Blank Canvas

[Arrowwind]

It seems that there have been times in my life when my psychic or spiritual connection to the Universal Intelligence was strongly connected. I often attempted to create my reality through affirmation and prayer. It became so evident to me "knock and it shall be opened, ask and you shall receive" was not just a catchy phrase, it is a truth. My greatest errors was in forgetting this truth, and stumbling though life without consciously asking. In loosing memory I lost much along the way.

When I was young I wanted to know if reincarnation was true. I longed for an answer. I wasn't interested in reading about it or what other people thought and especially, intellectual treatise was extremely boring. I wanted to experience it and to KNOW. The desire and affirmation that I would eventually come to know became deeply seated in my being, but yet not really dwelt upon. Just there in the background, day after day, month after month, Merhr Baba was speaking to me, repeating over and over in the recesses of my mind… Know Thyself, Know Thyself. So I called out to know about reincarnation, myth or reality. Show me the cards point blank.

Shortly there after, while traveling in Mexico with new friends in a little town called Mulege, one of my traveling companions told me that she had been experimenting with hypnosis and regression. I asked her to try it on me and so we did.

It was about an hour and a half session on a beach near the water. I seemed to go into the 'dream' easily. Events entered my mind and as she guided me a story came forth. Sometimes there were periods of silence, as I was trying to discern what it was that I was experiencing so I could speak it. She said at times there were painful expressions on my face. I had recalled a life near Washington. At the time I thought it to be Washington state in 1853. But as time passed I came to realize it was Washington, the Capitol.

My first memory was sitting on a small cliff in fog, looking out over a river. I was waiting and watching for a ship. I remembered going there often to wait and watch. The ship I sought never came. In time I came to know that my husband was lost at sea. John. He was my husband, a sailor, we had a small farm along what I now believe to be the Potomac River, but during the regression I could not say this.

I remember looking at my hands which were with long thin fingers that apppeared dried and worked to the bone with earth filling the cracks and nails. I had two children. The eldest a boy. He believed his father to be a sailor but I knew it was not true. His father believed him to be his son.

The real father was an abusive minister of a small Baptist church. My uncle and I would go there when I was young in his horse drawn buggy pulled by a gleaming black mare. My uncle, who had some moderate wealth which allowed him to almost, but not quite be a gentleman farmer, raised me until I was 14 when he died. I had no recall of my parents. At this time, afraid and alone I fell into the arms of this preacher. Some time later I became pregnant. I remember clearly the day I went to tell him about the baby. He stood in the doorway of the church and cursed me and condemned me to hell and told me I was evil and said I should never cross his threshold again. His name too, was John.
A few weeks later I married another man named John who came to spend much time at sea. We had the land my uncle left me and we worked it hard.

One winter when he was at sea our young daughter died. The ground was frozen hard, and the weather bitter. I was isolated in our cabin like home in the country. Our elder son was already off working for others having left home at the age of 12 or 13. It was so painful. I remember wrapping her body in white cloth and opening the wood burning stove and stoking it high. I put her small body into the flames and closed the stove. My grief was immense.

Sometime after this my husband never returned from sea. He never knew that our son was not truly his.

Later that night I walked upon the same beach. I still felt to be in an altered state. Life seemed more alive and my very being somehow felt more real. The stars shone brightly above and the Pleiades was high in the sky. I gazed into it with longing for understanding. Suddenly I was struck by knowing. I knew that it was from within the Pleiades that my origin came. I was looking into the place in space that was my homeland and it was like a funnel or channel of knowing connected me to those stars. An inner voice said this is where your soul is from, come to earth long ago to serve humanity. You will be with humanity till the work is done. You chose this of your own volition.

Several years went by after this regression. I often thought about it but there wasn't much to research as I had no conclusive addresses or name and no internet to gain access to a world of information. I did finally come to believe that I had a small farm along the Potomac River, that in those days had many canals connecting to it and was developed for ships to come up a ways for the trade of goods. This was the only thing I could figure from research. The state of Washington in 1853 was way too undeveloped for the lifestyle I had on this farm at this time.

I went on in my current life to develop and interest in a type of alternative medicine. While attending a class in San Francisco about 2 to 3 years after the regression I connected with the teacher. There was an instant draw to one another although I would not say it was a comfortable attraction. I will not tell you his name for his privacy, or anything about his current life.

One day he came to visit me up in Sonoma County where I was living at the time and we went for a walk along the beach where the Russian River meets the sea. I asked him if he had a belief about reincarnation and he said no but that some of his friends did and that they insisted that he go see a very well known psychic. They even paid his way as he had refused to put money into such misadventures. I had not told him my story of regression.

So what did the psychic tell you I asked? "Well," he said "I was told that my name was John and it was very unusual as I was a sailor and a farmer at the same time. I was lost at sea in 1853." With this statement he picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it hard and far into the water.

1853 – one hundred years before my current birth year, 1953.

