STORIES OF SPIRIT…Talking to the Dead in Public [elders, ancestors, and offerings]

I did a Seance the other day, sitting at a picnic table in front of a coffee shop.  The weather was a bit chilly and the elderly lady who sat in a wheelchair parked at the end of the table was bundled up in a fuzzy blanket.

I have done Spirit Communication in front of large crowds, and I have spoken to the dead under some unusual circumstances…I once did a Seance in a trailer in Florida, while the cable guy did an installation.  But this was my town, and the corner I sat on was in front the cafe that houses my studio.  It’s a busy part of town, and as my neighbors walked by they called out “Hi Sali”, oblivious to the fact that I was deep in a conversation with dead people.

The family I sat with had arrived at my studio for a Seance, but there had been a miscommunication, they had not heard me say that it was above the Grindstone Cafe, which meant upstairs.  They had their elderly mother with them; a woman close to 90 who was being pushed in a wheelchair.  As the cafe, itself is too busy &  close quartered to offer the privacy needed for such services, and they had traveled a long distance, we were left with only one option…the picnic table outside.

The weather was chilly, so I offered up a warm, fuzzy blanket from my healing space to help keep the family matriarch warm.  When her daughter draped the red blanket over her head and tucked it in around her frail body her appearance changed, she suddenly looked more like a priestess then grandmother.  I found myself thinking of the importance of the role of elder.  How wisdom and memory are gifts of time that only some of us are fortunate enough to experience.

It was a family of women I sat with; a mother, 2 daughters and a granddaughter.  They had come to communicate with the menfolk of their life, who had already departed for the world of spirit.  The women sitting together around the table with me had a strong bond with one another.  In fact, the family matriarch lived with her daughter and granddaughter, multiple generations living in one home.  I have lived this way, both as a child and as a grandmother.  I lived with my parents and grandparents a couple of times in my childhood, and both of my children have come home to live with me, bringing their children with them.  Although I do not live that way now, I know it and appreciate it.

In my work as a Medium, I have been introduced to many interpretations of the word family.  Some families are very small, consisting of one parent and a couple of kids, some are large including nieces, nephews, and grandparents/great grandparents and every kind of 1st, 2nd and 3rd cousin you could imagine.  Family is something we all want, even if the one we are born into is not healthy for us, we still find ourselves missing it, or at least the idea of it.  There is something about shared history that helps us to accept the toll of time, and the dance of death.  By remembering those who have come before us, and watching those who have come after us, we see that we are more than this lifetime.  We are part of something greater.

When I was in Ireland, I had the opportunity to stay with an old Irish family, the O’Hanlons.  They were fantastic people with a rich family history, documented for over 1000 years.  I was blown away by this, and envious of the wealth of information they had on their ancestors.  Most of us are lucky to know if we who our great-great-grandparents were, let alone dozens of generations.

The Celts believe we reincarnate into our soul family.  That we step back onto the genetic trail that we have walked before.  I have seen this very thing while doing Past Life Readings for people.

The example that stands out the most clearly for me is this…The woman I was Reading for had a past life in which she came into the Boston during the early days of settlement.  She was a man in that life and had been born into a family of blacksmiths.  She, however, did not take the family path, instead deciding to become a doctor.  As I told her of the life I saw for her, she got excited and said: “That was my great-great-great grandfather.”  She had been doing some genealogy work, and as I spoke of her past life, she recognized an ancestor along her family tree.

Ancestor honoring is something I am quite passionate about.  Not because I see them as superhuman or close to deity, but because without our ancestors we would not be here.  We, humans, are genetically made up of the bits and pieces of our family DNA. We are amazing beings, and we don’t know shit about the complexity that we are.  Over the next couple of blogs, it is my hope to share a bit of my own practice of ancestor honoring, and the simple ways in which I recognize the family that has gone before me.  Today’s tip is about food, drink, and smokes.

The dead love to remember their favorite foods, beverages, and smokes.  If they were a smoker in life a simple way to give honor to them is to put a cigarette on your altar, or if you smoke yourself sit and have one while thinking about them.  If they loved to drink coffee, have your morning coffee while talking about them.

Yesterday I went out into the woods near Lake Willougby with my sister Sandy.  We were heading out to make offerings to the Fae Folk/Fairies and brought some snacks for ourselves.  As I crossed the bridge near her house, on the way to pick her up, my father (who is dead) exclaimed out of my mouth “Beef jerky Kid”.  He mentioned beef jerky 3 more times before I got to the store, and finally was satisfied when I bought a meat stick (more of a slim jim/then beef jerky).  At the lake, my sister and I both ate some while we talked about him.  I wasn’t surprised at all that he wanted to be included in our excursion as he had a deep love of the woods, that and my sister was wearing one of his flannel shirts when I arrived to pick her up.

