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Yesterday, I purchased together a piece each of moldavite, aragonite star cluster and sphelerite. While I am still working on Alice's book, I have come to embrace my desire to live as a writer. I am grateful to a member of the London-based African-Caribbean healer's group who offered a perspective that helped me seize and own that truth for my life.
In the meantime, though, another book I have wanted to write for two years is also being developed simultaneously. This week, on Tuesday night, I was given the name and a few details of it's main character, Luzca.
The following is an email sent to a buddy about it all:
On the moldavite, which comes from Bohemia (Czech Republic):"Because its energies are so powerful it's a good idea to keep it near you a lot when you first get one and to meditate with it regularly. Whenever moldavite is used in meditation it is recommended that a grounding stone: black tourmaline, hematite, tiger's eye, smoky quartz, red jasper, or obsidian, be placed by the feet for grounding purposes.
Special warning: You will find in time that more and more things seem to be unnecessary: the relationship you're hanging on to because it's comfortable and you don't like to be lonely, for example. You may find it more and more important to be honest with both yourself and others."
And it suddenly becomes so fascinating and apparent why I had to get all three together. Why those three. I read up on the aragonite--it's grounding, especially emotionally. And then combine it with the truth-telling spheler-something. It all adds up.
What is most fascinating to me is the way I get prepared in advance for these major shifts. Watching that particular movie, In America, and having what was really a rather violent reaction to it. I was actually hyper-ventilating. I wasn't afraid of it, but I was alarmed.
Did you ever see Amistad? The dark, tall and entirely masculine...just found his image
djimon hounsou
...
This is from the movie I watched that night. The girls family lives in the same run-down complex. They are immigrants living in New York. The part in the movie that beat me up was when her father is confronting his demons and fears and, in a fit, accuses Djaimon's character of being in love with his wife. By the way, Djimon's character is such a contrast...he is shown angry and yelling and then at other times, gentle and tender.
Right at that moment in the movie, being accused of having an interest in the Irish wife, Djimon responds with...."No, I am in love with you." He speaks it strongly and softly. Then he builds up to a crescendo of emotion adding, "And I am in love with your woman. I am in love with your girls. I am in love, even, with your anger. I am in love with anything that is alive." By this point he is screaming with a depth that only such a raw hunk of African masculinity can pull forth from a human diaphragm.
And my soul shivered, then it quivered. Then I hyperventilated and went back to the time as a child when I longed to be held. Something about the vibration in his voice, I don't doubt it. What event in his own life he pulled from to carry the scene, I can't imagine. Whatever it was, it came through loud and clear, and my heart resonated with the despair, anguish and hopeless resignation. And it literally shook the injury out of me. That was the exorcism.
And when it was all over, some ten to fifteen minutes later, after needing to imagine myself swimming deeply in the Caribbean, embraced, held and caressed by the salt waters, I was able to recall the reality of my need, desire and singular purpose to experience love at a soul and spiritual level I had ceased to acknowledge consciously or experientially.
The scene ends with the Irishman calmly, quietly announcing, "You're dying. I'm sorry." And all the clues that he has aids are confirmed.
The very next day, yesterday, the universe stirs me up to visit the farmer's market to buy those three stones.
Within a few hours after placing the moldavite in a jacket pocket, I am excited about coming home to attend to Luzca's story. I know details are coming. I know I'll receive them. Hours later when I arrive home, I walk in the door and wish I had long, wide sheets of paper to do a story board. I've never done one before. I've seen images of them, maybe in movies or on a special about screenwriters or story-editors.
I decide it is so necessary for the story-plotting I'm about to, that I'm willing to turn around, get right back in the car and drive to an office supply. As soon as I turn the nob, I remember that just before our staff meeting, a couple hours earlier, our school secretary told me the easel paper I ordered had arrived and that I should put in my car to take back to my classroom, at a different site from where we meet. The universe had supplied the exact paper I needed. As usual, I didn't notice it until it made sense, until I knew what to do with the support.
