The little Soul that could

 

Location: God’s living room in Heaven

Actors: A Soul and God

Act: 9

Scene: 1 – God (G) and the little Soul (LS) have been talking about the Soul’s future assignment on earth.  We come in mid scene.

 

G: You’ll change the world and bring people together.

LS: Niiiice.  Like Martin Luther King?

No

Like Gandhi?

No

Anne Frank?

No

How about J. K. Rowling?

Not really.  More like “Independence Day”

What is that?

It is a future film franchise about humans all over the world coming together to thwart an alien invasion

Hmmmm…that doesn’t sound glamorous but as long as I bring people together I am okay with that.

 

G: Your actions and words are going to trigger the rise of the feminine or Goddess energy on earth, and…

LS: The rise of the feminine!  I love women so much! Can’t wait to get to earth (Here the Soul jumps up and down on God’s couch)

Well…ah…you might forget your love of women for a bit

Oh, I’ll never forget.  I will always treat women with respect and honor them as the Goddesses they are.

Okaaaay. Moving on….

 

LS: So, I guess I will be rich and handsome.

G: Rich.  You definitely will be rich.  A billionaire.

What?  A billionaire!  I’m a billion-aire, I’m a billion-aire! (Here the little Soul does the Dougie dance then stops abruptly).  You ignored the handsome part.  Was that deliberate or short term memory loss?

Well…neither I nor others will go as far as to call you handsome.

Hair.  Then I must have beautiful hair.  People forgive your face if you have great hair

Well…  About the hair…

God, don’t tell me I will be bald!

No, definitely not bald.

(Soft music and a short silence while the little  Soul ponders hair choices)

 

G: With all this, have you thought of what you want your name to be?

LS: Well, I feel like I will be a gift from You to the earth so what about “John”?

I see you more of a world ruler, so something along those lines.  John can be your middle name.

Oh my You!  World ruler like a king or emperor?   That will rock!

More like a president.

GTFO God…A president?

Yes, it is possible.

 

Cue soft music as God and the little Soul sit in companionable silence.

 

And so it began.

 

Courtni ~ Soul Muse

Unplugged

As an empath, someone who feels acutely the energies of others, it used to be difficult for me to disengage or untangle.  I am still learning how to prevent myself from being swallowed up by other’s feelings and also learning how to differentiate the feelings and energies of others from my own.  Sometimes, though, I carry them for a while before noticing them. I have felt the love and sexual desires of men and have reacted to those feelings as if they were my own.  I gotta tell you: The high from feeling the feelings of a virile man wanting me is incredible. I can feel what a he feels when he touches me.  I feel me and I feel him feeling me.  Talk about doubling your pleasure!  But there is a dark side to the ability to feel another as even double pleasure can be unclear.  Do I like him and want him or do I just like the way I feel feeling how he feels about me?  See what I mean? Confusing as heck.

I can walk around in a funk thinking it is my funk.  I can have a backache thinking it is my backache. I can have mood swings, thinking they are mine.  Do I truly dislike that woman and think she is a byotch or are those the feelings of another towards her?  Why does my stomach hurt?  Why do I feel suddenly horny?  Oh, there is a cute guy eyeing me. Figures.

I now own a huge moldavite pendant that a friend initially lent to me to wear for as long as I wanted or needed to.  He said that the energy of the stone was too strong for him, causing sensations of palpitations, shortness of breath and a squeezing in his chest.  After I wore the stone for a while I attained such a resonance with it that I could only feel its energy when it was being held by someone else AND I tuned into how they were feeling while holding it.  I would take in their feelings automatically until I realized, about a year ago, that I had control as to whether or not I wanted to feel what they felt.

There was a man in Sedona on my birthday – a warrior Prince.  God, he was beautiful!  The connection was shockingly immediate and puzzling.  Puzzling because when I drove away from our first encounter, an encounter where there was deep eye contact without any words spoken, I had a strong desire to turn the car around and had to logically talk myself out of it.  After we connected via email and phone I noticed a change in my sleep patterns and journaled about it.  I noticed a feeling of unworthiness and journaled about it.  I noticed a reluctance to meet.  What if he didn’t like me?  I shared my journaling with him and his comment, “That’s exactly how I feel”, clued me in.  I would ask a question in my mind and he would answer it.  I would make an unspoken request and he would fulfill it.   I was fascinated.  I was feeling his feelings, writing his words, living his life.   My friend Rose, a psychic, put it simply “You were so in tune that you could taste what he had for lunch.”

The turning point came within the month –  the day I felt anger, a profound anger.

Taking inventory of my day I found no reason to be feeling all that anger so I intended simply for the anger to return to the person it belonged to and for me to disengage fully from whoever that was.  I immediately felt relief.  Within 3 days the closeness I had felt with the warrior prince faded.  When we talked about it later I sensed an understanding between us that the anger had been his as he had also felt the disconnect.  I did not ask why he had been angry and he did not tell.

With our connection to the news, social media, and other people’s problems, we can be easily thrust into a maelstrom of feelings and emotions, mostly fear. Sometimes we mistakenly think they are our feelings.  I believe that there are a lot of people who are empaths or sensitives who don’t know they are.  A young man once told me he gets very irritated in crowds.  I asked him “Are those feelings yours?”, and he said “My father is like that too.”

