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Are you interested in taking things to another level? Click here to find out more.
I am happy to share a bit of a reading from my new book, Pieces of Me – Memoirs of a Past Life Tourist with you. I will be doing a book tour this coming Spring and Summer, but may not get to every neck of the woods, so I thought a sneak peak was in order.
Past life exploration has been the single most powerful tool in my spiritual awakening. If you are curious and would like to have your own past life experience, please check my Services page to book an appointment. And stay tuned! I will be posting tour dates very soon.
You can order your copy of Pieces of Me – Memoirs of a Past Life Tourist, through Amazon.com, Amazon.ca, or any fine book store. If you want an autographed copy, please send me a message at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will look after that for you.
The play was over. Fulfilled theatre-goers streamed past me on their way to wine, or home, or late night coffees. I smiled, as I am wont to do, wishing them well as they left the theatre.
An old high school teacher of mine sauntered up to me. We hadn’t seen each other in many, many (too many to count) years.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked, face drawn carefully into neutral. “Are you stupid?” Gasps all around as those in the vicinity heard his words.
I smiled even wider. “Sure.” I agreed good naturedly. “I like to smile. Smiling’s my favorite.” While he didn’t quite smile back, I did hear his gruff laughter as he wandered away.
I get his point. The world lately, has given little reason to make us smile. I find myself squinting through barely open fingers as I open my web browser, afraid of what I might find. Facebook has become riddled with landmines of stark negativity, and hatred. There seems to be doom and gloom all around us. Plus winter is stretching into spring and the gray days can be downright depressing.
But I like to smile. Despite all of the nasty crap that is happening.
For years I have had the Optimist’s Creed, by Christian D. Larson, hanging up in my room. Each morning as I dry my hair and drink my coffee I glance up at the words. Sometimes I read a line or two. Most days it is just a blur of non recognition, similar to the color of paint on the walls. You see something often enough you stop seeing it.
My old teacher’s words brought up the first line of the Creed for me, making me stop and ponder.
“I promise myself to be so strong that nothing can disturb my peace of mind.”
I am an optimist. I have been called a Polly Anna by some, and an idiot with my head in the sand by others. I do see the glass as half full, and am grateful for the glass, and the lovely liquid inside. The world looks brighter when I wear my rose colored glasses and I refuse to allow anything to disturb my peace of mind.
Happiness is an inside job. I figured this one out a long time ago. I realized that I had waited and waited, deferring my right to be happy until X, Y and Z happened. But then X, Y and Z would happen and I would still not feel happy. It didn’t take me long (only about 45 years or so) to figure out that what I needed to do was to make the decision to feel happy. Nothing had to happen to make it so. I could just wake up each morning, yawn, stretch and BELIEVE that today was a great day to be happy, and VOILA… I would be happy.
When the world turns upside down and I am inundated with the images of racism, fear, hatred, Trump, explosions, war, and, and, and….. I am not foolish enough to believe that by smiling I will save the world. But, I am wise enough to know that by worrying, fretting and being frustrated by things I have no control over, I am stealing peace from myself.
So despite what is happening in the world, I smile. I choose peace. I choose to continue to be optimistic, even if it seems foolish.
I choose to be stupidly happy.
When I died I got to see my life, first through my own point of view, then through the effects my thoughts, deeds, actions, words and every other thing had on others. I felt the pain I caused. I felt the joy too. I felt the worry, the anger, the jealousy, the love, the longing… I felt it all. In death there was no judgment but this. This was enough.
Harper Lee is doing this right now. She is feeling the effects that her life and her words have had on generations of people. Tucked in there, among the throngs of others, are mine. I wonder how she feels to experience how she made us all feel.
The first time I read To Kill a Mockingbird I was 12 years old. I cried tears of rage and frustration over racism, hitting home for me for the first time. My life changed the day I opened that book. I began an innocent, not much older than Scout. The words wove their spell and as the story unfolded I found my core of righteousness, an understanding that I would forever be like Jeb, standing between Atticus and the mob.
I read it again at 22. The soft, gentle southern charms of Atticus stuck with me that time. I aimed to find my own version of such a man as he. I did find him… eventually. Kindness, gentleness, never boasting, my American Husband is my Atticus, continuing the legacy of quiet strength.
At 34 I read it while I was pregnant with my daughter. It taught me about being a little girl again. And it taught me about being a parent. The beauty of the words mingled with my hormones, making me weep ragged tears.
My well worn paperback helped me through some dark days, in my mid 40’s. The soothing cadence, the sweet song of the children’s voices, and the discovery of Boo again reminded me that there is always someone hiding just out of sight, helping and protecting me through this life.
Harper Lee created a tapestry of words, a delicate arch connecting me with myself, through 5 decades. I picked it up again today, just as Spring is promised with the song of the birds outside my window. My heart is filled with gratitude for this woman. Her words defined my evolution. As she feels the effects of each ripple she has had on humanity, I know my thanks will be added to the millions.
