I attended a webinar Sunday which gave me an enormous energy down load.
At first I didn't even sense the energy field we were working with and Simeon's information was filling out things I was familiar with. This field was extremely subtle, but when I invited it into my body, it filled me with a gentle, loving, healing smoke.
I am still trying to understand the mechanics of how this works.
It seems like the "gods" need to anchor their vibration into physical matter. They can only do this with humans, since we are the connection point between spirit and matter. And they can only go through us if we volunteer for the process.
The energy field that they need to anchor is hard for them to explain in terms that we would understand. They try their best, but if they told us how powerful and important this actually is, we would be afraid and run and hide. So they treat us like scared lion cubs, who have all the potential power of a full grown lion, but who have no idea of who they are.
So I am present through all the initiatory time where I feel as if I'm being calibrated to recieve the full load of what comes later. What we talk about is good, but the most important thing is that we are present and open to being informed.
When we open for meditation, and I freely invite the "gods" to use my vehicle, I feel their field flow through me from my head to the bottom of my spine. They connect with the spark of God I carry inside and let the new vibration spread through my electronic system, my meridians, my chacras and my tissues, bones and muscles. I feel their love for me connect with my love for creation and expand to vibrate in each cell of my body. Light is permeating through my whole system.
After the meditation, download, is over, I need to rest. This time I slept for two hours. I wake up, still seeing light behind my eyelids and shadows of light in the room.
Today I still feel drunk on spirit. I use the techniques I have for grounding energies, and wonder if I really want to. This state of consciousness is very pleasant, as long as you don't have anything you need to do that day. Daily life takes on as much importance as moving stones from here to there and back again. What is important is to keep this state of consciousness long enough for it to affect my environment, my neighborhood, my city. I tell myself this as I connect with Gaia at the center of the earth with a light beam and feel her create a cone shaped field aimed back at me. Light through stone. Spirit through matter. Golden lightfilled bodies vibrating love.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
I just got back from a trip to the South West with Dan. We started in Las Vegas, a place where amazing architecture and environments are all man made, on our trip to the canyons that are 5 million years old showing us the artwork of God and Nature over time.
We went to Zion, Bryce and Escalante national parks, all located along the same stretch of highway in southern Utah, but oh so different. In Zion we stayed at the lodge inside the park, hiked up lovely paths along rivers and waterfalls feeling our boots on the work of the CCC of the depression in the thirties. What an idea for rescuing the economy: putting people to work for the national parks building access for everybody to these landmarks.
Looking at the lines in the stones, showing the works of earthquakes and vulcanoes millions of years ago and the steady grinding of rivers over thousands of years, makes the fundamentalists claim that the world is 5,200 years old blow away in the wind. The mountains tell their own story. Their agelines compete with the ones of the trees telling us that whatever we do, however many short sighted ideas we come up with resulting in tremendous destruction, earth will just shake us off and continue. We might make ourselves extinct, but this planet will go on continuing her artwork.
We went to Zion, Bryce and Escalante national parks, all located along the same stretch of highway in southern Utah, but oh so different. In Zion we stayed at the lodge inside the park, hiked up lovely paths along rivers and waterfalls feeling our boots on the work of the CCC of the depression in the thirties. What an idea for rescuing the economy: putting people to work for the national parks building access for everybody to these landmarks.
Looking at the lines in the stones, showing the works of earthquakes and vulcanoes millions of years ago and the steady grinding of rivers over thousands of years, makes the fundamentalists claim that the world is 5,200 years old blow away in the wind. The mountains tell their own story. Their agelines compete with the ones of the trees telling us that whatever we do, however many short sighted ideas we come up with resulting in tremendous destruction, earth will just shake us off and continue. We might make ourselves extinct, but this planet will go on continuing her artwork.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I have been away from my post for a while. Yes, I got married, yes, my family from Norway and all my children where gathered in Chicago for a couple of intense weeks. I also had my five year old grand daughter with me for two weeks, oh the stuff you learn from children, and I delivered her safe and sound back to her mother in California. It's been hectic.
I think as a response to some insanely busy months, I've gone into a retrograde together with the planet Venus. My egg shaped aura, usually extending about 3 ft. beyond my body, has felt stretched and expanded. I've walked inside a large Christmas decoration complete with mesmerizing lights and the dreamy twinkling eyes of a newborn.
At the same time, I've been given a time with a focus on death and dying. This spring I had to put my 87 year old aunt in a nursing home in Indiana. Her house and belongings were sold at an auction, and I felt as if we were pulling apart her finished life, even as she was quite alive in her new home. She cannot comprehend what has happened, and I've been advised not to tell her. My honest goodie-two-shoes girl wants to tell her the truth, and my new role as her guardian tells me that it would be cruel to try to explain it to her while she's starting to be happy in her new situation. The financial guardian advised me to arrange for a prepaid funeral for my aunt. I went to the funeral home where her son had been buried. We planned all the details, and all was well until the funeral director handed me the newspaper clip describing my cousins suicide. I went to the grave site, an unkempt, unassuming, flat stone under a tree, and cried. Finding a silk arrangement at a nearby Michael's, I left the flowers at the names of the mother and son, where his date of birth and death is engraved next to her lonely birth date, and went to visit my aunt at the nursing home, not being able to share anything I had done that day.
