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The throat energy center

bluethroatThe throat energy center deals with expression in every form. There are two sides to expression. Giving and receiving.

Giving is when we send energy out to others. We do that by speaking, writing, singing, playing an instrument, building with our hands, building with the mind, dancing, even in how we dress ourselves. Expression leaves behind solid proof of its existence. Think about how many times every day we send energy out to others. The ability to send comes from the root. It takes confidence, independent behavior, and personal strength to express yourself with honesty. That’s half the picture.

The other half, is receiving energy back. Anyone who reads what an author has written, hears what a musician has composed, played, and recorded, reflects on a painting or form of any kind created by an artist, admires the integrity of a newly made building – is sending energy back to the one who designed it, the one who birthed it. Unlike the material solidarity of the created work, energy sent back to the creator has no solid proof of existence. It does not exist in the 3rd dimension. Its 4th and 5th dimensional, transcending higher as we evolve. This is the ability of the crown of the soul.

Sometimes when we give, we end up feeling drained. Kind of like no one is giving back to us. For whatever reason, we feel safer in the thought that love is not present, so we block out the presence of the unseen, unheard energy sent back to us. This feeling can accompany being spiritually drained, losing your desire to create, and can develop into apathy, numbness, the need for physical proof or its not real. That feeling is real, but we are never alone, even when we want it to be.

In the same manner, the creator can adore the spiritual feedback so much that they get high on the presence of love. The mind expands to allow the unseen and unheard to activate all of the senses, and the senses blend, you feel connected to everything and everyone, the Oneness becomes euphoric. That feeling of Oneness is real, but we are never completely One.

So we learn lessons of love, taught by the self, through daily expression.

Spiritual Q&A

Yesterday I began a video blog so that I can have a much needed Q&A with people who have sent me questions on various spiritual topics. I printed them all up and have them in my lap at the moment. There is enough for 10 episodes of just Q&A 🙂

Teaching metaphysics , I’ve done that for years. My aunt and grandmother before me, did that for years. Having this opportunity to reach out in this media form, is humbling. It strikes many chords in this open soul. No matter what the topic of discussion is, I would like for people to walk away from me knowing that we continuously learn to love others. That is the entire purpose of living. There are some people who take what someone says as gospel, that scares me. There is a healthy need to dive into the unseen, unreached corners of your world, to question everything.

If you would like to submit a question of a spiritual nature in a future episode, contact me on www.facebook.com/cjb1970

Tunnel Vision

A year ago, Adam had a stroke after surviving hypothermia, during a flash flood in the dead of winter. Since then, he has struggled daily to eat. The stroke left him weak on the left side of his entire body and caused his throat to partially collapse. I’ve watched him slowly dwindle away over the past 12 months. For the last three months Adam was very sick. Dropping weight much faster and unable to eat at all, he became so weak and frail that I was able to pick him up, despite him being half a foot taller than me. He couldn’t shower or dress alone. I didn’t know it but, I was doing more than lifting him up in my arms. I was carrying his spirit with me. He was dying. Unable to feed himself, losing precious nutrients and struggling to breathe, he couldn’t recharge his own life force. As his partner, I began to channel my own energy into him. The sicker he got, the stronger my focus became, until keeping him alive became so much of a focus it turned into tunnel vision.

Something in me had been set in motion. It was like life support. I went to work, but a part of me stayed home with Adam. I went to sleep, but part of me stayed awake, because he couldn’t sleep. If I did see flashes of energy, it was always somehow connected to his organs. There was constant cleansing going on, but never enough. Then around the middle of January, everything came to a head. Like a big puss blister, the filth that was killing him emerged.

January 15th he asked me to take him to the ER. He had been extremely thirsty for a month, so much that I wondered if he could be diabetic. He had been coughing up fluid and struggling to breathe for about a week, and then vomiting without any nausea those last two days. His whole body violently shook, as if he would convulse any moment. His skin turned grayish yellow. He was immediately taken back, assessed, and the ER doctor sent him to get a chest x-ray and a CT scan of his abdomen. The news was the worst. The doctor told him he would die soon. He had pneumonia, pancreatitis, colitis, was in heart failure, having a heart attack. All of the organs in his abdomen were already shut down. He was expected to die during the night, within hours.

