Guides and Angels

I have had hundreds of dreams where I am on my way home. Penniless, maps lost, seemingly stuck in isolation . Quite a nightmare.

So I asked my angels and spiritual guides to show up in my dreams. And lately, I have had wonderful helpful “people” showing me the way, helping me in any way conceivable. When I wake up, I marvel at their kindness, and the feeling that they are old friends really –

-and today I know: they are my angels of course!

Happy sigh

***

And a recent poem:

The worried boy

You have wanted it to end
for a while
maybe years to be honest
and better be honest when it
comes to the end

The end shall be clear
and make an impact you say.
No mess to mop up after you
No wrinkly sweaty sheets
and God forbid, no worry-face-boy

But the ocean rises outside
the pretty-please curtains
and soon it may crash through
your Chippendale chairs
and the Ming Ming Ming

And what about
your scout diploma with acorns
moans the worried boy within .
and the criss crossed cones
and the faded red badge:

Lone Wolf Tribe

Hide and Seek

For those who love to play with metaphors – I wrote this hide-and seek – and FIND-poem some years ago.

Convincing

I challenge you to find me I said,
Behind whatever disguises I offer!
I will find you, he said, even if you hide
In the crack between centuries.

I turned myself into a deserted
Garden, rusty iron fence with croaking
Hinges, whining and complaining at
Human touch. Dry and brown spotted
Leaves on the ground, cracked flagstones
With tired yellow grass

I filled the sad house with mold and cold,
Dust and rust, and hid my heart in the cellar.
My disguise was so convincing that I
Disappeared into it, I became the deserted
House with coleoptera, spider webs as curtains,
I forgot it was a game

For eons I forgot
Then – one day the sky was filled with pink
Like a bed sheet of happiness drawn all up to one’s nose
And you sun-rained through the cracked roof
Into my creation!
You met me in the cellar stairs
And grinned
And I remembered that I thought I could be lost!

How did you recognize me, I asked
And you just shook your head at such
Silliness
What took you so long, I said
And you said: beloved, we just parted
My heart burst out in daffodils
We frolicked for quite a while
And then I wanted to play hide again
It feels so darn good to be

Found

And seen through

 Feel free to share, provided you give me credit for it:)

PERFECTION

Inner Images and Sounds

Hi all

This blog shares my explorations with my mind, memory and body – to dissolve and release imprints of trauma in the cells. I have been shown clearly that any symptom comes from a memory of trauma that had to be stacked away when it happened – I have great respect for those parts of me that hid those parts. Through deep love and non-judgment for these parts, they have opened up for me – and today I will share how a deep inner itching – “Shingles” – came from inner images and sounds that my mind and heart could not be present too – as they at that time were far too frightening and threatening.

We all have those places. It is my experience that sending love to them is possible and healing.

In When Fear Comes Home to Love, I share my path through almost 30 years of explorations – with myself and my patients in therapy. When I sat up in the night when the itching was too overwhelming, I asked for help and opened the book randomly – always trusting that Spirit leads my fingers. They landed here:

Exercise: Giving is receiving

The images we store in our subconscious of the Fuckeat-attacks***, still have the power to put us in a permanent position of alert. This exercise may heal the inner enemy-image, and help us see the scared child within the aggressor – calling for help, just as our own inner Child.

Sit, or lie down. Close your eyes. Allow your breathing to become slow and deep. Put your focus on your heart for a while; know that your loving essence waits for you there. Breathe into this love, expand it. Feel and see it as a light within your heart that expands, embracing you in a cocoon of loving light.

Now visualize your abuser in front of you. If that is too scary, visualize him/her in the arms of their guardian angel. Look for a light-spot within him. When you find it, allow it to expand, until it surrounds him like a cocoon. Now see, within his heart, the image of his own inner child. See the child becoming aware of the light s/he is surrounded by. See her/him relax.

Go with whatever happens.

If you want to, allow the two light-spheres to merge. Remind yourself that the image you see within the light-sphere is a mirror of your own inner child.

Give whatever happens over to the Holy Spirit, or your own Highest Love.

***”Fuckeat” is the name I have given the enemy-archetype of the abuse-variety.

We all have our own inner guides of Spirit. When you faithfully do this work, they will arrange the most wondrous and funny synchronicities for you,, as they do for me.

