You Make Me Smile

Beliefs

“I’m going to kill myself tomorrow.” to “Can you please help me?” to "I feel very blessed and I am grateful to be alive."

This is a story that was shared with me that is so powerful that I had to share here (with permission).  I am humbled and truly honored to be blessed to call this woman my friend.  She will touch your soul and your heart with her story.  She honors me with allowing the sharing.

Divine Equation

Twenty years ago I was prepared to surrender my life. A prayer, answered, changed everything…

The chime of my alarm pierces my nightmare, freeing me.  Sweat drenched hair clings stubbornly to my face and my legs are held captive by a tangle of sheets. No wonder I couldn't run. This time I had fought – kicking and scratching my dream-attacker - but the result had been the same. No matter how fast I run or how hard I fight, I am never able to prevent my dream-self from being raped. As I try to force the images from my mind I become aware of the relentless pulsation battering my head. Painfully, my stomach convulses, signaling that its contents – mostly vodka and orange juice – have begun their ascent. I sprint to the bathroom. Vomit begins seeping through the fingers that are tightly clamped over my mouth as I lift the toilet seat. The cramping continues even after my stomach is emptied. I sink to the floor and rest my cheek on the toilet’s cool porcelain rim as I wait for the inevitable dry heaves to start.

Once my stomach settles, I pull myself up to the sink and splash cold water on my face. I inspect the haunted image staring back from the mirror and sigh. At 17 years old I should have bright eyes and a healthy complexion. Instead, my face has taken on a ghostly pallor and my bloodshot eyes are rimmed with circles so dark they appear bruised. My reflection silently beseeches me to put an end to all of this. “Don’t worry,” I say “One way or another, this will all be over soon.” With renewed purpose, I brush my teeth and slip out of the bathroom as quietly as possible to avoid waking the family I am living with.

I dress in the nicest clothes I’ve brought with me, black leggings, long black sweater, and my favorite black boots. Returning to the mirror, I pat the circles around my eyes with concealer and lighten my already pale face with baby powder. I line my eyes, and then use the same kohl eyeliner pencil to color my lips. I survey my face in the mirror and frown; maybe I should have skipped the black lips today. “Screw it,” I decide, “this is who I am.”  I throw on my coat and pull open the door. An icy blast of wind and snow tests my resolution. Undeterred, I pull my hood over my head and begin my pilgrimage on foot.

Normally, I wouldn’t venture out on a day as inhospitable as this, but this is a matter of life and death. Not even the waves of nausea crashing through me can stop me from reaching my destination.  The snow changes to freezing rain, pelting my face and gloveless hands with a thousand tiny shards of ice, but I press on. Soon, the anticipated sign comes into view “Gracelawn Congregational Church”. Relief spurs me on. I hasten my pace and, at last, come upon the church itself.

I pause at the foot of the stairs and turn my gaze upwards. The steeple stretches high into the sky and is encompassed by ominous black storm clouds. I freeze in place and feel my resolve melting away like the ice clinging to my eyelashes.  Hearing footsteps approaching from behind I bolster my courage and run up the steps. As I grasp the cold, brass door handle memories of my grandmother fill my mind. I think of all the times she had taken me to a church just like this. I hear myself singing “Amazing Grace” with the children’s choir as she proudly watches from her pew. My nose tingles and my eyes threaten to tear. I shake the memories away, take a deep breath, and tug open the heavy wooden door.

Warmth embraces me as I enter the narthex. The greeter’s smile falters slightly when she takes in my appearance, but quickly resurfaces when I offer a cheerful “Good Morning” and reach towards the bulletins she is holding. I enter the nave and head towards an empty pew near the front. I ignore the snickers and whispers of the more respectably clad parishioners. This is my last hope; no one is going to dissuade me from staying and participating. 