For some reason, we were both very calm when we got that news. Adam, shaking so bad he could barely sit up, told the doctor in emaciated, short breaths “I’m not going to die.” It was in his eyes. Despite everything, a small light. The hospital staff recognized that light. They wanted him to live as much as he did. As much as I did.

In less than 2 hours, he was admitted to the ICU, started on fluids and given insulin by IV, because his pancreas had shut down. He had an 800 blood sugar. They started him on two IV antibiotics, because his white blood cell count was extremely high. They gave him an injection of heparin in his abdomen. His vitals stabilized, but were showing signs of severe cardiac distress. His heart and lungs, still filled with fluid, were now trying to do the job of everything in his body. Even his brain stopped working like it should have. Sometime around 1 am, he started talking gibberish, randomly putting words together to make a sentence. I could see in his eyes, he knew very clearly what he was trying to say, but what was coming out made no sense. “Did we win?” “December mirage 12.” “78 omelet taco.” He told me about seeing two people in the corner of the ICU room – a woman and a man. No one was physically there, but I do not doubt he saw two people who were watching and waiting for him. Adam had one foot in this world and the other in the next. He had a choice – to be at peace and cross over, or to live and fight a great fight. Either way, those angels were there for him, and they stayed there all night.

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At around 2 am, he couldn’t talk anymore. He mumbled, sticking out his tongue and rolling it around. He was still clearly thinking. His eyes told me that he was still in there, so despite his actions, I wasn’t afraid for him. To be honest, I was completely calm. This was like watching the end, and then a rebirth. Like watching a caterpillar transform into a butterfly. It made me think about what goes on inside a butterfly’s cocoon… it’s safe for a time, hidden from the world, but then the time comes for great change. How it must hurt for soft tissue to transform into knuckled appendages…to grow wings and antennae, in the muck and mucus that is feeding you when you are trapped, unable to breathe. It is a process that must be so painful…agonizing, but necessary for the morphing creature within the shell to unfold, break free, breath new air in new lungs, to be more aware of its place in the world, and then escape. It was like that for Adam, and I think on some level, he was aware of everything.

For a few hours between 2 am and 6 am, Adam completely lost his regal, philosophical, musically talented, culturally enriched, and beautiful mind. I kept a vigil as he lost the words to communicate. He kept his eyes on me, until his body slipped into a coma at about sunrise January 16th. This was the time for his rejuvenation. Ultimate rest, for the shedding of the killing filth. I dozed off on the couch in his room when his eyes closed, and slept two hours.

At around 8 am, the ER staff came up to the ICU and quietly checked in on my sleeping beloved. They were amazed at his strength. One woman cried tears of joy with me. Even as he still slept, we both knew Adam had new life. During his deep sleep, his organs started working again. One that first day, his pancreas started to work, then his liver, then his kidneys, stomach, and finally his intestines.

He started talking and making sense at around 9 am. His vitals, and consistent blood tests showed a one step forward, two steps back kind of progress. Blood sugars came down on their own, and then went up, and then down again. His liver enzymes came down, and went up again, and came back down. His white blood cell count was coming down, blood pressure starting coming down, pulse came down, and by midday, the urge to urinate (not in a bottle but in a toilet) miraculously got him up. Through it all, the nurses kept a vigil, giving heparin, insulin now “as needed”, and changing the IV bags of fluid and antibiotics. He was able to eat and keep down a clear liquid diet on the second day, and then full liquids, and then he started to feel hunger, and wanted to eat solids. He asked to be weighed, wondering how much weight he had lost in the past year. He weighed in at 133. That means he lost 56 pounds. I remember walking the ICU halls that day, looking for a nurse to fix an IV occlusion that I couldn’t fix, passing by patients in those other rooms…my mind registered that they all had one eerie thing in common with Adam. Their skin was grayish yellow.

