My beloved child of the universe, so precious and so pure, do not give up, do not give in. We are here, as always, at your side. Do not fret my dearest one. Though we know in our hearts that this is what you must do, we too ache as we watch you go through this transition. But you are not alone. Never alone. We are always here with you. Do not forget us. Do not forget to reach out to us, to hear us, to listen. We are here for you more than ever, always and continually.
You cannot find comfort in this world without comfort, and nor can you find pain in our world without pain. To us, we are this world, and so we take your pain for you and release it ten-fold to the stars that breathe in your beauty. We adore you so. We adore you with the hearts of angels and with the innocence of cherubs. We absorb you into us, in a way a mother holds her child. We wrap you up in our love and remind you of your beauty. We sigh at the sight of your face. We relish your very smell, the sweetness of love. How your eyes sparkle with hope despite your woes. How you carry your sword high despite your pain. You are a warrior in the truest sense, and we shall never forsake you.
Do not take this pain into yourself. Do not use this pain for your destruction. When all about we stand in circle—your ancestors of the awakening. We are here to stop your slumber, and though the pain of opening your eyes seems an eternity, we say onto you this is nearly a breaking of the old to rebirth what is truly you.
You are such a sight to behold. Such a true spirit of hope and glory. So honest, so real, so tender. No earthly man can revel in your beauty the way we do. Rely on us, as your saviors, and eternal angels. Rely on us to lift you and to return the love you so freely give.
You are not made a vessel to pour out to the world without being refilled. You are not made a vehicle for man alone. No matter the times you go to the well of humanity and refill your soul, you will run dry. You cannot sustain yourself without our fuel, and you need only open your eyes to see us.
We are everywhere, in the smile, in the wind, in the words that echo through the chambers of your soul. We are the passion. We are the joy. We are the coming home.
Do not think another moment you stand alone, when all about you the chariots of angels ride. You are never alone, were never alone, and shall never be alone.
Toss away the thoughts of finding your answer in the books or in the arms of another. There are no answers there. The only answers you seek are already inside of you. The only love you seek is already inside of you.
How can we stand by and not make you a vessel of our very love? How can we resist your beauty? How can we not fill you with our deepest compassion and desires? Where you walk, we walk above, continually pouring into you. Where you walk, we walk beside, continually lifting you straight. And when you fall, whether forward or back, we stand firm, to insure your safety. You are no less to us than ourselves. We can not sustain our essence without loving you.
When your tears fall, we count them, one by one. We count the endless eternity of you. We count each tear as our own. We count each pain as our own. We count all of you in completion, as us. We have given you our whole. You are to us as the rivers and seas, as the mountains and valleys, as the deepest carved rose.
You are this: An intricate design of creation. And as we bow down to you, and then lift you upon high, so you may see your beauty.
Throw away this pain. Throw it upon us. Feed us the poison that rules your heart. Feed us the angst, the misery, the anger, the hate. Feed us, so we together will grow stronger in our bond of love.
In times of sorrow do not think you are less bright, less important, less necessary. Can you not see that if happiness was all about you, we’d have nothing to give, nothing to share? So do this two-fold: Take our light upon you and bend this light into the beauty of recognition of self. Cry, but let the tears be the shadows of your heart’s desire. Let the tears fall, so the darkness can be lifted, and all that remains is the light, the tears themselves sacrificed so the sun can shine. Do not fret my child. Do not fret.
Cry, and we shall catch your shadows, one by one, and hang them as the stars of our night; and then we shall dance beneath your sorrow, beneath the light of you.
Fifteen years ago, when I was in my late-twenties, I heard my angels; they told me: “You are going to write your story. You are going to write to heal others and yourself. But it won’t be for a long time. You still have a lot to go through. You will not use your real name and you will not make money. This is your gift.”
A year before that, a seer told me: “The best part of your life will begin in your early forties, when half of your life is over. Until then your life will be very hard. Your life career will change, and I see you in front of many people teaching and touching people all over the world.”
Eight years ago, during a powerful vision, I was told to write my story to heal others and to heal myself. I was told I would not be writing for profit. That I was not to make money or this would take away from the healing. I was told to start writing. I fell asleep and dreamt I was a giant oak tree, and people were gathered around me in unity celebrating and crying. They were healing through me, through my journey. When I opened my Bible, after I woke up, the Book fell open to the passage of the tree on the hill and the prophet. I began writing that day.