I was about ready to faint. Breathing hard trying to contain myself. "Well, do you believe it?" I asked. "I don't know. I have no memory of it" he said. "Its just a story I don't relate to."

I said nothing. It was as if I could not speak. I could not say what I thought. I was dumbfounded. I said nothing.

A few weeks later I went to see him in San Francisco. We tried to be close but it just was not working. Eventually I did tell him my story. But I could not tell that the son that he had thought was his was not. I think he thought I was a nut and fabricating the whole thing.

Eventually on my last visit to him as I walked out the door I told him. The son my husband thought was his was not. The son you thought was yours was not. I left and I never saw him again.

But even today he haunts me, the person he was and the person he is. One day I was seeking confirmation to a decision I was trying to make about work. It was a big decision and one I feared I could not stand up to fulfill. I asked spirit to show me a sign that this was the right thing for me to do. Shortly after I went out to a friends house, with the need to make this decision on my mind, as well as my supplication to spirit. I sat down in my friends house and opened a magazine that was laying there on the table. I opened it directly to a full page photograph of this man who had come to visit me in Sonoma county, who told me that he was a sailor and farmer in the 1800s, this man that I believed was a reincarnation of a previous mate.. The article was about his work and the importance of it as an alternative modality. I knew instantly it was the sign to make my decision to go and start my new adventure into healing and that is another story.

Later, a year or so later I came to find out that the man I had been living with during the time of my regression, and whom I was now separated from and whom I had taken great measure to get far away from which entailed my move from San Deigo to northern California had come to meet this teacher of alternative medicine in San Francisco and they had struck up some sort of friendship. So do souls travel in connected circles? Judge for yourself.

Sometimes I feel very attached to this story being true. It has framed much of my life experience, so much so that I have been resistant to researching what little there is in the story to make confirmations. So today I decided I would look into the wood cook stove that I cremated my child in. I have been absolutely unsure if wood stoves even existed in 1853 and I was afraid I would find that they didn’t exist so I have long avoided looking into it.. so I just went on line and found something similar to what I saw in my regression. Here it is. And its funny you know. See that little lacy looking sidebar on the stove? I recently selected a wood stove for my home that one can do some cooking on top of also if need be. It has options of sidebars similar to that shown in the photo below and I really really wanted them, even just one if possible, but at $200 a pop I had to let them go, with some regret. The stove I recall did not have the upper boxes.
http://www.antiquestoves.com/wood%20cook%20stoves.htm


And then I found this one which is also similar. The one I recall was not near as ornate nor did it have the tall back as seen in this one and the other photo.
http://www.antiquestoves.com/historicstoves/index.htm

Another interesting side note is that my current husband in this life is named John also. We met about 8 years after the regression.

[sleepy]

Arrowind,

After reading this story, it made me think of some things in your last story. You wrote about the Zen of firewood. You also said you would “bury” yourself next to Franklin and meditate and often spoke of Cherokee. Just kind of thinking out loud.

I was happy to wake up to another story. Thank you

[sleepy]

Posted by another bob (here)

Posted by Flash (here)
Great to have one at least who is empowered.

Anyone who steps up to share their story here is empowered, imo.

Anyone who even makes the effort to appear here in this realm is demonstrating a power that is rare throughout the whole universe, so I just don't buy any put-downs that might arise from some arbitrary and conditional interpretation on somebody else's level of personal freedom.

The proclivity of humans to pass judgmernt on each other is one of the great diseases of the mind, and the root of most of the strife we witness daily on this rock. Let's rise above that.

Blessings!

Another Bob,

You do have a way with words, eloquent as always.

If I may add my opinion, I find all of your stories empowering, a joy to read and written by the empowered.

Bless you all

sleepy

[sirdipswitch]

I walked into the arena, it was jammed to overflowing, with more than 30,000 people, in anticipation, of the Grand Gathering, which is a challenge for the Crown of our Kingdom. It was first formed by the King, at the very beginning of His reign, in order that any Rebel who wished to challenge the Throne, would have the means to do so, leagally. In order to prove His worth as absolute ruler of His people, He would have to prove His ability to take on all challenges to it. It was set up as the King, against the leader of the Rebellion, and 15 of his top warriors, in a fight to the death, with swords, as was done in the old days, before modern weaponry. In the center of the arena, there was a hundred foot cicle, formed by the Royal Guard, in the center of which, were the sixteen Rebel challengers, standing in the required four groups of four, with their leader in the last group. I passed through my Royal Guard, to view the challengers. I then turned around to face the Captain of my guard. He smiled, I smiled, I removed my Royal Cape, and drew my sword. I then turned to do battle... oh but wait... you wanted something from this life, right? Fred...

