, but there it was again. I pored over the few familiar lines without any new insight.

“Deborah, wife of Lapidoth…..”

Then it dawned on me that I had never translated his name. I always enjoy that sort of thing. Let’s see what comes of it!

“Lapidoth…Lightning” Deborah was wife of Lightning.

************

A week later, I hobbled into the school auditorium and signed in for the medicine wheel ceremony. Once inside, I saw about 60 mostly young people sitting on the floor in the center of the room. I glanced around the perimeter and saw one elderly couple sitting in folding chairs on one wall, a wheelchair-bound man on the opposite wall, and two folding chairs on the right hand wall. I took a chance and headed to the right. ‘What’s the worst thing that can happen to me? They can kick me out..’ I felt terribly conspicuous, but I had to take the chance.

I watched as people entered and took their spots on the floor in the center. Mostly young, a few middle-aged, and a couple of older folks. There was an older man in blue jeans and an old plaid work shirt. He had a simple white ponytail. He paced slowly around the circle, hands clasped behind his back. I thought to myself that he was going to delay sitting on the floor for as long as possible. No one paid much attention to him.

After some time, he lifted his head and raised his voice and began to speak softly as he paced. This was Hyemeyohsts himself…

All talking ceased as the participants focused their attention on him. He continued circling.

His first words…”I would like those of you in the center of the room to take special notice of the people sitting at the edges…

These are the most important people in this room. In our tradition, we call them the “Seated Ones”.

I was red-faced as everyone turned to face us.

He continued…”You will see that some of them are old and that some of them are infirm, while yet another is young.

When Creator sits a person down, it is for a purpose. And that purpose is prayer.

Why are they the most important people in this room? It is because they are praying your future into existence. You may think that you are creating your future, but they are praying your future into existence.”

“When Spirit sits someone down, they are embarking on the most important work of their entire lives…that of praying the future into existence.”

I was stunned by his teaching.

I knew that I had been recently ‘sat down by God’….first to get my attention, to stop me in my tracks, so I could hear. I had been racing through life for a long time. He had been trying to get my attention…to get me to slow down…for a couple of years. I had treated Spirit like a state trooper. I would slow down for a bit until He was so- called ‘out of sight’ and then I would speed up again. Finally, He had to knock a leg out from under me quite literally and bring me to stillness…and to prayer.

It was exactly how I had described my experience to my close people.

I had already been shown that prayer was my primary calling….and that it was the most substantive work that one could do.. That story is told in my book “Grandma in the Sky with Diamonds”.

With that experience of being ‘sat down’, a lot of much-needed deep personal healing took place. My old life was stripped away and I was redirected…to prayer and healing.

Up until I heard this teaching, I hadn’t known that there was a context for this experience.

It wasn’t a punishment…it wasn’t an ending. It was an important new phase of life.

In the light of this teaching, it was an honor, a responsibility…with important purpose. I had just stepped through the doorway of my future.

There was some more teaching in preparation for the actual medicine wheel ceremony. Hyemeyohsts had been invited by several governments around the world to create medicine wheels for peace. This was one stop on that journey.

When he opened the ceremony, he beat the drums, acknowledging the four directions and the four elements…wind, fire, earth and water.

It was a clear, calm sunlit afternoon. When Hyemeyohsts was about to strike the drum for the fire direction, there was a sharp crack of thunder and a bolt of lightning that preceeded his strike!

There was a sudden hush as we all felt the Power and the Presence.. This was not an idle ritual. This was real….palpable connection. It was the Answer of Power…clear and precise.

At one point, Hyemeyohsts invited us to sense which of the directions we were allied with. Most of those gathered chose the three elements of earth, wind and water. Only a scant handful of us chose fire.

In that very small group, I met three people who had been struck by lightning!

One of the most poweful and endearing stories I have ever encountered came from one of those people.

This young man had been struck…twice! The second strike left him so injured that he became disabled…and eventually homeless. After some very difficult years, he was given a cot at a shelter that was connected to a used clothing store. He very slowly got onto his feet. Then he took a small job working at the store.

There was an older worker who saw his struggles. He befriended the young man and started helping him. This went on for several years. They had an unusual rapport.. a close bond.

And here is where the story gets interesting…

The old man had a secret. He was an ex-con who had served prison time for murdering his young wife. They had a four month old son. He murdered his wife and put her body and the baby in a stolen car. He drove the car to the airport and abandoned it. Then he went on the run. At the airport, someone heard the baby’s cry and the dead mother was discovered.

It was several years before her husband was found and convicted. He served his time, was released and he became homeless. In the rescue mission, he got a job. Years later, the young man came. The older man took him under his wing and helped him through life. In a chance incident, they eventually discovered that they were father and son.

Two shattered lives brought together for healing and restoration…

***************

In the Medicine Wheel teaching, old age is regarded so differently than in our culture. Instead of being a time of decline, it becomes a time of greatest responsibility, fruition and power.

We are heavily programmed throughout our lives for sickness, aging, decay, and death. Our lives are laid out before us in relentless and ruthless detail…and the body follows the mind.

In my travels, I have discovered that Americans have the worst expectations on aging…and then we go on to fulfill them! I had the opportunity to taste life outside the confines of America and it opened my eyes to better possibilities.

There is a part of me that has always rejected our sour outlook.

Death and taxes..inevitable they cry! Alright…so I pay taxes, but I really think that fallen society gets it wrong.

The Easter message says that death is the final enemy… It says also that ‘death could not hold him’.

The great Teacher and Way-shower inviting us into Sonship…into our full potential.

(you see how the message was hi-jacked)

Medicine Wheel teaching is more aligned with those ideas…

I have written recently about the experiences of evil on Cape Breton…”eyes at the window” and “things that go bump in the bed”. Here is another unexpected event of that time…

My house was a hangout for the young people there. I was the safe stranger that they could tell their troubles to. I was in the early stages of my own spiritual awakening experiences and it was naturally shared with them.

Nearing Easter,I read aloud the passages about the last supper, the crucifixion and the resurrection to the 15 or so young people gathered in my living room.

As I began to read about Jesus’ resurrection, I suddenly felt invisible hands tightening around my throat. They were murderous hands. There is no other way to put it.

It was then that I began to understand the importance and the reality of the Resurrection. That the fight between good and evil is more real than we can imagine in our ordinary consciousness...

I started out to write about Hyemeyohsts and the Medicine Wheel today…

It was not intended, but it is nearing Easter, so on this note, I will stop for today and continue this in the coming days…

As always, thanks for reading…

As improbable as it may seem, this is another true story...

One early winter I travelled to visit my new friend in Detroit.
We had met the summer before when he stayed at my hostel on Cape Breton.
This young man had experienced a very beautiful and unexpected spiritual awakening there.
It was deep and transformative, revealing a very wise and tender-hearted soul.
He had recently become a Christian. I knew he had a tough road ahead of him.
I wanted to see how he was getting along and in turn he had asked me to help him find a church to attend.
I was always ambivalent about that sort of thing.
I hated to see someone like this young man make a good start in his spiritual life and then get caught up in a dead church.
Time and time again, once a church got a hold of a new 'convert’ they would misappropriate and ‘educate’ the Life right out of them.
Still, most people would feel the need of the support of a body of believers.
It just helped to show them how to navigate the scene...

My young friend and I would look for a church on Sunday morning.
But this was Saturday night and we opted for a long walk to talk and get caught up on everything. We walked for miles-lost in conversation until we found ourselves on the mean streets of downtown Detroit.
The city was in serious decline by then with boarded-up storefronts covered in menacing graffiti.
By the time we reached downtown the sun was going down, the temperature was dropping fast and the atmosphere was anything but welcoming.
It was a long walk back and we needed to get warmed up before we made the return trip. We looked for a diner or coffee shop, but every place was closing and the downtown was rapidly emptying of people. It was too late to turn back and unwise to go forward.
But, as luck would have it, we eventually chanced upon a building with an open door and a brightly-lit interior.
We ducked inside, hoping to warm up a bit and rest before the long trek home.
We found ourselves in a stately old building, quite at odds with its surroundings in the deteriorating downtown area.

Once inside, we were fascinated by the rich architectural details. We wandered through halls leading to grand rooms, admiring the old carved staircase, the ornate tiles, intricate designs and marble wall panels.
The place reminded me of a turn-of-the-century Masonic temple.
We headed up the staircase to see what the mezzanine and the balcony held.
We had been chattering away excitedly up to that point, but when we reached the balcony and surveyed the auditorium below, we quickly lowered our voices. Down below us, we saw a few elderly black folks entering the building.
They were carrying Bibles under their arms. Apparently the lodge had been turned into a church and we had intruded on their service.
We sat down straightaway and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

The handful of people gathering were thinly dispersed around the huge room.
A few more arrived. There were perhaps a dozen or so worshippers scattered throughout that grand auditorium. They were mostly older, mostly women. They bowed their heads and prayed quietly or spoke in low tones while they waited for the service to start. Two or three more people joined them and then their prayer service began.
Not a very impressive gathering. No pastor or leader among them.
Just a simple gathering of humble black folks, heads bowed as they prayed quietly.
We sat as still we could, hoping no one would notice our presence.

After a time, a voice was raised...and then another.
The people began to pray out loud.
They prayed informally, each tending to their own concerns.
Before long, everyone had risen to their feet...all of them praying out loud.
It was a bit strange...all these discordant voices.
As they prayed, their prayers grew more fervent, more animated.

Then I heard a woman begin to pray in tongues...glossolalia...other languages.
I'd had some experience of that myself, but I wondered what my young friend would think of it. We had never talked about anything like that.