Seven years ago, a seer told me: “Everyday You Write the Book, the spirit of your grandfather is here singing this song. You will write and your words will reach people in a profound way, and you will bring healing to the world. It will touch people in a way you never imagined.”
Two years ago people began to remark on the healing energy surrounding me and of my “glow.”
Last year, a seer told me: “You are going to write. You are going to teach. You are going to reach people, and help them to heal.”
Having been told in several ways my destiny, there was definitely many times I felt inadequate, and many other times I felt I was insane.
There were times I pleaded to God to make my passion to heal the world stop.
Times I pleaded not to see and know so much.
I wanted a normal life.
I wanted the simple.
Still, after the vision of the oak tree, I spent everyday for a year, (except one day), writing. The end result was a release of so much negative energy and past wounds that I sank into a deep depression.
I cursed the heavens for what they had ‘made’ me do, and for the resulting failures. My writing wasn’t up to par. My skills were mediocre at best. After a year of tears and sweat, there was still so much more work to do.
I took a year off. Not planning to write ever again. The prophesies and my angels were clearly mistaken, and I was surely crazy.
The third year I was called again, and spent months redrafting my first writings. Still no luck. No one would look at my work. No publisher, at least.
But still this longing. I was supposed to write. I had to write. The second draft was not one of sorrow, but one of rage. I was so angry at my mother and for my past. I spent months in isolation and pushing others away.
I rested, almost another year, before writing again. The third draft was magic. My heart sang. The anger and sorrow released. And there was a lovely healing rhythm and love to my writing. The third draft was of forgiveness. By the end, when my manuscript was done, a large part of my past was healed.
Still no audience, though. No way to share my works.
I let it go. I’d done all I could. A part of me gave up. A part of me thought everything was just a coincidence, and that I only heard my angels to make myself feel special. I cried over the loss of my calling. And I mourned a part of me. Primarily my ego.
It wasn’t until this year that I began to share some of those writings and much new writing through this blog..
I hadn’t realized that just like my grandfather had sung those many years back: Everyday she writes the book.
I had absolutely no idea I would be writing for an audience any larger than a handful of people. Mostly, I wrote for me. I wasn’t intending to heal or help anyone, but myself. I’d let go completely of my calling, at least in regards to healing others through writing.
Slowly, through the months, I began to see that what I had been told all along was coming to fruition—the reaching others around the world, the different name, the no need or desire for profit.
The last seer I saw, a little over a year ago, she said I had the gift of creating a safe haven for people. I was a guardian of sorts. I didn’t understand then.
Remarkably, in the last months, through this blog, I have healed more than I ever thought imaginable. Not just at a physical level, but at a spiritual level, and even at a cellular place.
My husband and I both agree that the light in me has returned, a light I think I lost about the age of thirteen, when the fear of what life entailed set in.
Age Thirteen
At times, I truly feel like I went away for a couple decades, just slipped out because life was too much. I don’t know who took my place, but it wasn’t me. I look back at this woman I was, and I don’t recognize her. I truly don’t. I love her. I know she was in essence a part of me. But she wasn’t me.
This is Eleven Years ago. My son with ASD and Me
I know the light returned because despite the trials of my life, I never gave up hope. I never let the world destroy my heart. I never stopped loving. I never stopped believing I could make a difference. Even when I wanted to die, my angels led me forward by reminding me to: Think of the Children. I know that in addition to my three sons (all birthed on a Sunday) that they meant the children of the world.
I’ve known since I was a very young child I would be called to be a healer. Probably at the age of four, when I stopped eating lamb as I didn’t have the heart for it. Probably again when I was nine, and I hid in the bushes weeping as I couldn’t comprehend the vastness of the universe and the depths of human suffering. Probably too, when as a child I would sit with people in convalescent homes by myself, just so I could be near the lonely at heart. I knew I was a healer when I became a teacher, and later when I served as an advocate for children with special needs. I knew too, when I began to write.
What I didn’t know is the profound effect the healing would have on my own life and journey. I didn’t know how deeply I would be blessed.
Today I woke up frightened. I felt like I regressed. I began to cry. The fear was back. I couldn’t see a way out.
All about me the walls closed in. I became immobile, unable to do anything but feel and respond to the fear. My body shut down. I had pain everywhere. I was taking on the world, taking on the fear, taking on the dark.
