Tough Medicine

A work truck with an attached trailer drove by. Roped to the side of the trailer was a large teddy bear. Seriously.

I'm reading an extraordinary work by Active Dreaming creator Robert Moss, whose marriage of dreamwork and shamanism delivers a resounding "YES!" in every line. The Boy Who Died and Came Back might be a template for crafting a fully awakened life, using a lot more than whatever percentage of our gray matter is currently online. 

One of Moss's recurring themes, in his dreams and waking life, is communion with our animal kin. Even if we aren't familiar with animal totems, or don't consciously subscribe to the idea that animal medicine can support our growth, strapping your stuffed bear to the outside of a truck is symbolic of the way we live: divorced from introspection and wisdom, fearful of solitude or change, and suspicious of non-linear forms of healing — all of which Bear signifies.

The joy of how Moss lives and teaches is palpably freeing; each creatively named mini chapter is overflowing with dream wisdom and transformative ideas, amusingly presented by someone who understands the cosmic truth that Life is eternal, and the more we connect across realities and beyond belief systems, the more we expand our opportunities for Divine humor. I experienced this often on my awakening journey, which is only one reason Moss's work rings with verity for me.

I began cawing to crows and listening to their replies more than twenty years ago; together with Bear, Panther, and, of course, Snake (the ultimate symbol of transformation), Crow/Raven is one of my power animals. For a time, during my time out of mind, Deer was a companion, too.

Let's welcome our animal teachers home; they have much to share if we're willing to listen, as do the plant and mineral "kindoms" (that's kingdom minus the "g", illuminating how we are all kin; note how Kindom also contains the word "Kind").

Healing — and medicine — is only painful if we believe it needs to be. When we ingest the insights other realities and companions offer us, transformation can be uplifting, even wondrous — regardless of our physical state of health. I know.

I'll be delving deeper into Robert's work and where we are on our collective journey in the September issue of my inspirational enewsletter, What Shines, out next week!

Excess or Express?

I wanted three pieces of purple plaid wool clothing: the sleeveless thigh-length tunic, matching skirt, and pants. Mom thought two pieces were sufficient, but capitulated and bought all three. I ended up wearing the tunic as a jumper, traded off wearing the pants with a sweater — and never wore the skirt at all. My mother's wisdom was lost on me; at ten, I was already a master of excess.

It took years and a long dark night of the soul, when everything I'd thought defined my life was unceremoniously yanked from me, to begin to relinquish my reliance on acquisition as a means of identification, to begin to express rather than excess.

And mine was a comparatively mild case. How many people pile on the pounds to protect themselves from abuse, or to avoid having to face some other disturbing life circumstance? How many people buy 300 pairs of shoes, or a fleet of fast cars, to drown the call to awaken in excess, rather than express their true essence and risk ridicule? Much safer to blend in than stand out.

This is the moment to get real, in every sense of the term. The August issue of What Shines will focus on the theory of REAL-ativity, and how to become real so that you live from the depths of your power, passion, and purpose. Please subscribe, and let me know how the newsletter serves you on your journey to express the deepest truth of your being.

Aleph: Redeeming Your Soul

Novels often herald extraordinary transformation for me; more than two decades ago, a line in Slightly Like Strangers helped catalyze the launch of my own business: "Security isn't something you save up. It's what you find when you take risks."

Now Paulo Coehlo's latest, Aleph, takes us on a highly personal crisis-of-faith odyssey in which the author redeems himself from 500 years of purgatory by asking a young woman whom he condemned to death as a witch during the Inquisition to forgive him. Reading this as the 11:11 gateway opened, I suddenly flashed on a core conversation I've shared numerous times over the past 18 years, concerning a naturopathic doctor who helped me heal during my awakening journey, yet whose devout religious beliefs seemed at odds with her homemade, Nature-based herbal and homeopathic remedies.

In a moment of perfect clarity I realized our interaction was exactly what Coehlo describes: in merging devout faith with "paganism", my naturopath enabled me to question my own beliefs and learn to stand in my truth, to hold the "both/and" ~ God and Nature, God in Nature, God as Nature ~ and to truly embrace "no separation" as my embodied mantra. My personal credo became, "If it works for you — and harms none — it works for me."

The lines one of the "witches" speaks to Coehlo 500 years earlier seared my soul and brought tears of recognition to my eyes; veracity does that. Here is what one of the girls says as they are being led to the stake:

"The time for fear has passed; now there is only the time of hope. Are we guilty? One day, the world will judge us and we will not be the ones to feel ashamed. We will meet again in the future, when your life and work will be dedicated to those who are so sorely misunderstood today. Your voice will speak out loudly, and many will listen to you.

"Love will conquer hatred. When the time comes, those who are burned today will be exalted. Wizards and alchemists will return, the Goddess will be welcomed and witches celebrated. And all for the greatness of God. That is the blessing we place on your head now, until the end of time."