Honoring our ancestors is in many ways honoring ourselves, for without those who walked before us, we would not be here today.  Our blood sings with the songs of our elders.  Some of the songs may be hard, sad songs, others soft and beautiful.  But whatever the song, it is our song and we are here to add to it, change it, carry on with it, in whatever way is ours.

I hope you enjoyed the read folks.  I will be writing more on ancestor honoring over the next couple of weeks.

spreading love-salicrow

 

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Stories of Spirit…Tea with Grandma (honoring the Dead)

Awhile back, I met with a family who’s matriarch was a fun, sassy, and organized gal, who also happened to be dead.  She did not let this stop her from being in charge, and took it upon herself to introduce most of the other Spirits who had come to the gathering.  Her living family was not at all surprised by this behavior, as she had been known as ‘Little Mother’ since she was a child.

The living family members who had brought me to the house, were laughing and enjoying themselves as stories were shared by their relatives in Spirit.  At one point, one of the guest became concerned that their laughter may be seen as disrespectful to their Beloved Dead and asked if this was so.  My answer was a resounding “No, not at all”.

When Spirits come to communicate with their living; through the aid of a Medium, they know that their time is limited, and they want to make the most of it.  Although it is natural to cry at such events, the Dead do not want us to remember them through tears alone.  Laughter is the heart-balm of life, and it is a great way of showing honor to those we love, who have crossed into Spirit.  When we open ourselves to the experience of Spirit Communication, we often find that it is in essence a visit with those we hold dear, and like all reunions it is filled with powerful emotions of all kinds.

Many years ago, my sister Sandy did a Psychic Reading for me; long before I started doing Mediumship professionally.  I was young and looking for direction with the various businesses I had at the time (clothing company, store, & bar).  My sister looked puzzled at first, then told me that I she didn’t see me doing any of it in 10 years, and that what she did see was unusual.  She said she saw me sitting around a kitchen table talking to the Dead, like some kind of tea party or something.

I was already working as a Psychic doing Readings for people out of my store, but at that point I was not interested in talking to the Dead for other people.  I saw it as something that I experienced for myself, something far too emotional for me to want to do it, for the public.  I saw Dead people, and chose to speak to them on occasion, but it was not yet part of my everyday life, and I was certainly not yet ready to share it with the world.

This memory came back to me, as I sat around the kitchen table, with the family of the Spirit who was nicknamed “Little Mother”, I thought of my sisters Reading.  I saw the living and the dead gathered around the table with me, and I realized that her prediction had come true, and that this was how it should be.  A gathering of people who love one another, laughing and crying, drinking tea and shooting the shit.  So what if some of the people were dead.  They were all there, fully present, enjoying each others company.  I felt a deep sense of purpose and gratitude for my life, knowing that this was what healing looked like.

When we loose someone we love dearly to death, the scarring is often overwhelming.  We can find ourselves trapped in the most painful of memories, and often unable to remember the laughter, joy, and silliness that made up the persons life.  We forget what is like to sit with them around the family table, how bossy they could be, or the weird behaviors that make them who they are.

Our Beloved Dead (family, friends, ancestors, and guides) want us to remember them for who they were, they want to be connected to us through laughter, and story telling, through songs they sang, slang they used, and recipes they made.  They miss being with us in the flesh, they miss family BBQ’s and goofy antics, they miss their favorite foods, and the smell of campfires, they miss the way they were when they were alive.  Those are the things they want us to remember them by.  They do not want to be remembered by their death alone.  They do not want to their story to be solely of cancer, car accident, old age, dementia, or heart attack.  Death is the ending of the story, it is not the story itself.

When we seek to connect with our Beloved Dead, when we find ourselves missing them, it is important to remember who they were in life.  To remember their story, who they were when they were truly living.  In this remembrance we give them honor.  We give life to their story, and we all begin to heal.

Here are a few simple ways to give honor to your Beloved Dead…

*tell stories of their life  *cook or eat their favorite foods, while thinking of them  *set up a family altar at important family gatherings, add pictures, and mementos that make you think of them  *sing their favorite songs  *visit their favorite places & spend time thinking of them  *talk to them out-loud (Spirits can see & hear us much better than we can them) 

Think of how you would like to be remembered, when you die.  Do you want your family and friends to remember you with tears alone?  Or do you want to be remembered for your life, for the things that truly make you-you?