“I am sure you got that trait from him but, are those truly your feelings ?”

I explained to him that there are some people who are more sensitive to the feelings and energies of others and thus will “take on” those feelings, especially in a crowd.  At first he gave me the “What choo talkin’ bout Willis?” look then I saw understanding in his eyes.

“Oh, you mean like their stuff is rubbing off on me?”

“Yup.  A simple fix is to just send it back.  Just say, in your mind, “This is not mine. I send it back to whomever it belongs.”

The next time I saw him he said he felt more at ease in crowds once he started sending the energies back.

Whether the feelings we take on belong to an individual, a group, or humanity as a whole, we can be profoundly affected by them.

One day in 2003 I created and did an exercise that both freaked me out and fascinated me:  I simply stated an intent to be forever unplugged from the collective.  I was playing with fire but did not know it.

3 days later (what is up with this 3-day thing?) I saw myself as a balloon with a string, drifting in blue skies – tied to nothing. I felt un-tethered, floaty, lost.  I felt confused as I had no reference to the feeling of not being connected to anything so I quickly connected to love/God/The All and immediately felt grounded and reconnected.   I don’t recommend that anyone do this total disconnect as it can be very disconcerting BUT I think that disconnecting from the drama, limited thinking, limited beliefs, and fear of mass consciousness can benefit anyone.

Wanna do it?  Just sit in a quiet space by yourself for a few minutes. Imagine an electrical cord going from you to mass consciousness/the collective – the seething mass of humanity filled with anger, the bubbling cauldron of fear, the morass of … (Oh, I went too far? You got my drift already?).  Anyway, see yourself reach out and unplug the cord.  Next, imagine a beautiful light or whatever you think love looks like (NOT A PERSON).  See yourself plug your cord into the light. That’s it. If you can’t visualize or imagine then try this:  1). Draw two circles and have one represent the seething, drama grubbing cauldron of fear…um…the  limited consciousness of humanity, and the other representing  love.  2). Wrap an extension cord around your body with the plug placed in the circle representing limiting human consciousness. 3). Take the plug from the first circle and place it in the second circle. 4). Learn how to visualize.

Notice what you notice in the days to come.  Notice what is different and report back.  I guarandamntee you that you will feel different and look at life differently as your new source of energy will no longer be fearful humanity but love.

Courtni ~ The Soul Muse

Warrior

I don’t remember the first time my daddy hit me.  In fact, I don’t remember much of my life before age 6 and some of the events between 6 and 10 are a bit spotty memory wise.

I remember falling down and busting my lip around age 3.  I still remember the feel of my swollen lip on my tongue.

I remember that we moved from Clarendon Avenue when I was around the age of 6.  I don’t know why we moved.

I remember crying to go to school with my brothers.  I was the youngest.  Maybe I remember crying but maybe I only remember being told I cried. I was barely preschool age but, since I could read, I was allowed to go to school with them and, as a result, I constantly skipped grades and ended up an 11 year old in a class of 16 year olds.  To say I didn’t fit in was an understatement.

I remember my father being late to pick me up from school one day.  Maybe it was the same school I cried to go to. I don’t remember where my brothers were.  It was raining and I had to pee so I did by standing in the rain and allowing the rain to wash away the evidence.  Maybe it was that day, maybe it was on another rainy day that Wayne M pulled my panties down and touched me and I cried.  He showed me his penis. He was older, much older.  I remember telling my father.  I remember my father’s anger.  In the small town, he knew people, and as a cop he knew even more people.  Wayne got a talking to and so did his parents.  I find it interesting that I remember Wayne’s name.

I remember humming the tune to “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth” and getting backhanded by my father because he had told me several times to stop it and I had not but merely lowered my humming voice then changed to breathing the tune.  We were in a car and I was sitting in the middle of the back seat.  Had I leaned back into the seat instead of breathing the tune down his neck I think I could have gotten away with that one.  We didn’t celebrate Christmas.

I remember the first time I saw snow.  1981.  We were living on Garrison Boulevard in Baltimore with my grandparents.  I thought it was the most beautiful sight:  little tufts of cotton drifting down.  I stood at the window in awe.  I lost my reverence when I had to slosh through snow to the bus stop and later when I had to scrape it off my car and shovel it from driveways.  I now live in Arizona and today it is the middle of the last week of the year with the promise of 69 degrees.  Snow is overrated.

I don’t remember the first time my daddy hit me but I remember the last.  It was on a Sunday.  We were living in America then, my parents, my second brother, and I.  Due to circumstances we had to move from Garrison Boulevard.   A family in the same religion we belonged to invited us to temporarily live with them while we looked for another home.   I remember their kindness although I don’t remember their name.  I remember their daughter who was in like with my brother.

What I remember about that day was that we had gone, as a family, to a religious service.  After the service, in front of the house we lived in, still in the car, my father held a forced family meeting.  Blah, blah, blah.  That is all I remember from his speech.  I do not remember the reason he turned around and smacked me across my face.  Maybe I mouthed off.  I am Aries.  As was he.  As was my mother.  But my brand of Aries has had me defiant for most of my life, refusing to be intimidated.