After having worked a couple of hours in the night with embracing the energies and letting go of some of the images, a completely new sensation filled my chest and solar plexus-area. A feeling of safety the body never has felt in this life. And I had a great dream:

I am having a medical procedure in a hospital The doctor is the epitome of kindness and gentleness. After this, the door opens and a multitude of small children swarm in. I run around and call out: I am a love magnet! And whenever I touch a child, I tell it that now it is glued to me. There is a huge joy in this silly game, and I end up being in the middle of a large heap of giggling children

When I open my door to get the paper in the morning, a child has painted this heart right outside of my door:

I love to end this post with a poem I wrote recently:

The Last Judgment

First
The curve and fragrance of the cupola
The sweetness and dependability of the milk
The age old rhythm of the heartbeat

Landing

Belonging

Middle
You and me in the blue boat
Calm vast sea
Resting in the here – membrane
Between above and below
Looking and knowing
Smiling

Last
Being quietly present all the time
In dreams and awakenings
The knowing:
The Last Judgment
Is Love

 

SPRING CLEANING

The last days, at ca 3pm cest, a huge field of consciousness takes me over, and I start getting thoughts and beliefs: I NEED TO DO SOMETHING

A friend messaged me the same – and that helped me SEE and recognize the invisible belief behind that enormous wave of consciousness

So I wondered about this and found a collective human thought- and as all collective thoughts, it is about God and we being guilty and sinful and needing punishment to pay off that guilt. And that God is not my God, but ancient parts of me believe in him, and I bet these ancient parts are alive in you too

The may be stuck cozily into a room that is named “silliness – I am a rational being, there IS no God” or this room: “ I must do The Right Things-or else” ( what the heck IS The Right Things?) –

Or this room: “God is out to get me – I am full of unnameable sh*t. I MUST not know what I have done, it will be the end of me. “

Yes, and this room:- “ there is nothing I CAN do. But I must DO something!”

The rooms are all splendidly convincingly furnitured and decorated by the ego – the masterdesigner.In some of my rooms I have to roam through endless labyrinths to the toilet – which then is shockfull of sewage.  Since one of my old beliefs is “nobody will listen to me, I have nowhere to dispose of my sh*t.”

 You will have your own rooms, my friend – as long as we believe ourselves to be separate, there will be guilt.

NOW the Corona virus has brought it up in us all to be noticed. That is a good thing: NOW I can look about and wonder how to relate to it with curiosity and wonder:

I wonder how I could draw this energy? Paint it? Allow random words to come from it – place them together in a poesy structure? How could I allow it to move my body?

When we are caught in the belief, we suffer. When we relate to it – in wonder, we are free and creative. We all have that opportunity NOW.

If you answer “ That will NOT help, I will NOT try AND be disappointed” that is just a thought too –  isn’t it?

After having worked with people since 1988 in this way, I know it DOES work, and it has nothing to do with being clever and artistic – just a little willingness to put away these disaster- thoughts for a while, and just play.

We have them, they are not who we are.

Here is a poem I wrote recently – it is a mirror poem, readable from both sides. My friend told me it helped her, so here it is.

SPRINGSONG / 17.4.20

When you don’t know where to go and what to do

sit down and do nothing.

Breathe the calm unfluttering air

and watch the blackbird sucking it all in and swallow it.

Then allow the song to be exhaled in a musical way

 

while you look at a little boy

and watch the happy dog running over the green green field

then get up and breathe that song back inside

you did a great job indeed,

tell yourself that you did a great job

breathing that joyful song out

 

Breathing that joyful song out

tell yourself that you did a great job

you did a great job indeed,

then get up and breathe that song back inside

and watch the happy dog running over the green green field

while you look at a little boy

 

Then allow the song to be exhaled in a musical way

and watch the blackbird sucking it all in and swallow it.

Breathe the calm unfluttering air

 sit down and do nothing.

When you don’t know where to go and what to do

 

For those who are interested in playful non-demanding exercises to deal with fear and resistance, I have written a book just for this times:

Healing Crisis – 108 ways to turn Crises into Possibilities

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blackbird

 

Latest fun synchronicity.

I wrote a poem in my flash-poetry group.  The form is called ‘Specular’, after the Latin for a ‘mirror’, because the second half of the poem uses the same lines as the first, but in reverse order, as if the whole thing is looking back at itself in a mirror.

