Wednesday, May 03, 2006
This is a Good Time
My friend (spiritual counselor Tosha Silver--check out the link to her site) recently sent out an update on her upcoming classes. She explained that during the interval between the two eclipses (March 16 and again March 30, as I recall), she, like many others, had experienced a "down period," not wanting to go outdoors and confront the world. Many of my friends (me as well) also went through "downers," and we all wondered what was going on in our lives. Now Tosha (and my friends and I) all have "come back to life," and are experiencing an influx of creativity and renewed energies.
Poems have literally been pouring out of me, some seeming to write themselves in unexpected moments. And my friend J. (the gifted artist) is hard at work creating mandalas through collage. In addition, my energy movement meditations (slow but sweet) have once more become delightful. Yesterday, I did chi gong after a hot shower, and the energies were remarkable. (I recommend this practice to everyone--the shower seems to open the pores and awaken the inner and outer feelings.) Also, I find that the fewer clothes you wear for this, the better. Again, less clothing lets the body breathe. An inner "energy teacher" appeared, in the form of a very healthy young Japanese male, short and well toned. I knew he had come to help me gain more strength from my movements. (Now, I don't claim he was "real" on our plane, but he is very real on some plane His name was Master Sturdy Boy, and I truly liked him.)
I noticed that my feet and legs were especially alive yesterday. I had walked for some three hours (out to Baker Beach from my house) the day before and I am sure this contributed to my sense of enlivenment. Yesterday, I practiced without music. Today I played Krishna Das (Door of Faith) and felt softer but very blissful energetic movement. (An image of a delicate, feminine Buddha popped in immediately--he had a bun at the nape of his neck. His left hand carried a flower and his right rested in his lap. Then he began to do mudras (sacred hand gestures) which I did as well.)
Again, there was energy in unexpected places--this time, I felt a sweet flow in the solar plexus, where my hiatal hernia has caused me so much trouble in the past. It seems to be healed--I can now branch out and eat things I was unable to digest for many years--yesterday, I even had an ice cream cone, a rare treat for me. And my solar plexus (power center) feels freer of constraint brought on by external circumstances.
This blog is not the one I had intended to write, but maybe it is good to describe these experiences from time to time. Some "authorities" claim that it is better to meditate without imagery (a more advanced level of consciousness), but I am glad that my images have returned. Perhaps the renewal of inner imagery is related to my experience with the "astral visitor" who pressed her forehead to mine (third eye.)
One morning recently I began with a mental vision of Tara, and I was surprised when she turned into my mother. Now, some theories hold that we "earthlings" may indeed be descendents of or particles from such higher beings. We "were" such elevated spirits in former lives in the sense that we formed minute bits of their essence. We came to earth in shrunken form partly to learn how difficult it is to be a human with all the limitations that implies, rather than functioning as a totally free heavenly spirit. In any event, here is the poem which came forth from that inner vision. It gives me greater insight into my mother's personality as a limited human(just as we all are limited. )
My Mother as Tara
You were beautiful
but you never
knew it.
Childhood scars
kept you well away
from seeing
who you really were.
In the meantime,
goddess shrunk
to human scale,
you kept your appearance up,
sought beauty where you could
in your small world.
You fretted constantly
because your offspring
were not perfect.
You always felt
that something dreadful
was just about
to happen,
disaster,
ruin,
the way your frontier father died
so sudden
when you were only two,
and left your mother
to find a means
to keep the family going,
all five of you,
by raising backyard chickens,
teaching school for little pay,
whatever might put food
upon the table,
it was touch and go,
never mind your sagging hems
and worn stockings
(the other girls had fathers,
homes, nice clothes, even
buggies in the barn.)
Whatever of heaven's luster
clung to you
faded in
transition,
became the constant struggle
to keep your looks intact,
hold your head up high
in our little town
which now was home,
while your mate
did all he could
to give you all the things
you craved:
nice clothes,
spiffy car out front,
new brick home,
security, but little show
of love.