By this time, his progress became lightening fast. By the end of the second day in ICU, his pancreas was working at 100% without insulin, his liver was working at about 80%, his skin was quickly returning to a normal hue, and he was transferred to a recovery room on the 4th floor where he would stay until discharged.

While on the 4th floor, Adam received three “banana bags” of vitamins and minerals. The IV antibiotics were continued until the last minute on his last day (January 20th), just to make sure the bacteria that caused his pneumonia was completely obliterated. His liver enzymes slowly came down. By day 3 he was asking to be wheeled outside for some fresh air. By day 4, he was walking the hospital floor at least three times a day. and by day 5 when he was discharged, he was walking every few hours or so around the clock.

 

When he was being discharged, the ER staff again came up to meet him, and shake his hand. For Adam, this was the first time he remembered seeing them since he was in their care. I don’t know how to say thank you for saving his life. To the dr’s, nurses, the people who prayed for him like warriors, some of them our friends and family, and some who don’t even know him personally. That to me is the sign of true love – to give without condition or expectation. The miracle continues, as he is now eating, with a vigorous appetite, able to swallow much better now than he has in a year, and he’s regaining weight. He was given extra time. We were given extra time. Here’s to new life…

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Love them – thats a pretty simple command

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There was a time, not too long ago, when I would reread that verse and say in prayer, “Dude, You have got to be kidding me.” Because how could I do anything without grumbling? I was so hurt. I felt so used and betrayed.

Allowing God to shine through you is something supernatural that happens naturally, when you’re looking at life through Heaven’s eyes.  As people, we get our feelings hurt. We like to place other people into social molds, here on Earth.  We need measurement and approval to know worth and value.  As children of God, we know our Worth, and that forgiveness, healing, and salvation is equally available to everyone. That being said, as children of God, we don’t have to live in fear of being sized up according to our physical limitations, or of where we live, what we drive, what we do to pay the bills, how we’re dressed, and we don’t have to live in fear of loving others – no matter their social status or limitations. Love is given to us equally. To give love equally, we just have to be a little brave, and see beyond what the world sees. It’s OK to do that.

Don’t worry. Every now and then, you’re still going to get hurt and disappointed.  People will still not trust you, and occasionally will act out in ways that remind us of our differences, but we’re still all loved equally.

Becoming a “foster parent”

In every situation, God speaks to us. That’s what I find, anyway.  It’s the littlest things, you know? Where grace can be easily found, if you are willing to just do what God puts in your heart.  Sometimes that takes a little courage. It may be especially scary when times are tough and finances, food, and everything you have is in such small amounts. The good news is, all you need is a big heart. God will provide all of our needs when we put our faith and trust in Him (Matthew 6:25-26).

5 days ago, we received some very sad news about some friends of ours who we had not seen in about 8 months. A married couple.  They were our neighbors when we lived in that campground, just ten feet from us. We shared meals together every day, spent time in each others homes every day, and our dogs became best friends, despite both of their breeds (Chihuahua and Jack Russell) making each territorial and dominant.  Our friends became very lost after we moved….they separated, and recently got back together, except during the course of their split, the woman had become a meth addict, even cooking it herself. Her husband took her back knowing that, and within just 3 days of her return, they were busted for making meth, right there in their tiny trailer home.

My husband and I were both shocked.  Everyone we knew from that campground was texting us or contacting us on Facebook to tell us the news. The sheriff, fire department, haz mat team had come, had taken the mans truck, tools, trailer, ripping out all their belongs, hosing down the couple, burning a great deal of things. It was very scary. I’m a little glad I wasn’t there to see it.  Once we got over the shock of the news, both my husband and I immediately thought “What about their dog?” What had happened to her?  Where was she? God was putting a thought in both our hearts: Help Shotzi.

I started asking around. It turns out that at the time of the bust, one of the neighbors there in the campground acted very quickly and grabbed the Jack Russell  mix while the house was being stripped and the couple was being arrested, so she wasn’t in the pound.  She couldn’t keep the dog because she can’t even afford to pay her rent and feed herself. I immediately drove the 45 minute trip to where we used to live and picked up Shotzi. I was worried about bills on the way. Worried about gas money, about the long wait til the next pay day when I could stock the fridge and pantry.  I was listening to K-LOVE, the radio station my car radio stays on 24/7. The female DJ was talking between songs about how, no matter what the situation is in your life right now, God is the Great Provider. I needed that reminder! I knew everything would some how be OK and that this was what God wanted us to do. All we had to do was answer the call, and trust in the process and give it to Him.