At the same time, my brother in law died, and we dealt with three days of funeral arrangements, this time with people who were well informed about his declining health and his own blessings to his family. Quite a beautiful exit. I felt his presence at the funeral and saw his loving goodbye to his wife.
This month my aunt in California died on her 91st birthday. She had organized her cremation, her funeral and her good friend as executive director of her estate. All I could do was bring flowers and give a little speech at the memorial service. This woman wanted to be in control to the very last. She was a surgical nurse in a MASH unit in Korea with the title of Captain. My aunt knew how to give orders, even after her death.
I could bless my older family members in their later years, and bless their passing. But when my good friend was diagnosed with ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease, I lost it. Over the last year I have watched him slowly deteriorate. I drove him to appointments, I supported him as he practiced walking, I took him to the concerts he still did every month as long as he could play his guitar. Losing the use of his legs, I could handle, if he could still use his hands. When the disease made it impossible for him to play, I totally lost it. The voice I had heard sing for 16 years was becoming a raspy ghostlike shadow of itself. I started helping him with his computer work. He taught me how to work with the Garage Band program, navigate among his poems and organize his hundreds of songs on I-tunes, all by verbal direction. I answered his emails, writing his poetic answers to his friends in Paris, in Belgium, on Hawaii and all over Chicago land. When he wanted to dictate a poem, I had to hide my tears as he starts: "How happy and harrowing life is, concluded the last mosquito of October."
I watch his three year old daughter run about trying to look happy in front of her father. She understands that the best gift she can give is to be a delightful child in the midst of all this suffering. But when she cries as she goes to bed at night, her sounds belong to a younger child, and she gives went to her own frustration and grief. All I can do is hug his wife, help him with his medication and help her get him out of the wheel chair and into his bed. It's a two person operation to stand him up, turn him around and lower him slowly down hoping not to hurt his arms.
One of his songs is called One Life. One phrase is "me into trees". He means to say that all of creation is interconnected, but I'm wondering if his body is turning into wood. His knees don't bend properly anymore. His fingers don't move. In the morning, I have to fight with his legs to get them to bend after a night of lying straight.
I'm writing this to illustrate the world I'm in right now. The universe is trying to teach me something about life and death. And marriage and relationships and children. What else is new? Isn't that the lessons of life in a nutshell? Maybe, but I seem to have been given a crash course over the last six months.
At the same time, as I'm exposed to all these real life situations; the approach to death, the choice to pass over, and the honoring of a long life with an exciting story, I'm experiencing my own life as if I live with a foot on the earth and one levitating in open air. I just need to close my eyes, and I am one with my being and everything else fades away. I open my eyes a moment later and face the fact that I'm cooking a meal, doing laundry or admiring a sunset. I pause and look intently at the trees, at the waves of Lake Michigan and pick up a stone and squeeze it between my fingers, just to pinch reality and feel what is really real.
And is it? Why aren't the colored light I see behind my eyelids given equal validity? Why can't I speak of the colors, the sounds, the music, the words, the feelings I have, all this which I experience with my inner senses, which take me on these trips to beautiful places of peace, tranquility and comfort? What is it? I'm not conjuring it with my ever so lively imagination, if so, I would never be surprised at what I see, and the experience would be limited to what I can imagine. What I see and experience is always beyond what I could have made up. The words I hear, the answers I get when I pose a question to the ethers, is always surprising.
So I bury the dead. I make sure my aunt with dementia is well taken care of. I help my friend through his illness, and cry as his abilities are diminishing while I try to give his genius mind an outlet through my hands. And I continue on my own travels between the worlds, with one foot firmly planted on planet Earth while I explore what I can only see when I close my eyes.
Yes, we are mystics without monasteries. Where is the abbey where I could have asked an abbess like Theresa of Avila what it all means? Where is the monastery where the daily routine of prayers and meals and tasks would structure my days for me and ground my focus to earthly deeds, all the while allowing my mind to ask my questions and my heart to find God?
I think as a response to some insanely busy months, I've gone into a retrograde together with the planet Venus. My egg shaped aura, usually extending about 3 ft. beyond my body, has felt stretched and expanded. I've walked inside a large Christmas decoration complete with mesmerizing lights and the dreamy twinkling eyes of a newborn.
At the same time, I've been given a time with a focus on death and dying. This spring I had to put my 87 year old aunt in a nursing home in Indiana. Her house and belongings were sold at an auction, and I felt as if we were pulling apart her finished life, even as she was quite alive in her new home. She cannot comprehend what has happened, and I've been advised not to tell her. My honest goodie-two-shoes girl wants to tell her the truth, and my new role as her guardian tells me that it would be cruel to try to explain it to her while she's starting to be happy in her new situation. The financial guardian advised me to arrange for a prepaid funeral for my aunt. I went to the funeral home where her son had been buried. We planned all the details, and all was well until the funeral director handed me the newspaper clip describing my cousins suicide. I went to the grave site, an unkempt, unassuming, flat stone under a tree, and cried. Finding a silk arrangement at a nearby Michael's, I left the flowers at the names of the mother and son, where his date of birth and death is engraved next to her lonely birth date, and went to visit my aunt at the nursing home, not being able to share anything I had done that day.