The second my father hit me, I understood something neither my mother nor my brother understood:  I understood that we were now in America and we were guests in the home of someone my father looked up to, someone who would not have approved of my father’s form of discipline.  I knew, without knowing how, that my father could no longer hurt me as he had in Jamaica.

So, without warning or premeditation, I hit him back.

I hit him from my power position in the back seat directly behind him.  I hit him again and again while I yelled and cried.  I scratched him with my nails, slapped him and hit him with closed fist as the years of the emotional and physical pain of being “disciplined” with belts, electrical cords, fists, and open palms came roaring back.  I fought like a hellcat, but maybe that was all in my mind.  I don’t remember if I drew blood.

I remember the shocked silence in the car afterwards.  I felt my brother’s fear and my mother’s anxiety.  My mother shrank as small as she could in an attempt to meld with the passenger door.  My brother, all 6’ 3” of him, hunkered down beside me in the back seat.  I could only see my father’s head and right shoulder.

In a quiet voice, brilliantly controlled for a man who had just gotten his ass handed to him by his favorite little girl, my father told me that I could not live with them anymore, that I had to move in with my brother.

That was fine with me.

Fear is an immense motivator and a great controller.  My father ruled us in fear for all of our young lives. That day something let me know that I no longer needed to be afraid of my father, that all the years of being cowed by him, cringing in his presence, making myself as small as possible, and being quiet, were over.  That “something” also let me know that I could now stand up in my own strength and let my light shine brilliantly.  It has taken over 30 years to know and own this as, even though I stood up to my father as a teenager, I still carried the energy of deferring to a man especially one in seeming authority.

Ah life…it has been an interesting journey but I would not change a thing.  JK – I would listen to my intuition more as it tried to steer me away from dead end relationships with controlling men.   But, having hit that wall so many times, I am now an expert in men, or, at least, men like my father.   I can easily spot a controller, a man with low self-esteem, low self worth, with money issues, sexual imbalance, disrespect for women, trust issues…. I could go on.  Sometimes all it takes is eye contact.

I am now able to see the relationships of others, not as a man and woman (insert whatever sex you want here) getting together but as issues coming together for a resolution.  I have the ability look beyond the drama and the words and read between the lines and accusations to the core issues that are calling for balance.  I clearly see how I played out my own daddy (core) issues with the men I dated, slept with, or married.  My father was a bully but without him I could not have had all this personal front row training.

I can feel my father’s presence as I write this.  That sentence about getting his ass handed to him was his suggestion.  That man has a great sense of humor.  I am grateful to him for that and also grateful to him for showing me some ways in which a fearful man can act towards his children and his spouse.  These lessons cannot be learned from a book.

Months after I beat up my father, my brother got shot and went to jail then prison and I had to move back in with my parents who then had their own place.  Apparently we still had work to do.  But that is another story altogether.

Courtni ~ The Soul Muse

The Onion

I’m trying to decide between watching “Finding Dory” or “The Free State of Jones” or reading the latest Michael Connelly book “The Wrong Side of Goodbye”. Distractions. I know. I know. Zoning out seems more preferable to writing this but the words are racing through my head, almost falling over themselves and I know I won’t get any peace and quiet unless I write. So, here goes….

I had a guy from OfferUp make me a wrought iron courtyard gate. He did a great job but the color he painted the gate did not match the sample of actual paint I had given him. It was way lighter. His claim, “They said this is the closest they could come,” didn’t sit well with me so I got the manufacturer info from the can, went to the paint store in south Phoenix, and had them mix the paint. I told them the story about the guy lying to me about them not being able to mix the right color and, while waiting on my paint, we spent some time chatting about how dishonest people are and what I should do about my gate. I even told them I suspected that the guy used leftover paint from a job he did before mine. I had bought the can of paint with me so they looked up the batch number and showed me that it was a stock color for them. I left the paint store, with a gallon of the perfect color of paint, feeling vindicated and self righteous.

That was Friday. So the entire weekend I ruminated about a few things: How to approach my welder about his dishonesty; how to get my gate painted the correct color without hassle; how to handle paying him for another job he was currently doing for me; how to get the money back that I paid for the new gallon of paint and, most important of all, figuring out how I attracted the experience to me. Why did that happen? I asked that question not in a victimy sort of way but in an enlightened “I own this shit” sort of way. Actually, I can’t lie to you, I played the whiny victim for about an 37½ minutes then got down to serious business: Did I attract this because I believed that people of his ethnicity are dishonest? Hmmm…If so, let me clear that belief. Layer 1.

So…Today my welder came by to drop off the items from the second job and I asked him “Why did you lie to me about the paint? Didn’t you think I would find out?” I then accused him of using leftover paint from a previous apartment job. I was in rare form. The look on his face was classic confusion. Long story short: He showed me the invoice which proved he bought the paint after I had given him the job. We discovered that he had NOT gone to the main paint store I had gone to but had gotten the paint from his steel supplier. THEY were the ones who lied to him about not being able to match the sample as they only carried stock colors. HE had NOT lied to me. I apologized profusely but now I feel like shit about accusing him.