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When I first saw her, she immediately remembered me, even though we hadn’t seen her in 8 months! She greeted me with a thousand licks. She was visibly shaken. Her eyes echoed the loss and confusion of not knowing what was happening, why she lost her family. Unlike her normal self, she was docile and malaise. I knew it was from exposure to the meth fumes. It had been 3 days at that point.  During our ride home, I talked to her as if she could talk back to me. I told her how sad I was to hear about what had happened, and how I knew her family could find some peace knowing that she would be staying at our home for how ever long they couldn’t be with her, even if that meant years. I know Shotzi knew I was there to help her. She gratefully crawled in my lap as I drove home, wanting nothing more than to be as close as she could to something she knew was safe.

When I got us home to our little trailer, she recognized it immediately, running up the steps to our door. She saw Adam and instantly rushed to him, giving her whimpers and woofs and chirping barks, telling him everything that had happened in the last few days. Her expression said “Ohhhhh my God, you would not believe what all has happened! You don’t smell the same but I don’t care!”

Lick-lick-lick-lick-lick-lick-lick.

Michi, our chihuahua was thrilled to have his girlfriend back. He seemed to understand without any explanation, that she was going to be a part of our little family, for however long she needed to be.

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I bathed her really good as soon as we got her settled in, to get the meth fumes off of her. They seeped from her skin for a few hours more, but by morning, she was smelling like a Jack Russell, using the bathroom normally and eating and drinking water normally, bouncing up and down, excited to go for walks and play fetch.

The first morning, waking up with her, I caught the most beautiful moment on camera, as Shotzi and Michi both seemed to share a deep conversation with Adam, who was still waking up.

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I think I know what Shotzi was saying. She was saying “Thank you.” Michi was saying “Dad, get up so I can have your nice, warm spot.” And thats what Michi did, as soon as Adam sat up.

We pray for our friends, that they will somehow find the healing they need through all that has happened.  We know the good they are capable of, and that everyone gets lost, and everyone makes mistakes.  I hope they can find peace knowing Shotzi is safe.

Immeasurable Miracles

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I took this photo 2 days ago. With it, I want to talk about healing.

God is the Great Physician. God heals miraculously, spiritually, physically, and emotionally.

Sometimes when we pray for healing, we think the prayer is answered only if the measured miracle happens – the illness disappears.  For a disease, we ask for a cure.  During and after a crisis, we ask for safety and security.  When we are watching a loved one deteriorate at the very end, we ask for a peaceful passing.

I remember 3 months ago, praying for Adam to survive his stroke.  There was a warm feeling that rushed over me when I pleaded with God for a miracle, and I knew Adam would live. I knew he would never be the same, but that there would be a greater good happening as a result.  I didn’t know the details. I didn’t know the when or the how, or the why. I’m thankful for that, too – because waking up every day, seeing his progression as his spirit and his physical body heals,  is such a gift.

As I’ve watched the physical and spiritual transformation happening to my life partner over the last 3 months….over the last month…over the last week….as I come to grips with his newness and appreciate his oldness, I see Healing before our eyes that is without form, immeasurable, and undeniably God.

The world around us says that healing takes place one way, but God will give it His way. In truth, the Healing that comes is for the Glory of our Creator, and it’s only in whatever form God says is right.

It’s not always visible and immediate, but it is given always.  

The Other Side of My Cardboard

 

 

God has really worked on me today…this morning I woke up so unable to celebrate the Easter holiday, apathetic and still buried in sorrow from the loss of my children…

My heart is broken. That hasn’t changed. But, I have so many reasons to celebrate Easter. I know that Jesus is my Savior. I love God, but God loves me a lot more.

If I can add to this cardboard testimony….

