Stories of Spirit…Between the Worlds [the spirits of november]

November has long been a month of profound spiritual growth for me.  It was over 15 years ago that I had my major opening to Spirit, or at least when it seemed to hit its full force ‘You may be fucking crazy Sali’ momentum.  I had seen spirits since I was a very young girl, and was pretty comfortable with the thought, thanks to the early teaching of Grammy Brown.  But what began days after Halloween when I was 30 was more like some kind of special forces boot-camp for mediums.  It was powerful and often overwhelming.  It is also why I named my upcoming book ‘Jump Girl’, for I have always chosen the most direct route, with little regards for ‘easy’

My walking the line of crazy, opening to spirit moment was planned, something the team of spirits I work with reminded me of constantly.  What more it was planned by me.  Every mind-bending experience through time and space, every hold onto what reality you can, kundalini opening, every spirit sitting in me experience was drawn up ahead of time by ME.  After successfully passing whatever test I was taking, one of my trusted spirit companions would come forward and gently remind me that this had been my idea, that I had specifically planned to be tested the hard way.  I knew what they said to be true, for as they said it I recognized myself in the design.

A few years back I had a Soul-Level astrological Reading done by Marcella Eversole.  The things she spoke of in my Reading rang true, many of what she was telling me I was already implementing in my life.  As she finished my Reading she told me ‘You couldn’t have planned your chart better for the work you are here to do’.  This too rang as truth in my mind.

Every year when November circles back around, I find myself revisiting the Novembers that have passed since ‘the November Incident’ (a title that takes up two chapters in my book).  In my reverence, I want to step back from the world of the living and slip deeply into the warm coziness of my small home with its woodstove and quiet.  I  think of how thankful I am that my shamanic journey happened before the days of social media so that my bat-shit nuts crazy went relatively unnoticed by the outside world.  I am most thankful for the support of those who knew me well, that they could recognize that I was not mentally ill, but that something else was happening.

Waking up to Spirit, whether you have worked with it your whole life or not, is challenging.  In truth, the November Incident lasted for 4 months.  Four months of me wondering if I was ever going to feel normal again, four months of my body having spontaneous moments of convulsion as energy moved through my Kundalini, cleaning out all the old blocks in my Chakra system.  Four months of looking at all the things that hurt me. four months of looking at myself under a microscope.

I have long ago adjusted to the new level of spiritual connection in my life, in fact, it was my team of spirits that insisted that I begin doing Spirit Communication for the public.  They insisted that it was the work I had intended to do this lifetime.  At first, this seemed unbelievable as I had been working as a Psychic; looking into people’s lives and futures, for many years. But they spoke the truth, the real work I had intended for this lifetime was in communication…speaking to the unseen world and helping the living to find solace with death and an acceptance of an after life.

The November Incident; my opening of consciousness, took place over a decade ago.  I have adjusted to the point where that which had rocked my world is now my normal.  In doing so, in jumping into the deep waters I have worked really hard to find the way to the shallows, so that I may be a guide to others who are being tried by the boundaries of spiritual reality.  We are opening as a people and for many, this is a painful experience.  When our consciousness expands we must first look at ourselves, with a deep and penetrating lense.  We must look at that which we are ashamed of, the things we have done and that have been done to us, that hold pain.  This is where our power lies, our personal power lies in accepting the events that have made up our past, and choosing to use those events as teachers that strengthen us, instead of allowing ourselves to be continuously abused by them.

The dark months of winter are powerful.  The quiet and isolation that snow and cold carry naturally turn us inward, inviting us to explore the hidden recesses of our soul.  Do not be afraid to look.  We all have shadows, we all have parts of our personality we rather not acknowledge, and we have all been wounded.  You do not have to go at your shadow like a monster hunter, instead choose to be kind to yourself in the process…long baths, journalling, and good friends help.  That and Tulsi Rose Tea, and some Rose Quartz, and Reiki.

We are becoming that which we were intended to be…all of us.  We came into this world to evolve and grow, we can do so with fear and hesitation or we can do so with curiosity and a brisk stride…Tally Ho’ you know!

 

For those of you interested in the tales of my shamanic tight-rope journey through the November Incident my book ‘JUMP GIRL, the Initiation & Art of a Spirit Speaker’ comes out in February.  It is available for pre-order https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/562306/jump-girl-by-salicrow/9781623171926/

spreading love-salicrow

Advertisements

Stories of Spirit…The Sacrifice of War (remembering my father)

Today is Veterans Day and I am thinking of my father.  His whole life or at least the life that I was witness to was enveloped around his service in Vietnam.  His thoughts, actions, and values were reflective of this pivotal time in his life, and his physical limitations were created by it.  He carried a pride that had been drilled into him by boot camp sergeants and fellow soldiers, in the essence of his being he was a Marine.