Soon another worshipper lifted her voice and prayed in tongues.
And another...and another. Soon all joined in.
Before long, there was an embarrassing cacophony of sound.

Then one of the women lifted her voice above the others and began to sing in tongues.
I had never heard anything like it!
It was an eerie tongue and melody.
Her voice was strong and beautiful...confident and full-throated.

Then the others began to sing in tongues, as well.
The sound was confusing as they each sang different songs in different languages.
Their voices became louder now and more emphatic.
I was embarrassed, not knowing what to say to my friend.

But then, in the proverbial 'twinkling of an eye,' the most astonishing thing happened.
Their voices became ONE...

The most glorious song was heard...
It was beautiful beyond words!

And then, suddenly the entire dome reverberated with many hundreds of voices...
an invisible angelic choir.

The music we heard was incomparably beautiful.
It is so far beyond what can even be imagined here.
There is nothing on earth that it can be compared to.
It lifted us to our feet.
We stood frozen with our hair standing on end, transported into what can only be described as a heavenly realm.
Tears streamed down our faces.
We were unable to speak.
Our eyes alone confirmed to each other that we were hearing the same other-worldly performance.
The hall was filled to overflowing with voices singing in majestic tones.
The sound of their voices rose and fell...and rose and fell together for some time.
We stood transfixed in ecstasy...no other world existed.

And then...
Just as suddenly as they had begun, their voices rose and fell one last time and they came to rest as one.
The Silence left us breathless...
Holiness had intermingled with this humble congregation.

A few moments of silence followed.
Then without fanfare or remark, the people quietly gathered their things, put on their coats and left for home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always… Thanks for reading. Feel free to like, subscribe (always free), share and restack.

When the world has the Tao
Fast horses are retired to till the soil
When the world lacks the Tao
Warhorses give birth on the battlefield

There is no crime greater than greed
No disaster greater than discontentment
No fault greater than avarice
Thus the satisfaction of contentment
is the lasting satisfaction

From the child’s vantage point…and we were all children once…

What did we KNOW? What did we FEEL? How was our knowing shoved aside, dismissed, ignored, contradicted, mocked, even punished in some cases?

Often, it isn’t until we re-awaken our dormant abilities, unused for a long time – stored in the back of our memories and labelled ‘childhood nonsense’, that we remember experiences which occurred naturally in childhood. ‘That’s just your imagination,” they insisted. ‘Imagination’ we were conditioned to suppress.

This is written because it is timely…and in hopes that it will spark recognition and recovering of our Original Self in others. To restore us to our Knowing, to nudge us back onto the path we started out on…

Crib stories…

When I was very small…still in diapers…still in the crib…a Voice spoke these words to me:

“You will not be having children. That is for OTHER people. Your life will be about other things.”

The Voice was gentle, kind, yet authoritative. Not quite male or female…

After that, I was shown a series of mental pictures of what was possible.

I remember seeing foreign lands and having a clear sense of great potential to help on a large scale-IF I could keep my path straight. A global perspective and orientation…with an inclination toward healing…of mind, soul and body.

For someone born into the kind of family and circumstances that I was, it was a huge stretch, not only of imagination, but of luck.

But a seed had been planted and a kind of Knowing resulted. I was blessed with a good intellect and high energy. It was up to me to do the work and to make use of opportunities as I could find them. I KNEW that.

How did I know that? I just did…
I was actually quite happy and excited that my life would be different and that I would be free to do bigger, more important things.

There were plenty of children here already…the beginnings of overpopulation.
The ones that were already here needed better tending, as it was. These things were crystal clear in my mind.

As I grew up, I knew that I would have to find a way to not have children. That would take an extreme effort at that time…in the fifties.
I would have to become a nun or a scholar or both…maybe a missionary. Not many women of the time were exempt from marriage and child-bearing.

I learned early on to keep my feelings and thoughts to myself. To act otherwise was to court all kinds of unpleasantness.

I didn’t play with dolls like the other girls nor did I play house incessantly. That sets you apart pretty quickly.

My nose was stuck in books, quiet, more serious pursuits, not chatty ‘silly’ things. I wasn’t going to play out a fairly mindless script.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Voice came to me a second time…not too long afterward. It instructed me in these words-still vivid…

“The greatest cause of suffering on this plane is the misuse of sexuality…”

followed by a pause. “…and you would be well-advised to steer clear of it.”

Those words came as quite a shock. Though I was so young, I knew enough about life to think that war might be the greatest cause of suffering…or poverty…or sickness and disease. I never would have arrived at this! But it was uttered with such gravity and certainty. It was THE bottom line.