Outcome: On his own, without being cajoled, he offered to re-paint the gate the correct color AND refund me the price I paid for the gallon of custom paint by discounting the cost from the amount I owe him for the small job. The win for him is discovering that at the paint store in south-central Phoenix paint costs 33% less per gallon and custom colors are a breeze.

BUT that is not all! I was wallowing in self-loathing and guilt tonight when I asked for help to really see what was underneath the experience. Seriously – what really happened and why? Last week I remember asking “What should I say to him? How should I approach this?” There might have been guidance but since I was so focused on the belief that he had lied, seeing that fact as the only reality, I was totally deaf to guidance and any alternate ways of thinking. My questions were also not broad enough. Had I asked to see the big picture or asked for clarity, I would have been open to it. But, nooooo, I was so sure he lied and I just wanted to know why I drew the experience to me and also how to get my way, get my money back, and get him out of my life.

So, after I asked for help this evening it quickly came to mind that sometimes I expect the worst. I do tend to run negative scenarios in my head that have nothing to do with the way I want things to turn out. Sometimes I spend minutes on these “negative daydreams” (way more than 17 seconds) but I usually catch myself and laugh. I don’t remember running negative scenarios about my gate…but…maybe I did. So, I could have created it that way. Layer 2.

Tonight, as I was distracting myself by sweeping my floors while simultaneously feeling drawn to see a nightmare enhancing movie or read a nightmare producing book about rape in order to avoid writing this, the core dropped in. Not just layer 3 but the big daddy of realizations: Polarity! For me, life is black or white, good or bad. I see what is wrong, what must be healed, what must be made “good”. I see the negative in all. If you are a healer you know exactly where I am coming from: If someone isn’t sick or unbalanced, you have no income. Right? I am now being shown that those beliefs are the old ways of thinking. Layer 3.

Then quickly ANOTHER realization, deeper and more profound (and harder to follow) than layer 3: I MUST look for and focus on the perfection, the good, the wholeness of someone or something! I don’t know about you but I am no Pollyanna. If a dog has his teeth in me I am not going to say “Awww, nice teeth, strong grip.” But the Pollyanna part of me believes, wants to believe, or, is being asked to believe that I can avoid being in a dog-bite situation by seeing the good in all. That’s a bit much to embrace all at once but I can take it one day at a time, or, one thought at a time. Layer 4.

Almost a year ago a mentor told me I would soon realize that healing is about seeing the balance, the perfection, essentially recognizing there is nothing to heal. Again, I don’t know about you but, for this 20 year RN trained in allopathic healing, this approach seems a bit too “rose colored glasses” however, I am willing to try on a pair. Despite my proclivity towards negative thinking, my life is pretty good – things manifest easily and doors open almost miraculously. I’m excited to see what more I can manifest when I change my NEGitude and don those rose colored glasses. It wouldn’t hurt right? It can only get better and better.

Could I have personally avoided having my gate painted the incorrect color? So much internal realization and growth has come from it that I am glad it happened. No, not glad-glad, not jumping-for-joy glad, but appreciative of the realizations glad.

Although I can’t quite see the direct correlation between believing that someone lied to me when they didn’t and the ultimate realization of needing to see all as perfect I do know that each layer unearthed deep personal beliefs I needed to be aware of. I might see a clear correlation later.

I think I am done wallowing.

SH!T STORM
Well, it obviously did not stop there.
Later, as I re-worked the paragraph where I had accused my welder, the energy hit the fan. I felt pressure in my solar plexus first (3rd chakra), like a fist or a ball. Breathing became a little difficult. I then felt a constricting pain in my throat (5th chakra) with increased difficulty breathing. Then tears. Lots of them. Suddenly emotional pain from an unknown source washed over and through me but, as I sat on my couch lost in this pain, I kept seeing pictures of 2 selenite wands my mentor had given me along with a Lemurian crystal. After the third or so picture flashed through my mind I got up and got the stones, placed the Lemurian in my lap, and crisscrossed the selenite wands at my throat as I continued to cry and sniffle. The pain in my solar plexus left quickly but the throat pain remained for a while. Memories of times I had falsely accused and had been falsely accused flashed through my mind: Being shunned and ostracized, hangings, beheadings, beatings, burnings, death, and something about abuse of power as royalty.

Whew! I could try to explain this to you and you could try to explain it to me and we could spend time to ANAL-ize it but those words don’t even capture 1% of the intensity of the experience. The first stuff I wrote was a neatly packaged logical 3D explanation but this unexpected chaotic emotional expulsion originated deep from the bowels of time. I trust that you are getting the elimination/alimentary allegory as the experience felt like I was having 10 minutes of emotional diarrhea while squatting over a galactic black hole. Something moved. Something huge. An energy has cleared and I am forever changed. After the pain from the emotional storm abated, I felt another sensation deep in my heart (4th chakra), an opening.

In the high of the calm, I texted my welder to let him know that I will paint the posts. I also let him know that I appreciated him. This wasn’t an altruistic gesture motivated by pity or guilt. My offer was heartfelt as this is also my creation.