When you were young,
a unicorn once crossed
your path (you
didn't know its name
or that it was a sign.)
What happened to that mystic
beast that flashed in view?
What happened to that child,
so blessed
so long ago?
May 1, 2006
(copyright, Dorothy Walters)
Poems have literally been pouring out of me, some seeming to write themselves in unexpected moments. And my friend J. (the gifted artist) is hard at work creating mandalas through collage. In addition, my energy movement meditations (slow but sweet) have once more become delightful. Yesterday, I did chi gong after a hot shower, and the energies were remarkable. (I recommend this practice to everyone--the shower seems to open the pores and awaken the inner and outer feelings.) Also, I find that the fewer clothes you wear for this, the better. Again, less clothing lets the body breathe. An inner "energy teacher" appeared, in the form of a very healthy young Japanese male, short and well toned. I knew he had come to help me gain more strength from my movements. (Now, I don't claim he was "real" on our plane, but he is very real on some plane His name was Master Sturdy Boy, and I truly liked him.)
I noticed that my feet and legs were especially alive yesterday. I had walked for some three hours (out to Baker Beach from my house) the day before and I am sure this contributed to my sense of enlivenment. Yesterday, I practiced without music. Today I played Krishna Das (Door of Faith) and felt softer but very blissful energetic movement. (An image of a delicate, feminine Buddha popped in immediately--he had a bun at the nape of his neck. His left hand carried a flower and his right rested in his lap. Then he began to do mudras (sacred hand gestures) which I did as well.)
Again, there was energy in unexpected places--this time, I felt a sweet flow in the solar plexus, where my hiatal hernia has caused me so much trouble in the past. It seems to be healed--I can now branch out and eat things I was unable to digest for many years--yesterday, I even had an ice cream cone, a rare treat for me. And my solar plexus (power center) feels freer of constraint brought on by external circumstances.
This blog is not the one I had intended to write, but maybe it is good to describe these experiences from time to time. Some "authorities" claim that it is better to meditate without imagery (a more advanced level of consciousness), but I am glad that my images have returned. Perhaps the renewal of inner imagery is related to my experience with the "astral visitor" who pressed her forehead to mine (third eye.)
One morning recently I began with a mental vision of Tara, and I was surprised when she turned into my mother. Now, some theories hold that we "earthlings" may indeed be descendents of or particles from such higher beings. We "were" such elevated spirits in former lives in the sense that we formed minute bits of their essence. We came to earth in shrunken form partly to learn how difficult it is to be a human with all the limitations that implies, rather than functioning as a totally free heavenly spirit. In any event, here is the poem which came forth from that inner vision. It gives me greater insight into my mother's personality as a limited human(just as we all are limited. )
My Mother as Tara
You were beautiful
but you never
knew it.
Childhood scars
kept you well away
from seeing
who you really were.
In the meantime,
goddess shrunk
to human scale,
you kept your appearance up,
sought beauty where you could
in your small world.
You fretted constantly
because your offspring
were not perfect.
You always felt
that something dreadful
was just about
to happen,
disaster,
ruin,
the way your frontier father died
so sudden
when you were only two,
and left your mother
to find a means
to keep the family going,
all five of you,
by raising backyard chickens,
teaching school for little pay,
whatever might put food
upon the table,
it was touch and go,
never mind your sagging hems
and worn stockings
(the other girls had fathers,
homes, nice clothes, even
buggies in the barn.)
Whatever of heaven's luster
clung to you
faded in
transition,
became the constant struggle
to keep your looks intact,
hold your head up high
in our little town
which now was home,
while your mate
did all he could
to give you all the things
you craved:
nice clothes,
spiffy car out front,
new brick home,
security, but little show
of love.
When you were young,
a unicorn once crossed
your path (you
didn't know its name
or that it was a sign.)
What happened to that mystic
beast that flashed in view?
What happened to that child,
so blessed
so long ago?
May 1, 2006
(copyright, Dorothy Walters)