As I wait for the service to start my thoughts return to the weekends I had spent with my grandmother. On Sunday mornings she would make pancakes for me to eat smothered with her delicious homemade strawberry jam, then she would let me pick a cross pendant from her collection to wear to church. It hurts to remember, it seems like a lifetime ago, but how can I not? She taught me what it meant to believe in God; her passion ignited my faith. She taught me the prayers I was about to recite and she patiently answered all my questions about God. But I was just a stupid kid then; I should have asked why she was so sure there is a “God” and why He doesn’t protect the people who believe in Him.

My thoughts are interrupted by the bellowing of the organ, signaling that the service is about to begin. I rise with the congregation and sing the opening hymn. I pay careful attention to the readings and the sermon, recite the prayers from memory, place an offering in the collection plate and I receive Communion. At the end of service I stay in my pew as the congregation shuffles out in search of fellowship amongst coffee and pastries. When the voices fade I look around to be certain I am alone. This is what I have come for; a little one-on-one time with God. I let my focus rest on the large bronzed cross above the altar and begin my fervent prayer:

“God, I am here today because I have lost hope,” tears spill from my eyes and a lump forms in my throat but I continue “I don’t know why I have been through the things I have or why I’ve been hurt so much. I don’t know if it’s because you just don’t exist, or if you are punishing me for something, but I need help. I can’t live like this anymore. I cry all the time. I have panic attacks that follow me into my dreams. When I tell my psychiatrist how bad it is, all he does is change my meds. I can’t even get drunk enough to numb the pain anymore. I need it to stop.” Hot tears rain black eyeliner down my powdered cheeks; my nose begins to drip “God, I am refilling all my meds on Thursday. When I pick them up I am going to take them all. It’s the only escape option I have left. Please God, if you exist, please help me before it is too late.”

I lean back in my pew and look around; hoping for some kind of sign that I’ve been heard, or that help was on the way. I even fantasize that some booming voice will fill the church and say “Patience, it is going to be Ok. Help is on the way.” I glance around again, hoping to see Divine Light, or an Angelic Messenger. Isn’t that the way Hollywood portrays desperate moments like this? I wait a full half hour, but nothing happens and I don’t feel any better. In fact, I feel more desolate now than when I walked in. I dry my eyes and wipe my runny nose. I pull my jacket on and slowly trudge back to the house, disparaging myself the whole way.

What was I even thinking? I gave up believing in God a long time ago, didn’t I? Even if He did exist, why would He help me now? He had ample opportunity in the past. If He is so damn “almighty” why didn’t He stop Manny from violating me when I was little? Why did He just let Joe attack me?

Joe. Just thinking his name unleashes a torrent of panic, my pulse quickens and my hands begin to shake. The memories of that night overtake me with the force of a tsunami; Joe’s weight crushing me into the corner so forcefully I can’t move or even breathe, instead I’m forced to gulp his putrid rum and cigarette laced breath as he tries to kiss me. I relive the sensation of frigid air assailing my exposed skin as Joe forces my skirt and underwear down, and the way the teeth of his zipper bites into my flesh as he tries to enter me. I remember struggling and then not struggling as my consciousness mercifully floated away, only to return after Joe is torn off of me. I burn with the humiliation I felt as BJ gently pressed my skirt into my trembling hands and Mike guided me, half-naked, back into the house. Mike and BJ saved me from Joe, not God! If they hadn’t come back for BJ’s sketchbook, Joe would’ve finished what he had started. The memories gnaw at my soul like a hungry parasite.

I decide that Divine Intervention is unlikely so I reconcile myself with the idea of suicide. I know I can go though with it. I had tried before but this time I will have enough pills to get it right. Eagerly anticipating the serenity that I believe will finally be mine; I am granted some semblance of peace.

I continue my normal school routine, but like a child eagerly awaiting Christmas’s arrival, I begin each day with a countdown; three more days until I get my refills, then I will be free…two more days and I will be free…one more day…

Just one day left until I am freed from this hell. School begins; I take my seat in Algebra. My teacher, Mr. Whitcomb, launches into a monotonous speech about coefficients and quadratic equations. Knowing I’ll have no need for this information where I’m going, I lay my head on my folded arms intending to nap. I hear Mr. Whitcomb pacing up and down the isles. His footsteps are getting closer, I think nothing of it - I’ve slept through class uninterrupted before. He taps on my desk; I look up in time to see him casually drop a small card in front of me as he continues his discourse.

