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If we deem the nexus between the individual and the collective as rooted in separation, then we will continue to perpetuate a cycle of illusion.

We choose ignorance over insight as we believe it mitigates suffering. We choose inadequacy over authenticity to keep us from looking within. What is familiar has become safe for many of us even if it means betraying all that we know to be good and holy. Fear has become a reactive response to life’s experience. The fear in and of itself is not a negative thing. How we carry the fear and allow it to demean our inner lives, how we allow it to demean our connection with others and with the Divine keeps us from experiencing that holiness. We are all at a crossroads, heaven and earth, in choosing to allow grace to permeate our lives the way that it is intended, not in the ways in which we feel safe in receiving it. Abandoning those thoughts that keep the illusion alive is something we can all do together. Receiving grace is perhaps one of the most sacred experiences of our humanity. Shall we begin?

If we deem the nexus between the individual and the collective as rooted in separation, then we will continue to perpetuate a cycle of illusion.

We choose ignorance over insight as we believe it mitigates suffering. We choose inadequacy over authenticity to keep us from looking within. What is familiar has become safe for many of us even if it means betraying all that we know to be good and holy. Fear has become a reactive response to life’s experience. The fear in and of itself is not a negative thing. How we carry the fear and allow it to demean our inner lives, how we allow it to demean our connection with others and with the Divine keeps us from experiencing that holiness. We are all at a crossroads, heaven and earth, in choosing to allow grace to permeate our lives the way that it is intended, not in the ways in which we feel safe in receiving it. Abandoning those thoughts that keep the illusion alive is something we can all do together. Receiving grace is perhaps one of the most sacred experiences of our humanity. Shall we begin?

There will come a time when you lose interest in telling your story from that familiar wounded place. You will lose interest in those perceptions which keep you shackled from living an authentic life. You will lose interest in repeating words which dampen your spirit and continue to hold you accountable for pain which no longer serves you.

There will come a time when your spirit wants to soar with reckless abandon in the creation of a new story. The images might be the same, the words might be familiar. The wound will still be present. Your story will become more powerful than the wound because you have finally allowed it to be. The images and words will finally be given the space to find sanctity so that your story is not only birthed anew, but made holy for all eternity.

I have been doing this work consciously for about 25 years now and I am grateful I still have so much to learn.
One of the schools of thought out there when it comes to energy medicine deals with the premise of ‘cutting cords’.
I remember eons ago when one of my clients came in after having worked with a medicine man from South America. He was all out of sorts. In a depression, not able to sleep, lashing out at everyone. I politely asked if he had worked with someone recently as I saw his energy field manipulated in a certain way. He said he had; he went for a session to have some cords ‘cut’ with this shaman he had heard about. Since I began my practice in the mid 90’s I had heard various teachers speak of this, some in alignment and some who perceived the energy field and cords differently. I tended to side with the latter. My client had shared he was trying to cut the cord surrounding his father who was now deceased. His dad was abusive to him growing up. I had been aware of this since I had worked with him before. His father had haunted him and he thought by doing this work, he would be rid of his father’s energy for good. What I actually saw in his field was another spirit, not unlike father’s spirit, who exhibited similar behavioral traits. The father’s spirit would only be gone for a short time, and the spirit who took his place would keep the patterning surrounding the cord intact.

Familial trauma both influences ancestral miasms and creates new miasms in regards to emotional, psychological and spiritual patterning. This week thus far has been laden with stories of childhood trauma woven into realities that are real for those experiencing them, those bearing witness to them, and those who have yet to come into this transgenerational patterning. The one theme I am hearing from clients is how their stories differ from a sibling or a parent. Their perception of the trauma is unrealized by those closest to them in the ways they have come to integrate it. And for various reasons, not having that validation has taken so much power and energy from the wounded and from their story. In working closely with ancestral spirits as part of their psyche is still attached to some of these miasms, those spirits also hold that same story and integrate it in the ways in which they can. Those ways for both humans and ancestors embrace both strengths and limitations, wounds and blessings. Not having one’s story validated can foster such cognitive dissonance when one is open to seeing or hearing the story in a new light, or even sensing it in a new way. I have even witnessed this with spirits who are ‘stuck’. Trauma is both an individualized and collective experience. The reactions we experience to trauma are not always our own. They have been programmed into our DNA through similar traumatic events held by our ancestors. But how we hold and carry those stories is up to us. How we validate those stories is also up to us. Familial members will integrate abusive patterns in a manner in which they can embody their responses emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Even if that means utilizing denial as a coping mechanism. The thread of trauma is a confirmation that our ancestors are still alive and living through us as is the inherent strength to come to terms with that trauma and evolve the pattern into a miasm that will transform the ways in which our ancestors heal, both past and future. Don’t wait for your own personal story to be validated. The story itself is an energy which is felt by all those family members who embraced trauma. The words might be different. The way it is told might be different. The way it is heard might be different. But the energy remains the same.