OK, I was in this pizza parler with my new Bride,(of one month), and we had just found a table, where I "parked"her, and went to the bar to get us a couple of mugs of dark beer. (mmmmm dark beer, sooo good) I came back to the table, and there was some jerk leaning on it, trying to pick up on my wife. I set down the mugs, and told him, "that's my wife you're talking to." and he said "shut up fat boy." (Yep, I've always kept a little bit of a belly, cuz it works as camouflage for the six pack underneath, and the girls don't get so excited. cccc.) I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, then slammed his face into the table. He came up all bloody, with both hands to his face. I put my left into his gut, and he folded up, puking his guts out, and I then gave him a blow to the side of his head, and he dropped in lump, into his own puddle of vomit. I held out my hand, and helped my wife out of the booth, and we headed for the door.

Fat boy my a**. I was an ol farm kid, and at that time, a truck driver, and no, we didn't have power steering back then, so you needed to be far stronger than most, or you wouldn't be able to even steer one. It was that very strength that made me dislike fighting, (I never liked to hurt people, and would normally talk my way out of a fight, so that I wouldn't have to hurt anyone.) but this guy was after my wife. He "needed" a lesson in manners. ccc.

[sleepy]

sirdipswitch,

You are funny. You should finish the first story it was good.

[another bob]

Arrowwind, amazing tale, Thank you for probing into this so thoroughly! I can certainly relate to travelling with a soul group, recognizing a number of my current relations as characters from previous lives here. For example, I recognize Mazie's grand-daughter Ryder (now 11 mo), as my own maternal Grandmother. She had quite a remarkable life last time around, which I may share something about here at some point.

Sirdipswitch, Thanks for joining in! I know you have many fascinating stories to share, and looking forward to hearing more, as the spirit moves you!


Blessings!

[another bob]

At the Catholic elementary school in which I was enrolled in the 1950's, the usual curriculum routine was occasionally set aside for "Audio-Visual" presentations. Students were gathered into the auditorium, lights were dimmed, and the whir of a film projector signaled the beginning of another movie about precautions to be observed in the event of a nuclear attack. This one was different, however. I was 9 years old, and as I watched the flickering images of babies, covered with swarming flies, dying of starvation in some country I had never heard of, my own young heart was burned. In fact, by the end of the film I was on the verge of passing out until the lights came on and an earnest missionary appeared in front of the assembled students. As I listened intently to this Soldier of Christ, the mission which was soon to dominate the first half of my life took form. In a fantasy vision of service not unlike dressing the sacred wounds of Jesus, the task before me was suddenly and undoubtedly made clear.

The missionary promised that, if each student was able to somehow contribute $5.00, they would be able to adopt one of these "pagan babies". Not only would it be "saved" but, as a side benefit, each child would get to share the name of the contributor who had donated the sum.

Five dollars seemed like a lot of money, but no obstacle was going to deter me in my newfound crusade. I immediately threw myself into a fervor of coin collecting. I started out using all of my milk money, but found that wasn't nearly enough. Every minute another child was dying! I began going into my father's pants pocket at night, after my parents went to sleep. Each time I would take just a few dimes or nickels to contribute, reasoning that they didn't need the money as much as the pagan babies. I approached all of my visiting relatives, as well as my parents' friends, soliciting spare change for the mission. I would search the street on my way to and from school, looking for any fallen coins that might go to the cause.

Soon I broadened my view to include the neighborhood as potential recipients of goodwill. I began to take my bagged lunch and parcel elements of it into people's mailboxes as I walked up the hill to school. I felt that it was better for me to go hungry than to have anybody else in the world go hungry. By the time I arrived at class, I had an empty bag but my heart was a little fuller.

Next I got a job as a paper boy, rising when it was still dark to travel the streets delivering the news and forwarding my earnings towards the pagan babies. I felt that I was doing something, but it was just not enough. The pagan babies needed all the help they could get.

The nuns were amazed at my fund raising. Somewhere in Africa there were now, hypothetically, at least a dozen people bearing my name, saved from a life of certain starvation. I did not feel good about this, however. There were so many more! So many! It seemed the task was hopeless. How could I save them all?

Meanwhile, my parents started getting calls from the neighbors, thanking them for the bananas and sandwiches, but asking for the rationale behind such postal contributions. When my father and mother confronted me, I told them about the starving children, the desperate suffering pagan babies. They were not as convinced as I that giving my lunch to the neighbors was the best tactic, nor were they amused when I confessed that I had been taking their money to fund my campaign to alleviate world hunger.

I sank into a profound dilemma about the whole thing. I wanted to give everything -- my life even -- to save others from suffering. I could not bear to see anyone suffer! I felt no peace, knowing that the pagan babies were crying for milk somewhere. The situation seemed unresolvable.
By the time I turned 13, I had already decided to enter a Catholic seminary to become a priest and dedicate myself completely to a life of unselfish service. Everyone seemed to agree that this was the best thing, given my unusual inclinations.

Over the course of the next 7 years in the Seminary, I spent a great deal of time studying the various texts, performing the many prescribed rituals, and was always at the top of my class academically, though I found that the more I examined this religion, the less I was convinced that it had any actual merit, beyond serving as a social control mechanism operated by questionable people with even more questionable motives. Finally, I asked for a personal interview with the Archbishop of San Francisco. This went rather poorly, and I left with the clear sense that this person had never actually experienced anything that he preached about. He was dead inside.