Courtni ~ The Soul Muse

BTW, if you feel inclined, tap into the energetic clearing for yourself and notice what you notice. If you actually get diarrhea – celebrate! I look forward to reading your experiences.

Please feel free to share the blog article if moved.

A charm

I thought it interesting that the first report of abnormal cells came at the time I got a checkup in preparation for sleeping with the most interesting man in the world. I called my OBGYN ex boyfriend with the news but he told me not to worry and to just apply my hormones intra-vaginally. So I did and forgot about it.

I’m not sure what prompted my second PAP smear months later at another doctor but the news was the same. Abnormal cells. Unwilling to give it energy I kept forgetting the word “abnormal” and called them “unusual” cells. Maybe that was denial. Yet I could not see a future with cervical or vaginal cancer. I was not able to picture meeting an awesome man, falling in love, and having him take care of sick ol’ me. I literally could not see it.

So after the most interesting man in the world came back into my life then got booted out again, I started looking deeply at my past patterns with men and the way I was dishonoring my body…starting with him.

I remember the break-up texts, the “you can’t commit” phone calls, the wanting and missing him, the confusion, and the crying. I remember reading the energy of his words as he promised that he could commit. I remember feeling so sad that he still didn’t realize how much I know and could feel beyond what was being said. I remember it all yet it feels like it happened to someone else – to another version of me.

Even though I work in an allopathic medicine environment I know that those unusual cells were only a symptom of a larger SPIRITUAL or energetic imbalance. Radiation, chemotherapy, or surgery could only treat the symptoms, not the source – a source I suspected was way deeper than any blade could penetrate. So in May I had a chat with Rose, a friend and psychic, whose service I had used for over 15 years. She saw the origin of the imbalance and cleared it with my permission. Peter. His name came readily to my mind and I remembered him clearly despite the years between us. I also remembered the dishonor.

Months before my session with Rose I created a homeopathic remedy from my own body for sub-lingual and vaginal application. I meditated. I spoke to my body and let it know my intent for health. I apologized to my body. During this time I became acutely aware of how I responded to and interacted with men and how I used my sexual-creative energy.

I am different now. I can feel it. That woman, the one who wanted that man and the others after who did not quite fit, is no longer here. I AM here.

When the phone call came last week I couldn’t help but smile. Three PAP smears in less than 3 years. This one perfect.

Courtni ~ The Soul Muse

Prologue: Mirror, Mirror

July 3, 2012: The connection was instant. His energy felt comfortable, familiar, known…like someone I’d been with before, someone I could hang out with for the night, for a lifetime, or for longer… an old memory.

I invited him to join me and for a moment he seemed taken aback – maybe those were words I had plucked out of his head. We sat, we laughed, we touched, we drank, and he buried his face in my bright red purse.

“Has anyone told you that you look like that Dos Equis guy?” I asked him.
He had been told – many times.

We left that place and went to another where we acted as if we’d known each other forever. In this place no one else existed but us. He held me securely as we danced – my legs around his waist. As he bent backwards on strong muscular legs I felt safe, protected, and secure. We behaved badly. We almost got kicked out.

Halloween October 26, 2013: I invited him to my neighborhood party and we dressed up – me as a sexy cavewoman and him as “The most interesting man in the world”. I felt proud to be with this tall, dark, handsome man.

Later that night, at the same place as July 2012 but on better behavior, we danced. He leaned back, his arms around me. This time, even though my legs were on the floor, I struggled out of his embrace. I felt unsafe. Same man. Same place. Same me. What changed?

October 27th 2013: After a night of “no” – no condom, no sex and No! No! No! I woke up exhausted with him sleeping peacefully beside me. Following breakfast we kissed long and hard. Unknown to either of us then that was our last kiss.

“I’m glad you came,” I said.
“But I didn’t come Baby,” immediately echoed in my head. I immediately repeated, in his voice, the words I had heard in my head.
“How did you know what I was thinking?” He asked.
I laughed.  How did I indeed.

It was about a week later, after reading journal entries from previous years, when I realized that I was the one who had changed. I wanted and knew I deserved more and I no longer trusted him. Remembering the lies that pulled us apart the year before, I became extremely angry at myself and at him and I let him know. I told him that I needed more. I wanted a committed relationship. I wanted to be honored and not treated like a sperm depository.

But as much as I wanted to I could not make my stuff his fault, I could not make him the bad guy, and I could not make him responsible for my happiness. With his actions he was just showing me the truth about myself. I later emphasized to him that I did NOT want him to change for me and that it was NOT about him. I had matured enough to know that life didn’t work that way. I knew that I first needed to look at and fully heal the deep wounds of my self-worth and self-esteem and to also honor myself before I could attract a man who had also healed those parts of himself and who honored and valued me in the ways I truly deserved and desired. It was now or never.