When the only emotions we choose to embrace death with is sorrow, we loose so much of that which made the person we mourn special.  We need to open our hearts and truly remember them.

Me…I expect to be remembered by funky socks, coffee, and my adventurous spirit.  I would feel sad to think that my passing brought only tears.

I hope you enjoyed the read folks.  Now think of how you can honor and remember those you love who have passed.  How can you heal your heart, and connect more deeply with your Beloved Dead?

spreading love-salicrow

 

SACRED TRAVEL…Guided by Spirit [California Dreaming part 1. LA-Mount Shasta]

Sacred travel is not a predictable thing.  It by nature is fluid and spontaneous, led by the intuition and an openness to explore.  Unlike vacation, it does not come with perfect accommodations, gourmet meals and neatly arranged outings.  It is a thing of wonder!

A few months back, when winter was still fully in possession of the north, my sister Sandy and I began planning our spring travel.  Our plan was to teach Earth Magic in Milwaukee in the beginning of the month, and then spend the end of the month teaching about parallel lives/past lives in LA & Carlsbad.  As the plan emerged from the ether of our minds, we other magical bits starting presenting themselves, and our simple business/teaching trip soon turned into a grand adventure that would involve 2 weeks in California.  The first working, the second doing deep Earth Magic in Joshua Tree, deep in the Mojave desert.  The second part of the trip was in fact the real work, and involved 13 friends and spiritual allies heading into the desert to do sound healing.

A few weeks before we were to head to California, the ‘work’ part of our trip began to fall away.  First the folks in LA seemed unable to host an event.  This at first bothered me, as they were the reason we were heading in that direction.  They had asked us to come, and only after tickets were bought and plans were made, realized that they could not make it happen.

Now in moments like this, it is easy to get discouraged, to be pissed and start doing a hissy-fit dance.  But it was clear by this point, that we needed to be there.  There was never any thought of not going, or of changing how long we would be there, simply an understanding that we had work to do on the west coast.  This same feeling came to the surface, when our second host, the one in Carlsbad told us days before we were flying out, that they had not been able to follow through on their end.

When we boarded the plane, we were still up in the air on where we were going when we got to California.  We decided, that we would decide while in the air where it was we were suppose to go.  We had place mat markers of where we needed to be, but none of those were relevant until  early next week.  Our first 4 days of the trip were open, and itching for Spiritual guidance.

By the time we landed in LA, we knew that we would not be heading south to Carlsbad, instead we would be taking an 10 hour drive north, to Mount Shasta.  This was not a random; close your eyes and point at any place on the map, kind of decision, but instead it was a knowing that we all experienced.  One that came in boldly.  For me, it was a feeling of calling that I experienced any time I looked at the in-flight map.  I would see the dot in the northern part of California, and the name Shasta, and I would feel drawn to it.

Mount Shasta is a holy mountain, one that holds the making of pilgrimage.  Known for it’s powerful vortex energy, it is a place of high earth energy, a place where one can go to heal themselves and to do direct healing toward the Earth.  (I will write more about Shasta in the next few days, after I have spent some time exploring here).

Getting to Shasta was an adventure of it’s own, as we; my traveling companions (my sister Sandy and our friend Missy), and I, are very open to intuitive travel, and following the path that Spirit presents us with.  This kind of travel is best done with a destination in mind, but a very loose idea on how long it will take you to get there, and a sense of wonderment.  Intuitive travel means there are no wrong turns, and every place you land is an opportunity to connect with Spirit.

Leaving LA was like escaping prison.  First of all, I must be completely honest…this city did nothing for me.  I felt an instant desire to leave it, yet the city itself is a powerful vortex of energy, that really doesn’t want you to leave.

Our first experience with wacky travel and leaving LA was connected to our GPS.  No matter what we typed into it, it wanted to take us back to the car rental shop.  So we tried using the GPS’s on our phones, and this happened again, and again.  We finally got ourselves out of the city, and the GPS’s to behave at least a little bit, and started heading up the coastal highway, believing that we would travel most of the way with the beautiful Pacific Ocean as our traveling guide.  That too proved incorrect.

 

After driving for hours, mostly along the coast, Missy who was driving suddenly said “I am not sure how this happened, but I do not believe we are on Route 1 anymore.” This did not alarm us, but instead made us ask “Well, where do you suppose we are, and where are we headed?”