At the same time, my brother in law died, and we dealt with three days of funeral arrangements, this time with people who were well informed about his declining health and his own blessings to his family. Quite a beautiful exit. I felt his presence at the funeral and saw his loving goodbye to his wife.
This month my aunt in California died on her 91st birthday. She had organized her cremation, her funeral and her good friend as executive director of her estate. All I could do was bring flowers and give a little speech at the memorial service. This woman wanted to be in control to the very last. She was a surgical nurse in a MASH unit in Korea with the title of Captain. My aunt knew how to give orders, even after her death.
I could bless my older family members in their later years, and bless their passing. But when my good friend was diagnosed with ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease, I lost it. Over the last year I have watched him slowly deteriorate. I drove him to appointments, I supported him as he practiced walking, I took him to the concerts he still did every month as long as he could play his guitar. Losing the use of his legs, I could handle, if he could still use his hands. When the disease made it impossible for him to play, I totally lost it. The voice I had heard sing for 16 years was becoming a raspy ghostlike shadow of itself. I started helping him with his computer work. He taught me how to work with the Garage Band program, navigate among his poems and organize his hundreds of songs on I-tunes, all by verbal direction. I answered his emails, writing his poetic answers to his friends in Paris, in Belgium, on Hawaii and all over Chicago land. When he wanted to dictate a poem, I had to hide my tears as he starts: "How happy and harrowing life is, concluded the last mosquito of October."
I watch his three year old daughter run about trying to look happy in front of her father. She understands that the best gift she can give is to be a delightful child in the midst of all this suffering. But when she cries as she goes to bed at night, her sounds belong to a younger child, and she gives went to her own frustration and grief. All I can do is hug his wife, help him with his medication and help her get him out of the wheel chair and into his bed. It's a two person operation to stand him up, turn him around and lower him slowly down hoping not to hurt his arms.
One of his songs is called One Life. One phrase is "me into trees". He means to say that all of creation is interconnected, but I'm wondering if his body is turning into wood. His knees don't bend properly anymore. His fingers don't move. In the morning, I have to fight with his legs to get them to bend after a night of lying straight.
I'm writing this to illustrate the world I'm in right now. The universe is trying to teach me something about life and death. And marriage and relationships and children. What else is new? Isn't that the lessons of life in a nutshell? Maybe, but I seem to have been given a crash course over the last six months.
At the same time, as I'm exposed to all these real life situations; the approach to death, the choice to pass over, and the honoring of a long life with an exciting story, I'm experiencing my own life as if I live with a foot on the earth and one levitating in open air. I just need to close my eyes, and I am one with my being and everything else fades away. I open my eyes a moment later and face the fact that I'm cooking a meal, doing laundry or admiring a sunset. I pause and look intently at the trees, at the waves of Lake Michigan and pick up a stone and squeeze it between my fingers, just to pinch reality and feel what is really real.
And is it? Why aren't the colored light I see behind my eyelids given equal validity? Why can't I speak of the colors, the sounds, the music, the words, the feelings I have, all this which I experience with my inner senses, which take me on these trips to beautiful places of peace, tranquility and comfort? What is it? I'm not conjuring it with my ever so lively imagination, if so, I would never be surprised at what I see, and the experience would be limited to what I can imagine. What I see and experience is always beyond what I could have made up. The words I hear, the answers I get when I pose a question to the ethers, is always surprising.
So I bury the dead. I make sure my aunt with dementia is well taken care of. I help my friend through his illness, and cry as his abilities are diminishing while I try to give his genius mind an outlet through my hands. And I continue on my own travels between the worlds, with one foot firmly planted on planet Earth while I explore what I can only see when I close my eyes.
Yes, we are mystics without monasteries. Where is the abbey where I could have asked an abbess like Theresa of Avila what it all means? Where is the monastery where the daily routine of prayers and meals and tasks would structure my days for me and ground my focus to earthly deeds, all the while allowing my mind to ask my questions and my heart to find God?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
I just heard an interview of Kathleen McGowan by William Henry. She wrote "The Expected One", "The Book of Love" and is now coming out with "The Poet Prince". I admire her writing tremendously, both because they are wellplotted and exciting reads, but also for what she promotes. She is also writing Mary Magdalene's message. I admire her research and her courage to find connections and propose difficult controversial questions. Kathleen McGowan inspires me to contiue my own work.
Where am I now in my own research? Amongst a kitchen renovation, my good man on crutches, my aunt in the nursing home and the planning of a wedding, I'm reading alchemy. Or solving soduko puzzles. I'm also finding that I'm not called to write right now, I'm called to get my reality in order.
So all I can say I'm doing is surrendering to my situation, and picking up a broom.
This must be a stage in the develpment of a patient soul.
And I guess I need some work here.
I have another patient soul next to me, and he wants to marry me on June 26th.
We are planning a wedding ceremony on top of a labyrinth. This powerful pattern has been part of our life together, and was where we met in the first place. We have built many labyrinths together, and walked even more in many interesting places. Dan and I spent five days in Chartres in 2007, studying the ancient labyrinth from 1201 before I went on my pilgrimage in Southern France looking for her footprints. And because I had already steeped myself in the effect of this powerful symbol, I found her.