And I set there with the writing buddy crystal I wrote about earlier, the moldavite and some others and let details about Luzca, her grandmother, her great-grandmother and great-great grandmother come to me. I realized after I sent you that email about channeling Luzca's character that this is story I said I wanted to write at least two years ago, after I'd done the DNA mapping.
The time it takes to prepare the way...
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
The Master Key
The newest thing in self-improvement in the U.S. is The Secret. Even Oprah's pushing it.
The last blog entry included a quote from Alice's diary. Around the time of that entry, she was also writing about something called the Master Key and a system toward helping improves one life. A little digging while I was reading through the collection of her papers unearthed that full reference to the book. I've looked it up and just discovered that it is the same book that they claim The Secret is founded upon and references. One pop-up advertisement claims it is even the very book that caused Bill Gates to drop out of school and start his company.
I shouldn't be surprised that Ms. Dunbar-Nelson was, once again, ahead of her times. I'm off to buy this book and check it for myself in just a moment.
Also, regarding that diary entry excerpt, I went to the very park and reservoir which she refers to. I traced her very steps. The reservoir is just as soothing and placid, though there were no stairs since construction was taking place on one side of it. I had to climb a couple enbankments to reach it. From there I went back down and sat on one of the benches. The benches were a bit modern, so they were in no way the very equipment on which she might have sat. And there were modern swings in a children's play area that no doubt post-date her diary entry.
It was wonderful to just sit there and try to imagine what she might have felt, what the scene might have been like at that time. I likewise visited the block on which her old home was located. Oddly enough, there was a single building from that era that remained entirely in tact. The neighborhood is now Wilmington, Delaware's civic center, but one lone building sat in the middle of a parking lot, dating back to the original sructures. She had lived at 916 French street for a while, this building was 914. It's a lawyer's office now.
More details of the book were presented to me through the research.
On the flight there, the first of the new Tera-mai Seichem Reiki symbols dropped into my consciousness. Zonar suddenly appeared in my mind's eye. On the plane ride back to Long Beach, I used this symbol to help clear out a lot of psychic debris. It was quite powerful to watch it do its work. Funny how the universe works.
I can see how uniquely appropriate and important it was that I use that symbol for the mental housecleaning. Reading through Alice's papers kicked up a lot of dust in my own mind. The more I study her, the more I learn about myself.
How amazing it is that the universe brought to me enough extra cash this summer to enable me to both take that trip and receive the new TeraMai-Seichem attunements that are coming in handy to help me with the process of writing this book.
I'm also sleeping with a Chrysanthemum Stone. These are credited with helping one find one's true path and to have the courage to live it.
One reader, wrote after reading the last entry that I should start not delay in starting this book. The encouragement she offered when I asked her to say more was invaluable. I think that sometimes, because I seem to go after what I want and to get it, my friends and family underestimate the value of their spoken support and encouragement to me.
I would love to be a writer. And by that I mean, to earn financial support enough to make that my primary contribution to the planet. For teachers, there is nothing so enticing as the security of that promised pension after 30 years of service. I have to be ever so careful to balance not leaving a sensible investment in my future with the pursuit of my dreams.
The funny thing is that Alice loved politics so much that she left her job one too many times to attend a rally and when she returned the new principal succeeded in having her fired. She never recovered from the loss of that steady income. She had taken it for granted and failed to appreciate in time that it was the means to her being able to do the many political, social and artistic activities she craved. Financially, she never quite recovered.
I'll plan on keeping my day job. In the meantime, I will put my heart and an equivalent of a sustained sweat into this writing business. Oh, and I'm off to buy this book Master Key book, too.
The last blog entry included a quote from Alice's diary. Around the time of that entry, she was also writing about something called the Master Key and a system toward helping improves one life. A little digging while I was reading through the collection of her papers unearthed that full reference to the book. I've looked it up and just discovered that it is the same book that they claim The Secret is founded upon and references. One pop-up advertisement claims it is even the very book that caused Bill Gates to drop out of school and start his company.