My place within the scheme of things was clearly suggested, as well.
~~~~~~~~~~

Now why would a child be told such things? Who is doing the telling?

It would be several decades before I would be introduced to the idea of spiritual guides and teachers.

One might well ask why a baby would be told such serious things… And yet, I was.

Those words ‘bent’ my life. Those words put me on my path. They rescued me from a lot of pain and distortion. They gave shape and purpose ro my life..

They were deep and clear at the time and they had the desired effect. But, as I grew up, the messages were overrun, eclipsed…and nearly lost.
At times, they were only a dim memory that I myself discounted as I sided with the culture that says children are ignorant…mere blank slates.

I was nearly 40 before I finally recovered them clearly, dusted them thoroughly and began to give conscious heed to them…conscious respect.

By then I had done some living and I could see plainly that whenever I heeded the Words, my life went well.
When I deviated from them for any reason or failed to take them seriously enough, my life became a disaster. In fact, I almost lost my life on more than one occasion.

It is hard to reconcile the inner life with the pressures of the outer world. It is hard to reconcile the two realities.

You learn, sometimes by hard experience, to take Spirit at its Word.

In hindsight, the messages are more true than I could have imagined. The longer I live, the more that truth is evident…

I made mistakes along the way of misinterpreting the messages.
For instance: while the message about not having children was clear enough, I failed for a time to appreciate those for whom child-bearing was a calling.
This is not to say that most are called. Many people just fall into it unthinkingly or because it is expected of them. The lives they secretly and really wanted to have are shoved aside, their gifts and talents buried, opportunities missed.

I assumed, given the world around me, that I should be a nun or a doctor. Both avenues would have been disastrous mistakes. I found myself repeatedly blocked and redirected. I was eventually prepared and led to a finer expression of those potentials…where I would not be under the control of either of those systems.

The message about ‘the misuse of sexuality as the greatest cause of suffering’ was underscored strongly in my life. A core lesson…

Why would I be told such a thing at the outset? In fact, I was going to need that information early on.

My stepfather was a sex-obsessed man…later discovered to be a pedophile,,,my childhood marred by his attempts to act on his impulses. It was hard, but effective learning. In retrospect I see how I was protected throughout by the Unseen…

(Later in life, I was shown the underlying subconscious events in his own childhood that led to his behavior)

Like most of us, I ran the gauntlet of high school/college sexuality disguised as love. A pretty mixed-up culture…already debased and malfunctioning.

Core lessons are rugged affairs. Lessons begin early. They seem unrelenting at times.

I extricated myself at 17, got an apartment, put my life in order and prepared for med school with an eye toward psychiatry…when there was a 3 am knock on my door.

My best friend, who had disappeared just weeks before graduation, had a young man in tow. “Debbie, can you help him? He od’d and I’ve taken him to all 3 emergency rooms in town and they refused to take him (1969). Please!!” Then she was gone. (she had gotten mixed up with drugs).

Not having much choice in the matter, I took him in, nursed him through a 72-hour comedown from amphetamines (thinking that my on-the-job- training had started. This was all new…the 1st time that drugs had been brought into our town).

When he finally came to himself, he declared I was his angel sent from God (he was a preachers kid). At that point he would not leave, he latched on with the threat of suicide, went on to drain my bank account on the eve of my escape/departure for college and before long, he and his parents forced a marriage. He had his own set of perversions…but fortunately, the marriage was never consummated. Huge protection under the circumstances that were unfolding.

He was a study in contrasts…a musical savant, a Mensa member, troubled from the age of four years old, in the care of psychiatrists, who he typically outwitted. He was also one of the first Ritalin kids, which set him up for methamphetamine addiction as an adult. He spiralled into paranoia, suicidal and then homicidal rages. He was considered manic-depressive, but there was more to it than the medical profession could quantify.

There was a frightening spiritual component, as well. There were many times that his blue eyes would suddenly turn gleaming black and an unearthly entity would take over. It had an overwhelming strength and cunning. His energy field changed and he could scramble everyone and every thing in his vicinity. (much like UFO descriptions)

I relate this because there are others trapped in these circumstances, unable to understand with the meager resources they have…unable to convey their desperate need for help… We lack the framework for dealing on this level.

So those were some of the early lessons…

Going back to childhood…and this may be familiar to some of you…

What Children Know... Remembering...

To give another example of what kids know, I’ll share some of my own story…Sometimes it helps to jumpstart one’s own remembering to learn how another person got there.
Some of these realizations are universal in scope. After all, we have a lot in common. They ‘fit’.
Some of you will relate…others will not. We all have our differing levels and experiences…

From a child’s perspective...

First sensations… First memories…

‘Too loud! Too bright! Too harsh! I jump uncomfortably at everything.
I don’t like this place. What is the matter with these people?!
Why is everyone so mean to each other?’
(I feel everyone’s emotions-much of it negative)
’I am getting filled up with all these bad feelings…waves that I can’t stop or block.
I have to empty myself of everyone’s bad feelings…I can’t handle all of this…
It is making me sick and nervous. I cry.
I am afraid of these bad people…
They are stabbing each other with their eyes, punching with their smiles!
I feel like I am in an insane asylum.‘

(Now how did I think in such clear terms? But I remember thinking that quite clearly as an infant. I am not the only one…)

’They do ugly things to their bodies (like smoking).
They make ugly sounds and they like it! (fighting-swearing)
They want me to be like them, but I will not!!!
They try to break me down to their level, but I will never go there.
I must fight.’
I am soon so miserable, surrounded on all sides, that I can only dimly recall that this is not all there is, but ‘I fight for the goodness inside me.
I must protect it, keep it alive, don’t let anyone see it or they will try to destroy it.
They take pleasure in destroying the good. I don’t understand. I don’t understand… I cry.’

”Desecration” is the word I use now as an adult.
What is it in people that seeks to destroy innocence?
To slap a child that smiles or experiences too much happiness.
To give alcohol to a baby or an animal… To inflict pain…
To harm their bodies in so many ways?
To ruin and mar a clean slate…
There is something evil at work in bringing a child down-in desecrating something pure.

In Bali, a child’s feet never touch the ground for the 1^st year of their lives, because it is understood that a soul freshly arrived from heaven will need time and gentle handling to touch this earth.
It is not easy to tackle this existence…especially if you are born more sensitive than some…

They are lowered slowly and gently into this world, surrounded by prayerful protectors…as they should be.

I remember vowing with all my strength that I would NEVER go down.
Even if they succeeded in breaking me or making me do bad things like lying or beating another child
I would not go all the way down.
I would resist, I would pretend…but not very much.
I would not debase myself or let myself be debased by them. I would somehow stay clean.
I did not want their ugly, unhappy lives with all the fighting and broken-down existence.
I did not like the lives they made. I wanted no part of them.

Don’t go DOWN, I told myself over and over…don’t go down!

Still when I look at people today with their mean lives, disheartened situations,
their distorted bodies, half-destroyed minds and deadened spirits, I still see the broken-down children who were not born that way.
They were not helped into life. They were desecrated and beaten down until no memory remained.
Their dead eyes say so much…
They think this is who they ARE.

It is never true. But the evidence seems overwhelming.

I think of the Kirlian photography example of a living leaf surrounding by a strong, clear white radiance.
When the leaf is plucked from the stem, it’s radiance diminishes somewhat. There is a little loss of life, but it is still there.
Then that leaf is torn nearly in half. A chunk of it is missing. The torn leaf is photographed once more.
The shocking thing to all who see it is that the original aura of light that surrounds the leaf remains whole and perfect!
I think that is true of us, as well.

Life has torn some pieces, an injury occurs, sexual or other abuse is enacted, divorce and death and heartbreak take their toll, but the Original Spirit..the Life Force remains whole and alive.
What is done TO us does not destroy or even much diminish us.
If we hold that picture in mind, we are still viable.

As Marcus Aurelius said…”Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.”

****

As a young and precocious child, I practically began speaking in sentences. Given my interior world, that was altogether natural.
I thought in sentences from the start. I thought in direct concise concepts.
Words came later, as needed, to impress something on my waking mind.
As a baby, I remember having very strong, clear thoughts and opinions about the world I had just entered.
I remember thinking that I had landed in an asylum of sorts...a world-wide asylum with few places of sanctuary.
I felt assaulted by the harsh noises around me. The unbridled insensitivity of most people, the crudeness of life and the loutish behavior of people was a constant source of shock and dismay.
I felt a great desire to flee or at least to hide. I spent a lot of time hiding, in fact…and a lot of time planning my escape.
My mother seemed to sense my sensitive nature and she was my early refuge.
She took me aside often to reassure me and she tried to protect and nurture, even champion me. She knew what was needed... that is, until she was overcome herself.

My dad, on the other hand, decided that I was too sensitive and that I needed to be broken of that sensitivity. He turned it into a family crusade. I was oversensitive…too pure…too fussy. I was crazy according to him.
Something was wrong with ME for not liking his touch (read molestation), his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, his beatings-doled out daily, our inability to have ‘fun’ with him in the following moment after his temper was spent.

Why was my dad so bent on destroying my sensitivity?

Well…that sensitivity was getting in his way. I felt him. He was easy to read...

We children see without meaning to. We assess as we should.

A child’s purity naturally enrages someone who doesn’t want to be seen.
I always knew when dad was sneaking around with other women, or when he was picking a fight with mom so she wouldn’t catch on to him…or when his guilt was too much…or when he wanted a reason to leave the house for a few hours to meet yet another woman.

Innocence speaks loudly, apparently…
How was I to know?
****
I was generally spared the banality of baby talk. Only the occasional relative or neighbor would coo over me in that strange way that they have. I always found it to be ridiculous and demeaning, something to be endured.
I hated their touch, their smells, their rough handling, their horrible manners.
Why did they think they had the right to do that to me?!
I couldn’t wait to get them out of my face!
To this day I still rankle at this ill-conceived practice.
Children should never be forced into the clutches of anyone they are uncomfortable with-for any reason.
A parent should protect those boundaries until a person can confidently do it for themselves.
Instead, our families encourage the breaking down of our boundaries.
Untold damage often results.
It is thought that 80% of us have been molested…huge numbers. It has been driven underground…quietly normalized.
This is where it starts...

What Children Know... Digging for Truth
I think that one of the most important things we can do in this life is to recover our Knowing… our Original, Authentic Self.
And here I want to say “Blessed are the Stubborn!”
You know, some children are hard to break! They are strong-minded, willful, defiant!
And that is a good thing! They have a chance of holding onto their truth, their essence.
It is much harder for the child who is softer, more fearful, more compliant.