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Signs of Equality

8545_10151845914042468_2116655436_nI love the equal signs that have flooded Facebook today!  The message is warm, and ultimately respectful. I so want to see Congress grow a pair…and take action to allow equality in every aspect of life, and marriage is only part of that picture.  How sad it is, that we must rely on a government that was built on freedom from oppression, and developed with fierce diversity….to dictate to us… who we can marry, who we can legally kiss, hold, live a life with, parent with, cherish the golden years with, and die beside.

If you need a social comparison of how bizarre it is…to judge people by who they love…to understand it..

I wasn’t prejudiced in the 70’s growing up, when integrated schools were “new” and “being tried out experimentally in various school systems” in Alabama. I was raised to be open minded, to form bonds with people based on their personality, not by their skin color, not by what they wore, not by what they believed in, not by what political party they supported, or who they married…by my grandparents, who were all born in the 1910’s-1920’s – who must have been raised to be equally respectful of others by their parents and grandparents (born in the 1880’s-1910’s), despite societies norms which purposely divided people according to race in the time of my grandparents and parents, and according to sex in the times of my great-grandparents.

In this day and age, it’s almost ridiculous to think that white women were not treated equally, not given an equal chance as white men to have an education, or to vote, or to work, or to make an equal wage. It’s almost absurd to think that people were once separated in schools, or assigned to different classrooms, simply because their skin colors were not the same. I remember not being able to share a classroom with my neighborhood playmates in the first years of elementary. It’s painful, but it was real. I saw it.  Alabama was one of the last to integrate. It blows my mind personally, to think that if you had the unfortunate experience of being born a natural descendant…if you were of the 3rd or 4th, or 10th generation of a person who was kidnapped and sold off the docks of Africa in the 1700-1800’s, and you were born and raised in the USA, and you worked here, and raised your family… and you were even able to fight for the country in war and die with pride doing so, in other words, if you were “black”, you were still not allowed to cast a vote in my country until the 1960’s.  You couldn’t even use the same bathroom or drink from the same water fountain.  That sounds so painful to read in black and white. The “you can’t be gay” rule is no less ridiculous, absurd…painful.

Please let today be a new beginning for equality in marriage across the USA. Many of my friends and some of my family have been waiting on this moment.

Some of them for a very long time.

It Happened To Me

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I’m not going to spill a sob story. I am going to say things that are hard to read, but what I’m really talking about between the lines, is resilience. Not victimization. Want someone to pity? Find another blog.  That being said, I do want to talk about it, get it out, and close the book on it.

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All my young life, I was a wild, spirited person, living in a quiet outer shell.  I was an intellectual child, wise beyond my years, who loved reading, who loved doing my older aunts high school algebra homework by age 7, and who loved writing. I started writing stories when I was only 10.  It was an escape. But, I had started the habit of escaping at a very young age. I was drawing with charcoal on concrete from as young as…. well, old enough to grasp my fingers around the lump of charred firewood.

From as far back as I can recall, I loved the thrill of a high. After being raped at age 14 by two boys from the high school I attended for just one year in Alabama, I moved to Virginia to live with my mother and, despite her being a chemical dependency nurse at a local mental hospital, I started using drugs like marijuana, and massive amounts of liquor to achieve the escape I longed for.  I became an EMT at a local rescue squad at age 15.  I wasn’t popular in high school. I wasn’t high maintenance, didn’t care about owning only one pair of jeans, and didn’t spend hours in front of a mirror getting ready for school. My priorities were schoolwork, and fulfilling my need to escape reality however I could on any given day. I went through boyfriends left and right between the ages of 15 and 18.  I had been married twice by age 21. I was intensely sexual, and secretly loved every moment of it. I didn’t know why I had always been different from other women my age, but I would find out when I was 22 years old and pregnant with my first child.

I think that the buried memories of my young childhood came during that pregnancy, because it was the first time since it happened,  that the part of my physical body that had been damaged so bad as a child, was once again being controlled by someone else, and like then, I was having constant abdominal pain.