Again our GPS’s were of no help.  In fact, they obviously had no idea where we were.  While accessing our GPS’s (more then one), we would often find that it believed us to be in other places on the continent…including Nebraska, Maryland, and the south western tip of Mexico.  We did not seem to be track-able.

When we finally got one of the GPS’s to acknowledge our actual location, we found we had gone inland.  We plotted a new course and continued forward, not wanting to turn around and come back the way we came.  This was not a disappointment.

Shortly after going through a bum-fuck town in California we found ourselves entering a canyon.  It was breath taking.  The road wove like a snake down and around the mountains, into the valley deep below.  It was a God moment, and exceptional moment of Spirit, when the universe took our breath away.

Sandy communing with the sun, above the Canyon.

Wild shrub Sage

We drove for hours after the canyon, so thankful for the beauty we had experienced.  We relished in the memory of the sound we had created when toning on the top of the canyon, as people drove by waving @ the crazy women singing and laughing, as they stood on the edge of the canyon on a tiny pull off.

That night we landed at a roadside hotel, thankful for hot showers and the gift of being alive.  We set up our altar, with a crystal grid and powerful bits that were sacred to us as individuals and as a traveling band of gypsies.  We gave thanks to our ancestors, particularly mine and Sandy’s dad, who was ecstatic to have us in California; a state he lived in for almost 30 years.

The next day/yesterday, we woke and set intentions…mine was to get to Mount Shasta that night, which we did.  In moments like these, I generally like to be behind the wheel.  So I drove the 10 hours or so North to get us there.

Mount Shasta

Well, I am off on adventure.  I will be sharing stories from the road via Facebook live, and blogging about our vortex adventures tomorrow morning, so stay tuned folks.  It’s a hell of a ride!

spreading love-salicrow

Stories of Spirit…the Sorrow of One [mourning alone]

As a Medium; I have encountered death in many, many ways.  My first brush with death occurred when I was 3 months old, and my father’s, mother passed.  This event, was something, that showed others in my family; particularly, Grammy Brown, that I was able to see/perceive Spirits.  Since that moment, death has been a constant companion of mine.  I have had many personal losses, and have stood witness/messenger, to countless numbers of others.  There is no ‘one-way’ to experience the loss of death, for it is a multi-faceted, and generally requires us to experience it’s power over and over again; sometimes through deep sadness, sometimes through rage, sometimes through an emptiness that would challenge the vastness of space.  One thing that remains constant when it comes to death is that we all mourn alone.

No matter how much we share love of someone with another, the feeling of loss created by death is a lonely thing.  It is something that demands privacy, taking up long hours, in our mind.  It is something that shows up when we are having a great time, reminding us that something is missing, often asking us “How can you be so happy, when your Beloved Dead is not here to join you?” It speaks loudest to us when we are feeling vulnerable, or doubting ourselves, telling us that we will never find happiness again, without our beloved.  The closer we were to the death, the harder and longer it sits with us.  When enough time has gone by, and others see that we should be done mourning, death requires us to hide our sorrow, “move-on” the outside world says, but death whispers quietly in our ears “stay, don’t forget how important they were to you”.

There is no easy answer here.  I cannot bestow words of wisdom upon you, that will take away your sorrow, like the brush of a magic wand.  But I can tell you that communication helps.  Not just Spirit Communication, although in truth communication with your Beloved Dead, is one of the most powerful healing tools I know of, as it gives us the proof that they are not truly gone, but simply existing in another realm.  But not everybody is open or has the ability to make connection with their dead, so that is why good old fashioned talking about it is helpful.  Friends, counselors, and support groups help us to make peace with the sorrow of our loss, even when the others we speak to cannot fully understand our pain.  The act of sharing it, helps us to move it from the hidden realms of our mind, into the light of day where it can be cared for.

This advice is particularly important for those who have experienced a deep loss, such as that of a lover, child, or parent.  When we loose the ones we hold most dear, their death will become a constant companion of ours.  It will attend us in our every day life, and go with us to special events.  It will come around heavily, laden with emotion on the anniversary dates of their loss, and their birthdays, and anniversaries.  It will show up, when a song comes on the radio, or a childhood toy reminds us of them, when the weather is just so, and when we wake slowly from a dream in which they have come to visit.  For those most heavily hit by the loss of a loved one, death will return again, and again, and again.

So what can we do in those overwhelming moments?  What can we do to ease our pain, and find peace?