I found her and I found her husband. I found the AND between them. After that incredible journey I could never talk to just one of them. I always meet the two of them together, in the spiritual partnership they promoted and achieved. That was at the center of their teaching. And the Cathars continued this wisdom. No wonder the church didn't like them. No wonder this has always been called the worst of heresies.
The spiritual partnership in a husband and wife team is powerful. It promotes health and independence. It acknowledges the importance of both genders and see the powers of God expemplified in the forces of masculine and feminine in their union.
Mariam and Yeshua were teachers of a spiritual technology we know little of today. Intuitively I can see a field of science not yet explored. It starts with human consiousness, human intention and imagination, and uses that as a force field to create.
Where am I now in my own research? Amongst a kitchen renovation, my good man on crutches, my aunt in the nursing home and the planning of a wedding, I'm reading alchemy. Or solving soduko puzzles. I'm also finding that I'm not called to write right now, I'm called to get my reality in order.
So all I can say I'm doing is surrendering to my situation, and picking up a broom.
This must be a stage in the develpment of a patient soul.
And I guess I need some work here.
I have another patient soul next to me, and he wants to marry me on June 26th.
We are planning a wedding ceremony on top of a labyrinth. This powerful pattern has been part of our life together, and was where we met in the first place. We have built many labyrinths together, and walked even more in many interesting places. Dan and I spent five days in Chartres in 2007, studying the ancient labyrinth from 1201 before I went on my pilgrimage in Southern France looking for her footprints. And because I had already steeped myself in the effect of this powerful symbol, I found her.
I found her and I found her husband. I found the AND between them. After that incredible journey I could never talk to just one of them. I always meet the two of them together, in the spiritual partnership they promoted and achieved. That was at the center of their teaching. And the Cathars continued this wisdom. No wonder the church didn't like them. No wonder this has always been called the worst of heresies.
The spiritual partnership in a husband and wife team is powerful. It promotes health and independence. It acknowledges the importance of both genders and see the powers of God expemplified in the forces of masculine and feminine in their union.
Mariam and Yeshua were teachers of a spiritual technology we know little of today. Intuitively I can see a field of science not yet explored. It starts with human consiousness, human intention and imagination, and uses that as a force field to create.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
It is April, it is spring.
Dear friends,
It has been a while since I wrote here. I have had to move my aunt to a nursing home, which took six months of work with lawyers, bankers, doctors, church members and social workers. She is now situated and I have had to take a deep look at aging and how we insist on people relating to their daily life in acceptable forms. My aunt is now safe to live in her version of reality, which includes a lot of stories that are not factually true, but nevertheless true to her. The nurses are encouraging me to let her stay there. I'm struggling with whether it is my duty to set her strait, bring her into the accepted truths of reality, or leave her there and simply agree when she tells me of her brothers tragic death, that her car is stolen and that she's going home in two weeks. I know perfectly well that her brother died of old age, it was her son that died tragically, her car was taken away when she drove on the wrong side of the street and that she'll never see her lovely home again. The nurses tell me to relax. They call it "Join her journey". I think it is a beautiful way of understanding that we all see the world through our own chosen color of lenses.
So I go to my garden for solace. I plan for a lovely display of flowers this summer, especially for the garden party in June. I find my old friends as they awake from their slumber, and I speak to the roses who all need a little trim. Dan looks out the window and sees me walking among my green family knowing that I'm happy. He understands when I go to the garden centers and come back inspired and dreamy eyed talking about the just discovered old fashioned dusty pink roses, trimmed to small trees, that would look fantastic on the deck, and complete the Old English Garden look I'm trying to accomplish.
I speak to the plants and I hear their answer. While moving the Mogu Pine from the line of deciduous bushes to it's own corner of the lawn, I hear him comment about the old biddies he's leaving. The Dogwood and the Forsythia are such fussy ladies, he's truly grateful to be in his own space. Especially since I'm putting in a Spirea as an addition to the group. He can just hear her join in with the others talking about the lacy project of creating the most attractive blooms on their branches. I wanted to call him Nicolas in honor of being a pillowy version of a Christmas tree. He would have none of it. His name is Ansgar, of old viking traditions. I bend my head and honor this very conscious plant who is gracing my garden.
Can I talk about this as part of my conscious reality? Can I say that I can actually hear the plants? When I weed around them, there is a different sound from the nasty Ground Ivy when I pull it out, then if I inadvertently catch the long line of a Periwinkle, which I truly want to keep. The Periwinkle will give me a high pitched eeek, while the Ground Ivy will hardly have a sound at all while accepting it's fate of being thrown in the garbage. I can feel it in my fingers as I work. The eeek will make me stop before I pull the roots out and make me gently put the long branch back while I apologize.
Dan says that I have green fingers. I say I have developed a relationship with my green friends. My daughter thinks I'm cute and eccentric. Who is following my journey?
The garden party among the greens this summer needs to be romantic. Dan and I are getting married. After four years of living together, after our combined six children and six grand kids have gotten used to the idea, we are deciding that it's time. The plans are coming along. My lovely daughter is my wedding consultants and introduces herself as the "daughter of the bride".
We have agreed to mention the wedding in Canaan during the ceremony. We don't have to say exactly who got married. And it will be up to the daughter of the bride this time to check that we have enough wine, and to send her six foot tall brother to the liquor store to get more if needed. The miracle this time is the event itself. This will also be a reunion of family from as far west as Hawaii to as far east and north as Norway, all to join our celebration in Chicago.