For them, it is a longer journey back to Self.

How does one go about recovering one’s Self?
What happens if all we can unearth of our original selves are fragments that we are unsure of?

Actually, that is almost always the case... Still, it is a legitimate Beginning.
“Beginning” is a holy enterprise in itself.

Like an archaeological dig, sometimes we find a whole vase or a weapon or a piece of jewelry, but many times what we find is broken, seemingly useless amidst messy layers.
But the ruins call to us of earlier, finer and more illustrious times in our Souls.
Once you begin to find those fragments, a certain excitement builds, a thirst for knowing who and what we were before we became diminished…before we became cogs in society’s various machineries.

The Soul is eager to be recognized even if it’s 50 or 60 years later.
While there is life and energy, there is possibility...
At some point a key is unearthed…something that says ‘Aha!’ THIS is the real me!
I remember... It may be faint, but it is still there...
Then the chase is on! You want to recover more! And more!
You start to see yourself...experience yourself…your True Self.
The very foundation of your life emerges and a real life can finally be built.

We are sometimes like a city that has been conquered, destroyed and built upon by successions of marauding armies.
Along the way, family, religion, culture, marriages, jobs have all imposed their rule
and sought to destroy what does not serve their purposes.
We may have to dig through the rubble and confusion to find who and what we are.

When the pressure of having lost touch with our Essence is too much, one might dismantle or blow up their current situation and a mid-life crisis or breakdown results.
If the work is not done-either through disbelief or avoidance, depression is the likely result.

How does a parent, teacher, partner, or friend learn to not harm the Self in another…
to recognize and honor the true Self and not drive it into further hiding?

***
Recovering our Knowing...
As a bodyworker of 20 years, I am more and more dismayed that while we are so-called highly educated in the west, we know virtually nothing of value about our own bodies.
All of our education points to things outside the body. Math, English, history, science and the like…
But what do we know of our bodies? When we have problems, we hand them off helplessly to doctors and the medical establishment who go on to encourage that ignorance.
I’ve worked on enough doctors to realize that they don’t know much abou the basic workings of their bodies either. They are as hopelessly cut off and at war with their bodies as they are with ours.
Instead of learning the language of the body with its treasure house of sensing and obtaining information, we are taught to ignore, override, and belittle the incoming information.

All real learning has to originate with our Selves…the body-mind that carries the expression of Soul and Spirit.
This is the foundation, the vehicle for our journey of life. Outside knowledge comes later.
We are systematically directed outward and AWAY from our Selves at all times.

After enough damage is done and suffering is experienced, we are finally admonished by the overculture to ‘seek within’, but even that is as artificial, confusing and useful as the rest of the programmed ‘knowledge’ we are fed.

In the end, it may be more useful to set ALL of that aside for the time being and see what we can recover of ourselves.
Start with the simple idea of not being a blank slate.
We KNOW things…LOTS of things, as we come into life.
We know what we like, what we don’t like...We know who we like or don’t like.
That innate knowing should not be over-ridden. It is vital information. It is the child’s Truth.
A baby who rejects the nipple or bottle of milk knows something…senses something. They convey that directly with their actions.
Perhaps the nursing mother is angry or fearful or is taking a medication that is harmful to the baby.
Perhaps the child is lactose intolerant or chemically sensitive. We should observe and learn from these actions rather than overriding and forcing the child to do what we want.

If a child does not want to be held or passed around to everyone that wants to handle the child, the child’s wishes must be taken seriously.
The child knows what is good for it. That knowing should not be dismissed or violated.

A child wants to make music or climb trees or bang on things or take things apart…
all rightful expressions of what is inside.
As an acorn becomes an oak tree quite naturally, a child becomes what they are meant to become...
and they may be many things.
Our pigeon-holing culture would have us relegate them to a preferred role...a mommy, a firefighter, a scholar, or a soldier, etc.
In reality, it might be better described as part mommy, part artisan, part farmer, etc. Many aspects or facets come into play as a life unfolds. Just as some gemstones are more complex than others. while some have fewer facets..
These are just differing expressions of Life.

Maybe, as children, we didn’t like our family, or town, or the manner in which we were raised.
These are things to note…they matter. We do not have to downplay or sugarcoat our truth.
We diminish ourselves when we do...

Perhaps a parent wants a son to become a doctor. The boy wants to work with his hands and travel the world Whose desires survive? At what cost?

Perhaps daddy or mommy wanted a boy instead of a girl. A daughter grows up trying to please that parent and then society goes on to blame HER for being “gay”.
The girl wants to be whatever it is she decides to be… It will come to her in time if she is not meddled with too much.

A child should have the best influence, support and example from its parents, but beyond that, there are lines that should not be crossed. Raising children calls for guidance in helping them become the person that lies within.

It is a voyage of discovery rather than a call for programming.

I side with the venerable Kahlil Gibran when he says:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.”

We, as children, endured so much wringing and twisting up of our Selves that we often throw in the towel and live a life of someone else’s choosing.

And then, much of the time, go on to enact that same damage to succeeding generations. We wind up supporting the agendas of our captors as well as the over-culture.
Like tender blades of grass finding a way up to the sunlight through concrete, the Truth within us will try to find a way out and up or it will wither and die and pass out of this life unmanifested.

There is a wonderful example of a toddler who, at the age of 3, asked his parents for a violin for his birthday… a real one, he insisted, quite precociously.
The family had little money or concern for music.
They were sure that a toy violin would be more than adequate. When the boy unwrapped the gift, he flew into a terrifying rage, smashed the toy violin to bits and screamed at his parents for trying to fool him with a fake violin.
He insisted on the real thing...at once! He went on to become a world-famous violinist.
It was his destiny….and he knew it from the start. It was imprinted in his soul.

I knew a man who, as a boy, had an astonishing talent for the piano.
He was a savant, someone who could listen to a Rachmaninoff concerto one time and sit down and play it flawlessly.
He never learned to read music. In fact, he flatly refused lessons. It would have been torture to force lessons on him.
He already exceeded anyone who might teach him. All he needed was to be supported in his giftedness.

Another curious description of a young child’s inner life comes from a woman in Atlanta, Georgia.
I knew her as a metaphysical teacher. To some, she was a psychic, to others an accomplished painter.
She once shared with me the experience of her first years of life. This was in the context of not being too quick to judge so-called autistic children, for she was one of the early ones.
She remembered clearly her birth into her body in this life.
Once she realized that she had once again been sent to earth-a place she detested more than anything-she was furious beyond words…and beyond words she remained for the first 6 years of her life.
She felt as though she was being punished, insulted, imprisoned down here once again against her will. She hated almost everything about earthly life from prior remembered experience.
Strong-willed as she was. she took up her battle with what she called ‘the Home Office’… or God, if you will.
The battle was furious, determined and protracted. As she put it, “I had a six year long hissy fit with the Almighty and firmly refused to serve humans” (that’s what she knew she was assigned to do here once more). She raged within the whole time, refusing food, water and all forms of contact and engagement. She wanted OUT!
In the end, she realized she was not going to win this argument.
Once reconciled to that fact, she turned around to face her life and began speaking in full sentences! She began to interact with the world, much to the amazement of her parents and the ‘experts’ who had been brought in on her case.
She brought herself around to serve with reluctance and difficulty, but she made it.
As she described it, she went through the motions of what was expected of her as a child and young woman, pretty much in a huge sulk the whole time. She knew what she was capable of, but she kept it to herself. She resolved to live a selfish life as much as possible. She married and entered the workplace, bent on avoiding her calling. But a series of strange events dogged her efforts to have things her way.
She would take a job somewhere and within a few months of her arrival, the business would fail.
At first it seemed coincidental, but several failed businesses later, she knew the score.
This would keep happening and more and more people would suffer until she finally surrendered to her calling…her reason to be here…the work she was destined to do.

When I first learned of her, I was very leery of psychics, but I began to realize how many people she had helped…in particular, how many suicidal people she had helped through life.
She provided a kind of help and insight that was wonderfully beyond what pastors, counselors and psychiatrists could offer. There was no denying the power and the scope of her gifts.
She was teacher, mentor, spiritual mother and guide beyond compare. She was no-nonsense, at times, blunt and true...
She took me aside after class one day and counseled me along these lines, saying “Debra, as you are experiencing all of these new things, all this new growth…do not let go of your foundation in Christ. This is an extension of your walk with God. It is not apart or separate from it. It is the fulfillment of His Being. Hold onto your good foundation. But! Do not be limited in your beliefs! Not by the church and not by yourself!”

She paused a bit and then went on to explain. “You know, sadly, most Christians still do not know Christ. When they say they believe in Jesus, they may as well be saying they believe in Santa Claus.
They use His Name in the same way.
He is just there to provide presents to them. He is just someone they want to use. There is no reality…no real following…just make-believe.
She was characterized by that kind of razor-sharp expression and loyalty to the Truth.
She was right, of course...a little hard-hitting, but Truth can be like that.
That kind of Truth can save a life...or salvage it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A lot can be learned from those that are still true and truthful…no matter what size they are.

A wise Turkish teacher asked me once: “What is the single most important thing in life?”

I thought for a bit and then answered “Love.”

He fell silent. I felt like I had missed the mark… I couldn’t come up with anything better. Finally I asked him what his answer was. Without hesitation, he said “Truth.”

I was taken aback… His answer was stark and uncompromising.

Our culture claims to value love above all else…but the more I thought about it, the more important and accurate his answer seemed. That single word began to re-orient my thinking…
Truth is the foundation for everything. Where truth and love are concerned, without truth we have nothing…no possibility of real love.

Children are still true… Therefore we have much to learn from them...some things to teach (like the practicalities of life and culture), but much to learn.

In fact, in some cultures, parents see children as full-fledged souls who carry insight for those who are willing to learn.
A Taoist teacher shared the following observations with me…”Each child that is born into a family reflects the state of the parent’s relationship at the time of their conception.”
Ever wonder why some children within a family are so similar, while others are so different?

Furthermore, they see that child’s soul as being a somewhat older soul than the parents…slightly wiser and more evolved. They come in to teach…as well as to learn.

If you stop to think about it…who doesn’t remember thinking,…even knowing, that they were wiser than their parents in many respects?!