I shouldn't be surprised that Ms. Dunbar-Nelson was, once again, ahead of her times. I'm off to buy this book and check it for myself in just a moment.
Also, regarding that diary entry excerpt, I went to the very park and reservoir which she refers to. I traced her very steps. The reservoir is just as soothing and placid, though there were no stairs since construction was taking place on one side of it. I had to climb a couple enbankments to reach it. From there I went back down and sat on one of the benches. The benches were a bit modern, so they were in no way the very equipment on which she might have sat. And there were modern swings in a children's play area that no doubt post-date her diary entry.
It was wonderful to just sit there and try to imagine what she might have felt, what the scene might have been like at that time. I likewise visited the block on which her old home was located. Oddly enough, there was a single building from that era that remained entirely in tact. The neighborhood is now Wilmington, Delaware's civic center, but one lone building sat in the middle of a parking lot, dating back to the original sructures. She had lived at 916 French street for a while, this building was 914. It's a lawyer's office now.
More details of the book were presented to me through the research.
On the flight there, the first of the new Tera-mai Seichem Reiki symbols dropped into my consciousness. Zonar suddenly appeared in my mind's eye. On the plane ride back to Long Beach, I used this symbol to help clear out a lot of psychic debris. It was quite powerful to watch it do its work. Funny how the universe works.
I can see how uniquely appropriate and important it was that I use that symbol for the mental housecleaning. Reading through Alice's papers kicked up a lot of dust in my own mind. The more I study her, the more I learn about myself.
How amazing it is that the universe brought to me enough extra cash this summer to enable me to both take that trip and receive the new TeraMai-Seichem attunements that are coming in handy to help me with the process of writing this book.
I'm also sleeping with a Chrysanthemum Stone. These are credited with helping one find one's true path and to have the courage to live it.
One reader, wrote after reading the last entry that I should start not delay in starting this book. The encouragement she offered when I asked her to say more was invaluable. I think that sometimes, because I seem to go after what I want and to get it, my friends and family underestimate the value of their spoken support and encouragement to me.
I would love to be a writer. And by that I mean, to earn financial support enough to make that my primary contribution to the planet. For teachers, there is nothing so enticing as the security of that promised pension after 30 years of service. I have to be ever so careful to balance not leaving a sensible investment in my future with the pursuit of my dreams.
The funny thing is that Alice loved politics so much that she left her job one too many times to attend a rally and when she returned the new principal succeeded in having her fired. She never recovered from the loss of that steady income. She had taken it for granted and failed to appreciate in time that it was the means to her being able to do the many political, social and artistic activities she craved. Financially, she never quite recovered.
I'll plan on keeping my day job. In the meantime, I will put my heart and an equivalent of a sustained sweat into this writing business. Oh, and I'm off to buy this book Master Key book, too.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Crystal Color brings on crystal clear
This morning I woke up so excited. It's the second time in two weeks that I reached for a different crystal...a crystal that I had sitting around in my room here or there, but hadn't held or meditated with in quite some time. And in each of the two instances, I had new awarenesses come to mind. Fantastic.
Last night it was a lepidolite massage-tool shaped crystal that sat on a nightstand for weeks. Before that, it sat for months with a host of others that I choose from each morning, deciding which one or two to place in a pocket.
It was gonna be tonight's selection to hold as I went off to sleep. My mind started drifting to my favorite scene, an oceanfront location. I can't remember if I was just walking along a shore cliff or had placed myself on the outskirts of a town, or which specific surroundings, but in an instant, I saw this beautiful electric blue. It had properties that don't exist in colors we see with the eyes. It was practically alive. It's the color of the perfect sea and sky. It isn't turquoise or baby blue, but some lively mixing of them with electricity, life itself, and the peace of heaven all mixed in together.
I spent several moments straining my mind to recapture that particular color, that new and strange quality of life that came with it, was inherent in it.