On the front of the card is a rainbow; it taunts me with its cheerful and optimistic symbolism. On the back I discover the well known poem entitled “Don’t Quit”. I understand that it’s meant to be inspirational; but I find it feeble. Why did he give this to me today? What does he care if I “quit”? Most of our conversations involve him yelling at me for not doing my homework. I turn the card over and over in my hands trying to understand his motive. I look up and see that he’s watching me, he nods his head slightly and our eyes lock. Everything around me evaporates as warmth and light floods the classroom. I’m overcome by feelings of love, compassion and understanding. I don’t know how, but I sense he knows what I feel and what I am planning. I quickly become overwhelmed by this palpable outpouring of emotion.

I erupt from my seat and take off running. Mr. Whitcomb is calling my name but I can’t stop. I hear his footsteps thundering behind me, closer and closer. He grabs my arm and spins me around, I struggle to break free but he grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to face him. He waits until my eyes meet his and says “Patience, it’s going to be Ok. You are going to get through this.”

Collapsing into his arms, I dissolve into tears, smearing black make-up all over his white button down shirt. A teacher, hearing the commotion, pokes her head out of her classroom to see what’s going on. Mr. Whitcomb says, “Its ok, but could you please call Mrs. Nash?” He hugs me tightly as I shed a thousand days worth of tears. In this moment, being held by compassionate arms is exactly what I need. It doesn’t matter to me that he is my teacher; I don’t care if other kids see or what they think. I just need to be hugged, and I need to cry.

I hear the click-clack of heels running down the corridor towards us and then the familiar voice of the school’s psychologist, Mrs. Nash.

 “Patience?” I can’t answer, weeping has rendered me mute.

Mr. Whitcomb, still holding me, says, “Mrs. Nash, I think this young lady needs our help.”

“Patience, what happened?”

I let go of Mr. Whitcomb and try to answer her, but I succumb to another wave of soul wrenching sobbing and slide to the floor.  She takes Mr. Whitcomb aside to whisper a hushed conversation. When they return Mr. Whitcomb tells me he has to get back to class, insists that Mrs. Nash will be able to help me, and reminds me that I am going to be ok, “Just don’t quit!”

It’s the last time I will ever see him.

Once inside Mrs. Nash’s office I drop into a chair and though I have no intention of disclosing my plan, my mouth speaks before my brain can intervene, “I’m going to kill myself tomorrow.” My words sound flat and lifeless, even to myself. I look down and realize I am still holding the poem card. I begin crying all over again, I look to Mrs. Nash and see the concern etched in her face; I barely manage to whisper “Can you please help me?”

“Yes.” Her eyes glisten with held back tears, there’s a tremble in her voice “I just need to make a couple phone calls, Ok?”

***

            Within two hours I was admitted into a crisis intervention program where I was diagnosed with severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Depression. I spent the next six months there receiving intensive individual and group therapy. It was the beginning of a long road towards recovery, acceptance and, eventually, peace.

 My answered prayer compelled me to explore faith and also to search my history for other times God has aided my life. I found numerous instances of Divine Intervention, including God sending BJ and Mike back to rescue me from a would-be rapist.

God also led me to my incredible husband. As a condition of being discharged from the crisis intervention program, I was to continue the support group meetings. Friends I’d made there re-introduced me to the guy I’d had a crush on in 9^th grade. We both knew, pretty quickly, that we knew were meant to be together. We have now been married for over 19 years and have two amazing children. My family brings me more joy than I ever thought possible. I feel very blessed and I am grateful to be alive.

Obstacles - Can you transform doubt into belief?

There are many types of obstacles in our path as we begin to awaken and manifest our desires into reality.  So many times I hear someone share their desire, but looking into their eyes you see the disbelief.  The inner being not truly believing that it is possible.