After too many years in the belly of that monstrous beast, I walked away disgusted with the whole rotten institution and moved to the high Sierras to cleanse myself, spending the next 6 months living as a hermit in a small tent by a river. This was quite refreshing, and then one day an old friend dropped by to visit, and left me with a copy of a book on Zen. I devoured this book, since it was like a reminder of my time prior to getting involved with the salvation-business. When I came upon one particular passage – a little poem about trees just treeing – everything suddenly fell into place. How obvious it all was!

Not long afterward, I returned to San Francisco, looked up “meditation” in the phone book, and came upon the San Francisco Zen Center. I called them up, they said “Come on down!” There I met Suzuki Roshi, and I became his student that night. It was the right thing to do!

What followed included a stint as a Child Care worker (to satisfy the requirements of Alternative Service to the Government), then several years as a Zen Buddhist monastic, which in turn led to a career as a successful businessman pioneering the introduction of Natural and Organic foods in Supermarket formats across the country. It seems I still wanted to feed the people, so I figured it might as well be with the best food I could find.

Somewhere along the way a simple recognition dawned. There were no fireworks, no lightning bolts or anything dramatic – just a clear and obvious realization that my whole life-long quest was based on a false premise. All along, I had assumed myself to be a separate individual, trying to bridge an assumed chasm in my own being. I had superimposed on this simple being all sorts of beliefs and solipsistic judgments about myself as the one who is "doing" all of this, and then projected that dreamy made-up stuff out into "the world" -- as if "the world" was somehow separate from myself. All along I had been repeatedly graced with clues, but I have always been a stubborn sort. In my earnest fixation on an idea of what I needed to become, I overlooked the plain and simple truth:

You can’t become what you already are. You only need to cease presuming yourself (and the world) to be that which in reality you and it have never actually been.

As layers of self-inflicted dilemma melted away, I finally realized how arrogant my stubborn belief had been -- the assumption that I could ever be in a position of "saving" anybody. The story I’d been acting out was full of holes. As that house of cards came crumbling down, the whole fictional fist of contraction loosened its grip.

How could I have ever imagined myself to be in any kind of position to impose my will on life! When I realized that I was the Pagan Baby, everything returned to an ordinary happiness, fatefully interrupted by that schoolhouse movie so many years ago. I was somehow gracefully relieved of the concern that anything be other than what it is, that I be anything other than what I am.

I could finally stop pretending. I could peel off the various costumes, or perhaps maintain the costume -- knowing that it is just a costume, and even enjoying the unique beauty of this and any costume. Lately all these costumes seem to slip off on their own accord. All is getting done, mysteriously.

Like melting snow in warming spring streams, the fascination with any destiny dissolves in the flow – gradually, almost unnoticed. Chronic reactivity gathered from past experience ceases to be recycled. The sense of individuality persists, but sifted now within the context of awareness, of space with no borders – changing perpetually, in harmony with simple circumstance. Here is where we always meet. Here is where this love is real.

The dream we dream of this life is a small shadow, arising in a vast space of awesome mystery. There is not even one molecule that is not permeated with the most amazing heartbeat of Life living us, just as we are. We can go anywhere, already realizing that there is nowhere to go! We can do anything, already realizing that "we" are doing nothing! There are no barriers in life, except what we imagine in our innocent misunderstandings. Even these are perfection and grace. There is nothing to save. There is neither freedom nor bondage as we’ve imagined. In reality, we’ve always already been free. In truth, all is well.

[RunningDeer]

[another bob]

Here's a little change of pace for our canvas, just captured a few moments ago out our dining room window:

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=2-W1QnVOh9w

[Mark]

Wrote this a while back, thought it might fit here. Bless.


His Mother's Son

“What’s that?”

I looked. “What.”

She pointed, “There.”

At the time I lived on 7th Street, in Bloomington, Indiana, just off campus in an old, turn-of-the-century 2-story home that was drafty but comfortable, my room the biggest in the house. She was my new girlfriend, curious about everything. I had the place set up nicely for a Grad student a nice rug, my computer and desk, an easy chair, a full-size futon close to the ground – Japanese style – and a bookcase with textbooks, some esoteric mainstays and…

“…my Ouija board.” I chuckled and shook my head.

“It doesn’t work,” I stated matter-of-factly and returned my attention to her.

“Oh, ok…hey, stop that!” She giggled and the subject was forgotten.

A year later and we were married, living on 17th street, still in Bloomington, in the bottom-floor apartment of a small, 4-unit complex that fronted a wooded, shady hill and a small pond that housed what seemed to be a multitude of bullfrogs that would serenade us all night every night during the summer. My office was in the rear of the apartment in what would have been a second bedroom, it’s south-facing wall a sliding glass door.One night she walked in and saw the Ouija sitting on the top shelf of one of my storage areas, and so I told her its tale.