The question becomes “How did we know these things?” Perhaps the ancients were right...
Perhaps we are experienced souls continuing an everlasting journey.

Some traditional societies regard their children as being recently arrived from life between lives.
They have not forgotten the higher realms altogether as people are prone to do after some time.
Imagine what it would be like if parents were willing to hear and to learn from their children. What if we are missing the better half of the equation by turning a blind eye to what they have to teach us?
It’s much easier to imagine that a child knows nothing and that their opinions do not matter.
Society convinces us that it is so. It becomes much easier to lord it over them and to behave callously toward them. “I am the parent! You are the child! You’ll do as I say…or else!
Or even to go so far as to say “Do as I say...not as I do!” The crazy-making contradiction.
Now obviously, children need some assistance in the physical realm of things as they mature to the point where they can take things up on their own.
But, internally, they are far more experienced and equipped than we give them credit for.
Admittedly, this can be a little confusing on the surface…
The problem for the child is that they DO know many things. Who they are, in part, what they want or don’t want.
But after living in a society that constantly tells them that they know nothing…
that they are blank slates…they begin to falter.
They begin to lose touch with their original knowing and eventually concede defeat.

Finally they go on to believe that about themselves. They acquire the falsehood.

The light inside begins to dim.

They slowly succumb to the ‘Authorities’ ie: the ‘Big People’…those that hold power and that punish when they don’t have their way. Eventually the child’s knowing is eclipsed. Their own light is disregarded and they begin to doubt and forget and set aside all the brilliance, the heart and the sense of purpose they came in with.
The knowing never goes away, but it lies buried like an ancient city under the gritty and relentless sands of time and culture.

Like the children in Bali whose feet don’t touch the ground for the first year of life, I delayed my descent as much and as long as possible…

Though I stumbled along the way and fell short of some of those potentials, I did not wholly relinquish my Self. We feel like we miss the boat or falter sometimes…and we do…but Life always finds new expression.

My endeavor is to see and to say and share what I see and the connections along the way…to bring up what was half-forgotten and revive and encourage…

As always, thanks for reading. Please feel free to like, comment, share, restack and subscribe (free).

a companion story….

Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia is an utterly charming place at first glance.
With its natural unspoiled terrain, ocean views, wildlife and whales, it can cast
a lingering spell.
Beneath the surface, Cape Breton can be a very mysterious place...a potent place.
It gives up its secrets grudgingly.

I was a recent arrival on the island.
I was just passing through, or so I thought...
As soon as I passed over the causeway between mainland Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island, time seemed to bend.
There was a distinct change of pace and culture.
Another atmosphere held sway...

Something whispered “home” in my ear the night I arrived.
A number of things conspired to keep me there...
Within days, I was offered a job and a house to live in.
I was to stay for 10 years...

Perhaps it was the isolation, the vastness of sky and ocean, the wilderness and the wild weather...perhaps something else altogether... but Cape Breton was strong stuff.

I landed near the Acadian French fishing village of Cheticamp. The rugged beauty of the coast stood in contrast to the gentle, rolling hills of the Scottish and Irish farming communities just down the road.
The people were shaped by their landscape in like manner.
The Acadians were made of stern and stony stuff, while the inland people were warm and gentle by comparison.

As I became acquainted with the locals, I heard many tales of strange happenings. Story-telling was a mainstay of life here. I drank it all in.

Little did I suspect that I was in for a few experiences of my own...

Living close to nature creates a level of awareness that many of us are not accustomed to.
These people were highly sensitive to their environment.
The fishermen read the weather signs far better than any TV forecaster could.
Long hours in the elements had made them keen observers.
Fishing, hunting, growing their own food and living off the land, not to mention
surviving the harsh, windswept winters, had honed their skills.
Living among them, I learned to forage, plant, chop wood, carry water and cook on a wood-burning stove. It was tough, but it brought me to life!

It was in this setting that I began to experience a sense of Spirit and an interaction with the unseen world...

People were steeped in the Catholicism of an earlier time...a time when all sorts of abuses were rife.
Many things were confided to me by the young people, who were less afraid to challenge the status quo. There were horror stories of all kinds...strange machinations in the name of religion.
There were heavy-handed repercussions for anyone that leaked their secrets, as we were to discover.
There was a kind of evil there that had long gone unchallenged.
I couldn’t avert my eyes or ears.
Things took a more serious turn as the evidence of many kinds of abuse mounted.
This wasn’t the experience I had anticipated so happily at the outset...

For my own part, I was recovering from damage I had suffered regarding the misuse
of religion in my own life. I was on the run from a homicidal preacher’s kid whose parents had forced our marriage.
I had to start over on a better footing, questioning everything I had been taught, for my own sake and for that of the young people who were seeking me out.
I had to move through my own healing and help them to a healthier place.

It was during this early phase that I began to have a growing internal sense that I needed to commit to being celibate.
That was unexpected, especially as I was already living that way.
I questioned why I would have to commit? I was only 22.
It didn’t seem fair or necessary. I wasn’t that sort of person to begin with.
But it was being strongly urged on me.

I wrestled with the urging. I could not appreciate the importance of it.
But I began to have a clear sense that there was no moving forward until that commitment was secured.
After several weeks struggle, I finally relented and made it official.
I said out loud “Alright, already!! I’ll do it! I will be celibate.” It was said with some annoyance…
I felt an immediate release. There was a strong palpable shift.

Walking with the Unseen is difficult in the beginning, but I began to know that I was on the right track with this.

The unseen world is many things...light and dark forces and everything in between can be encountered.

A few nights later, I had an encounter from another dimension that I would never forget...an encounter that left me in no doubt as to the seriousness and necessity
of that commitment...

In fact, I had two encounters, just weeks apart...

I was living alone in an old farmhouse out in the country.
I was still getting used to how dark it could be on a moonless night.
The ocean’s roar, the wind, the creaking of the old house, the many moods of the place were slowly becoming decipherable and familiar.

I remember being in a deep dreamless sleep one night.
I suddenly woke with a fright...a sense of pure terror.
I wanted to bolt from the house, but I found myself completely paralyzed.

There stood a being at the foot of my bed...a seven foot tall black form that was blacker than the surrounding darkness.
A being that was aggressive, raw sexual energy.
I recoiled at the horrific being, but I couldn’t move a muscle to escape.
I was deeply paralyzed, unable to even breathe.
The being was powerfully seductive...
I resisted it in my mind.
It had such magnetic force that I could feel myself being lifted off the bed by the strength of its thought.
It commanded me to have sex with it.
I struggled helplessly. “NO!” I wanted to scream, but no words would come out.
Then it spoke telepathically as though to persuade me to come willingly.

“It will be the greatest sex imaginable! There is no human equivalent! It is beyond anything that you could ever imagine. Just DO IT!”
Again, I resisted with all my mind, but my body was already beginning to respond to the immense sexual energy against my will. It had lifted me 2-3 feet off the bed by this time. It was incredibly compelling. The being read my mind throughout the ordeal. It was determined to break my resistance by any means. Its force was unbelievably powerful.
My mind was starting to slip under the force of its will.

I resisted, remembering the commitment I had just been led to make. It was still fresh in my mind.
The being kept trying to break my mind.
“It’s not a sin,” it said mockingly. “You are free. You can do anything you want!

And besides…no one will EVER know!”

The final seduction...the final persuasion...”No one will ever know...”
The last fear...of being discovered...the last lie...the final temptation.

“But GOD will know!” I answered in my mind. “But God will know...”

With that, the thing vanished!!

I gulped in air, suddenly able to move my body.

A sexual entity...an enormous, powerful being!
I had not known that such things existed.
Later I was to learn that there was a name for this kind of spirit…incubus.
At the time, however, I knew only that it wanted to destroy me...and that it was an overpowering force.
I could never have understood the importance and the necessity of the commitment to celibacy until this moment.

My real spiritual education had begun...

About 2 weeks later, I woke again from a sound sleep to the hard pounding of my bed on the floor. In the next moment, I felt someone in bed with me ...behind me.
I felt the shape and the weight of a man slamming me against the wall.
But I was alone in the house! Someone must have broken in!
I was being shoved up against the wall roughly, repeatedly.

As I came to, I realized that the violent shoving was sexual.
Alarmed at the intent and the strength of the attacker, I tried to resist.
When I tried to scream, I found it was impossible to speak or cry out.
I was paralyzed again!
I was alone with a rapist...Would I be mutilated, murdered?!
I had to find a way to make my body respond!
It took several terrifying minutes to will my body to move at all.
Finally, with a desperate effort, I was able to turn my face toward the attacker, not sure who I would find.
As I made that final move, the thing behind me vanished...into thin air!
There was no man...
The bed stopped banging. The paralysis left me.
Another sexual spirit attack...

After that, there was a period of relative peace in that arena.

These were initiatory experiences intended to awaken me to the realities of the unseen world...the dangers, as well as the reality.

Spirit’s leading was a serious matter...far more important than I realised.
The testing and temptation that followed hard on the heels of the commitment to celibacy dramatically underscored the importance of the body…the attack on the body and mind (in its many forms)…as well as the right use of sexuality.

There are many times when a spirit works through a human form, as well.
Once, when I was about to hug a new female acquaintance goodbye, I had a jarring experience.
As she reached toward me, I felt an overarching spirit swoop out of her body and try to overpower me. I jumped out of the car in alarm.
It was a homosexual entity. Again, I didn’t know such a thing existed.
Now this happened years ago, long before I had ever heard the word or had an understanding of the concept.
Its clarity was such that there was no mistaking its essence and threat...

Sexual energy is such a vital possession. It should never be squandered or be put at risk. There is a part of us that knows when we are being used innapropriately. Nearly everyone has experienced suffering and damage to their souls after a predator has struck. The road to recovery on a spiritual/energetic level can be long and difficult.
Sex is a potent means of control. Spiritual entrapment is real.

Unfortunately, people fail to realise that they are dealing with more than a broken heart or bruised ego after an encounter or a relationship.
Oftentimes there has been damage on an energetic level.
We have travelled far from the path of awareness in this most important aspect of life.
What I learned in those early years has kept me safe and out of harm’s way on many levels...

If you carry spiritual light, you will find yourself targeted in strange ways. You may not see your light, but others DO.

Societally, we have been steadily and systematically broken down in this area. This kind of spirit is one of desecration of innocence.