First of all we must remember we are human, and innately flawed.  We need to be patient with ourselves, and practice the art of  ‘speaking vulnerably’, which simply means talking when you feel weak.  Not everyone can do this, in fact most people stop talking about their loss, thinking that others will perceive that they should be over it by now.  It is my belief that people are generally kind.  That if we tell them we are having a hard day, and that death is speaking very loudly to us today, that we are in a deep space of mourning, they will understand, and most often seek to give us support.  The problem is, that most of us do not do this when we are feeling vulnerable, instead we batten down the hatches and prepare to ride out the storm.  In doing so, we often act in ways that are not really pleasant to ourselves or others.  We may even find ourselves lashing out, again at ourselves and others, and when it is done, we feel like an asshole, but lack the means to explain our actions.

Secondly, I recommend setting up sacred space for our Beloved Dead.  A simple shelf can be turned into an altar or shrine, with just a few items and some attention.  Place a picture of your loved one, who has crossed over, on the shelf, as well as any mementos that remind you of them.  Light a candle, and sit with them for a bit.  Even if you do not sense them, know that they are beside you.  For as a Medium, I know that our loved ones in Spirit are reaching out, trying to help us heal…even when we perceive them as having moved on, there is a part of their essence that stays connected to the ones they love.

We all mourn alone, and some of us do that more truly then others…This is most true for people who pull themselves away from the world of the living, identifying their loss as the story of their life.  It is also true for those who have loved in secret, been the other woman/man, or who have had a relationship that was hidden from the real world.  The loss in these cases can be overwhelming, and again…my answer is talk about it.  Find a friend who understands, or a counselor/healer who gets you.  But do not suffer with your loss alone.

I hope you found this article helpful, please feel free to share it, as I believe it is a message that needs to be heard, again, and again, and again.

spreading love-salicrow

 

 

 

STORIES OF SPIRIT…Ode to the Plowman [remembering Plowmen passed]

townplowtruckI cannot follow a  plow truck, or look out the window during a snow storm without thinking of my grandfather.  He worked for the town of Whitefield, NH most of his life.  This meant he spent every snowy day & night rambling the roads of his town, doing his best to keep it safe.  He never bitched or moaned about his job, I honestly think he loved it, and saw himself as a steward of town.  One with a job to do, keep people safe.

Grandpa Brown with his retirement house. An old school bus, he decked out in his free time.

Grandpa Brown with his retirement house. An old school bus, he decked out in his free time.

My grandfather was a widow for as long as I knew him, as his wife/my grandmother died when I was 3 months old.  Most of my childhood he lived with his mother, ‘Grammy Brown’.  When I was little he lived at her house, and later in my childhood the roles reversed, and she lived with him, in his house. I was practically attached to Grammy Brown by her apron strings, which meant I spent a lot of time with my grandfather as well.  He was a man of few words, a man who liked to watch time go by.  He was simple, predictable, and reliable, and his job in many ways defined him.

In the winter he slept on the couch in the living room; close to the phone, ready at any minute to get called out.   When a storm was forecast, he would set about preparing for the inevitable night on the roads.  His lunch box was a sturdy, old, metal thing, large enough to hold a couple of sandwiches, some snacks, and an emergency soda; in case his sugar dropped.  He was diabetic, which meant he carried a needle with insulin, and a sugary treat just in case.  Along with his lunchbox, he carried an enormous thermos filled with coffee.  I always loved watching him put together his road pack, specially watching him fill up the thermos with coffee.  I loved the little cup that screwed onto the top, and thought how fun it must be to drink out of it.

As a child, watching my grandfather prepare for a winter-storm , was like watching Indiana Jones prepare for an adventure into a hidden temple.  Everything was prepared, just in case it was needed.  Flashlight batteries were checked, extra clothing was packed, and rations were laid out.

My grandfather told stories of his wintery adventures.  One that stood out, involved a blizzard and a VW Bug. Like all towns, there were winter snow bans in Whitefield; simple really, if we are expecting big snow, don’t park in the road, and like all towns, there is always someone who does not think this rule applies to them.

One snowy night, during a heavy snowfall, my grandfather was out on the roads in blizzard type conditions.  It was late into the night, and he had drank as much coffee as his bladder could handle, when he headed up onto South Whitefield road.  South Whitefield road, winds up and over a long hill.  It’s rural, and heavily wooded.  You don’t see much traffic on it, but the roads are a bit narrow.  My grandfather was about half way up the hill when he came across a complex of family houses, place where all the neighbors were related to each other.