I had bought the board when I was stationed in Germany. Over the years, I had used it a few times. In Germany, another soldier and I had tried to use it and I remember feeling contempt when I could feel him trying to push it, in order to make it seem as if it was working. With two people sitting next to each other, fingers on the planchette, it is easy, you see, to tell when force is coming from another person touching it. Another time I’d used it with Claudia, the night we became a couple. It hadn’t worked with her either and we’d sat in the candle-lit darkness looking at it, and each other, finally leaving the board for other, less boring pursuits.

When I left Germany and the military I took the Ouija to school with me and can’t remember using it at all at Prairie View, down in Texas. For a long while it sat on a bookshelf, a derisive conversation topic, gathering dust and acting as a placemat for drinks and other intoxicating substances. i kept it because it was cool, a Ouija board made by Parker Brothers no less, a game sold in stores around the country. So when I moved to Bloomington to attend IU, my opinion of the Ouija was quite loud and decidely decided.

“Let’s try it, then. I’ve never tried a Ouija board before,” she said, looking at me with a smile on her face, her eyes twinkling.

I laughed and agreed, certain that it would be a repeat of the same old disappointing experience. If the old adage that you have to believe in it for it to work were true, then we stood no chance of experiencing otherworldly visitations that night, because I was dead certain that Mr. Ouija was a bunch of hooey, bunk, a sham, or that I had absolutely no psychic ability at all.

So we got the candles and I lit them, turned off the lights in the apartment and sat on the ground in front of the patio door, grinning at each other. I felt a little excitement because of the drama of the moment – as we sat there, together, on the brink of the unknown – but dismissed it, calmly explaining to her the process of touching the planchette lightly, invoking protection and querying the Ouija in the attempt to call forth the spirits. She smiled and asked questions and I could tell that she was a bit nervous too. I felt a foreshadowing sensation of realization and regret, knowing that she would be disappointed when it didn’t work.

Playing the moment for all it was worth I placed my hand on the planchette, nodding for her to do the same. She did and we sat there, in the flickering light of the candles, watching the board intently. Arriving at the dreaded moment, I asked the board,

“Is there anybody there?”

We waited – I, with bated breath – for what seemed like an eternity and then, after what had to be only a few seconds, slowly, gently, the planchette began to move. My immediate shock was immediately offset by my mind, whirling with the implications and I quickly calculated the possibility of her moving it. No, i decided, it was not possible. Our fingers were touching it lightly and I could feel no pressure coming from her side of the planchette. The instrument seemed to glide under our touch, moving, indeed, of its own volition. Obviously it moved toward the “Yes” located in the top right-hand corner of the board.

She and I stared at each with wide eyes, and then returned our attention to the board. A bit nervously I asked, “Who do you want to speak to?” The planchette began to move again, still slowly, tentatively, under its own power, and spelled out my name.

“Who are you?”

The Ouija responded, “Big Momma.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I felt tears rising and my throat choking up. She told me she loved me, and that Big Daddy was there with her. We stayed on the Ouija for a bit longer, asking questions. I tested the entity for specific knowledge, which it was able to answer without hesitation. Not long after, we put it away, both of us amazed by what had transpired that evening. It was apparent that what I lacked in psychic abilities, she had in spades. The Ouija responded to her touch like a puppy to its Mistress, the spirits crowded around, jostling each other in their eagerness to speak with us, to cross that boundary between life and death, even if only in the limited constraints of a wooden board inscribed with magical, machine-marked symbols of ancient conception.

Over the next few weeks, we played with the Ouija many more times, almost every night. She took the Ouija over to her friends houses and played it with them, coming home and reporting about crazy spirits casting murderous spells, prophesying confusion and ugliness and I began to feel a seed of something cold born, deep down in my soul as I would nod and smile, laughing along with her as she related the details of her Ouija adventures.

I spoke to Big Mama and Big Daddy again once or twice, and met my Guardian Angel, Xavier, a 9-year old Caucasian boy who had died in the 1800s, and who had been with me for years. I knew about him because Karen, an ex-girlfriend of mixed native/African-American ancestry had actually seen him with me, and described him to me as well as drawn me a picture and told me his name. We met her guardian angel, a 7-year old girl named Tagazana, who had lived in Sumer. They told us that Guardian Angels were always children who had died violent deaths, and I have believed that ever since. Other entities visited, some claiming to be wandering spirits who lived in the void between worlds, while others were lost, their imprints weak, the planchette barely able to move between letters. She spoke to her mother, who had passed when she was a small girl and we both reveled in this ability, enjoying it, not realizing that the more we used it, the more visible we were to entities on the other side of the board, and we relaxed our vigilance, I’m sad to say, sometimes forgetting even to invoke the spirits of protection as we hastened to see who would come to visit us next.