The memory came in my 10th week of pregnancy. My cousin was digging in the closet and pulled out a ukelele that once belonged to my great-uncle Ray, who died when I was 7.  I had always remembered him fondly.  He was gentle and kind to me. He used to find great pleasure in feeding me candied orange slices. I was crazy about those things. He would entertain me by playing this old ukelele. He would sing and play, and I would dance in my little dress that my mother had hand stitched. I can still recall, looking down as I twirled around at his request, watching my little feet turn in my black dress shoes. That memory must have been of a holiday like Easter, because I hardly ever wore a dress.

My cousin playfully strummed the ukelele. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach, and my blood turned ice cold.  Every internal warning bell, every heightened sense of awareness crept through my body starting from that cold pit, until it reached out into every pore of my skin, and I started to sweat. In that moment my ears were ringing, and I was breathing like a stalked animal hiding under a rock, praying to not be seen. I was outside of my body, watching what happened next.

I didn’t say a word. I gave her no warning. I was in a strange haze. I simply grabbed the instrument out of my shocked cousins hands, and smashed it into pieces against the wall…and without any explanation, walked out of the house, crying so hard I could barely see the ground in front of me. I was shaking, feeling vulnerable and betrayed. All I knew was that it was something that I recognized, but I knew it was from a very dark place that had no name… and I knew I hadn’t felt since I was very young.

When I was outside, I wrapped my hands around my pregnant belly, as if by doing so, I could check on my baby.  The air felt different.  I was no longer innocent, and the sky somehow knew it.  I didn’t feel alone either.  I felt the love and support of my family, even before I knew why.  I immediately told my mother. She broke down in tears. She had known all along, hoping I would never remember.

Very quickly after that day, memories came. Little flashes here and there, triggered by different things.  Springtime brought memories. That Easter I was hospitalized for dehydration because I couldn’t stop vomiting. I didn’t have morning sickness. I had constant all day and all night sickness. The usual joys of preparing for motherhood were not there.  I would get sick just by going shopping, triggered by looking for a crib, buying baby clothes, a car seat.  Although the clear memory of being raped by my great-uncle was of when I was  4 years old, other ones, of just being touched inappropriately and feeling helpless, or of fallacio , were pre-verbal, before my first steps.

When I was 20 weeks along, I found out that I was carrying a girl.  I had known from the beginning, just because I felt very close to my unborn child. I had this undeniable connection, and I was becoming a tiger. I wanted to protect her even before she was born. I was scared to death of the world she was being born into. My only solace was that my abuser was dead, and he had been for a very long time.  I joined a child sex abuse survivors group when I was 30 weeks along.  I started seeing a psychiatrist regularly. I still wanted my memories to be made up, but you just couldn’t make up the things I was saying, and unfortunately they were being validated by surviving relatives who knew my great-uncle.

It turns out I was probably his last, in a long line of children including his own, who he violated. He was never arrested for it, even though he was caught several times and thrown out of where ever he was living at the time. He was always the first to volunteer to babysit. That was how he got me. My mother was in college to be a nurse at the time I was born. He babysat me from about age 6 weeks, when her maternity leave ended, until I was 4.  Uncle Ray was thrown out of my grandmothers house when she walked in on him and me.

It happened the day I was wearing the dress, and spinning around and around, looking at my shoes.  It’s no wonder I never saw that dress again. My mind blocks out the blood stains that I’m sure were there. I remember it was trimmed with red velvet stripes, had white lace under the skirt and on the sleeves, and had a bell sown into the hem, that I lived to jingle. I would spin until I got dizzy to hear it. I remember abdominal pain afterwards. Burning when I urinated, back to back unexplained urinary infections that concerned my pediatrician. I was an insomniac until I was about 7 years old, afraid of the dark and of what was around the corner.

Huh….7…..maybe on some level, at that tender age when I found out he was dead, I knew it was safe, even though I had already buried the memories of what he had done. He was my favorite uncle, when I was 7.  Knowing now, that he could’ve destroyed my tiny womb and my ability to have children, by violating me with his adult body when my body was so small, still to this day I want to kill him.  I’m 43, and that’s a waste of my energy.

With this cleansing breath, as I type this, I give that to God.

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