SPRINGSONG

 

When you don’t know where to go and what to do
sit down and do nothing.
Breathe the calm unfluttering air
and watch the blackbird sucking it all in and swallow it.
Then allow the song to be exhaled in a musical way

while you look at a little boy
and watch the happy dog running over the green green field
then get up and breathe that song back inside
you did a great job indeed,
tell yourself that you did a great job
breathing that joyful song out

Breathing that joyful song out
tell yourself that you did a great job
you did a great job indeed,
then get up and breathe that song back inside
and watch the happy dog running over the green green field
while you look at a little boy

Then allow the song to be exhaled in a musical way
and watch the blackbird sucking it all in and swallow it.
Breathe the calm unfluttering air
sit down and do nothing.
When you don’t know where to go and what to do

****************

You will notice that a blackbird stars in it. And the fun thing is, last week i took a hike in the nearest wood. It is a circular trip, I can choose which way I want to.  Just as I was about to leave the main dirt-trail and enter the wood, I spotted this black wonder.

The Blackbird is my favorite singer in the whole wide world – no-one touches my heart like it. And now it was just 2 meters away. I sneaked my cellphone up, and the minute I clicked the camera, she flew away.

Yesterday, one week later, same day, I walked the same path – but the opposite direction – just like the poem. And now, as I was exiting the wood, at the exact same place, by the exact same spruce, she was there again. This time I prayed to the god of blackbirds and managed to take a photo.

 

London Subway

Having fun today with London subway stations – and borrowing the first verse from Baccus Olypus , a poet friend:

 

SUBWAY

 

(First verse borrowed from Baccus’ poem: )

 

From an opposite seat

he stares when he thinks I’m not looking

He doesn’t know that I hear the bones in his neck grind

and his eyes swivel –

 

And there

They disappear into his head

That sinks into his shoulders

That slump and sink into

His belly

 

Brent Cross

 

My God

Now only his feet are left

And now a sucking black void

 

Gunnersbury – Ickenham

 

I bend down and look closer

 

Canada Water

 

And I am sucked in too

What a bloody sucker I am

 

Cockfosters

 

Too late

 

Epping

 

End station – Killburn

 

with sorry asses chained to their

sins and lamenting their guilt

 

“Welcome workers to

Crystal Bloody Palace

hang your hopes on the peg there,

here is much to do

and atone for

and we will help you with that –

scum!”

 

I looked for the sucking black void

I found it

 

Seen enough

Going back up

 

Sharing Cross

Mile End

Olympia

 

Temple

Embankment

 

Seven Sisters

 

High Gate

 

Green Park

Squiggly Dance for Sorry Asses

I have had the Hater’s shrieks in my ears constantly for over a year.

Writing a poem about it has been very helpful! And also making up new words.

 

******

Tis the voice of Green Hater. I heard him declare:
I am coming to shock you, now please be aware

that I could not care less, no  in truth do I swear

I despise your meek manners, your silverlipped tongue

and your drooping eyelids and songs long unsung

I will come in broad daylight and scare you  quite shitless

I’ll mock your big bum and your wit that is witless

You nincompoop sorryass, daftness itself

I will see you for sure in your innermost hells

where you mope and you moan and you scratch yourself red

and your innermost hope is to drop down all dead.

 

Tis the voice of the writer, I heard her declare:

Oh Hater, I say; be aware, be aware

of my silly-spun heart and my giggly air!

I will spin into rhymes every threat that you throw

ev’ry dullwinded shriek, ev’ry word tasting..OH!!

I will force you to dance with me, following steps

that you never have stepped in your life, little qweps.

I will force you to do what you never have done:

dance to your own silly threats – oh what fun!

I will unnerve your nibs, I will squiggle your goggles

And then then let us have us some heartily bubbles!

 

When I am dead – poem

I am writing this in the the style of e.e.cummings whom I love a lot.

when i am dead and

you pour my ashes under that

special writing bush

i had when i was six

i loved to write stories

 

then and afterwards

if you take a spoon

with ashes a spoon

is enough and

 

if you were an elephant

then would you place your

foot on it and rock tenderly

on it and would you

hold you trunk over it

and blow softly

 

when I am dead

Outside Inside

On the wall outside my window

Is a shimmer of turquoise and yellow

Where does it come from?

I follow the diagonal shape of the light on the outer brown wall

And discover the same shape, but opposite direction

on my inner wall

a  clear reflection

I have to look through the glass in

The window to see it

A lense  a sheet

What is inside is reflected on the outside

There

Here.

Outside  spiderweb-thin leaves

Dance on the clear blue white snow

And I sense this blue cold inside

Being infinitely light caressed by

The dancing steps from last year’s

Waterfall of shedding reds and yellows,

And wispy light pale blue browns

Like the skin on my hands

Dust to dust

Earth to earth

Sun in my heart

And the wind blows right through me