Through this man I lived the truth that what I put out was indeed what I got back. Using the deep hidden beliefs about myself, my energy had called out to the Universe and it delivered to me the perfect man. Not the man I said I wanted but a man who was perfect for who and where I was at that time – an identical energetic match. He was the ideal reflection for me, a tall handsome reflection, who catapulted me into massive change. It took me a year and a half to fully see the gift of this reflection, to see what this man was showing me about myself, and to shift my old habits of belief, actions, and thoughts. How could I not be grateful for him? How could I not love him?

Had I focused on his imbalances and indiscretions or on what he did to me I would have failed to see that gift of his reflection and missed the opportunity to change. Of course another just like him would have hopped off life’s merry-go-round and into my life. Sometimes, even though I know it is not necessary, I think about seeing him again, one last time, to gauge just how far I’ve come and to express my profound gratitude, face to face, for the gift of him.

I recently attracted another man into my life – taller and even more handsome. Our bond was heartfelt and immediate. With him I felt a soul-sharing connection so intense and profound that, for about a month, I could not tell which were my thoughts and feelings and which were his.

As I take the time now to look deeply at and heal, in myself, the issues of fear of commitment, unavailability, abandonment, and a love for isolation and aloneness that this new man is reflecting to me, I wonder “How does it get any better than this?”

Whenever I want to blame others for “making me” feel a certain way or for treating me badly I know to first look at and heal the way I feel about myself and the way I treat myself. Life then has no recourse but to bring to me better reflections of the healed self I am becoming.

And life, my beautiful life, gets better and better each day.

Courtni ~ The Soul Muse

Coming Up Oranges

I had paintbrushes in my hand – clean, wet, brushes –dipped only in water.  I was about to paint something.  My attention was sidetracked by a sound from the next room and I went to investigate.  I returned to the drawing still hesitant to get color on the brushes and the canvas.  I heard another sound, an angry meow, and, looking down, saw a cat between my thighs.  Angry cat face – its teeth bared in protest, a soundless hiss.  I covered the cat with a black cloth and hit it on the head.  I woke up touching myself.

Instantly, in the semi-darkness of my room, I came to know two things: My vaj-jayjay was angry at me, and, although in childhood I was very artistically creative, I was now more inclined to express the energy in that area of my body sexually rather than creatively.

Had I not recently gotten the news of “abnormal cells” from my doctor, the dream of an angry cat between my legs would have had me getting up to see if my 15 year old cat was low on water…again.

The results of my pap smear led me to look deep into myself and into that part of my body and energy anatomy where the imbalance lay.   I was forced to look at relationships – my earliest male relationships with both my father and my pedophile neighbor; my inability to commit; my habitual dishonoring of marriage and other unions; my superficial relationship with my invisible mother.  I saw the way I wielded my sexual energy: like a sword – powerfully overwhelming and sharp, or like a trap.  I investigated how I expressed my creativity – buying but not using paints, creative tools and canvasses; fabric bought with curtains in mind often remained folded in a closet until sold at a garage sale or given to charity; ideas birthed in excitement suffered slow deaths.  Money and finances were often left up to men or luck as I had no clue – bounced checks, bankruptcy, and foreclosure were the results.  These were all classic second (sacral) chakra challenges.

I had been obsessed with orange for about 3 years now: orange purses, orange pillows, orange vases, orange juice (this even from childhood), orange clothing.  Orange – my creativity needing expression, my sexuality needing alignment, my finances needing an overhaul, my relationships demanding balance.  Orange – for caution, for slowing down, and for prudence.  Thinking it was about fashion and décor, I ignored the signs.

At our neighborhood Halloween party this year the palm reader looked at my fingers.  “You need to create!” she almost shouted, “Your fingers, your hands need to sew, to garden, to play the piano….”

I looked at her, feeling smug in the knowing that I had sewn the sexy cavewoman costume I was wearing.  I had sewn it by hand as my sewing machine was broken.  I was creating like a mo-fo.

Her words – almost of alarm – come back to me sometimes.  No longer feeling smug, I sit with them realizing that if I do not continue to clear the blocked energy from my sacral chakra, if I continue to be who I have always been, and, if I continue to behave as I have always behaved, I will suffer or die. Not that death is a bad thing.

As a nurse I know the implications of “abnormal cells” and as an intuitive/healer I also know that I must first look at and heal the root cause as the physical body is the expression of the spirit.  I feel much gratitude to the man who recently indirectly assisted by reflecting that imbalance to me in a way that I was forced to look at it dead on.  I am also grateful to another man who gifted me with softness, sweetness, nurturing, and gentleness I was unused to.

As the year closes I find myself releasing more than energies, people, habits, and things.  I know I am also releasing life as I have known it.

I look forward to my birth.

Courtni  ~The Soul Muse

Integration

I had a reading a while back where the intuitive told me I tended to keep parts of my life separate, fragmented, similar to the way I did with food on my plate as a child.  The yams were not to touch the rice and heaven forbid if the meat touched anything.  If rice ‘n peas (beans) were cooked together (a delicious Jamaican dish) I would still pick out and eat the beans by themselves.

