The Phoenix Is Rising

Pheonix rising

Spirit and energy, words that took on new meaning a quarter of a century ago. A time when I truly embraced the fact that I was a free spirit.  Something everyone in my young life seemed to want to stifle except for my dad who was also a free spirit.

It was the beginning of a brand-new journey, totally embarking on The Road Less Traveled. Two roads diverged in the woods and I, certainly, took the one less traveled by.

My eldest son who was two at the time helped me embrace the inquisitive spiritual side of my being. I let him take the lead and we followed his curious, creative, and highly energetic spirit down new untrekked territory. He gave me the strength to dig within, to heal wounds that needed healing, then to venture down new avenues, previously, I never before would have embarked on.

Five years later, with the birth of my second son, my spiritual sense grew even stronger. At the time, my life was in a place of total transformation, one I embraced completely and passionately.

At the time, the biggest part of this alteration was entering the gym and making the weight-room my new home. It was an environment that allowed instant transformation. I embraced the lifestyle of a bodybuilder.

I was given the gift of a friend, also a fellow bodybuilder, one who possessed a strong knowing of a deeper spiritual world. His mother had been 100% Cherokee Indian. He was raised in the beauty of the Ozark mountains and had been taught an appreciation of Mother Earth.

He spoke of the Earth’s energy. Although, I had never heard these words before, it was something I felt deep in my core. Unspoken words of my father, yet passionately, instilled within me growing up in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the magnificence of my native land.

My friend would speak to me of energy. How I possessed a strong powerful aura. How to care for and manage this gift. How to remove the Ego from my being. He would speak to me of worlds I had never known, worlds most people don’t know exist, deeper levels of consciousness.

His words were completely foreign to me, and although I couldn’t begin to grasp their enormity, I knew they held truth because I could feel it. Over time, my appreciation would grow.

Life would throw me many curveballs; the birth of a third son, ongoing health problems, (later to discover related to severe mercury poisoning,) divorce and alienation from family, and my father’s suicide. All I knew was to go deeper into the spirit world I had uncovered and further down the road less traveled.

I had been living in Minnesota, working as a critical care nurse in a Level 1 trauma hospital, encompassed by trauma and death on a daily basis, yet surrounded by people who would feed and nourish my spiritual quest. I was raised Catholic, but Christianity took on new meaning. God’s love more real.

Suddenly, I found myself faced with a new conundrum, the challenge to move my family to a foreign land (what some call Oklahoma). Committed to listen to the voice within, with the spiritual support from the hospital’s chaplain, Greg, someone who would become an integral part of my survival, I moved. Almost instantly, I found myself submerged in complete darkness.

Mother Earth’s rewards that fed my soul were instantly gone; the freedom that movement and exercise created, the purifying quality of the lakes from my youth, the empowerment of the greenery and environs discovered in my awakening land, and the seasons that cultivated my spirit had all vanished.

Surrounded by desert terrain, my spirit began to shrivel. My world instantly flipped upside down. All that I had learned over a lifetime, suddenly was reversed. I somehow had fallen into a dark void and could not comprehend.

Five years into a six-year sentence, at the age of 40, the negative forces won out. After a lifetime of fighting to hang onto my free-will, stay true to my spirit, I was finally broken. My spirit had been eroding away, but precipitously, it was left in ashes.

The choice was to surrender to death or commit myself wholeheartedly to a power greater than myself. Humble my physical being to the energy within, leading me into an alien world. I succumbed. The love of my children was my food source. It kept me moving, kept me focused.

One of my life’s mottos had always been, “The only way through it, is through it,” so with a stronger faith in God than ever before, onward I went.

Dark energy trying to swallow me unlike ever before, I stayed more grounded and attentive than ever before. Time would yield my reprieve. I finally received my physical freedom, allowed to move back to a land that had always felt like home, Columbia, Missouri.

In the midst of the darkness, I always heard a powerful voice telling me, “They have no idea who you are. You have no idea who you are.”

I knew at my core I possessed an imperious gift for healing. I witnessed it on countless occasions as an ICU nurse. It was my time to turn within and use those gifts on myself and my family. Time became irrelevant. The material world unfamiliar.

Far so distant, I could not recall what it felt like to possess that deep spiritual peace that so long ago had fed my soul. I would hear words or see visions and follow them. They would bring me closer, lift the dark energy. Allow forgiveness of myself and others to occur. Transcend.

Last fall the words became clear, “Free at 53”. My 53rd birthday on the horizon, I committed to a new workout regime, not rigid, but daily free-flowing. I knew exercise, nature, and music would return my freedom.

I began walking our 3 ½ acres more frequently. The land we had cleared at the bottom of our backyard hill, near the creek where a new fire pit had been put in, commenced as a sacred ground. I would walk “the stations” nature had provided for me, allowing my mystic self to unfold.

