“Good morrow, Bro”.
“Did you hear about Moses?”
“Who? That serious guy? Long beard? Naw. What’s up?”
“He claims some bush burst into flames then started talking to him.”
“Shut up. What a load of yak crap.”
“Dude, did he drink the bong water?”
“Dude, he definitely drank the bong water.”
And so it goes. This fairly historically accurate depiction of what must have been, is a scene as old as time. I know this scenario very well, from both sides. For the first few decades of my life I was quick to have conversations very much like it about anybody who had the audacity to be different. Seriously, what kind of woo woo nonsense were they on about? Are they so out of touch with reality?? Don’t they know they look like fools?
And then I smelled something burning.
Okay, relax. Put away the pitchforks and drop the stones. I am in no way correlating myself to Moses. I have no beard, I have never knowingly parted any body of water and I have not< yet> set my people free. Nope. Nothing in common at all.
Except that burning bush.
I speak in metaphors of course. My burning bush came in the subtler way of whispers and signs. But it most certainly came. It all began with the death of a dear friend, quite suddenly in my arms. Apparently trauma has a way of breaking us open and once that happens we can often experience something that is both devastating and beautiful. You see, we expand where we are cracked and if we don’t fall apart, our light begins to shine out of the places where we have been broken open.
And as our lights grow brighter we become aware of the magic. It’s been there all along but we couldn’t see it with our judgy, human eyes. But now that we have better illumination we can see the sparkly bits and hear the jingly sounds. We realize buddy Bill Shakespeare was right when he so eloquently said that “there are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”.
That’s when we start to bloom. And grow. Our light gets ever brighter and we can no longer pretend not to see the unseen. It becomes who we are and we are compelled to share what we have learned, despite the fact that we will likely become the fodder of gossips and butt of jokes. It doesn’t matter to us what anybody thinks, because out paradigm has been shifted and we have a new version of the truth.
And if we follow the calling of this new paradigm, we do things like take Past Life Regression workshops, and Reiki classes. We even start giving Angel Card Readings …. in public!
My Dad told me that in the not too distant past I would have been burned at the stake for what I believe and practice. He mentioned that right before asking me to do some of my “witchy stuff” on his sore leg. In case you might be wondering the Reiki worked, and though he was never a doubter, Dad came a bit closer to being a believer in that unseen force.
The burning bush comes to different people in different ways. Nobody was more surprised than I was when I felt compelled to start working with the Angels. Buttoned up, corporate, serious Brenda was shocked. But I have learned that listening to the whispers is infinitely easier than getting the divine kick in the butt that comes when we ignore what calls us. The message I’ve been getting seems to be a universal one and is simply this: Be authentic. No more hiding behind the mask you think society/family/friends expect you to wear. Whatever that is and whoever you are, be that. Because you are enough just as you are. Strip away the trappings and be bravely, uniquely, you.
I share what I have learned openly and with love. Those who get it, get it. Those who don’t will continue to believe that I drank the bong water. And that’s okay. Because more and more I am receiving those tender, private messages from people quietly inching out of their own spiritual closet. We chat about all of those things they don’t feel safe telling anyone else just yet. And they let me know that by putting my crazy on display I have helped them to know they aren’t alone. For that I am infinitely grateful. For that I will proudly let my freak flag fly.