At a recent event I was blessed to be at, I had the opportunity to share the wise words of a mentor.  There was a time that I too was filled with doubt.  This mentor gave me words that I have clung to and made my own.  "Carla, anything is possible if only you believe, are willing to do the work, and trust in the Divine."  I got the willing to work and the trust part down.  It took far longer to get the believing down.

Believing in your self, believing in your desires, believing in a Divine source are vital in transforming your life.  There are times when we may think that you don't deserve your desires or that your desires are just too big to be possible.  When I was held captive by a wheel chair, getting chemotherapy, and could not tell that my bladder just let go because of illness that had come to consume me, trust me there were moments that I did not believe.

I would hear the voice of my mentor when I would ask myself, "what makes me so different or special?  What makes my dreams so unique?"  These thoughts will stop your dreams and manifestations dead in their tracks.  They will stifle out your fire.  Let me tell you "You are different!  You are special! And your dreams are possible!"  

The gateway to your dreams when this obstacle blocks your way is to transform the doubt into belief.  It is not as difficult as you would imagine.

The first step that opens the gateway is reprogramming your thoughts.  The simplest way I have found to work is to practice the art of gratitude.  When you begin to see things for the Sacredness that they are, become grateful for the life you live, it is amazing the magic that happens.

Every day write out at least five things that you are grateful for.  There were days back in the beginning as I sat in that wheel chair when five things were difficult to find.  I would start some days with simply being grateful for having all my arms and legs.  I could not find more profound things in the moment.  It grew and I began to see the true beauty in the obstacle I was facing.

Today, when I have to go 'tinkle', I get excited and say thank you.  For so long I didn't know my bladder was full, today I see the sacredness in that experience.  Sounds silly, but it transformed my life.  Writing your gratitude list out puts it in black and white so that you will own it and 'believe' it.  

Remember, "anything is possible if only you believe, are willing to do the work, and trust in the Divine!"

Obstacles - Can you transform fear into courage?

Obstacles.  We all face them at some point in our journey.  You know the ones I am talking about.  Sometimes they are just a distraction really, but then sometimes they are huge.  Some are just a bump in the road, while others seem to be a huge cavern that broke the road apart with no way over to the other side.  At least a mountain can be climbed.  The obstacles that seem to block you from manifesting all the things in life that you desire – love, dream job, finances, big home, serenity. 

There are various types of obstacles and each has its own signatures to work through; I want to focus transforming fear into the positive energy of courage and love.

Fear is the root that grows emotional energy signatures like self doubt, anger, frustration, insecurity, and anxiety.  Common emotional energy signatures that can completely block you from any manifestation of your desired reality and even from your destiny leaving you in a depressed state of regret, remorse, guilt, shame, and self-condemnation.  These emotional energy signatures can hold you hostage for years.

For many it starts with the denial that there is even any fear to begin with.  This draws even more energy from your energy system.  It is far more difficult to repress an energy signature than it takes to express it.  Think about it, try to stifle a laugh.  You are repressing positive energy and it is much more difficult than expressing a full out belly laugh.

So here is that proverbial fork in the road.  You have a choice once you acknowledge that you have fear.  You can either remain within it or transform it into positive energy signatures.  Ready to transform it?

This is a fire exercise that I have personally used and use with clients.   Set a timer for 30 minutes.

Ask yourself some questions and write out the answers on some paper.  What is it that I fear most in life?  Write them all out from the spider that gives you the hibee gibee’s to the boss that fired your to the lover that jilted you.  Doesn’t matter how little or how big you perceive it to be.  Write them out.  Something very magical happens when you put pen to paper.  Be honest with yourself.  Is not a test to be scored and cheating by omission will only delay your release.

Now write down anyone that you are still angry with.  Write down why you are angry with them.  Write down what you perceive that they did to you.  What is it that you can’t let go of?  Put it all down on paper.

When the timer goes off stop.  This is not a session to beat yourself up or get lost in the negative energy.  When the timer goes off – just stop.  Take a nice big breath in and exhale.  On a separate piece of paper, write down any names that came up during your half hour and hold them aside.