It has been a while since I wrote here. I have had to move my aunt to a nursing home, which took six months of work with lawyers, bankers, doctors, church members and social workers. She is now situated and I have had to take a deep look at aging and how we insist on people relating to their daily life in acceptable forms. My aunt is now safe to live in her version of reality, which includes a lot of stories that are not factually true, but nevertheless true to her. The nurses are encouraging me to let her stay there. I'm struggling with whether it is my duty to set her strait, bring her into the accepted truths of reality, or leave her there and simply agree when she tells me of her brothers tragic death, that her car is stolen and that she's going home in two weeks. I know perfectly well that her brother died of old age, it was her son that died tragically, her car was taken away when she drove on the wrong side of the street and that she'll never see her lovely home again. The nurses tell me to relax. They call it "Join her journey". I think it is a beautiful way of understanding that we all see the world through our own chosen color of lenses.
So I go to my garden for solace. I plan for a lovely display of flowers this summer, especially for the garden party in June. I find my old friends as they awake from their slumber, and I speak to the roses who all need a little trim. Dan looks out the window and sees me walking among my green family knowing that I'm happy. He understands when I go to the garden centers and come back inspired and dreamy eyed talking about the just discovered old fashioned dusty pink roses, trimmed to small trees, that would look fantastic on the deck, and complete the Old English Garden look I'm trying to accomplish.
I speak to the plants and I hear their answer. While moving the Mogu Pine from the line of deciduous bushes to it's own corner of the lawn, I hear him comment about the old biddies he's leaving. The Dogwood and the Forsythia are such fussy ladies, he's truly grateful to be in his own space. Especially since I'm putting in a Spirea as an addition to the group. He can just hear her join in with the others talking about the lacy project of creating the most attractive blooms on their branches. I wanted to call him Nicolas in honor of being a pillowy version of a Christmas tree. He would have none of it. His name is Ansgar, of old viking traditions. I bend my head and honor this very conscious plant who is gracing my garden.
Can I talk about this as part of my conscious reality? Can I say that I can actually hear the plants? When I weed around them, there is a different sound from the nasty Ground Ivy when I pull it out, then if I inadvertently catch the long line of a Periwinkle, which I truly want to keep. The Periwinkle will give me a high pitched eeek, while the Ground Ivy will hardly have a sound at all while accepting it's fate of being thrown in the garbage. I can feel it in my fingers as I work. The eeek will make me stop before I pull the roots out and make me gently put the long branch back while I apologize.
Dan says that I have green fingers. I say I have developed a relationship with my green friends. My daughter thinks I'm cute and eccentric. Who is following my journey?
The garden party among the greens this summer needs to be romantic. Dan and I are getting married. After four years of living together, after our combined six children and six grand kids have gotten used to the idea, we are deciding that it's time. The plans are coming along. My lovely daughter is my wedding consultants and introduces herself as the "daughter of the bride".
We have agreed to mention the wedding in Canaan during the ceremony. We don't have to say exactly who got married. And it will be up to the daughter of the bride this time to check that we have enough wine, and to send her six foot tall brother to the liquor store to get more if needed. The miracle this time is the event itself. This will also be a reunion of family from as far west as Hawaii to as far east and north as Norway, all to join our celebration in Chicago.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Welcome to the new year.
Dear friends and readers. I am back in Chicago. Now without walking sticks and driving a car! I'm also ready to write more here and stay in touch with you.
The new year, 2010, has started. After the portals of 9/9, 10/10, 11/11 and 12/12 along with the solstice and the Mercury retrograde, I think we can say we all feel sufficiently bombarded by cosmic energy. The love bubble between 11/11 and 12/12 was a delight, and the Mercury reverse action brings out the worst in us. I had lovely days with the man I love, and have behaved like a shrew these last weeks. Anybody else?
But lightheartedness aside. We are in the last of times before the end of the world as we know it, to quote a famous song. We see it in the politics of this country, where issues are polarized to the extreme. The arguments have come to a point where the presidents statements seem clear and concise and pointed, sharp and beyond discussion. Whereas the comments from the opposing side seems full of lies, inane and not addressing the subject at hand. The extreme points are not just different in policies and opinion, it seems like they speak different languages, or send their messages through different frequencies. Have you experienced that? You're talking to someone and it feels like you are engaged in different conversations. The words you say tangent their planet and continue out at a different angle. And however much you try to understand what they mean, their statements don't make any sense to you in your framework.
Is this the situation of the have's and the havenot's? Is this what it means? That regular people seem to function according to different laws of physics, different value systems and communicate in different frequencies, even though they're standing in the same reality looking at the same scenery.
Is this what it means to coexist in different dimensions? It seems to be what is happening around us at the moment. This is a sign of the last days of time.
The twin flame of Yeshua and Mariam has returned to us. This represents the balanced relationship between male and female in its ideal form. This is the flame we all need to develop and welcome inside to become balanced individuals within. And it is the return of the proper values on the earth. Please welcome this concept back in our midst.
There is very little time left. The best gift we can give the world is to become a healthy happy human being. It's no small task. This means to go to work looking at what you carry with you. What national and racial issues reside within? Find your history. It's written in your DNA and it would help you if you knew what it is and what you're working with.