Recently I determined that I was done fragmenting my Self.   I had been on the “spiritual path” for so long I had forgotten what it was like to fully feel the rest of me.  Not only that but much like a religionist in their outlook and actions towards those not believing in “The Way” I had become judgmental towards those not on “a spiritual path” and a downright stick-in-the-mud.   Last month I began using what I have learned on my path in practical ways to help me find my perfect home.  I had decided then to allow my spirituality to infuse into every component of my existence.  Once that decision was made the Universe rolled into action giving me the opportunity to walk my talk.

A text from a friend/lover today read “U wanna go to the Ronald McDonald house gala tomorrow night?  My business partner is on their board.”

Immediately pardoning the last minute invitation, (What? You think that an electrifying woman such as I would be without plans and alone on a Saturday night?) I felt excited, pleased, flattered, and then panicked.  OMG I have nothing to wear!  I rushed to my closet thinking that the perfect dress would just materialize but no dice.  In my mind’s eye I saw myself years ago when I was “non-spiritual”, strutting into places like galas, formals, balls, dressed to the gills or rather undressed below the gills – usually in a form-fitting, body-baring, low-cut sleeveless black dress (if you could call what I wore a “dress” in those days) while eyes in the room turned as if to ask “Who is that interesting woman?  Is she a model?” Actually someone did ask that on one occasion when I showed up to a physician’s formal on the arms of a surgeon acquaintance but that is beside the point.

With my narrow focus on spirituality to the exclusion of everything else, and with my customary fragmenting of Self, I no longer thought of myself as that “interesting woman” who went to formals in black dresses even if the trend of the times demanded pastels or brightly colored flowery print.   I had thrown away or given away that part of myself symbolically by donating all my formals to charity.   I was a “Spiritual Seeker”, that frivolous part of my life was over, and I was now more comfortable in jeans and T shirts – judiciously eschewing the flowing purple, gold, or chakra colored caftans favored by some spiritual seekers.   If a man told me I was beautiful, pretty, or whatever, I wondered if he was psychic – able to see the “real” me and being attracted to the brilliance of my inner light.  My physicality was hardly a focus for me.  Also I no longer attracted men who went to formals as I didn’t think I belonged in that world.  In fact, until a few months ago, the men I attracted were other spiritual seekers who had major poverty issues.

I just remembered that only yesterday, as I exited an upscale furniture store, I silently declared that I wanted to be with someone who did the formal thing once in a while and who would be proud to take me along as his date – someone who was also comfortable in that world.  Note to self: When you ask for stuff, be prepared to receive it.  I should have been more prepared.  Preparation would have meant a sexy dress in my closet or at least shopping for one yesterday to go with the thought.   I guess I could still shop for one tomorrow but I’ve already told him I “had plans” which is a face-saving code for “I have nothing to wear but am too embarrassed to let you know that.”

I know one day on the dance floor or at the bar of a fashionable event I will tell him the truth and we will laugh.  He might then offer to go shopping with me to get a dress for me to wear to our next chic event.   My eyes will sparkle with joy knowing that there is a “next event” and he wants me there with him.  But that is beside the point.

I sense now a coming together of Self, an integration.  No longer am I just a down-to-earth spiritual seeker – nor was I ever just that.  I choose now to consciously see myself as ALL THAT I AM all at once.   I’m not yet sure how my life will look and be with this integration but since I AM all that I am sure I will be just fine.   All the little fragmented boxes I had put myself into over the years of seeking now have no sides or lids but I think I am smart enough to know what persona goes with which occasion much like wine parings.   I have, however, been known to drink white wine with red meat because I do not much care for reds but that is beside the point.  Spirituality is entwined in my entire life as I AM a spiritual being and I will continue to use what I have learned, as I stay on my path, to enjoy the hell out of this physical experience.

November, December, and January – ‘tis the season for frivolity – an excuse to eat, drink, be merry, and dress up.  I do think it is time for this spiritual being to go shopping for body baring black dresses and beautiful accessories.  Maybe I will get the latest Vogue or Glamour magazine.  I have no idea what the trends are nowadays and I will buck them as usual but I really don’t want to be too far behind the times.

Courtni  ~ The Soul Muse

Wisdom’s Tree

(Read this AFTER reading Pare Down)

Today I had a strong urge to call my friend Geoff whom I had not heard from in over a year.   Ours is an unlikely friendship spanning nearly 10 years – a ZZ Top looking tattooed ex-drinking ex-drugging biker and a tall willowy Jamaican nurse.  I was an artist when I met him – Rock Artist, I called myself.  I needed some pointers, knowledge about sandblasting – knowledge he shared willingly, openly, without the thought of competition.  We even worked on a few large projects together using his mobile sandblasting equipment and tractor. It is an easy friendship, a bright sacred thread in my life’s tapestry.  Sometimes we would not hear from each other for months, years, and then a quick phone conversation would be enough to catch up – to reconnect.

“Do you have a man in your life yet or are you still waiting for me?”

That question, the perpetual dance in our friendship, made me laugh out loud.

“Of course I am still waiting for you,” I answered, giggling.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure.”

Then without a drawing a breath, he said “It is good to hear your laughter.  I’ve missed you.”

My eyes filled with tears – tears of love, of joy, and of the memories over the years of our improbable friendship.  And I, the one who usually misses no one, replied “I miss you too,” and knew in my heart that it was true.