I didn’t know what would emerge. It seemed like it would magically occur on my birthday. Though a wonderful memory was created, it didn’t happen that way. I knew I was absorbing the powerful energy of my children, but time would be needed to transform.

New Year’s Day passed. Anxiety suddenly replaced the wonderful peaceful energy I had been experiencing. A few more days to ourselves before returning to school and work, we lounged around the house, trying to keep those emotions at bay.

One morning lying in bed, I felt nudged to organize some papers that had piled on my dresser. I took out the box that contained all my important files. Sorting through them, I ran across several from the dark days of my past. One of my “stations” in my sacred land was the old fire pit where I would walk by and imagine burning any negative energy that still lingered within.

With a fire blazing in the basement wood stove, I knew it was time for me to burn any remnants of my past. I immediately gathered all my painful dark memories and tossed them in the fire. It was time. It was what needed to be done.

The next morning upon waking, I called my dear friend Greg, who had become my spiritual guide over the years. We had nurtured a strong spiritual bond. I told him of my past weeks experiences and how it had commenced the prior morning. He affirmed what I had done stating, “You’ve burned all the negative energy.”

As with the frequent magic of Greg’s words, it was almost instant, an energetic shift. Any lingering negative energy resolved. I was placed in circle of peace. A place of calm. A place of love.

In my mind, I had been reflecting on the 12-year anniversary of the moment my spirit went up in smoke, left in ashes, January 5th. It was no coincidence that I had found those papers and burned them just 3 days prior.

The 5th passed with new unfamiliar emotions within my being. Peacefulness. Bliss. Harmony with the earth. Harmony with myself. I was feeling life anew. My senses were heightened. Colors more vibrant. Sounds clearer. Taste more flavorful. Touch more alive.

It instantly came to me. After decades of struggle and years of darkness my freedom had been given back. The phoenix was rising.

 

 

 

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Keep Your Arms and Legs Inside the Ride at All Times

tornado moore 5-31-13 023 (2)After four sacrificial years away, leaving to find work to support us while I finished writing my first book, my husband and the father of our daughter, finally returned to live with us. He rode up that day on his Harley, the man I fell in love with, the free spirit I searched a lifetime to find. All he carried with him was a change of clothes and his toothbrush. He returned just in time to watch our daughter perform at her big dance recital.

The following Monday we headed off if in a torrential down pour for Oklahoma to retrieve his car and some of his belongings, and for me to see my oldest son as he prepared to move to California. I knew I shouldn’t have been driving. The roads were slick and the tires on my car were bald. I could feel us hydroplaning several times. With low visibility, in spite of knowing how to drive in weather, driving is his expertise. Before I had the opportunity to find a dry place to stop and let him take over, the car was doing a donut and heading for the ditch, rear end first. It was an omen of what was to follow.

It took over an hour for the tow truck to arrive and get us back on the road. As we drove southwest, we found dry roads ahead. The rest of the trip was uneventful, but as we headed down I-44 west of Tulsa, I received a text from my son asking where we were. We had another hour and a half of driving and he told me to hurry up and get to Oklahoma City, bad weather was on its way.

Emergency weather alerts were broadcast on all channels. We were being told we had two hours at best before damaging winds and hail along with dangerous tornadoes, some possibly in the F4 or F5 category, would be over the city. We arrived at my sister-in-laws as several tornadoes were reported in El Reno and Yukon, 30 miles west of us. Fortunately, they were real slow-moving. The thought was to stay at the house hoping we might be missed or that we’d be safe in the underground portion of her house.

My son, who’s vicinity was near us, said he was sticking it out at his home suddenly sent me a text. He was heading for a friends in Moore as the storm steadily moved in a northeast direction. That made me grow concerned as he is a calm, intelligent, and rational young man. As we watched on TV, the tornado was heading our way and with panic the weather reports were calling for “EMERGENCY WEATHER ALERT”.

We got in our cars, three separate vehicles, as we didn’t want to come back and find they had all been damaged by the reported softball size hail. My husband drove his sister’s van taking our daughter. I didn’t want her to be in another accident with me at the wheel. His oldest son with his pet ferret and his sister followed behind us.

Heading down I-44, there were dark skies up ahead. The weather man reported the tornadoes were right on our tale, passing over landmarks we had just driven by. The sky to the south was clear and blue, so once we got to I-35 we turned south along with all the other cars on the road. No sooner than we did, the weatherman says, “Oh wow, the tornado just did something it never does! It just took a sharp right turn and is now heading towards Moore.”

Panic hit my heart. The road in front of me was backed up bumper to bumper moving slowly with everyone having the same idea. The cloudless blue sky above instantly turned a deadening black and the winds quickly picked up. I tried calling my husband, but his phone had been left in my car. The transformers above began popping and flashing. Their van started to seriously rock as the wind increased. I feared it would tip over. His son called and asked where we were going. I had no idea, but I knew we needed to get off the interstate.