One of the younger cousins of the complex had totally ignored or forgotten that his car should not be in the roadway.  When my grandfather came up the road, with his plow blade down, he did not see a car in front of him, on the side of the road.  He saw a snow drift, much like half a dozen others he had seen that night.  When he hit the snow-drift, it became apparent that it was not snow, but was indeed a car.  The VW bug was completely lifted off the ground and shot into the snowbank, as if it was no more then a block of ice.  My grandfather being the matter of fact man, that he was, didn’t even stop.  He just kept driving, chewing his gum, and rumbled a bit to himself, about how the dumb-ass shouldn’t have parked his car there.

Another story that sticks out to me; when I follow  a plow truck, or sit comfortably on my couch during a snow storm, is of a local man I have communicated with in Spirit.  Many of his family have been to see me for Spirit Communication and he loves these visits.  He worked for the town road department, right here in the Northeast Kingdom; in Sheffield or Wheelock, VT  I believe.  Like my grandfather, he was dedicated to his work; stopping in to the family holidays and dinners when he could, but the roads came first.

Whenever he comes through, he always shows me his plow truck.  One of the stories he likes to share,  is how he went off the road, and put his plow-truck on it’s side.  It was during a big storm, with a lot of ice.  Coming down a steep hill (I believe Square Mile Road), his truck ended up in the ditch on it’s side.  I always wonder what kind of tow-truck it takes to get a road-truck out of the ditch.

snowstormtimewarpI think about these Winter road-warriors, whenever I start to complain about following a plow truck, or when the roads are so bad, that I am thankful to follow one.  I think about the long hours, through blinding, warp-speed looking snow, and ice.  I think about drinking lots of coffee, and trying to stay focused and awake, while everyone else is hunkering down.  I think about the time I watched a plow-truck with chains on, have to back down Newark-hill (the hill I live on) unable to make it up the icy incline.  I think about the challenges of a job that many of us take for granted, and I am thankful.

The next time you run into someone who you know plows for a living, whether they are working for the state, or plowing your driveway, remember to give thanks.  There is a lot of sacrifice made to keep our roads safe for driving.

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STORIES OF SPIRIT…Crying on the Couch

Owenegaut, the cave of the Morrigan.

Owenegaut, the cave of the Morrigan.

I sat on my couch in the early hours of the morning, and cried.  I cried for the state of our nation, I cried for the lies that are spoken, I cried for the hate mongering and xenophobia.  I cried for the Muslims, and I cried for the under-employed youth of our nation.  I cried for my friends who are Queer.  I cried for Black Mothers who fear for the lives of their children, and the Native American who fight for their lands.  I cried for the water in Flint Michigan, and all the waters of the world.  I cried for the living, and I cried for the dead.  I cried for those who have no dreams in sight, and for those whose dreams have been washed away in a haze of disdain.

I cried for the world, and the world cried with me.

There is a heaviness to our world right now, and many of us feel overwhelmed by the weigh of it.  We are emotionally exhausted, and many are living in a low level state of fear; wondering what is to come next, how far will this craziness go.  We know that the outside world is looking at our country like we have gone completely bat-shit crazy.  We keep hoping that we will wake up and this will all be a nightmare, and we can go back to life as normal.

Well we cannot go back to life as normal, nor could we stay in the sedated place of non-action we have existed in for the last few decades.  There is a sickness in our nation, and often as it is will illness, it must get worse before it gets better.  Like a body fighting off a virus we must rise to the occasion, utilize our antibodies and take action against that which is causing us harm.  This sickness is not something that came out of no where.  It has been there for a very long time, under the surface, running us down.  It was inevitable that we would come to a moment in time such as this, for a people who feel hopeless will often make rash decisions, and often those decisions will lead to crisis.

We are in a time of crisis.  But crisis is not all bad.  Crisis sheds light on that which we have kept festering in the dark.  Crisis brings opportunity.  Crisis demands action, pushing us off our fat rumps.  Crisis gathers our neighbors, friends, and community to our side.  It bolsters us, and melds us into a force of unity.

When a natural disaster hits an area, people come out in the masses, neighbor stands by neighbor, lending a hand where needed, getting the job done, without the regular bullshit of “I have things to do”.  There is nothing more important at that moment then the crisis at hand.