And then, one night, as we sat before the board, we were visited by a seemingly weak and tentative spirit. I asked, “Who have you come to visit?”

“You.”

“Who are you?”

“Mae Mae.”

I frowned, attempting to remember someone named Mae Mae, and shook my head. “I do not know you, do I?”

“Yes, you do. I love you. Good bye.”

“Good bye.”

“I love you. I love you. Good bye…”

Puzzled by the strange visitation, we put the Ouija away and sat down to watch some television. About an hour and a half later, I received a phone call from my mother, who was crying. I knew it was bad news and listened as she told me that my Great-Aunt Mamie had passed away earlier in the evening. Stunned, I could barely stand as I realized that I had spoken to her just as she crossed over and I let the tears fall, as I am now, sending her love and wishing her a safe journey into the next world. I didn’t tell my mother that story for years, not wanting to upset her with the direct evidence of my transient adherence to Christian spiritual prohibitions.

And so it had gone, the spirits gathering around what must have seemed to them to be an oasis of light in the grey haze of purgatory, a light concentrated on her – and me, peripherally – coalescing into an intimate gathering of intention that bound us together as One as the time period allotted this experiment came to its inevitable close. She reveled in her gift, her ability to ‘speak to the spirits’, to be able to ‘call them out’ an expression of her general charismatic ability, a psychic energy that she exuded and that drew people to her like magnets; a strength and ‘soulfulness’ that was, apparently, strong enough to even reach past the boundaries of the physical world. It is what had drawn me to her as well and I loved that strength, saw her as the epitome of womanly power, Eve to my Adam, life partner and mother of my children, eventually.

Another night, and surely, just another spirit. We sat in the usual spot, our fingers on the planchette. I asked, as always, “What is your name.”

“Nina.”

Immediately, I realized something was different. Nina was strong. Stronger than any spirit that we’d ever met. Our fingers barely touching the planchette, it virtually flew across the board, making the circuit between letters at lightning speed. I felt that something I’d felt weeks earlier rising again, this time fast and cold, pervading my entire body. Cold sweat rose on my forehead as I heard my mouth ask, “Who are you here to speak to?”

“Her.”

She perked up and I looked at her, wondering if she felt the same thing I was feeling. She was smiling, watching the board, intent, not paying me any mind. Nina’s message came through the board fast, loud, and clear.

“No man is good enough for her.”

That knot of coldness lodged in my throat and I sat there, silent, as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“No man is good enough for you.”

She looked at me and laughed, but I was in no mood to reply. She asked, “Do you mean my husband?”

The planchette flew up and to the left. “Yes.”

Summoning the will from somewhere, I asked, “Do you mean any men? Her father? Brothers?”

Again. “Yes. No man is good enough for her.”

She was getting stronger. The planchette was moving faster as she began to repeat herself, “No man is good enough for her, no man is good enough for her, no man is good enough for her, no man is good enough for her,” over and over until I, repulsed and scared half out of my wits half-shouted, “We release you, spirit!”

I sat back, my heart pounding, looking at her. She smiled nervously back at me, giggling a bit. The strength of Nina had surprised us both, but the feeling of danger that I felt regarding her visitation was not shared by my wife. As years passed between that night and the present, whenever I’ve brought it up, she has laughed it off, but I wonder, who Nina was, and why she said what she said. I also wondered if she truly came to speak to her, or if she was, indeed, speaking to me.



That board got burnt out back, on my little smokey grill, that night. I knelt solemnly before it, sending up silent prayers and listening to the bullfrogs groan, poking it with a stick until it was nothing but ashes.

Ten years and three children later, we now live in San Marcos, Texas, where I attend school, completing a doctorate in geography. We have two older girls, nine and five, and a boy, two. Earlier this evening as I drew a bath for them, the feeling of the Halloween season finally hit me, full force. I walked outside into the brisk evening to look up at the moon, and caught my breath as I saw that it was surrounded by a single, rainbow ring of brilliant colors.

The cusp of Fall always leaves me breathless as my body and scorpionic programming resonate to the imperatives of the stars and seasons, the darkness of the oncoming winter preceded by this timein-between, during which the door between worlds opens and fetid gusts of infinite possibility emerge upon wings of black promise, flying into our dreams, whispering secrets of lust and desire blowing cold, echoing foreboding across the starless moors of restless nights. I I remember Nina, as I often do and shiver, perhaps from the cold, realizing that this was the time of year that we had spent that fateful time with Mr. Ouija. Sober now, I rushed back in to the warmth, and my children.

The oldest has washed her brothers hair, leaving it in curly waves that flow back across his skull. She laughs, shouting, “He looks like a girl!” I chuckle and agree, placing their towels around their shoulders and sending them into the Master bedroom to lotion up and get dressed for bed. The boy runs as soon as I take him out and proceeds to run back and forth in the hallway, preferring air-drying, I suppose, to the warmth of his duckie-towel.

