And multidimensional musings. . .
This past week, Tom Kenyon (www.tomkenyon.com) dropped his latest transmission from The Hathors, and it was a profound one I suggest you read here. And I suggest you do his meditation. I like to do them in the bath with the candles lit, essential oils in the air, and a ceremonial vibe.
What these musings of ancestral healings bring up for me is also in tune with something I heard this past week at our Juice Plus Conference from Dr. Mitra Ray: It took over 60,000 lives for you to have the DNA you do today, to make up you.
When I heard that, I pondered how I've been told I've had over 25,000 lifetimes here. What if those lifetimes were the makeup of my DNA? What if in the cycle of life, the multiverse, and the multiple reality timeline we can live, just like in your dream space, there is actually only you.
We separate from Source energy to find our ways back to that same Source through Enlightenment (or so some—myself included—believe). If we don't master the game here, we come back, again and again—perhaps tens of thousands of times—to try again. If we choose to (or not).
If my pondering about the 25-60,000 versions of me ("ancestors" or perhaps original, yet, now outdated models of me) leads me to believe that if I'm healing my ancestors, then I'm healing old versions of me, and we all know this is true, because whether or not that is me, I carry around that baggage like its mine!
What is Ancestral Baggage?
My paternal grandmother's secret about being in the Amazon Army.
My maternal grandmother's victim mentality, always needing an injury or illness to attract attention.
My paternal grandfather's heart attack, leaving his later life unfinished, and a widow too young.
My paternal great grandfather's "unjust" murder while attempting to affect change in the coal mining industry.
The list goes on because the names go back, and back, and back.
These things we carry with us in our DNA are imprints of a reality that isn't ours, yet molds ours. Which is like a glitchy computer program, or a song stuck on repeat.
To move these on, return them to the sender, heal the wounds, work with forgiveness, love and gratitude. Always.
Hear the angels calling. . .
I found myself on the ground, gasping for air, and I was trying to stave off the panic. When I actually could breathe again, I assessed my status; the many years of lifeguarding was kicking in.
Check watch: 12:50, probably been down here about 5 minutes now. Wiggle toes and fingers. Can I roll? Yes, but it's painful. Roll back. Am I dizzy? Did I lose consciousness? Am I bleeding? No. No. No.
12:55, neighbor arrives, and I'm not sure how, but I'm calm. She doesn't want to move me, so they call the ambulance. Begin the long wait...
While we're waiting below on the cold grass under the deck for the ambulance to arrive 45 minutes later, I'll back up. . .
As many of you know, we are building our new forever home in TN on 40 acres we're turning into an permaculture community, and our deck for 2 yurts is a bit of a beast, that's bitten me a few times already. I'm cautious AF up there because it's tall, and not decked yet.
But, last Tuesday, I let my guard down—turned too quickly while stepping, and missed the subfloor. My legs went through the joists, banging and scraping the left one, and dropping me on my ribs on top of the joist, somehow hitting my face on the next joist, and slumping to the cold ground beneath to, as you know by now, catch my breath. I have never gasped for air like that, and I've been punched in the gut before, by a much bigger girl in the 7th grade, but she wasn't made of solid 2x8 treated lumber. That was bad, and I am hearing "so grateful it wasn't worse," but we can work on that next time.
For now let me get to why this story is relevant to YOU.
You've heard me say this before: Mindset is everything. And in a situation like this, you can panic and send fear waves through your body, or you can visualize light and start healing—and that's what I did. I told my body it was going to be okay and I called upon all the angels to place their healing hands on me and get to work. Then I ran my own white light: placed my hands on my ribs and generated light and circulated my breath.
I did this over and over. Any time someone said something that brought the fear back, I said, no thank you, I choose to be healthy and healed, and ran the white light.
On the stretcher.
In the ambulance.
In the hospital bed.
In the X-ray room.
In the CT scanner room.
Miraculously, the X-rays and CT scans came back clear—nothing broken.
The body is a miraculous healing machine, it knows what to do. It does more than you know. Tell it what you want it to do, don't send it fear messages, and don't cloud the vision with self-loathing.
I didn't say "oh, now this project is screwed," "why did you do that you idiot," or "omg, it's going to be months before I'm whole again."
I realized the message: STOP. You're doing too much, and you need to take it easy. I told my body I hear you, I will honor you, and I am. I asked for help and I'm receiving that. I rested for 5 days because I had to. But today is Day 7, and the last 2 days have been more mobile. I don't think this is a 6-week healing, as the doctor said it would be, because I give my body all it needs to heal quickly and easily.
You can do this, too. Any time you feel drained, cut yourself, or worse. Thoughts create things. Don't create the wrong things with the wrong thoughts. This is what I hope for you—that in every crisis you find clarity.
Now... on to why I'm already singing Christmas carols. A bonus, "lucky strike extra" for those of you who stick around and read through to the end.
While I was lying in the hospital, I heard the angels singing and I couldn't place the tune. You know how when you have a bar or two, but no words, and it repeats over and over on your inner juke box, until either it drives you insane or you figure it out.
I lay there humming softly, and let the song unfold, eyes closed, seeing the tall figures around me. I got a few more bars... I could place it, almost.
It continued in the hour-long, painful car ride home. I heard the refrain, over and over – high pitched, choir-like singing, calming, angel voices.
It continued in my bed that evening, until I got on my music app and started listening. That's when I figured it out: "Oh Holy Night" by Nat King Cole
Yes! It was so juicy I listened to it over and over... And each time, it brings me chills.
Fall to your knees, hear the angels calling.
Oh night divine. . .
Healing is magical stuff.
May my ripple of light find you,
On April 1st, 1998 I rolled into Steamboat Springs, Colorado, in trepidation and excitement—in a van full of friends--eager to make a new life. I'd just left Florida, where my 5 friends would be driving back to after spring break, after leaving me in a new town, all by my lonesome, with very little but what was on my back.
For the next 24 years, I'd celebrate this anniversary as my "entry date" into this legendary town—Ski Town USA—the home of the most winter Olympians, the oldest Winter Carnival, and a long 7-month winter that was like no winter I'd ever experienced. Mountains like I'd never experienced. And people like I'd never met before — free, lively, music-loving, athletic, healthy, vibrant, and entrepreneurial. It was the smallest town I'd ever lived in, and it was home for me from ages 24 to 47. So in simplicity, it's where I was molded into an adult; where I matured.
I find it hard to pass this milestone—April Fool's Day—without thinking about Steamboat and how it's been a place of so much growth and development for me—where I built three businesses, helped 2 nonprofits take off, worked in several capacities that formulated who I am, and where I built friendships that will last a lifetime.
While I'm so happy (perhaps happier than I've ever been) to be in Tennessee forming our new life (see last week's Sage here if you're new to our group!), I think April 1st will always be a day of reflection and gratitude for me to give to Steamboat, a place that will always feel like "home," and that we'll always go back to each winter for some fun, friendship revisits, and reflection.
For without gratitude, there is no peace.
Thank you, Ski Town, you've made me who I am today,
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