Oddly though, it wasn't entirely pleasant as an experience. It kind of hurt when I tried to hold on to it. Go figure. Imagine a thumb being pressed just between your eyebrows a little too strongly and a little too long. I guess I was really straining my third eye chakra to hold it in my mind.
I knew immediately that it wasn't on the usually visible spectrum of light for the physical human eye. If you're not sure what I mean, think dog hearing. There are sounds that while perfectly natural and normal, lie outside the range of most human beings ability to process within our physical framework. Likewise, there are light frequencies, colors, that are outside the developed capacity of either our eyes to perceive or our waking mind to process, or both. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Visible_light)
The blue I saw was one of these colors. Years ago I had a dream of visiting pyramids...well, not so much "visiting" as being part of a long procession required to pass by them in some parallel "dream" world. The colors of the pyramids, of the stone were incredible. The only word that comes close to capturing what these shades of gold, brown, violet, and rust were like is VIVID. Vivid implies life, doesn't it. The colors were alive.
Color is light. Light is alive. It could be. We're alive. We are just an accumulation of particles. Light is particles.
You're thinking, "Wait a second, no, light is a wave." Fine. But did you know that modern physicists are proving what metaphysicists have known, that there exists a duality at the tiniest levels of existence. Electrons, quarks and light itelf are composed of smaller material that can transform instantaneously from wave to particle. Waves and particles, they are the same thing material being expressed differently depending on the circumstances or context. Amazing stuff.
Color is explained to be light vibrating at different frequencies. Not that this is to be a scientific treatise or anything...but red's wavelength is longer and frequency shorter than, say blue, with a shorter wavelength (arc) and therefore a faster frequency (http://www.usbyte.com/common/approximate_wavelength.htm).
The links are in case you wanna know more.
Which brings of to the new perspectives.
A few weeks ago I experienced words as alive. I was reading Dostoevsky's The Idiot and saw them literally dance themselves off the page from the way he wrote. From there I decided to return to the classroom as a student to learn more about the stories, novels and writing so that I can be fully participatory and cognitive in the process when my muses inspire me with the story/biography/novel I intend to complete sometime in the next several years. (Not being funny when I say "years", just being honest about how long it might take to do all the steps involved in preparing myself, the subject, and the final form.)
Back to last night. Before going to bed and picking up the lepidolite, I was reading Alice Dunbar-Nelson's diary. (She's the subject of the book for blog-readers who don't already know.) In the parts I read she is going into detail about her fascination with the ideal, with God's beauty in nature. In particular:
"My head was stuffy after staying in the office until eight o'clock, so I went for a walk after coming home. Out 11th street, quiet and broody under the trees, with pleasant homes; across the 10th Street Park and up the stairs to the reservoir. It was heavenly up there--lovely water, soft grass, the clover leaves shut tight and shedding the dew; the moon big and red gold, hanging over the trees and matching the electric lights around the banks. Boys and girls enjoying themselves after the fashion of kids. I hungered, dreaming over the loveliness of it all. And I tried to think through this conception of INfinite, Omnipotent Good, within me, around me, ME. I went downstairs and sat on a bench in the park near a weeping willow tree, bending over the skating pond. It was as still as if it had been painted. And I tried to understand inspiration by the law of attraction."
She goes on to say more about a particular book and concept on God she was reading. Oh my GOD!!! I just went to quote the day and year, to provide to the reader for effect. And I was the one affected. It was August 21, 1921. 21, 21. My birthday. There are no coincidences, only fascinating clues by the universe to help us guide our way.
And that confirms what inspired me this morning. I woke up clearer about what I want the angle to be in her story.
She was a historical figure. She was Paul Laurence Dunbar's wife, he America's first noted and celebrated Negro poet. She was a suffragist, working tirelessly to get the 19th Amendment passed to ensure voting rights for women--black men had it after slavery, but women of any color had to wait till 1920 here in the land of opportunity. She was an author, poet, educator. She was a survivor of physical abuse. While participating at a rally/protest, she was beaten with a club by DC police. After a drunken binge, Paul came home one night and nearly beat her to death. (That was the last time she saw him.)