The earlier, the better. Broken and invaded before you have the awareness, the strength or the ability to resist or the wisdom to protect yourself. Energetically broken boundaries that separate a person from their core energy and life force. Forces and people, like hyenas, come to feast on the remains.

Sexuality is a huge battleground. We see it everywhere now. These are the mechanisms…

There IS a way back…

It starts with awareness of the importance and sacredness of sexuality. More and more people are taking a break from sexual activity. Celibacy for a time…to clear their minds and bodies from what has been force-fed by the culture. They are making more conscious choices, rather than unconscious repetitions. That is a good start…

In my next post, I’ll talk more openly about what I was shown as a child…things I’ve only shared with a few along the way. “What Children Know”

As always, thanks for reading. Please feel free to like, comment, share, restack and subscribe (free).

Does evil exist? Are there such things as devils, fallen angels, frightening higher-order beings?
Is this merely the stuff of myth, legend, folklore?

This is a universal question. Many theories are put forth.
Neuroscientists suggest there is no such thing. All can be pinpointed in the brain. Mere physiological glitches.
They have yet to quantify the invisible or even give it its due, so they can hardly be counted as final authorities in the matter. Not much help there...

Psychology deems evil a figment of the imagination.

Shakespeare bade Hamlet speak: “For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

I would venture to say that just because we do not yet understand a thing, or understand it properly, does not make it something that can be expunged or explained away.

We must eventually move beyond theoretical ‘knowledge’ and seek experiential knowledge, even if it challenges our way of thinking.

Truth can be an uncomfortable commodity...

I have learned to ask my own questions and forge my own progress when it comes to these issues.
Some of this learning was forced on me by circumstances as you will see in this story...

This is a personal experience of one such encounter with evil...

Soon after my arrival on Cape Breton Island, I began to experience a new beginning spiritually.
I had just passed through a terribly difficult experience that had left me quite broken. I needed real and serious help.
Psychology, as well as religion, had failed me too many times.
They fell short of being able to deal with the kind and magnitude of problems I’d been presented with...

Since childhood, I had felt the presence of the unseen and felt a compelling need
to engage the Divine. But I made the mistake early on of handing the reins to outside authorities, as we are almost universally taught to do.

At this stage of my life, I needed a new beginning...a more trustworthy and valid engagement.

Psychology was too narrow, answers too trite and formulaic. The emptiness of Catholicism, the confusion and lax standards of Protestantism had left me without vital answers and help, barring a few individuals who seemed to have made a connection that actually worked.

I was on the run after escaping from my 1st husband...a troubled and violent preacher’s kid. He was a study in contrasts...God-obsessed and depraved, charming and deadly, gifted and tormented...larger than life.
A hard first lesson...

I fled across Canada from the west coast to the east coast.
I settled on Cape Breton where I was able to elude him for a time.
In the quiet and kindly atmosphere of Cape Breton, I started over.
It was there that I began, not only to heal, but to experience what can only be described as ‘spiritual Reality’.
I started over with a Bible and the Holy Spirit as my guide, setting aside the confusion and clamor of competing denominations.
There was much to unlearn, not only in the systems I’d been schooled in, but in myself, as well.
I, like many others, had my preferences for how I wanted things to be.
One of those things had to do with the existence of evil...
I recoiled from the very thought of it. Even though and perhaps because, I had encountered evil in various forms since childhood, I wanted to deny its existence with every fiber of my being.
That is, understandingly, the preference of many...

There were times when, as a child, my parents flew into frequent uncontrollable rages. I could feel an icy and insane fury fill the room, swirl around and gather force. A hellish tornado trying to take me over as it had them.
It took all my strength to resist. It was unbelievably terrifying.
I somehow knew that if I were to allow myself to get swallowed up by that murderous rage, there would be no return.

Then, in my 20’s, when I was married to the dangerous preacher’s son, a larger, more frightening chapter unfolded.
It was not uncommon for his moods to vacillate wildly.
He could be charming one moment and deadly the next.
I often felt a terrible presence that grew in intensity as he flew into yet another homicidal rage.
His face would darken, he felt larger than life, he became evil, cunning, but the most telling sign was the change in his eyes.
There was no natural explanation for what I witnessed again and again.
He was a red-head with pale blue-eyes.
When he was taken over by that ‘thing’, his eyes would turn from blue to glittering, featureless black in an instant.
He had superhuman strength, he emitted a murderous energy and an acrid smell.
His energy derailed my ability to think, speak or react.
That aspect, coupled with a strange religiosity, was completely disorienting.
He tried to take my life on numerous occasions when in that state.
When he came back to himself, he would cry and beg for forgiveness.
As time went on, these episodes were more frequent and violent.
We ran out of options and I was finally forced to flee.

By the time I finally made my escape, I was quite devastated.
Much of the pain and damage had to do with religion...
‘Wives, submit to your husbands’…the advice of the ‘till death do us part’ cult.
Religion that was powerless and focused on all the wrong things...

Though I hardly felt up to the task, I needed to understand what I’d been through. I needed to sort truth from pious fiction and find something workable.
After all I’d been through, it had become a necessity.
How much of what I had been taught was true? Was any of it true?
What about good and evil?

It was at that point that I began to feel the stirrings of something real and wholesome. I made my way forward tentatively at first, but I slowly began to find my footing.
In the quiet atmosphere of the place, I was able to think and to hear and heal in ways that were not possible before.
My agitation eased.
I connected with nature and then I connected with the Source.
I was to find that Cape Breton was a very potent place...

Even as I asked for the truth regarding evil...some sort of proof or guidance, I was personally reluctant to admit the existence of evil...or even worse, the personification of evil...a literal devil.
I wanted evil to be an outmoded, ridiculous fiction.
I wanted a world of positivity and mental control over such notions.
It was too near and palpable in my memory.
The question lingered despite my attempts to disregard it and focus on other things.

I slowly came to the conviction that facing truth was more valuable than keeping my head in the sand.
Not only more valuable, but more likely to keep me alive, as well.
I had been badly battered by those energies.
I would have to confront the reality of things.
My lessons had already begun...

This is the first of several experiences...a pivotal one.
There were others which will be written up shortly, but this one stands alone for its impact and effect...

Eyes at the window...
I was living in an old farm house out in the country. The house bore the nickname of ‘la maison sur la butte’...the house on the hill.
A scant handful of neighboring homes were visible from my house.
A single gravel lane led up to the house, making it easy to see any approaching visitors.

Having lived in towns all my life, the quiet and dark of the country took some getting used to. The nights were so dark, but the stars were magnificent, as was the shining sea in moonlight.
Little by little, I began to realize I was safe out there by myself.
No bogey-men, no stalkers, no wild animals venturing down from the hills.

It was here that I began to have some strange spiritual/paranormal experiences.

First, there were episodes of sleep paralysis. Then teaching dreams. A waking vision.
I found myself becoming increasingly sensitive and intuitive.
As I studied the Scriptures, I would feel a guiding presence over my shoulder.
My understanding was being opened up. I was having a very different encounter from what I’d had in churches.
I began to experience a powerful loving Being...a being that would suddenly make its presence known in a certain place in my living room every few days.
This Being was orchestrating my healing in the most profound way.
There were many very powerful experiences...very positive ones to this point.

One night, I had finished up in the kitchen, banked the wood stove for the night and was headed to bed.
As I passed by one of the windows, I was stopped dead in my tracks by the terrifying sight of two hotly glowing red orbs... frightening, unearthly eyes.
I froze in fear. The eyes were not human, neither were they animal.
They were intensely focused on me…fiendishly intelligent.
I could not breathe or move my body in any way for an undetermined length of time.
I could make out the large dark shape of its body, black against the blackness of the night. It fixed me in its powerful glare with indescribable malice.
Its eyes were pure malevolence. Like all hells rolled into one.
It beamed a current of incredibly personal hatred at me.
I shuddered at the intensity...feeling its everlasting hatred in every cell.
It was ferocious, ravaging, devouring. ..otherworldly.

The personal nature of the hatred as well as the intensity of it shook me deeply.
It was a startling wake-up call to the realities of the unseen.
Never before had I encountered or even imagined that such evil existed.

Never again would I doubt the reality of evil...

At some point, the being suddenly vanished and the horrible ordeal was over.
It never occurred again, thankfully, though I would have other experiences of the dark side in the coming months.

In the years that followed, I was to see how evil had taken hold in that community and how bitterly my presence would be fought...

I was never able to assign a natural explanation to the thing in the window.

Every natural possibility was painstakingly ruled out.
This experience altered my understanding of reality...

We always wonder if such a thing as a devil exists...
I knew that night that it is a terrifying reality.
It caused me to take the dark side of life much more seriously.
In our modern world, it is nearly impossible to imagine these things.
We chalk them up to superstition and hysteria.
But I have found many people, young and old, from all over the world who have had these experiences.
They have buried them out of fear or for lack of someone to talk to.
I hope that these stories help create an atmosphere of openness and support where people can learn to deal with these aspects in a useful way...

As always, Thanks for reading and engaging. Feel free to like, comment, subscribe (free), share and restack.

A summer night that changed us forever...

This event occurred around 1975 at the hostel I was running near Cheticamp, Nova Scotia.
Every evening some 20-40 backpackers would descend on my farmhouse nestled between the mountains and the ocean to spend the night.
The ruggedly beautiful terrain drew travellers from the States, all of Canada and beyond. Great Britain, Australia, the Caribbean and Europe were all represented.
One never knew what to expect. It was an ever-changing, fascinating mix of people around the nightly campfire.

It was just past midnight and things were winding down for the evening.
People headed to the bunkhouse and tucked into their sleeping bags for a night's rest.
One last straggler stepped outside to relieve himself. As he looked up into the night sky, he saw an unusual formation of stars in the east. He called for us to come look at the strange cluster of stars. We clambered out of beds and sleeping bags, late night conversations and jam sessions to see what he was so excited about.

The cluster of stars in the northeast began to drift toward us slowly, crossing the night sky, becoming brighter as they approached.
Like an armada, the lights floated our way, slowly spreading out and engulfing the entire sky above us.
As if drawn by a magnet, we abandoned our beds, grabbed blankets and sleeping bags and laid out in the tall grass of the fields till we were spread out like the stars, too.

The stars drew closer, hovering seemingly just out of reach, but not out of earshot.
The stars bore little horsetails of light from which a soft swishing sound could be heard. The 'stars' hovered over us for several hours and seemed to pulse above us.
The sky above us was filled with these huge pulsating stars.