“When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow…”
And so it begins again, for the first time.
There was a time, not long ago, when most of my life was a lie. I cloaked myself in corporate clothes, all buttoned up and acceptable. I spoke only of tangible, earth bound matters and if anything came up that was slightly “out there”, I would comment with just the appropriate amount of disdain in my voice.
I had perfected my persona. I was “Normal”.
Little did the people in my world know that I had a big secret. I was nowhere near “Normal”. In fact, I was crazy as a spoon, living in a closet of my own making, afraid to share my true self for fear of judgment.
Beneath my mild mannered exterior raged an awakening being. Weird stuff was happening on a regular basis and while I found it all to be intriguing and life changing, I was afraid to tell anyone else about it. What would they think if I just blurted stuff out?
“Hi, I’m Brenda. I see dead people.” Or “Hello, nice to meet you. Did you know you have 3 Angels hovering around you and one is trying to unfold your wings?” Or how about: “You were a Egyptian slave in a past life and are still working on releasing yourself from those blocks.” No biggie. I’ll just share my visions then pack a bag for my trip to the loony bin.
For a few years I kept most of the weird stuff to myself, quietly learning and growing with just a few people in the loop. My American Husband, my best friend and my daughter to be specific. I trusted them to love me, no matter what. And of course, they did.
I took classes, learned to develop my skills. I flew to New York to spend a week learning about Past Life Regression with Dr. Brian Weiss and told everyone I was going on a Yoga Retreat. Liar Liar Pants On Fire. That was me.
I finally began to share because I felt compelled to be myself. But, true confessions: the first few times sneaking out of the closet, I published and shared under another name. Funny thing is that I got such a warm, heartfelt response, I actually got jealous of fake me and decided to let real me take over.
I published my first blog a few years back. It was an account of my first past life experience. I remember hitting the Publish button, then having a panic attack. My American Husband talked me down, convincing me not to delete the whole thing, and from that moment on I began to inch my way out of the Spiritual Closet.
Now that I am out, I take huge delight in helping others to own their own brand of “crazy”. With classes, workshops, blogs and facebook, we are finding each other, and as the community grows, we are becoming braver, sharing our visions and gifts. Now it is rare to come upon anyone who doesn’t share something magical… some experience or belief… within the first few minutes of talking. It’s as if by being authentic and letting it all hang out, others are given permission to do the same.
Crazy is the new normal.
Who would have guessed it? And life is so much more fun since leaving the confines of the closet. I highly recommend it. Freeing myself to be who I am, authentically, and trusting that sharing my truth will open more doors than it closes, has changed my life on every level. New friends, new experiences, a vaster understanding of the magic of life, plus never having to wear uncomfortable shoes… it’s all magnificent.
So bare your soles, and your souls. Kick off the cloak of who you think you should be and become who you are. We are all just waiting to welcome you to the fold.
Living in the world is not easy for the sensitive souls. Cruelty, drama, sickness, war and strife are hard enough to bear, but humanity’s inhumanity is untenable. Many evolved souls are able to channel their frustration and rage into causes and rallies and righteous indignation. But others are simply too sensitive. They would prefer to hide in a box, in a closet, in a dark basement, shielding themselves from the horrors that exist in this world. They feel things too deeply. They seem to take on the sorrows of the world. These sensitive souls are known as Empaths.
Empaths are emotionally sensitive people who absorb others’ emotions and physical symptoms. They are sponges for the physical, emotional and spiritual junk that others carry around.
Do any of the following sound familiar? You might be an Empath if…
Sound familiar? If so, the chances are good that you are an Empath.
But fear not! No need to run and hide! There are tools and resources to help you Survive and even THRIVE.
Local folks, check this out: Survival Guide for Sensitives
Everyone else… stay tuned to this space. A handy dandy list of survival techniques will be coming your way in the next week. Don’t touch that dial!
I came crashing through 2015, successfully navigating a year of craziness and tumult. 2016 dawned and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the mayhem was over and now things might settle down a bit. I made a plan. I would simplify. Slow down. Focus on what I love. Maybe even nap once in awhile.
Want to know how to make God laugh? Tell Her your plans.
Sure enough, the universe had other plans. Within a week of the new year my life began to move in fast forward. A new job, more clients, new partnership opportunities, added volunteer commitments and on and on…. the big wheel keeps on spinning, faster and faster. It is exhilarating, but when the heck do I get to nap?
And then the other shoe dropped. My American Husband got laid off. His job, linked just a bit too closely to the oil industry, is on temporary hiatus. Or it may be permanent. We won’t know for a few months.
After regaining our breath from this particular sucker punch, the voice of reason kicked in. We talked about what a great opportunity this may turn out to be. This could be the perfect time to recreate our lives! We could start a business… write a screenplay… maybe sell everything and become RV nomads, wandering the continental North America in search of adventure, or whatever comes our way.