At the next exit there was a church just off the road. Cars were exiting and hopping the curb. I followed suit, with my husband and his son doing the same. Being the athletic one, I grabbed our daughter and ran for the church, losing one of my sandals and unknowingly, my car keys . By the time I got there some men had broken the back door in with a fallen tree. They were escorting women and children through the broken glass.

Once inside, they got everyone settled in a room and did a head count as a tornado passed over. One of the last to arrive said they could see the roof of the church pulsating as they pulled up. We sat it out for over an hour before the winds calmed down enough for some men to go out and assess the damage. We had been fortunate, it hadn’t touched down or the church would have been wiped away. Only weeks earlier the first F5 that year had taken that same exact path, leaving massive destruction in its wake.

The next day, when we went to search for my lost car keys, we could see the damage all around us from the prior tornado; demolished shopping malls, movie theatres, hills of smashed cars, and only piles of debris where homes once stood. It was eerie and surreal. It had felt like we had become part of a movie set. The enormity of what had happened and what could have happened to us was all around.

My son had made it to his friends’ home. They sat it out in the hallway with a mattress over their heads and his friends’ dogs going wild. My son had taken off down the freeway, we were a short distance behind him, and the tornadoes were behind us. The fact that it took a sharp right turn just as we did was symbolic for me. We had already lived through a life of hell during our six-year stay in Oklahoma. This seemed like a clear message of preparation for what was to come. Dark times were upon our beloved country, most citizens oblivious. We were certain to be a part of it, but we were to be protected.

It was no coincidence. It was serendipity or God’s message. I knew our lives were that of warriors and we would always be out running tornadoes or whatever calamity was sent our way. It was a message, as it had been two months earlier when my family and I stayed at our place in Kissimmee, FL, just outside Orlando. We rode all the wild rides at the local theme parks with the constant warning, “Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times. Be prepared to come to a sudden and abrupt stop.”

Bad times for our country lay ahead and we were being shown how to survive. We were the warriors and I was a change agent. For, someone has to do something, and the revolution begins with me.

When the Butterflies Came

IMG_2075 (5)My 9 year old daughter discovered the book, “When the Butterflies Came” by Kimberly Griffiths Little about a month ago. She likes to read, but I wouldn’t say she is an avid reader like my two oldest sons were. There was something in that 327 page book she couldn’t put down. As soon as she finished she insisted I start reading it right away. It took me a week to get started, but only a few chapters in I am hooked. Suddenly, images of my life in Oklahoma City come flooding back.

I never had any bond or any internal connection with my mother. When I was young I thought it was because of me. After I had my first son at the age of 21, I realized that wasn’t true. I felt a love for him like I had never known. I have always been the free spirit who was never allowed to fly, but with him that all changed. I taught him, and my sons that followed, a passion for life. I encouraged them to be in touch with their spirits.

My sons taught me what real maternal love should feel like. I loved them passionately and I loved life passionately, but there was always something missing. After separating from my first husband because work was his priority, not his family, certainly not his wife, we all moved to Oklahoma City when he was transferred, to keep their father in their life.

I am a highly intuitive, highly spiritual person. We were living in a Minneapolis suburb at the time. I was working as a critical care nurse. We were near biological family, but I couldn’t have felt more alone. I had health issues that were only exasperated by the weather. My heart and my ego told me to move back to Columbia, MO, my children’s birthplace, but my spirit POWERFULLY urged me to move to Oklahoma City.

It was an immensely difficult thing to do. I was still sad and alone only now I was in a strange land. A year in I met a man, Joey, an Italian from Pittsburgh, enormously caring and passionate. He worked as a physician’s assistant with the liver transplant team. In time he would become my nurturer, my healer.

At the age of 35, he was able to fill the needs that my mother never could. He was aware of the significance of that relationship and of my inner child. I had a love of butterflies and several rooms in my house were decorated with them. He bought me many gifts with butterflies. My favorite was a lawn statue of a young girl running with a net.

Time passed and life moved on. Upon finding my second husband and moving back to Columbia, MO at the age of 40, when I became pregnant I knew it was a daughter. I knew God was giving me the one thing I needed to feel complete. On a warm spring day when the butterflies were out, a beautiful little girl was born, my “helper and defender of mankind.”

When she got a little older, I gave Joey back the statue of the little girl to put in his backyard sanctuary where he had allowed that little girl in me to heal. The thought of her left the recesses of my mind….until now. Until my beautiful little angel prepares to turn 10 and discovers a story about butterflies and they suddenly become very special to her.

I anticipate the beauty of the upcoming spring and the desire to plant flowers all around us as we invite all the butterflies into our world.  I confirm the circle of life. I confirm the process of healing. I confirm the power of love. The change we desire starts from within. The revolution begins with me.