We were spellbound and nearly paralyzed by the beauty of the spectacle.
The stars pulsed above us for hours. Tears flowed down our cheeks.
There was a loving energy that emanated from the stars that was deeply moving.
We wept for unknown joy.

It slowly dawned on us that a visitation and a transmission of energy had occurred. There was a clear sense that each one of us had been gathered together as though hand-chosen to be part of that event.

After some hours, the stars slowly withdrew and gathered together, returning in the same manner and by the same way they had come.

In the morning, no one spoke of it. There were no words for what we had experienced. Those gathered there that night quietly dispersed... each to his future.

In the days that followed, I waited to hear about the event in the news, but nothing was mentioned. When I investigated, neither the weather service, the RCMP or general news made any acknowledgment of the event.

Though it seems obvious now, I did not think of the 'stars' as UFO craft till some time had passed...

I will never forget the awe, the intense beauty, loving pulsations and the sense of destiny that accompanied this visitation...

I made my way down the aisle of the crowded Air India plane, scanning the overhead bins for my seat number. A huge sense of pleasure and anticipation filled me. This was a moment I had dreamt of for years. I was embarking on the first leg of a round-the-world tour…solo.

A handsome Indian woman in her late 50s was seated next to me. She had a gentle, yet certain, dignity. I sat down a bit self-consciously, feeling that I might be one of the only westerners on the flight. In fact, there were just three of us. This was even better than what I’d hoped for…

I had chosen Air India for the 1st leg of the journey-New York to London-to enhance my experience, making it as exotic as possible right from the start. It was meant to be a sharp break from the familiar…

I had taken leave of friends and family for the duration. No promises to call, write or check in. It was important to be completely unfettered on all levels. No ballast, no expectations. No interfering thoughts, concerns or worries. No bending of impressions. A tabula rossa for what lay ahead…

********
The woman was also travelling alone. She engaged me in conversation almost immediately. I liked her from the start. Deeply intelligent, frank and forthright.

She had practiced medicine in Colorado for most of her career. At this point in her life, she had just sold her practice and was moving back to India to care for her aging parents.
I wondered at her serenity as she related her story. Not just her calm acceptance of her responsibility, but at her total lack of self-interest as she moved cleanly from one aspect of her life to the next. There were no plans to take a vacation or personal time prior to this next chapter. No weariness, apprehension or resignation about what the future held. She was at peace with her life, as though one experience flowed seamlessly into the other.

She asked politely and sincerely about my reason for travelling. I took a chance and gave her the more serious version. I was doing the final vetting of charitable projects around the world with an eye to sifting the real from the fraudulent, seeing what opportunities there might be and where monies might be given.

Hearing this, she fixed me with a more serious eye. She spoke more frankly now as our conversation took a more substantive turn.

Her next remarks surprised me…

“You know…you Westerners think that we Hindus worship thousands of gods, but that is ludicrous! There is only one Supreme.

But, you see, God is so vast. Who can comprehend such vastness? Let me tell you, rather, how we see this.

The world…this whole world is a manifestation of God. This world that you see, is just a very small part of the whole.

God has created this earth and all the people on this earth are God’s children.

And all the children must be fed. It is our duty to provide food for the children.

This earthly experience is a classroom…and a series of classrooms. Many millions of classrooms, in fact. And so we are all students.”

She went on to explain…

”You have your personal classroom of this life, but also the classroom of your family, that of your marriage, those of your friends and colleagues. You have the classroom of your town, your state, your country, and also that of your heritage. Each is a place of learning for you.

History, religions and philosophies are classrooms, as well…even no religion is a classroom. Do you see?

So, as in any classroom, you have many kinds of students. Some are by nature, fast learners. Others are slow learners and there are even some who don’t want to learn at all,” she remarked with a smile that conveyed her discernment of human nature.

“Beyond that, these children have different interests, differing gifts and abilities. Think about it!

And so we have all of these many temples of learning, for each child is unique. Our job is to feed each one according to their need.

Perhaps one child wants to learn about God through science…or philosophy…or music…or service. We must provide food such as temples, schools and universities for those students. Maybe a child wants to study prayer and meditation, but another is physically inclined and leans toward athletics. So we have gymnasiums and competitions and so forth. The arts may be the path for other children. The body is the path for some. We even have Ganesha for those who want to pursue wealth and success in life.

All are simply manifestations of the characteristics of the Creator.

There are as many paths as there are children. It is all acceptable according to their inclination…according to their level of development.

Whether one realizes it or not, they are learning God…for that is all there is.

And bear in mind, you will not learn all of God in one lifetime…

******************

Now some children will remain in the same temple all their lives. That is alright for them. You will find people who stay in the same small town for their whole life. They live in the same house, work at the same job, they attend the same church, keep the same circle of friends and activities. They feel fed.

But another child may find a sense of dissatisfaction growing within. The food that formerly satisfied them is now boring or even distasteful.

They say to themselves ‘I need new food!’

And so that one should be free to go off in search of new food. This is good for them.

So we have all these choices available…

Always our duty is simply to provide food for all the children. A child may go in search of new food many times on his journey through life. There is no judgment. There is only learning and experience. It is also good.

But for the one who remains in the same place, there should be no judgment. If they feel fed, then they remain. That is also good. He feels no need to move on. There is no conflict or judgment. No need to compare… Let each have his life, freedom and our support.”

************

Her words transformed my outlook…

Translating this into a framework we can relate to…

I have come to regard this world as a great big mixed-up one-room schoolhouse. Every age and ability and the core subjects are to be found here.

The older ones or the faster learners help those who are younger or those who struggle.

You help..and you are helped…along Life’s way.

No need to be unkind, judgmental or unduly impatient. One teacher cannot supply everyone…

Life is the ultimate teacher…

(a look back in time: https://studylib.net/doc/7956905/a-one-room-schoolhouse-curriculum)

***************

Here was graciousness and generosity of spirit. Acceptance and recognition, rather than straitjacketing people into narrow and contrived positions and roles.

The acknowledgement of a Higher Intelligence at work.

The simplicity and common sense of her worldview cut cleanly through my learned prejudices and judgments.

Those judgments seemed like an ill-fitting garment now-heavy and damaging to my spirit. As she spoke, I felt the liberation and flow of Life.

Though it would take time to fully understand her ideas, that flow of Life and a certain instinct guided me forward.

A Hindu woman’s view of life as a series of classrooms….

The thrust of her worldview is that all are God’s children, each unique and in search of the food that delights and grows our souls, each at different levels, aptitudes and abilities.

It is a worldview that deftly makes sense of the people around us and their experiences of life. It excises the need for judging others and helps us to get into the center of our own lives and lessons.

It returns a tremendous amount of misdirected energy to us and refreshes our lives.

It gave permission and understanding…not only tolerance, but freely offered support without the weight of constant criticism and judgment that we seem to favor in our culture.

We in the west have been sold such a bill of goods about the ’heathen idolaters’. This was a far cry from the western propagandized version focused on the lower manifestations of a belief…in order to ridicule or promote division and superiority. She introduced me to the sophistication of their system.

It has been 24 years since our meeting…much time to contemplate and apply her understanding. I have found it to be a wholesome and workable outlook that has stood the test of time.

What a surpassing beginning to a trip around the world…to be given a fresh worldview…

I ran across this recently…It seems a fitting inclusion. It describes a split in the earth’s timelines…”It is increasingly important to focus on what you are creating, and not to be distracted by the lower realities playing out their karma. Stick to your mission.”

Let the others play out their learning…their experiences…without undue distress on your part. This is how Souls learn…through long and detailed lived experience.

As always, thank you for reading! Feel free to share, restack and subscribe (always free)

 about a decade or so ago...

I hopped off the bus in Belgrade, Serbia, having travelled overland from Sofia, Bulgaria.  

This was a weighted trip for several reasons. 

In part, a search for heritage... 

and a need to unlock the deeper layers of what happened in the Balkans in the 90's from several perspectives....the Romani, Croatian, Bosnian and now, Serbian.  

It had all started with The Most Boring Man in the World...a taciturn, uncommunicative stranger on my massage table.

And then the story took several curious twists and turns…

* * * * * *

All worthwhile travels commence with wandering... Wandering and feeling the place and its people, tracing down layer by layer. 

Like it or not, Belgrade's complexities put a lot of my senses on high alert. 

For instance, there was a nondescript four-story brick building overlooking the river that I passed several times.  I found myself avoiding it. Slowly I realized it stirred a sense of unease that grew into more...a heavy, dead feeling of suffering and horror.

At first, no one wanted to tell me what the building was. But finally it was revealed to have been a notoriously brutal prison during the war in the 90's.

By day's end, I had stumbled upon Skadarlija in the bohemian heart of Belgrade… a place that preserves the traditional spirit of the past. I felt attracted to a rustic restaurant and made my way inside. It was early and blessedly empty.

Scanning the room, I was drawn to a certain table...and a certain chair. The waiters stirred and suddenly there was a sense of excitement in the air.

"Welcome dear Lady! Do you KNOW where you are sitting?!"

I drew a blank as several more waiters gathered around. "You are sitting at the same table AND in the same seat as President GHW Bush!" There followed an animated conversation in Serbian.

"Wait one moment, please!'' Several waiters dispatched to the kitchen and soon a wizened octogenarian waiter was presented with pride. "THIS is the man who waited on him!" He bowed politely. His sharp memory intact, he regaled us with stories of that special evening.

Discussion soon turned to the politics of the time.

It was riveting...

Because JUST the day before, I had been sitting in a very posh restaurant in Sofia, Bulgaria, asking our host, Gary MacDougal, the head of the ‘America for Bulgaria Foundation’,

"So what's a nice Scottish boy like you doing in Bulgaria all these years?"

As he sipped his second glass of wine, he waxed eloquent, telling his story of being in the oil business during GHW Bush's tenure and how the Bush family had opened doors for him, eventually making him a VERY wealthy man and a man of some influence. (see his bio* below)

In time, those favors came due. His bio does not mention that a Special Observer Chair for the Bush oil interests was set up at the UN with Mr. MacDougall in the role. He was elevated…now a trusted partner.

"Imagine!” he said with mock apprehension, “I am 65 and I now have the hardest job of my career! I have to find a way to spend $50 million dollars in a place the size of Ohio!” (He had sponsored the Iliev Dance Foundation of which I was a part.)