We are living in such times.  For some of us the storm has not hit close enough for us to get excited yet, to prepare ourselves for action.  But it is only a matter of time, before even the sheltered hermits among us, must descend from the forest to see what the fuck is going on.  Such times are meant for community to stand together, to unite as a force bigger then any one man or woman ever could be.

I do not ask you who you voted for, I do not ask you to march or to protest.  I ask you to consider your life, and the life of your neighbor, and your community, and to ask yourself “What do I stand for?”  I ask you to come together with your neighbors, and friends, and to start a discussion on that.  “How do we stay strong together in these times of struggle”.   “Will I wait until they are coming for someone I know?”  “Will I hide my head in the sand and say nothing, do nothing, while the country I love becomes less?”

I believe in America!  I believe in the people of America.  We are a nation that has been made stronger because we are a melting pot.  We are a like a good mutt, stronger and smarter for the mixing of our bloodlines.

My Ancestors knew persecution.  My great grandmother had to hide her Native blood as a child, for fear of being taken away to an Indian school.  My Irish relatives from my fathers side were Traveling People, or Gypsies.  They knew what it was like to be scorned and discriminated against.  I myself am a Psychic and a Witch.  We all know how I would have been treated a few centuries ago.

I am sure that each of us has a family story in which our Ancestors experienced persecution for one thing or another, from their nationality of origin, color of their skin, religion, sexual preference or simply their economic status.  If we take a moment to sit with ourselves, and connect with our Ancestors, we will see that this fight for equality, and justice is something that is personal to each and every one of us.  “There but for the grace of God, goes I”.

The first step to overcoming this calamity, that has beset our nation is to stop letting FEAR run the show.  Fear is the soul eater, it causes us to run scared, bury our heads in the sand, shove Ring-dings into our mouth, drink too much and pace endlessly in the loop of our mind.  It has no value, other then to let us know that something is not right.  It is an alarm, and like all alarms, once they have alerted us to the situation their job is done.

DO NOT FALL BACK ASLEEP!  Fear gave us the alarm, it alerted us to the fucked up situation that is around us.  Now we must take action, we must get moving, get organized, and come together.  I am not asking you to picket, I am not asking you to march.  I am asking you to become a supporter of your community.  It makes us feel good to help others, it takes our mind off of fear, and gives us purpose.  Look at the situation at hand and ask what you can do.  Whatever it is you choose to do, please, please, connect with your community.  This alone will help you to find your spot.

GET CENTERED…understand that mixed into this slurry of chaos is the fact that we are going through a Psychic Evolution.  We are changing as a species, becoming more attuned to the world around us.  We are becoming EMPATHIC as a people, developing the ability to sense the emotions of others.  This adds a lot to the mix, for it means that the fear, and anxiety we are feeling is not just ours.  It belongs to the guy sitting next to us on the bus, and the co-worker who is sucking down sugar like a feen; trying to feel something other then worry.  It belongs to our mother, our kids, our husband, and our friends.

Empathy is an interesting thing, for it works both ways.  Those of us, who are the most Empathic, are also the best at sending our emotions out.  In this way, the Empaths are broadcasting emotions out into the world.  The problem is most Empaths don’t know a thing about how to control it.  So we sit there absorbing the pain and suffering, and then we turn around and amplify those feelings, before sending them out like a wave around us.

What if we, the Empaths decided we were going to utilize this knowledge and choose what we were going to broadcast out?  What if we chose to send out Love instead of Hate, and Bravery instead of Fear.  After all they are simply opposite ends of a pendulum swing.

freyjalterJust for today, choose to be an ambassador of Love.  Whatever lands in your lap, whatever news you hear, whatever approach you take to the situations of your day, choose love.  Choose your words to support, and strengthen, not to degrade and breakdown.  Even when standing against apposing forces we can choose to do so with love.  We can choose to see that what we stand against is already broken, and that by embracing hate we are perpetuating that which we do not want.  Because hate destroys us from within.  It consumes us, torments us, and leaves us empty.  Love gives us hope, love supports us, strengthens us, and pushes us to be more.

Do not stick your head in the sand, stand bravely and with purpose, but do so with love and kindness.  Do not sink to the level of name calling and trash talking, that gets us no where.  Move with purpose, act with forethought, and find your center.  When we choose bravery and love, we are no longer victims, we are crusaders out to make a difference in whatever way we can.

Know that you do not walk alone in these hard times, our Ancestors are walking with us.  Not just our personal Ancestors, but the Ancestors of our country.  Those proud Americans who have fought for this country we call home.  I am proud to be an American, even if I am not proud of the state it is in at this moment.  I love this land, I love it’s people, I love my community, and my neighbors, and my sweet loving family.  I love you, and I believe in you.