She was part of the Harlem Renaissance, a guide and way-paver for the younger artists. The love of her life was her 3rd husband with whom she ran and operated a black newspaper for her home state. She was a columnist of note and an early member of the NAACP. She was light enough to pass for white and often did. She struggled to be less bigoted against her own kind than those who were bigoted against her.
And my story about her, my interest in her, the focus of my book will be primarily about her struggle to understand her place in the universe. That is what ultimately consumed her. That is what consumes me.
That is why her spirit chose to partner with me.
Now, I can see what she is hoping will be conveyed in a book about her. She longed in life to be more than black, more than a woman, more than a shell. She wanted to be an expression of spirit, to connect with it, merge with it, experience her full right of existence as often as possible. She worked so devoutly in causes battling sexism, racism, any limits-ism, I suspect, believing it might one day lead to her freeing her own soul.
And one day, three years and two months ago, I met her spirit during a history grant. I was, at the time, likewise trying to embrace and engage and experience the fullness of my soul and my spirit. I had just months before begun A Course In Miracles. I had been on the journey before the book. I stayed on the journey after the book.
I wondered, seriously wondered, why Alice would call upon me to venture into writing about her life. I'm no serious historian. I'm no great writer...yet...either. And this morning it makes sense. Like her, I hunger for spirit. I want to explore it and write about it.
Oh yes...I will write our story.
Pictures of Alice Dunbar Nelson:
Last night it was a lepidolite massage-tool shaped crystal that sat on a nightstand for weeks. Before that, it sat for months with a host of others that I choose from each morning, deciding which one or two to place in a pocket.
It was gonna be tonight's selection to hold as I went off to sleep. My mind started drifting to my favorite scene, an oceanfront location. I can't remember if I was just walking along a shore cliff or had placed myself on the outskirts of a town, or which specific surroundings, but in an instant, I saw this beautiful electric blue. It had properties that don't exist in colors we see with the eyes. It was practically alive. It's the color of the perfect sea and sky. It isn't turquoise or baby blue, but some lively mixing of them with electricity, life itself, and the peace of heaven all mixed in together.
I spent several moments straining my mind to recapture that particular color, that new and strange quality of life that came with it, was inherent in it.
Oddly though, it wasn't entirely pleasant as an experience. It kind of hurt when I tried to hold on to it. Go figure. Imagine a thumb being pressed just between your eyebrows a little too strongly and a little too long. I guess I was really straining my third eye chakra to hold it in my mind.
I knew immediately that it wasn't on the usually visible spectrum of light for the physical human eye. If you're not sure what I mean, think dog hearing. There are sounds that while perfectly natural and normal, lie outside the range of most human beings ability to process within our physical framework. Likewise, there are light frequencies, colors, that are outside the developed capacity of either our eyes to perceive or our waking mind to process, or both. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Visible_light)
The blue I saw was one of these colors. Years ago I had a dream of visiting pyramids...well, not so much "visiting" as being part of a long procession required to pass by them in some parallel "dream" world. The colors of the pyramids, of the stone were incredible. The only word that comes close to capturing what these shades of gold, brown, violet, and rust were like is VIVID. Vivid implies life, doesn't it. The colors were alive.
Color is light. Light is alive. It could be. We're alive. We are just an accumulation of particles. Light is particles.
You're thinking, "Wait a second, no, light is a wave." Fine. But did you know that modern physicists are proving what metaphysicists have known, that there exists a duality at the tiniest levels of existence. Electrons, quarks and light itelf are composed of smaller material that can transform instantaneously from wave to particle. Waves and particles, they are the same thing material being expressed differently depending on the circumstances or context. Amazing stuff.