After removing them from the bath I begin cleaning up after them, shaking my head as I pick up pants and underwear, using the floor rug to sop up the water they’ve left on the floor.

“Come back here, Nina! Nina!”

I slowly walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where the children are alternately lotioning and dancing, playing and laughing as the boy jumps around. I look to the oldest, who had shouted out that name.

“Who are you calling that, baby?”

She pointed at her brother. “Him! He looks like a girl!”

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “Why did you choose that name?”

She pauses for a moment to really think about it then shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels right.”

This, from the little girl who remembers what happened to her before birth, and whose dreams come true. I look at the beautiful boy, laughing and shouting as he jumps on the bed, my heart, my soul and know, that even if I can’t, he will always be there to protect his mother, no matter what dark days may come. I release the coldness with a deep breath and rush over to hold him close as he laughs and screams, “Daddy, daddy!”

I smile, reveling his proximity and love. And even though he is born partly of me, of my flesh and blood, I know, with a certainty that defies the laws of the physical universe itself, that he will always, and forever be, his mother’s son.

[another bob]

Posted by Rahkyt (here)
Wrote this a while back, thought it might fit here. Bless......

You've left me speechless, Brother!

What a dazzling piece of writing, and engrossing portal to the Mystery!

Deep Bows for your kind sharing!

Blessings!

[RunningDeer]

Posted by Rahkyt (here)
It is what had drawn me to her as well and I loved that strength, saw her as the epitome of womanly power, Eve to my Adam, life partner and mother of my children, eventually.

Rahkyt, powerful, poetic, intrigue, tender... I need a thesaurus.

[Arrowwind]

What great stories we are collecting! Im tempted to load on one after another but I think its best to stretch things out so we can keep a good thing going and perhaps entice others to join in ... and I do admit that most I have and will share are not written at the spur of the moment.. if they are I will say so cause its generally someone here who inspired it... Ive never shared any of my written stories with anyone before... not anyone.

OOPs ... an exaggeration It seems. I have shared my "Ship" stories before, oh well.

[TargeT]

Posted by modwiz (here)
The lessons of childhood are about having no power. Adulthood is about being in your power. I have a rich life ahead of me and the minutiae of my childhood would be like the clothes I wore then. Useless baggage and sentimental trinkets. I remember the good parts because the past is a flexible as the present and future. Timelines run backward as well.

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here. I hope this thread provides some balm for the soul and found paths for healing.

Apparently, according to Write4change, I won the sperm lottery. Sounds messy to me.

I agree, as I read this thread it seems that I must be living a "vacation life" as I've not really had anything happen that compare to the stories here, on one hand I feel like I'm missing out, on the other I am glad that I have missed out.

its hard to calibrate my perspective but threads like this definately help, thank you all for sharing your stories.

[Mark]

Most people who choose the sciences as a field of endeavor do so because they want answers to the mysteries of life. They have some general idea about God, Existence itself maybe and some questions about where we come from, what are we doing here, or they want to know the answers regarding aspects of the physical world, the human body, mental or chemical makeup. All good questions, but my own personal reason for choosing the oldest science (Geography) was because it was an holistic science and, to my young reasoning, it would allow me to learn a lot about a lot of things and never to be limited in my research interests. Even more particularly, by choosing such a broad field, I thought that I would be able to learn the truth about the mysteries that I have personally experienced in my life.

For me, God was never a question. Raised in the church, every sunday, cub, webelo and boy scout up to explorer, the path my parents set me on was about as mainstream, middle class, mundane African American as possible. But growing up in so many different locations around the world, experiencing different cultures and having strange experiences during the days and the nights throughout it all went beyond everything that anyone else in my world could explain to my satisfaction. And so being the perfect, secretive little double-scorpio I was, my true interests remained unknown to everyone around me as I learned to play the game of normalcy to the best of my ability, which was, actually, not very good. LOL

I don't have many stories of this overt nature but the ones I do have are remarkable in that they have been signposts meant for me and my understanding only, to confirm to me, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the esoteric, the psychic, the alternative and paranormal, were and are real.

So for me, the science must confirm my lived experience. If it does not, it is the science that is lacking and the path forward can only lead through the alchemical and shamanistic realms of direct, subjective experience.

Even the mundane aspect of daily life is magical if you look closely enough at it. Are paying attention to the Now moment and the surroundings. There will always be synchronicities and wierdnesses for those who are attuned to it. Little things that you might miss if you are thinking about the past or the future, what happened yesterday at the job or who just wronged you and what you're going to do to them in revenge.

The fact that so much information is now available that was not to the general public in decades and centuries past is proof positive that the times we are living in are portentous. That we are on the brink of a precipice, a waterfall of information bytes, leaping, flyng, screaming into an abyss of light.

Science and religion as signifying institutions of culture beholden to a certain psychological meta-narrative demands slow and gradual change until that cascading point has been arrived at and the flow of information finds a new baseline mean, ratcheting general and collective consciousness up higher and higher with each iteration.