Or maybe the Great Divine has something else in mind. The lesson buried in this is one I have been facing over and over in the past several years. And for a control freak like me, it is a challenging one.
I need to learn to trust.
That’s right. I need to let go and just trust that something better is on its way. My ego loves to step in and start organizing, managing options, making lists and flow charts, and basically giving the Universe my versions of how things should turn out. We’ve come upon a blind corner on our life’s journey and I really want to figure out what is around the bend.
But I need to let all of that go. I need to trust.
Oh shut up, voice-of-reason! What do you know?
Just let it go. Let it go….. (you can’t see me right now, but I am humming and swaying, hands in zen meditation mudras)
So I will do my best to let go and trust that things are breaking apart now so that they can come back together bigger, stronger, better than before. I will trust that we are being guided to the next big thing. Life is a constant flow of change and growth, and even though I can’t see around the corner, I know that this time of uncertainty holds treasures that I am already grateful for.
Because I can trust.
No you can’t.
Shh. Yes I can.
This is me. Letting go.
There is a certain sense, somewhere between terror and exhilaration, that assails me each time I drive up to my brother’s cabin in Montana. The cabin is nestled on rolling hills overlooking a lake, with an absolutely stunning view of Chief Mountain. Arguably the nicest view in my world and certainly in my top 3 ‘happy places’.
So why the terror? The exhilaration? Quite simply because there is no cell service or wifi at the cabin. None. Nada. The devices we bring with us, connecting us to our network of social goings on, become nothing more than clunky timepieces for the time we are there.
It’s exhilarating! And it’s terrifying. And I love it all the more because of that.
What started out as a convenience, being able to keep in contact with my family, has become somewhat of an addiction. I carry my phone with me everywhere. Any simple or silly question I have is instantly answered as I open google and thumb type my search. My social network rarely goes more than a few hours without me jumping in to catch up. And what is called a ‘phone’ is very rarely used as such.
It isn’t until I am in a place where the device I have grown addicted to is useless that I understand the depth of that dependency. And I realize, during those blissful weekends at the cabin that the stress of being in constant contact is an underlying anxiety that has become a normal part of my day to day life.
A few days ago I talked about getting back on track, and the 3 C’s that will help me with that. One of those 3 C’s was Cut the Crap. The device that has become glued to my hand, drawing my attention away from everything (and everyone) else, has got to go. Don’t get me wrong… I won’t be chucking it into the river like some scene in a movie, walking away with inspiring music playing in the background as I victoriously raise my fists in the air. No. I need to keep the phone, if only to maintain communication with my teenager. She speaks fluent text, and I don’t want to miss out on that.
But… I will be shutting it off. A lot. I realized recently that during the winter months, when the cabin is not accessible, I really miss those technology vacations. It isn’t so much that the view at Duck Lake is spectacular (which it is). It is that I am actually looking up and seeing something other than the dancing pixels on my iThing. I wonder what wonders await if I try looking up in my day to day life.
Please believe me when I tell you in the next few months that I am not ignoring you, my phone is. The important things in life are not ‘things’. And my device is a ‘thing’ I intend to close the drawer on as often as possible.
The prospect is terrifying.
When I was a young lass, my family moved from sunny southern California to the wilds of northern British Columbia, Canada. The first few months were a bit of a culture shock, as it was the dead of winter when we arrived. Each morning my mom would come and wake me up while it was still dark outside. I would get out of bed, run across the cold floor in bare feet and stand over the heat vent.
My nightgown would billow out like a filled balloon as the forced warm air flowed. I would stand there each day, listening to my Mom off in the kitchen humming “Do you Know the Way to San Jose” plaintively. And my thoughts would just kind of fade away. Staring into the zone, I would experience stillness and peace for those few moments. Looking back I realize that those were my first meditations.
Nowadays I try to meditate twice a day. I have a very busy life and most days I don’t have too many chances to just relax, so those first 20 minutes of stillness, and those last 20 minutes of stillness… they mean the world to me. They are the bookends to my crazy days.
Wrapped in the luxury of my soft robe, I let go of the tensions and anxieties and allow myself to just be. My thoughts don’t always stop completely, but even if I get a few good solid breaths where I am just in the moment, I feel like I have had a great sit.
If you haven’t tried meditating, or think it is hard, please pop over here and read this. I promise you that it is easier than you think. And I promise you that when you commit to taking those moments for yourself, you will reap benefits beyond your imagination.
It is dark midwinter, and yesterday the groundhog promised 6 more weeks of the same. I took the news calmly. I have become accustomed to the four seasons we enjoy in Canada. And it only took me 45 years.
And now if you will excuse me, I have a heat vent I need to go stand over.
Do you know the way to San Jose?