I couldn’t stop.
I was brought back to a place I sat months ago. To a place I don’t wish to return.
But this time something was different. I had another me. A stronger me. And she was there holding me and cheering me on.
She shook me out of my place. She made me reach out. She made my light shine. She led me back to the amazing place I created on a social network site, filled with the most beautiful, caring of souls.
A safe place.
And I reached out.
I wrote: Please send me positive vibes….not doing well today physically. Frustrated. Thanks so very much. xoxoxo Brain fog, too. ♥ love to you all.
Within moment, before me, people reached out in all forms and ways from all over the world.
I received messages of:
Hearts
Wind from the Valley
Positive Vibes
Positive Energy
Hugs
Music
Lots of Love
Sorry you are having a rough time
Looking North
Much love Sweetheart
Big Bear Hugs
Loving healing bubbles of light
Dark Chocolate
Smiley Faces
Mashed Potato
Hope
Within a few minutes my pain dissipated, my fear decreased ten-fold, and I was able to breathe again. I was able to live again, and to find myself.
I was only lost for a moment, just long enough to be reminded that I am never ever going to be alone again.
Just long enough to know that I have created through vulnerability, honest, and pureness of heart the most wonderful place that draws to it the most wonderfulest of souls.
If ever there was to be a people I’d want to cherish, it would be these people. For they face challenges upon challenge. They face ridicule, displacement, misery, isolation, worry, dread, and pain on a daily basis. Their days are never easy. Their minds always searching.
And still they shine; they shine like no others, giving and loving unconditionally.
They have freed me. As have the people who read my words. And the people who write to me. The people who hold me in love and in thought. The people who thank me. They have freed me. You have freed me.
If there is one thing I could tell you, I would say this: Be you. Be the best you that you can be. Shine your light so brightly that your own soul sings out in celebration. And then watch how the light follows you, how the world unfolds, how your richest and purest dreams become the steppingstones to glory.
I don’t think I was meant for this earth. My heart is too big and aches too much.
I try to pull myself out of sadness but my efforts are to no avail.
I let go.
I let God.
I try and try.
I sit in emptiness and silence.
I sit in prayer.
I hope and wish and dream.
I try once more.
While I am not tough, I recognize I am brave.
I stand acutely aware of the dangers of life and the inevitability of dying. Change terrifies me, yet my very existence is encompassed by constant change. Still I walk on.
I am bombarded by my mind’s connections, the branching out of complex thoughts in order to make some sense of concepts and happenings. My thoughts, a web, upon a web, upon a web, spinning out exponentially and infinitely with no end, exhaust me. Still I walk on.
The only way to stop the thoughts is to distract. And while the thoughts are endless, the distractions are finite, and have a built-in ability to expire. Expiration leaves me weary and more fearful. The expiration of distraction, too, becomes a fear. Still I walk on.
My empathy depletes my energy sources. With the onset of pain or tragedy, I am left spinning in emotions, uncertain of how to assist, and where to start in the process of uncovering all the information buried beneath layer upon layer of soul-tears. One event turns and quickly bleeds into another—a river of sorts surging and bursting at the bed’s seams and pounding upon terrain after terrain, forging new ground and new thought. Still I walk on.
I see the eyes of the victims of life, hollow, afraid, alone. I understand isolation is a disease of our time, as well as a lingering disconnection. Still I walk on.
Everywhere is poison: food, medicines, waters, earth, animals, man, filled with poison. Poison as substance and poison as thought. Still I walk on.
I long to sprout wings and hover above, to glide and bless the suffering. I long to weave magic, to soothe and comfort. I long to place a salve of love and salvation across humanity. Still I walk on.
I don’t know where to place my angst, my fear, my pain. And I refuse to pretend life is easy and happy. I question and question: Can I be light and be sad? Can I be light and be confused? Can I be light crying from within the darkness? Still I walk on.
I beg in confusion, and in my absence of vigor and vitality, depleted and drained, I weep. “Give them hope and strength. Show this world, so long emptied of hope a vision, a sign, a destiny. Point us to the path of light.”
And though my feet our weary and my head heavy, still I walk on
With lantern in hand, with angels at my side, I stand motionless, a light to the path, as still, I walk on.
Everyday Asperger's 