Applying both to life are the point. The only point to them. Tying us back to that ever-shifting baseline, keeping us grounded as we actually soar up a spiral updraft of spiritual progression despite our best efforts to remain ignorant and safe.

[Arrowwind]

Posted by WhiteCrowBlackDeer (here)
I worried about those pagan babies, too. (Saint Mary's Academy, Bay View). The nuns must take a Guilt 101 to prepare for the classroom.

Yep them babies got to me too. I had one in Guatemala for a while.

[another bob]

Posted by Arrowwind (here)
What great stories we are collecting! Im tempted to load on one after another but I think its best to stretch things out so we can keep a good thing going and perhaps entice others to join in ....

I hear ya, Sister, and you make a good point! You sound like a Gemini, a communicator, and I can so relate! I'll savor each of our stories as they come up, and give Thanks for our diversity, as well as the unity behind that individual uniqueness.

Blessings!

[another bob]

Posted by Rahkyt (here)
The fact that so much information is now available that was not to the general public in decades and centuries past is proof positive that the times we are living in are portentous. That we are on the brink of a precipice, a waterfall of information bytes, leaping, flyng, screaming into an abyss of light..

So agree, Brother! And Thanks for expressing it so well, and so lyrically! The danger, of course, with so much being available from the legacy of cumulative wisdom is the possibilty of over-load, which can be even more confusing and dis-orienting than not. The key is to use the new downloads as a mirror, testing it all within the framework of our own inherent "knowing". After all, the whole body of sacred testimonies and knowledge is just a small drop in the ocean of our own true nature, but it can be used judiciously to pry open some of those doors we've had locked for so long that we've forgotten that there is a treasure waiting for us, right in our own home!

Blessings!

[Arrowwind]

Science in an of itself never was all that interesting to me. To many lies reside in that dicipline... a dicipline on how to scientifically doupe the people is what it generally seemed to me.. and granted I know there is some good science out there. It is evident in the world around us .. in all the stuff that science does that really works but.. to me science needs to be much more objective and responsible in its realtionship to politics, economy and businesss and especially in regard to Mother Nature herself.

In my line of work I have seen science heal and I have seen science kill and I have seen science more often than not lead to chronic degeneration that interferes with life and creation and growth and prosperity of health and spirit. In this regard it takes out more than all the wars, than all the HIV, than all the malaria... than all of it. You just name it and it has done this though the the lies and misinformaiton the corporations of science have promoted to sway the people from the truth with intent to keep the almighty dollar flowing into their "scientific" coffers.

[RunningDeer]

Back in the summer of 1986, through power naps and contemplation and watching pictures come across my mind, a story wrote itself. It was before I had a quality computer, so I backed up my material on to a tape recorder.

I submitted the finished product to several places. Letters that came back explaining that it didn’t fit the sci-fi genre. While waiting for the “next rejection”, I discovered an old bookstore. Books ‘talk’ to me. This one particular one, on the top shelf said, “Pick me, pick me.” I was dumbfounded, because it was about two different expeditions that came up with the same conclusion. I don’t recall the title but it was something like “The Hollow Earth”. Their accounts had been woven into my writings, where ships were sucked into this vortex at the poles. Tall people took care of the shipwrecked castaways and sent them back, with only a vague recollection and a pack that no one was to speak of it.

I write this because my book was about how one society was driven below the Earth to live out their days. They had radiation poison and were deformed. This class didn’t have access to the medications. Unbeknownst to the “elite” above, this society thrived and used materials from their environment and healed everyone. Their intuitive powers where just a part of who they had evolved into. This race was thousands of years old and many lived to be 700-800 years. By the twentieth century, their mission was to come to the surface and assist individuals who exhibited love, kindness, generosity, etc. The goal was to prepare them to help others that were awakening. Too, the ancient society were preparing to come up in larger numbers to integrate above. The ending was that those with evolving energies joined with the ancient society in their world because to many were not ready to let go of the anger and fighting and class divisions.

I’d be the first to admit that by today’s standards, it’s elementary. Back then, at least for someone like me who only read philosophy books, it was an interesting journey. I rationalized that I was influenced by films and books such as, “The Lost Horizon”, “Shangri-La”, “The Kin of Ata are Waiting for You.” But there were details that were different from this material. A couple of years ago, I came across, “The Hollow Earth,” by Dianne Robbins. That book has some similar information. It served to confirm what my gut and experiences told me some 24 years earlier. On some level, I seem to recall this even when I was young.

We are those ET’s waking up. We are the ones to raise the vibration within ourselves here on Mother Earth. Open to the possibility. It will show itself. Even more so now with this new energy that’s unlocking the strands of DNA. Opening up the charkas. Or however you perceive it. Spend time and energy on what’s within or ultimately not within.

The renewed Mother Earth is a place where all are ageless, total health, loving communities, manifesting whatever is needed, surrounded by beauty and air filled with fragrances, and thought communications with all life.