"Your biology is your biography."
- Caroline Myss.
This refers to what you carry from earlier generations. What did your ancestors experience and what did they do with it? How do these attitude show up in your life? Are you excusing them or working with them?
This is the work at hand. Clean up our DNA. According to scriptures, the sins of our forefathers are carried for seven generations. That means that for seven generations before us and seven generations after us we send our actions and attitudes out following time lines and successions of genetic material. This also means that when you identify a bad habit, maybe something you feel you inherited, and work to eradicate it out of your system, you are affecting 14 generations with your decision. This works across time and space. If you clean something out of your system, it will relieve your ancestor of their burden, and it will clear the head of the future ones. So the greatest work we can do is to clean up our own insides right now, right here. Listen to your own thought process and stop thoughts that are not supporting the progress of love in the world.
Oh, I can wax poetically ad nauseum about this, get all excited and feel that I'm doing a great job. And then I visit the relatives for the holidays. And I realize my own limitations, how bigoted I am on my own monastic island, and how little I understand of the love they're trying to show me. And I start all over again.
But this is the work. This is the understanding for 2010. Find out what you carry with you, what your frequency is broadcasting right out of the cell material of your body. What kind of walking television program are you showing as you move about in the world? Maybe you'd like to change the channel.
So what can you do?
The twin flame also refers to the relationship we establish between this world and the other side. And as this world is populated with many people of different origin and with different job descriptions and intentions, so is the other side. Everything is not angels or your sweet grandma. There are many levels of teachers, guides, and spirits floating about out there. They respond to frequency. So if you're vibrating with a whole collection of disgruntled ancestors, you will be communicating with entities who respond to that. If you vibrate on a cleaner octave, you show off a different sort of light combination and you will attract guides who can work with that. "Hey, your green is well developed. Come join our crew."
It is time to take responsibility for our relationship with our own frequency and what we attract to ourself. Bring up the light. Brighten up. Turn up the dimmers. Lift off the bushel and find your own candle glowing bright underneath. Have loving sex, what do we call it, make love, and create fireworks for the angels to enjoy. They love it when we create more love in the world.
So this is my pledge for the new year. I want to create more love in the world. I want to clear away negativity in my system, forgive my bitter and angry forefathers, and love all my difficult female relatives, past and future. That includes the nasty old aunts I knew who are now dead, the difficult old aunts I have to deal with now, my strict mother and impeccable mother in law, my cynical sophisticated daughter and my lovely grand daughters. It also includes the ancestral mothers who struggled through wars and famines and gave birth to dead children. They all live inside me. They all live in every cell of my body and I hear them speak in every embittered remark I make when I feel chided and not seen the way I see myself. I like to think of myself as loving and caring, and I shudder when I hear my own icy, metallic voice, cutting like a knife at the man I love, because he noticed that what I just said had no thread of love in it. I scream at him because he's right. And when I'm done yelling, I fall down in a chair like a punctured balloon, a useless piece of deflated rubber that has lost it's elasticity, and hear the echo from the walls calling out like my ancestors with the force of my own voice. I'm embarrassed as I see the frogs on the floor, the toads and reptiles, and not the cute Disney ones, but slimy yucky things that leave a shiny path of wet slime behind. They are the manifestation of what I have created in the room. My words have created garbage covering the floor.
It's time to find a broom. It's time to apologize. It's time to make amends, blame the Mercury in retrograde which makes us all show our worst sides, and own up to every ribbit squeal still lingering. It's time to call for our guides and angels and ask for better days, better advice, better choices in this new year.
The sun is shining. After ten inches of snow in Chicago and gloomy weather for weeks on end, there are sun rays reflecting blue on the surface of the snow. The sun clears my face as I sweep black dust out the door. The wind clears my brain. Did every ancestral scream get expressed? Did every frog find it's voice? Or maybe I don't need to feed flies of uncertainty and negativity to any more frogs. Maybe I can starve them out of existence by simply not giving them anything to feed on. My goal will be to live frog free. I'm tired of cleaning up slime from the floor.
I'll try to catch the flies before they feed a frog.
Wencke.
The new year, 2010, has started. After the portals of 9/9, 10/10, 11/11 and 12/12 along with the solstice and the Mercury retrograde, I think we can say we all feel sufficiently bombarded by cosmic energy. The love bubble between 11/11 and 12/12 was a delight, and the Mercury reverse action brings out the worst in us. I had lovely days with the man I love, and have behaved like a shrew these last weeks. Anybody else?
But lightheartedness aside. We are in the last of times before the end of the world as we know it, to quote a famous song. We see it in the politics of this country, where issues are polarized to the extreme. The arguments have come to a point where the presidents statements seem clear and concise and pointed, sharp and beyond discussion. Whereas the comments from the opposing side seems full of lies, inane and not addressing the subject at hand. The extreme points are not just different in policies and opinion, it seems like they speak different languages, or send their messages through different frequencies. Have you experienced that? You're talking to someone and it feels like you are engaged in different conversations. The words you say tangent their planet and continue out at a different angle. And however much you try to understand what they mean, their statements don't make any sense to you in your framework.