Color is explained to be light vibrating at different frequencies. Not that this is to be a scientific treatise or anything...but red's wavelength is longer and frequency shorter than, say blue, with a shorter wavelength (arc) and therefore a faster frequency (http://www.usbyte.com/common/approximate_wavelength.htm).
The links are in case you wanna know more.
Which brings of to the new perspectives.
A few weeks ago I experienced words as alive. I was reading Dostoevsky's The Idiot and saw them literally dance themselves off the page from the way he wrote. From there I decided to return to the classroom as a student to learn more about the stories, novels and writing so that I can be fully participatory and cognitive in the process when my muses inspire me with the story/biography/novel I intend to complete sometime in the next several years. (Not being funny when I say "years", just being honest about how long it might take to do all the steps involved in preparing myself, the subject, and the final form.)
Back to last night. Before going to bed and picking up the lepidolite, I was reading Alice Dunbar-Nelson's diary. (She's the subject of the book for blog-readers who don't already know.) In the parts I read she is going into detail about her fascination with the ideal, with God's beauty in nature. In particular:
"My head was stuffy after staying in the office until eight o'clock, so I went for a walk after coming home. Out 11th street, quiet and broody under the trees, with pleasant homes; across the 10th Street Park and up the stairs to the reservoir. It was heavenly up there--lovely water, soft grass, the clover leaves shut tight and shedding the dew; the moon big and red gold, hanging over the trees and matching the electric lights around the banks. Boys and girls enjoying themselves after the fashion of kids. I hungered, dreaming over the loveliness of it all. And I tried to think through this conception of INfinite, Omnipotent Good, within me, around me, ME. I went downstairs and sat on a bench in the park near a weeping willow tree, bending over the skating pond. It was as still as if it had been painted. And I tried to understand inspiration by the law of attraction."
She goes on to say more about a particular book and concept on God she was reading. Oh my GOD!!! I just went to quote the day and year, to provide to the reader for effect. And I was the one affected. It was August 21, 1921. 21, 21. My birthday. There are no coincidences, only fascinating clues by the universe to help us guide our way.
And that confirms what inspired me this morning. I woke up clearer about what I want the angle to be in her story.
She was a historical figure. She was Paul Laurence Dunbar's wife, he America's first noted and celebrated Negro poet. She was a suffragist, working tirelessly to get the 19th Amendment passed to ensure voting rights for women--black men had it after slavery, but women of any color had to wait till 1920 here in the land of opportunity. She was an author, poet, educator. She was a survivor of physical abuse. While participating at a rally/protest, she was beaten with a club by DC police. After a drunken binge, Paul came home one night and nearly beat her to death. (That was the last time she saw him.)
She was part of the Harlem Renaissance, a guide and way-paver for the younger artists. The love of her life was her 3rd husband with whom she ran and operated a black newspaper for her home state. She was a columnist of note and an early member of the NAACP. She was light enough to pass for white and often did. She struggled to be less bigoted against her own kind than those who were bigoted against her.
And my story about her, my interest in her, the focus of my book will be primarily about her struggle to understand her place in the universe. That is what ultimately consumed her. That is what consumes me.
That is why her spirit chose to partner with me.
Now, I can see what she is hoping will be conveyed in a book about her. She longed in life to be more than black, more than a woman, more than a shell. She wanted to be an expression of spirit, to connect with it, merge with it, experience her full right of existence as often as possible. She worked so devoutly in causes battling sexism, racism, any limits-ism, I suspect, believing it might one day lead to her freeing her own soul.
And one day, three years and two months ago, I met her spirit during a history grant. I was, at the time, likewise trying to embrace and engage and experience the fullness of my soul and my spirit. I had just months before begun A Course In Miracles. I had been on the journey before the book. I stayed on the journey after the book.
I wondered, seriously wondered, why Alice would call upon me to venture into writing about her life. I'm no serious historian. I'm no great writer...yet...either. And this morning it makes sense. Like her, I hunger for spirit. I want to explore it and write about it.
Oh yes...I will write our story.
Pictures of Alice Dunbar Nelson:
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