Across generations, you will come to know me. I am your past, your present, your future. I belong to those who were left behind by the constructs of linear time, yet exist in parallel realities where I can touch upon you the imprint of my soul. You think you exist in your world without me. You think I can exist without you. You think we can exist without each other. You look in the mirror and define yourself by the present awareness of your human condition yet fail to realize you are merely a thread weaving through the conscience of immortality. Today you might experience yourself as man or woman. Yesterday you were in my womb, in utero, waiting to be born. Nourished by the same placenta that fed you for generations before. Who will you be in this lifetime? Do you remember who we were in other lifetimes?

Were you the slave, shackled and haunted by his owner, weary to the bone from working his plantations? Or were you the plantation owner, filled with the undeniable assurance that I was merely property for you to own? Were you among the Native American, leaving your lands, malnourished and broken from walking the Trail of Tears? Or were you the militia pointing the gun in my back as I took my last steps, not able to feel the ground underneath my feet anymore. I watched painfully as you took away lands that you claimed were your own and the many lives with it. Were you a woman desperate to end an unwanted pregnancy with a back alley abortion? Or were you perhaps the child that never came to term? And what about the child working twelve hour shifts in a city factory before child labor laws were enacted to protect you? Or maybe you were that factory boss, walking around intimidating me, knowing what little monies I received for my intense labor would not be sufficient to help my family feed themselves. Maybe you were a physician in the early part of the century. Or perhaps you were one of the patients turned away because of the color of your skin when hospitals were segregated. Perhaps you were one of the many African Americans medically experimented upon until the 1990’s, or part of various impoverished societies whose bodies were also experimented upon for research. Perhaps you are part of Mother Earth whose soul weeps with grief at the destruction of humanity and of the environment which nourishes you. The pesticides, the GMO’s, the technological advances that make your life easier which in the end will only come back to haunt us.

Perhaps across generations you will come to understand that my wound is your wound, and your wound is mine. Perhaps you will come to understand that how you live your life will impact mine, and all of us you are connected with beyond the veil. Perhaps you will come to understand that it is not the weapon killing us all, but the thoughts and emotions fueling that weapon. The collective culture of hatred, greed, manipulation. Perhaps you will come to understand that the choices you make will impact generations to come and you, like me, will be watching from a distance. Perhaps.

You are not broken.

You were made in Her image and likeness to withstand the darkness.

You were made to endure His rapture within your soul for all eternity.

God awaits us in the midst of the forest. Lush and verdant, tender with life’s most reverent of creations. We cannot hear the cries of the greatest Mother of all. The Divine Feminine which settles beneath our flesh and bones, the womb Goddess, the carrier of all humankind. The epitome of grace made manifest by the heavens. These lands were birthed for the innocent, not for the iniquities hidden by the false desires we perpetuate in our minds. These lands were birthed for the holy, not for the entitled who endeavor to diminish any sanctity through greed, fear, anger or any emotion that tears this womb apart. These lands await patiently. The kingdoms that dwell within this Great Mother have created sanctuaries for us to pray in, yet our lack of humility has made us uninvited guests at times. The trees whisper but we cannot hear their stories. The flowers sing but we cannot hear their music. The waters flow but we refuse to value their importance. The animals protect and serve all kingdoms yet we offer them no dignity. The only dignity some of us understand is that of our own self-righteousness. The earth was not created to serve humankind. It is we humans who were made to serve this Great Mother. How can we tread softly on her if we cannot even tread softly on the ground between one human being and the next. Our footprints will carry the tears of humanity as well as these lands. We will succumb to humility and we can do it gently or be moved by the forces of creation. We are feeling the movement that comes with rebirth. We are noticing the changes within all the kingdoms of this Great Mother. We are noticing the changes within humanity. The Divine Feminine is ready to birth anew? Are you?

There are times I want to be the storm after the calm; the one in which my restlessness battles surrender, feeling every nuance of purification as it seeps into my weary bones, knowing the phoenix will rise when the time comes as called forth by the heavens. Being as present as I can with emotions as raw as thunder and lightning. Watching them become one with the skies and the earth, as my heart and mind endeavor to survive a reality which at any moment will no longer exist. There are times I want to be the storm after the calm, seduced by the inner and outer turbulence of the Divine, knowing in the end, the self I thought I knew will be even closer in alignment to the heavens once this storm has passed.