Is this the situation of the have's and the havenot's? Is this what it means? That regular people seem to function according to different laws of physics, different value systems and communicate in different frequencies, even though they're standing in the same reality looking at the same scenery.
Is this what it means to coexist in different dimensions? It seems to be what is happening around us at the moment. This is a sign of the last days of time.
The twin flame of Yeshua and Mariam has returned to us. This represents the balanced relationship between male and female in its ideal form. This is the flame we all need to develop and welcome inside to become balanced individuals within. And it is the return of the proper values on the earth. Please welcome this concept back in our midst.
There is very little time left. The best gift we can give the world is to become a healthy happy human being. It's no small task. This means to go to work looking at what you carry with you. What national and racial issues reside within? Find your history. It's written in your DNA and it would help you if you knew what it is and what you're working with.
"Your biology is your biography."
- Caroline Myss.
This refers to what you carry from earlier generations. What did your ancestors experience and what did they do with it? How do these attitude show up in your life? Are you excusing them or working with them?
This is the work at hand. Clean up our DNA. According to scriptures, the sins of our forefathers are carried for seven generations. That means that for seven generations before us and seven generations after us we send our actions and attitudes out following time lines and successions of genetic material. This also means that when you identify a bad habit, maybe something you feel you inherited, and work to eradicate it out of your system, you are affecting 14 generations with your decision. This works across time and space. If you clean something out of your system, it will relieve your ancestor of their burden, and it will clear the head of the future ones. So the greatest work we can do is to clean up our own insides right now, right here. Listen to your own thought process and stop thoughts that are not supporting the progress of love in the world.
Oh, I can wax poetically ad nauseum about this, get all excited and feel that I'm doing a great job. And then I visit the relatives for the holidays. And I realize my own limitations, how bigoted I am on my own monastic island, and how little I understand of the love they're trying to show me. And I start all over again.
But this is the work. This is the understanding for 2010. Find out what you carry with you, what your frequency is broadcasting right out of the cell material of your body. What kind of walking television program are you showing as you move about in the world? Maybe you'd like to change the channel.
So what can you do?
The twin flame also refers to the relationship we establish between this world and the other side. And as this world is populated with many people of different origin and with different job descriptions and intentions, so is the other side. Everything is not angels or your sweet grandma. There are many levels of teachers, guides, and spirits floating about out there. They respond to frequency. So if you're vibrating with a whole collection of disgruntled ancestors, you will be communicating with entities who respond to that. If you vibrate on a cleaner octave, you show off a different sort of light combination and you will attract guides who can work with that. "Hey, your green is well developed. Come join our crew."
It is time to take responsibility for our relationship with our own frequency and what we attract to ourself. Bring up the light. Brighten up. Turn up the dimmers. Lift off the bushel and find your own candle glowing bright underneath. Have loving sex, what do we call it, make love, and create fireworks for the angels to enjoy. They love it when we create more love in the world.
So this is my pledge for the new year. I want to create more love in the world. I want to clear away negativity in my system, forgive my bitter and angry forefathers, and love all my difficult female relatives, past and future. That includes the nasty old aunts I knew who are now dead, the difficult old aunts I have to deal with now, my strict mother and impeccable mother in law, my cynical sophisticated daughter and my lovely grand daughters. It also includes the ancestral mothers who struggled through wars and famines and gave birth to dead children. They all live inside me. They all live in every cell of my body and I hear them speak in every embittered remark I make when I feel chided and not seen the way I see myself. I like to think of myself as loving and caring, and I shudder when I hear my own icy, metallic voice, cutting like a knife at the man I love, because he noticed that what I just said had no thread of love in it. I scream at him because he's right. And when I'm done yelling, I fall down in a chair like a punctured balloon, a useless piece of deflated rubber that has lost it's elasticity, and hear the echo from the walls calling out like my ancestors with the force of my own voice. I'm embarrassed as I see the frogs on the floor, the toads and reptiles, and not the cute Disney ones, but slimy yucky things that leave a shiny path of wet slime behind. They are the manifestation of what I have created in the room. My words have created garbage covering the floor.
It's time to find a broom. It's time to apologize. It's time to make amends, blame the Mercury in retrograde which makes us all show our worst sides, and own up to every ribbit squeal still lingering. It's time to call for our guides and angels and ask for better days, better advice, better choices in this new year.
The sun is shining. After ten inches of snow in Chicago and gloomy weather for weeks on end, there are sun rays reflecting blue on the surface of the snow. The sun clears my face as I sweep black dust out the door. The wind clears my brain. Did every ancestral scream get expressed? Did every frog find it's voice? Or maybe I don't need to feed flies of uncertainty and negativity to any more frogs. Maybe I can starve them out of existence by simply not giving them anything to feed on. My goal will be to live frog free. I'm tired of cleaning up slime from the floor.
I'll try to catch the flies before they feed a frog.
Wencke.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I'm in Norway!
My pilgrimage is taking me to Norway. My manuscript about Mary Magdalene is complete. I need an agent, a publisher and a publisist. I trust that the Universe, which has provided well for me so far, will present this support system to me as well. I'm now onto my next project.