As he continued his story, his tone shifted. He then said something quite chilling and unexpected..

With a charming, refined smile that belied his true character, he said:

"Now...You all think that you are here working for Petur Iliev, but actually, you are working for ME!"

Now more seriously, he continued…

"YOUR job is to make Bulgarians LIKE Americans. Moreover, your job is to make Bulgarians TRUST Americans. You see, we are trying to do fracking here and the government is resisting."

I froze, my hair stood on end. The implication made abundantly clear. Our real job…

So THIS is the real reason we’re here?!

I turned my head ever so slightly and, with my eyes, asked the young hip-hop protege of Lady Gaga seated next to me if she had heard what I’d heard. She had…

To our dismay, everyone else simply smiled as if a bomblet had not just gone off in our midst.

I realized then that we had been mucking around in their politics for decades! At least four, by that reckoning...

And I realized that my companions had sold their souls…cheaply, at that.

There is a bit more to the story, but suffice it to say, I tore up my return ticket to the US and ended my affiliation with them.

I bought my own ticket home...but first, a bus to Serbia...and the education I was getting in the Belgrade restaurant.

Certain biting criticisms of America from a variety of Balkan friends and acquaintances in recent years were now beginning to make sense.

People in this part of the world have lived a lot of history and they are politically quite astute. The atmosphere became a bit more serious as the waiters spoke with hard-earned knowledge about many aspects of the political world. I was light-years behind, soaking up all I could.

Then we turned to the headlines of that particular day. Everywhere I looked, there was a somewhat familiar face... Someone special had arrived in the country that day and all the media were abuzz. Billboards, TV screens, newspaper and magazine covers, flyers and posters plastered everywhere.

Suddenly I realized it was Rudy Giuliani who was Mayor of NYC when I lived there... many years later and certainly out of familiar context.

I asked them "What is HE doing here?"

Immediately the mood darkened.

"So, if you notice, he is always pictured with a certain politician...wherever you find him. This man is running against our incumbent president. Giuliani always has his arm around this man. Elections are in 2 weeks. This is America's nice way of telling us who to vote for."

* * * * * *

The Most Boring Man in the World and the Balkanization of America

When you touch a body, you touch a soul… It’s not often that I draw a blank.

In fact, it has only happened once…with this client. He was iron-clad remote. That’s what stood out about him. Nada. More nada. Nobody home.

It wasn’t that he was simply silent during his massage session. That is a good thing.

I’ve heard enough stories in my life. For various reasons, I do not pry…ever.

But, even working in silence, there was nothing to connect with or latch on to. Nothing to feel on any level.

Against my will, I found myself battling thoughts about how boring he was.

‘That’s not professional,’ I chided myself. ‘But he REALLY IS BORING! How can anyone be THAT boring?!’

By this time, I’d had about enough of myself.

It was a very long hour…

As he was about to get up, a chance remark about Thai massage suddenly piqued his interest. He actually spoke…like a real person.

Turns out, he’d had a lengthy military career that had taken him to Thailand…and to several other nations.

He had spent a lot of time in the Middle East in the years leading up to various upheavals. He had been, in fact, a covert operative. It was his assignment to go unnoticed…to be the most boring man in the world.

He learned the languages and dialects, he spent time in tanning beds, beard just so, mannerisms perfected. To falter in any of those details would have endangered his life.

Serious business.

Out of curiosity, I asked where else he had served.

“The Balkans”…about 10 yrs before Tito’s death and the bloody break-up of Yugoslavia, (the most prosperous region of Europe at the time, so the locals told me).

“We infiltrated the churches and the mosques, stirring religious and cultural divisions. We did that for years…and then we exited the assignment before the actual trouble started.”

Then he cut his remarks short, the remote persona dropped back down like a lead mantle and that was the last I ever saw of him.

On his way out the door, he turned and said simply…”This was practice for America.”

WHAT?!

I didn’t…and couldn’t grasp fully the meaning of that statement.

But I remember how it felt…disorienting…and real.

Like an anchor in the pit of my stomach.

At that time, I didn’t know that I would soon be going to the Balkans myself.

It was there that I saw war up close for the 1st time…in a Western setting.

My time there was brief…and galvanizing.

I had been prepared for this… I just didn’t know where the puzzle piece fit until then.

I returned to the US, deeply…and I mean deeply embarrassed and humiliated by my lack of knowledge of the conflict..

I read everything I could get my hands on, and then I cooked up a couple of volunteer assignments and shipped myself back to Sarajevo 6 weeks later.

I was working with the survivors of the rape and concentration camps from that war. Everyone had shrapnel fragments, many were missing limbs, all with deeply traumatized nervous systems…so much so that virtually everyone’s hair had turned white overnight, they were all diabetic as a result of severe, prolonged stress and their upper bodies were calcified…a somatic response to terror.

Through interpreters, I collected their stories.

With my hands, I contacted their trauma in a very literal exchange.

one story…

I had to know…to understand WHY…HOW this level of barbarism and savagery erupted in a culture that was described as the Jerusalem of Europe with 3 major religious and ethnic groups living together harmoniously for several hundred years, attending each other’s celebrations, intermarrying, etc.

Really lovely, cultured, intelligent people…. A high state of education and culture had been cultivated…and now destroyed.

Paradox was rife. The road to understanding strange…and then suddenly clear!

The crazy quilt, if you will…

A quick background…

I was a folk dancer. Entranced (literally) the 1st time I stumbled on it in Central Park in NYC. The strangely compelling music, the circle of many kinds of people holding hands and performing unfamiliar dance moves.

As a friend and I wondered at the curious scene, suddenly, as though something had reached in and grabbed me by the heart, I began to sob…uncontrollably.

It was a flash of recognition…something that conveyed ‘Home’ on a deep, almost primal level.

It became my passion. On a deep level, it connected me to an earlier time and place when people lived as people ought. Gentleness, civility, care for one another, strength when needed.

I was young, but already world-weary. Crazed, neurotic, greedy, inhumane…strange, aberrant life-forms encroaching on all sides. (NYC circa 1979)

All I’d ever heard about in the International Dance community were the happy aspects of the Balkans.

The rest of the story was here…on the ground.

In the 6 week run-up to my return to Sarajevo…during this time of accelerated realizations, I heard almost constant drumming in my head. It even intruded into my thoughts and dreams.

Then more omens. (I don’t have TIME for omens! I insisted) Feathers were gifted to me (odd) by several people and I had almost constant run-ins with turkey-vultures (Latin translation ‘Golden Aura’. Turkey vultures, the only bird that does not kill, was known from ancient times to gather at the end of a battle to clear the carnage).

There was no escaping it, either in my dreams or daily life. Very disconcerting stuff. Then the Native American piece merged with the Serbian piece…and the connection with the ‘savagery’ aspect was made.

An old OP was in play…

Drug wars have existed for a long time. The opium wars are one form (that karmic favor is being returned to us now in the fentanyl era).

Alcohol falls into this category…

The early American settlers observed that alcohol had a different effect on the Natives than the white men. They made quite a sport out of getting the Natives drunk (they still do in the bar scene, plying certain people with shots so they can watch a catfight. A few shots in and the fights are on- makes you wonder if anything ever changes in brute-world).

It wasn’t long before they took full advantage of the Natives’ inability to ‘hold their liquor’. They were intentionally plied with alcohol, which deranged their brains, making them psychotically savage.

Once they were reduced in the common parlance to ‘savages’, the authorities and military could do whatever they wanted with them. They were deemed subhuman.

During this phase, I inexplicably had a simultaneous influx of people who were battling alcoholism and fibromyalgia. Not your regular massage types…You take notice of these things.

I observed some common denominators and patterns. In the end, what both groups struggled with was actually a metabolic issue…and not a moral one! Alcoholics and sugarholics (fibromyalgia)…essentially the same addiction and breakdown of the body. Alcohol is just sugar with a kick…

Then I found that there are 3 groups of people in the world that lack an enzyme to metabolize alcohol. (Native Americans, some eastern Europeans-often Serbians, and the indigenous Ainu of Japan)

So for them, alcohol acts as a poison to their brains, which cannot metabolize it properly. They get drunk quickly…and quickly addicted. As a result of the poison, the person becomes quite deranged…often with sudden personality shifts. They lack control and drink until they black out or pass out.

I soon realized that anyone who drinks and experiences the rage and personality shift has some mixture of native blood.

For the alcoholics and their families, an understanding of this issue gives them great insight and removes the weight of shame and stigma. Once they understood how things worked, it was easy to move beyond the addiction. They were able to see the multi-generational damage in a truer light.

Beyond that, not every alcohol is equal. For instance, tequila and Thai whiskey are semi-hallucinogenic alcohols.

My Hispanics love to party on the weekends. They are alright in moderation with beer, but when the tequila comes out, so do the knives…and the words that can never be taken back. Many a divorce has been avoided by just leaving the tequila alone.

Again, the three groups that lack the enzyme to metabolize alcohol are the Native Americans, the Japanese Ainu and certain Eastern Europeans.

So the upshot to all of this is that Orthodox Serbians custom is to go to church and stay afterwards to eat and drink…and dance. Beer and a bit of the hard stuff, like rakija. Drunkenness is frowned upon. That tends to work out alright.

But our operatives began to infiltrate the churches and sow division (the mosques and RC churches, as well). Soon the talk was more political, there was more drinking (less beer and more rakija) and less dancing and before long, problems intensified and eventually, savagery erupted.

So you had these unthinkably insane scenarios where you might bring soup to a sick neighbor in the morning, but by evening, that same neighbor’s family would come to your door and slaughter your family in front of you.

I actually see this in Chicago’s Serbian churches in recent years. The young men are drinking, angry, no longer dancing…being slowly, but surely, overcome. These are normally some of the kindest, most hospitable and intelligent people…

Same OP.

“This was practice for America.”

* * * * * *

* https://us4bg.org/about-abf/our-team/ Gary MacDougal has served as Co-chair of the Board of Directors of the America for Bulgaria Foundation since its inception until June 2015. As a CEO, Mr. MacDougal built a small engineering company into a Fortune 1000 multinational; he has also been a US Delegate to the United Nations, the General Director of New York City Ballet, and has served as Chairman of the Illinois Governor’s Task Force to move people from welfare to work. He is the author of ‘Make A Difference: A Spectacular Breakthrough in the fight Against Poverty’ (St. Martin’s Press) and of articles in the Wall Street Journal, New York Times, Washington Post, Chicago Tribune, Harvard Business Review and other publications. Mr. MacDougal has served as Chair of the Russell Sage Foundation, and the Illinois Republican Party. He has also served as a Trustee of the Casey Foundation and as a Director of eight New York Stock Exchange listed corporations. Mr. MacDougal is the founding Chairman of the Bulgarian American Enterprise Fund and is a member of the Council on Foreign Relations. Gary MacDougal received his Master’s Degree in Business with distinction from Harvard University and his Bachelor of Science degree in engineering from UCLA.

*****************

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