Finding my words stops my tears, and my fears.  I too have moments when it feels overwhelming, and I want to go back to bed and wake up when it’s over.  But then I remember I was made for such times, I chose to come in at this moment and in this place.  So I will put on my mud boots, and get ready to clean some shit up.  I hope you decide to join me, I hope you decide to replace hate with love, and I hope you see just how powerful you are.

spreading love-salicrow

Stories of Spirit…Giving Thanks and Standing in Solidarity [the importance of community & water]

 

lakemich

I have always had a love affair with water.  I have never been a great swimmer, nor am I the owner of a boat.  My love has been for the Spirit of Water itself.  I have been taken in by it’s many sounds…waves crashing on the beach,  rapids rushing over granite river beds, lazy lake ripples lapping against the shore, rain pouring on a metal roof, the sloshing of laundry back in forth in the washer.  The sound of water alone is magical, rhythmic and soothing.  I have admired it’s beauty…snow falling on a moon lit night, rainbows sparkling in the summer rain, tropical pools of turquoise, tanks filled with colorful fish, the glass like stillness of a quiet pond, glaciers gleaming in the Arctic cold.  Not to mention the taste.  Anyone who has been blessed to drink from the Earth’s own water, unfiltered, untreated, just fresh clean water from the land itself knows that Water comes in many wonderful flavors.  The mineral content changing the flavor from spring to spring.

I have lived at the same location for the past 19 years.  The primary reason being the quality of the water.  My water is outstanding.  It’s mineral rich, and quite frankly, the best water I have ever tasted.  In the few times my husband and I have thought about moving, the quality of our water has always come up.  We are aware of the importance water plays in life, and the problems scarcity of water can create.  This understanding has been more and more on our minds as the years move on.

watermagiclakemichMy love for the Earth, and my understanding of the value of water has stirred my soul over the passing months, as I have watched the Water Protectors stand up for theirs.    We cannot turn a blind eye at the future as it presents itself, we cannot pretend that we have not noticed the quality of the water on the planet changing.  Even those among us who are conservative in mind must notice that we now have to buy our water.  I was born in 1971, and as a child I was able to drink out of the riverbeds while out hiking.  I also drank from water fountains in public places, like department stores and school.  I remember when they started selling water, and how crazy that seemed to everyone.  Not so crazy now.

I live a long way from North Dakota, but the responsibility I feel for the water of the world is close.

isalabryinth

Water Altar @ Blissful Dragon Farm

Today I was struck by the power of frozen water.  While visiting Blissful Dragon Farm (Waterford, VT), I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful the Water Altar was.  The water frozen in the offering bowl felt so powerful, its crystalline energy potent with intent.  Isa the Rune for Ice immediately came to mind.  I thought how ice can create a barrier, shielding anything within it from outside forces.  How fitting this seemed to my desire to join forces with the Water Protectors.

I will be returning to Blissful Dragon Farm tomorrow to spend Thanksgiving with my family and friends.  I have great thanks to give this year.  I will give thanks to the Earth that provides me with everything.  I will give thanks to the Water, the life blood of all Earthlings.  I will give thanks to the Water Protectors for standing up for the Mother, and I will send the potent magic of frozen water to join them where they stand.  The last bit seems ironic, but some how all the more potent for the saying.

There are those who believe that abstaining from Thanksgiving would make a statement against the wrongs they see happening in our country.  I understand the sentiment, but question the judgement of skipping the family feast.  Thanksgiving is a holiday about family and community.  It is one of the simplest holidays, with a focus on being thankful.  How can that be wrong?

We are scared, angry, sad and unbalanced now.  As a people we have so much to be disturbed by in this world.  That’s why it’s so important that we find our center, our community, that bond that ties us together.  Alone we are like drops of rain, tiny drops that hardly make a difference, but together we can be an ocean.  When we isolate ourselves, disconnect ourselves and shut off from the world we become the single drop of rain.  We become small, insufficient and vulnerable.  But when we connect with the world around us, we grow in number, we become significant, strong, and formidable.  I want to be one of the many who are connected by community.  I want to know my neighbors (even if I can’t remember their names).  I want to be connected.

I give thanks for community, and I give thanks for the Water.  Tomorrow I will celebrate with my family and friends, and I will send energy out to those who protect the waters.  Thanks for reading Folks.

spreading love-salicrow