You might wonder why there are nine months since my last entry. I celebrated Christmas in Hawaii with my son, Sebastian, and his family, celebrating the birth of my second grand child. In January we were involved in a car accident where I was badly harmed. Everybody else escaped with minor scrapes. I spent a month in hospitals and rehab in Honolulu with several broken bones and a broken neck. My biggest worry was weather I would be able to write again. Gradually I regained my abilities, and can now function fairly normally. I've gained an inch in height! That's good. But it's only on my left side. That's a problem. So I'm here in Norway recieving some physical therapy and orthopedic evaluation. Socialized medicine is the only way to go in our time.
After I stopped taking heavy duty pain pills, I found that my head still functions, and I can still read. Also, I have another project begging for my attention. I've been wanting to start my next trilogy. I want to go forward in time and see what happened to 'Mary Magdalene's Message' a thousand years later. Whom did she teach? Who remembered? Who claimed to own the heritage Yeshua and Mariam left behind? Where do I start looking for information?
I've started digging. And as usual, the story takes me in a different direction than what I expected. I looked for the secret teachings of the Cathars. I looked for the secret rituals of the Temple Knights. I looked for why the Merovingian kings of France claimed divine right to the throne. Most of the information you can find about these people is in the forced confessions their enemies have tortured out of them. What I find are some contorted descriptions hissed in agony. The descriptions of these people are also presented in in a negative way. And the only scriptures about them are from their accusers, which mostly amounts to the catholic church. Ack. They're still not scoring high in my book.
I decided to try another route. The pentagram around Rennes-le-Chateau has been described beautifully by Henry Lincoln. His next project was on Bornholm, a Danish island between Denmark and Sweeden. There are 12 churches on this tiny place, and they also form a complicated geometric pattern. Who put this much effort into placement of little stone churches and why? The next book that I ran across talks abou the pentagram of Norway! Now they had my attention.
It turns out that the placement of holy sites in Norway in a threehundred year long program, was to establish a geometric pattern for people's worship. So if all the people in the churches that formed a rightangled triangle went to church on sunday and sung their hymns at the same time, the sound would resonate in the land itself. It would tune the mountains, since the sounds would reverberate in lines and angles that related to eachother and would richochet across the landscape. Are you still with me?
Now this was too wild to pass up. I had to check this out. So Dan and I drove over the singing mountains of Jotunheimen to Bergen, looking for stavechurches. We found Borgund, which showed me a lot. Later I went over Dovre mountain to Trondheim, searching for the sainted king Olav. And I found him.
Norway, the country of my birth, holds some interesting secrets of it's own. I'm still walking in the path of Mary Magdalene. I'm still a pilgrim. And as long as I stay open, there is no end to where the Universe is taking me.
Wencke.
You might wonder why there are nine months since my last entry. I celebrated Christmas in Hawaii with my son, Sebastian, and his family, celebrating the birth of my second grand child. In January we were involved in a car accident where I was badly harmed. Everybody else escaped with minor scrapes. I spent a month in hospitals and rehab in Honolulu with several broken bones and a broken neck. My biggest worry was weather I would be able to write again. Gradually I regained my abilities, and can now function fairly normally. I've gained an inch in height! That's good. But it's only on my left side. That's a problem. So I'm here in Norway recieving some physical therapy and orthopedic evaluation. Socialized medicine is the only way to go in our time.
After I stopped taking heavy duty pain pills, I found that my head still functions, and I can still read. Also, I have another project begging for my attention. I've been wanting to start my next trilogy. I want to go forward in time and see what happened to 'Mary Magdalene's Message' a thousand years later. Whom did she teach? Who remembered? Who claimed to own the heritage Yeshua and Mariam left behind? Where do I start looking for information?
I've started digging. And as usual, the story takes me in a different direction than what I expected. I looked for the secret teachings of the Cathars. I looked for the secret rituals of the Temple Knights. I looked for why the Merovingian kings of France claimed divine right to the throne. Most of the information you can find about these people is in the forced confessions their enemies have tortured out of them. What I find are some contorted descriptions hissed in agony. The descriptions of these people are also presented in in a negative way. And the only scriptures about them are from their accusers, which mostly amounts to the catholic church. Ack. They're still not scoring high in my book.
I decided to try another route. The pentagram around Rennes-le-Chateau has been described beautifully by Henry Lincoln. His next project was on Bornholm, a Danish island between Denmark and Sweeden. There are 12 churches on this tiny place, and they also form a complicated geometric pattern. Who put this much effort into placement of little stone churches and why? The next book that I ran across talks abou the pentagram of Norway! Now they had my attention.
It turns out that the placement of holy sites in Norway in a threehundred year long program, was to establish a geometric pattern for people's worship. So if all the people in the churches that formed a rightangled triangle went to church on sunday and sung their hymns at the same time, the sound would resonate in the land itself. It would tune the mountains, since the sounds would reverberate in lines and angles that related to eachother and would richochet across the landscape. Are you still with me?
Now this was too wild to pass up. I had to check this out. So Dan and I drove over the singing mountains of Jotunheimen to Bergen, looking for stavechurches. We found Borgund, which showed me a lot. Later I went over Dovre mountain to Trondheim, searching for the sainted king Olav. And I found him.
Norway, the country of my birth, holds some interesting secrets of it's own. I'm still walking in the path of Mary Magdalene. I'm still a pilgrim. And as long as I stay open, there is no end to where the Universe is taking me.
Wencke.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