He talked about his life, his travels, his need to use a blanket at night where he was.  He talked about missing the Valley.  There, there was too much green, he said, he missed the shades of browns.  We talked about my life – looking for a home.  I described a house to him, a house I was “in like” with.  I talked about the courtyard, the backyard, my mind transported as I walked through it again.  I talked about its smallness.  He thinks all one needs is a bedroom and a fridge but we both agreed that really one needs a kitchen, bathroom, living room and bedroom. 

I did not tell him I was trying to decide between houses.  I did not tell him I had asked for unmistakable guidance.  But as our conversation mellowed he unknowingly dropped a seed of wisdom.  After saying that the Canadians were buying up homes “right and left” in the Valley, and that it took him a while to sell a rental he had as it was only 1200+ square feet, he said:

“But I don’t care about “the market”.  I don’t follow trends or get into the stories.  I live my life for me, doing what I want, what feels good for me.  If I can come home at the end of the day and smile when I walk through my door, then that makes me happy.  That is what it is all about.  That is enough.”

The seed he dropped caught in my throat, constricting it and bringing tears to my eyes.  I swallowed and it fell into my heart. 

“That is the most profound wisdom I have heard all day,” I said, my voice catching.

“I’m probably the only person you’ve spoken to all day,” he sounded pleased, flattered, surprised.

“Yes you are.”

We laughed and inside me the seed grew into a tree.  It would have taken a while to explain to him why his words were so appropriate and, since he could not see the tears that had welled up on the brink of spilling over, I saved the explanation for another time.

My tears fell for a while after we hung up.  They flowed freely – watering  Wisdom’s tree.

Pare Down

A week ago I looked at a house.  I had transferred with my job to a new location in town, a location I had always loved.  Tired of the drive from my current home I begin looking for a place to buy.  The house I looked at was a bit small yet I felt at home there.  The intimate front courtyard greeted me like an old friend as the cool south facing porch beckoned me to sit, take some respite from the Arizona sun, bide awhile.  A stately museum Palo Verde graced the front yard in the east, providing dappled patterns of shadow and light on the ground – sol y sombra.  I quickly walked through the house to the backyard and was enveloped in deep shade of the porch that ran almost the entire length of the home – north and east.  An outdoor fireplace, a raised planter, open desert behind the home – it was as if I had created this yard myself.   I sighed deeply – a sigh not unlike the sighs that escape my lips whenever I looked at new homes and quickly scan through interiors to get to the prize – to the outdoors, to Nature.

I made me smile to picture myself on the front porch reading a book or drinking tea, my cat at my feet – or chasing lizards in the courtyard.   At nearly 15 she never catches them now.  I felt me in the back yard on a cool fall night sitting, a throw over my shoulder, mesmerized by the flames in the fireplace.  Home.

 “Care to share? What are your thoughts? ” my realtor/friend asked. 

I had no thoughts, I could only feel.   A bit annoyed at his intrusion on my daydream, I stated “I don’t care to share.” 

I then smiled at him, as if to say “It is not about you,”– a running joke we have between us – and forgave his intrusion.   I took a second, longer look inside the home.  It was too small.  What about resale?  What about my “stuff”?  Am I buying right for the market?  Do I like this place just for the zip code?

“Pare Down.”  I heard the words in my head then, not as a formed thought but more like a gentle command. I have friends who regularly “hear” things but this is only the second time in my adult life that I have heard words between the thoughts – words not my own.   After the first instance of hearing those words, everywhere I looked in the home thinking that it was too small and that my things will not fit, I heard “pare down.”  Hearing the words repeatedly did not get annoying.  It was as if they were now a part of me, a mantra, a prayer.

But stubbornly, in my mind, I appealed to my guides, my dispensers of wisdom: “Give me a sign.  Make it so that there is no mistake that it came from you.  Help me KNOW the correct decision to make about the houses I have seen, and specifically about this house.” 

As I drove away from the house I saw a rainbow to the east.   They weren’t getting off that easily.

The next day I looked at yet another house.  The layout was better, the rooms bigger, and the price less.  Yet it did not feel like home.  The yard was nice but I could not see or feel myself there.  After a perfunctory look around, my heart not in it, I glanced again at the kitchen.  There, above the stove, was a wall hanging I had not seen earlier.  It read “Here is Your Sign.”  My laughter exploded in the house competing with the TV that the owner had left on.  

I had to explain my realtor/friend why I was laughing.  But was it a sign to buy this house or the other one?  He wondered aloud.  I was confused until I remembered how I had felt the day before at the other house.

“Pare Down.”  I knew what the words meant.  I also knew who transmitted them.  I knew that paring down was the only way to comfortably live in that home.  I also knew, beyond the obvious, that buying that house, in that location at that time would be the beginning of a new life. 

“Pare Down” – get rid of the dross, the flack, the stuff that makes you heavy, that weighs you down – people, beliefs, things. 

“Pare Down” – lighten up, change, reinvent yourself. 

Yesterday I cut my hair.  It’s a start.   

Today I had a strong urge to call my friend Geoff whom I had not heard from in over a year.  So I did.

Courtni ~ The Soul Muse