 

Growing up the child of a wounded warrior, I knew the toll of war.  My father was missing an eye, a fancy piece of glass made to resemble an eye sat where it belonged.  As a child of four, I once accidentally witnessed my father cleaning his eye.  Walking into the living room to find him with his eye in his hand and the socket drooping on his face I was horrified.  I screamed and had to be comforted by my mother.  For days I was afraid of my father, not understanding what I had witnessed.   I have found myself revisiting this moment time and time again in my memory and can’t help but think how terrible it must have been for him, knowing that his appearance had scared his own child so.

Many of my father’s wounds were visible, the glass eye being the most noticeable.  He had physical markings to show that he had been damaged beyond repair, that war had taken a great toll on him.  But he also carried many deeper wounds that were not visible to the eye, wounds that affected how he saw himself and the world around him.  These hidden wounds were far more painful than the loss of an eye, for he was haunted by his actions and the things he saw during his time of war.

Mike Emory (my father’s mentor), Grammy Brown, My father Richard, his younger brothers Teddy & Eddy.

My father grew up very poor, raised by his grandmother in the deep North Woods of New Hampshire.  He lied about his age and joined the Marine Corp at 17 so that he could send money back home to take care of her and his younger brothers.  Having grown up wandering around the woods, his skills made him a natural for reconnaissance work.  This was what eventually took his life at 62.  He did not die from the grenade that had taken his eye and left him with shrapnel in his brain, in the end, it was the exposure to high levels of chemicals (agent orange) that destroyed his body.

He was thankful for the years he had between the grenade and his death, seeing them as borrowed years.  Years that allowed him to get married, have 3 children, and many adventures.  But those years between were not all good.  Along with the physical ailments the grenade had bestowed upon him, he also lived with nightmarish memories.  In trying to escape the thoughts that plagued him, he turned to alcohol and other substances for comfort.

redemption…re-connection after 13 years of not speaking.

My father’s story, in the end, was one of redemption.  He eventually found a path healing, after many losses and many bottles.  He lost his family to his own alcoholism and then found it again through sobriety.  He found a deep spiritual center inside of himself and embraced the gifts that were his birthright, seeing himself for what he had been all along, an intuitive medicine man.

Medicine Man

My Dad’s final goodbye

My experience growing up the child of a wounded veteran shaped me as it did my father.  Living with him, his addictions, and his pain, I gained a deep understanding of the hidden anquish anyone who has seen war experiences.  This exposure has led me to work with many veterans.  I have a great respect for the price they pay, and an understanding of the wounding they carry.  I do not think there are words deep enough to express how much respect I have for those who have served.  Whether I believe in the war they fight or not, I respect the soldier.  I know that there are many reasons why they enlist, choosing to fight for their country.  For some, it is a deep feeling of patriotism (something my father also had), but for many their choosing is much more practical.  They see military service as a way out of poverty, a way to provide a better life for themselves and the ones they love.  They take the gamble, rolling on their lives and mental stability, with hopes that they will be among the lucky.

I would like to take a moment to pause and send love and healing to all of our men and women who have experienced the service of war, and I ask you to join me.  Here is what you will need…

*a candle, *a flag or item that makes represents military service to you, * photos of your own loved ones who have served

Set up a small altar with the items of memorabilia & photos & light your candle.

Focus on your Heart Chakra, directly in the center of your chest.  Take deep even breathes through your nose.  With every inhalation imagine you are filling your chest cavity with love, with every exhalation imagine sending that love to everyone who has served in the military, starting with those close to you and expanding outward.

Do this for about 5 minutes then speak clearly out loud “Thank you for your sacrifice”, and blow out the candle.

Remember not all wounds are visible, not everyone is walking around with a glass eye or a prosthetic leg.  Most of the wounds of war are buried deep within.  Support your local VFW, and Veterans home.  Buy the red poppy from the guy sitting at the grocery store today.  Hell, donate more than is convenient, after all, we can not come close to matching the donation they made.  Remember to thank them, truly and deeply for they deserve our thanks.

I would personally like to thank the men and women who have served this countries military.  I have deep respect for the sacrifices you have made and understand the price it continues to ask of you.

spreading love-salicrow