When you are finished, take the papers with all your fears on them outside and rip them with purposeful intent of releasing them from you.  And then light a small fire (can be as simple as a candle in a fire pot) and burn each of the strips.  The flame purifying you from the fear as it releases the ash into the air. 

I can tell you that it may take you a month of Sundays to keep writing out your fears, but they will begin to dissipate and transform the more you write them out.

Now back to that list of names.  The second part of the exercise is to write a letter to each of the people you listed.  Why do you fear them?  Do they still make you angry?  Have anxiety? Cause you to feel betrayed?  This is your chance to express all the pent up thoughts you never expressed before.  These letters are never going to be sent.  They are simply an exercise to release the energetic signatures.  Repeat the flame burning process with each letter you write. 

Until you no longer feel anger, anxiety, frustration or fear surround the name, continue to write the letters.  Until you have released all the expression of feelings and emotions don’t return back to the fear list process.  Work slowly and allow yourself the time to express the emotions in order to transform them into something positive.

For most I have witnessed (and for myself), the process takes days for some layers and months for others.  Persistence is the key.  Remember, a lot of these fears have been a part of your being for a very long time.  It can take time to transform them.

The Vision of Your Destiny

Did you know that within you lies a great vision

A vision of what your soul desires to create

A vision that has fire,

has passion

has life.

Everyone has a vision of their destiny.

You say I can't see it

I can't hear it

I can't feel it.

Become silent

Go within

Believe in the possibilities

that you see

that you hear

that you feel.

The visions of your destiny is

is full of symphonies

a masterpiece canvas waiting to be painted

a tapestry to be woven

an ecstasy of bliss to be experienced.

By: Shaman Medicine Woman

The notes of the scale explain's the body double.

It was recently suggested to me by one further down the path than I, that I consider the idea of "the nagual" or the body double.  The process of separation and the process of unification of oneself.

It is a process of lifting the cloak or tapestry that can reveal the totality of a being.  A totality of oneness with self, oneness with the Universe and oneness with the Divine.  There is a great mystery that is associated with totality that alludes most from delving deep into this awareness.  We may know the truth, but to experience the truth of oneness, it must be searched out.

Within the searching out, my own perceptions and thoughts are biased by my perceptions - as it is with all.  These experiences shift perception; thus this is an evolving process as the searching out of truth experiences continues.

There exists a society perception that there are two separate entities that exist within each human being.  There are some that call this human lower self and higher self, some that refer to it as tonal and nagual, and 100 other defined terms.  The tonal side is that which is known in the human existence in the physical.  Everything that you can think, feel and experience in the physical realm.  The nagual is the higher self, the dream walk where all is possible.  It is beyond the description of words as it is to vast to define.

Each entity has energetic signatures that flows through the Universe.  They are considered by most to coexist but also to be a dual structure of opposites.

When the two entities are revealed and experienced in truth and totality, one begins to understand that they are not separate entities.  Rather they are more like two streams of energetic signatures that extend from a single source.  The pulses from each stream are different frequencies but does that make them separate?

Awareness or attention is a possibility of evolution seeking.  It is there for any who seek and it is there to be experienced.

As this realization that all though energetic signatures are of different frequencies, it is also a realization that they are the same vibration.  As I asked for a clear understanding, the sounds of a piano filtered into consciousness.  The same note played in different frequencies.  It is the same sound, yet it may to one without attention seem to be vastly different.  The range in which one can 'hear' is dependent upon their attention.  The irritant level of the higher frequencies is dependent upon one's attention and awareness to the sound.

In order to become in harmony between each of the frequencies, one must diligently focus upon the attention and awareness given the frequencies.  In other words, in order to 'hear' all practice attention with diligent focus.

It is also my experience that this focus, this discipline, and this merging of the two separate streams can be a difficult and ardours process.  A careful balance and grounding of the soul must be experienced in order not to have any energetic signature repercussions.

What is your experience with tonal and nagual entities?