Listening

Real Life is settling in, and I am again able to spend moments practicing.

I rediscovered my bone-conducting headphones. I clamped them onto my skull and it was as though music was somewhere up there in my head.

When I sat today, I made the connection of putting my visualizations somewhere up there in my head.

It's about listening, and responding to what you hear.

I figured it out

When I hear other psychopomps talk about their work, they talk about seeing the being and talking to it, convincing it to pass over or connecting with past issues and working them out. But my work is all . . . feel. I feel the attachment. I say a greeting, and I may see and "hear" a response, but not often. Usually I just connect with the light, feel the unconditional love that awaits on the other side, and feel the being leave me. I am not a wordy person and am especially not good at persuasion.

And that's what I figured out: my "skill" is that connecting with the light. I "channel" the goodness and joy that awaits. It's okay that I don't do words.

The nasty being that hollered at me about dabbling was an "incarnation" of my insecurity. I don't do things the way others do. And that's okay.

A bridge without attachments

My work situation now allows me time to resume my practice. This was made known to me: Recently I didn't feel like myself-- dark, cranky, lacking joy. On the second day, I remembered Rossco's post about attachments. I sat, met my guide, and connected with the light. I did not have any visual or auditory awareness of the attachment; it was more of a bodily/kinesthetic awareness. I showed it the pure love of the light and apparently it agreed to move on. After clearing the first attachment, I felt another "grabbing me around the legs." When I acknowledged it, I felt some nasty being yelling at me. It was angry that I was dabbling. I replied that I was offering all I had at the moment. We had a peaceful parting. I was able to remove the energetic attachments. I felt much better.

I now start each work day by sitting and making myself available.

Slow death

I've been hesitant to write this, based on something along the lines of: if you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail and if you have shamanic practice, everything looks like initiation.

My workhouse closed its doors and I was the only one happy with the announcement; it was my opportunity to begin my freelance career. But then a handful of us were asked to continue on as a new company. If I said no then I was saying no for everyone; everyone was needed to get the new company going. I didn't feel I could say no.

My job evolved into something I couldn't handle. I actually melted down at work-- more than once. It was humiliating to fail so publicly in front of people I'd worked with for more than a decade. One day I walked out, spouting to my boss, "This job and I do not get along. This job and I do not get along."

The next day I gave an open-ended notice. When they could manage without me, I'd leave. It was months before I could leave. The process was like a slow death. I was repeatedly presented with my shortcomings-- so many shortcomings! I watched my boss go through the stages of grief: denial, bargaining, anger.

Finally she called me into her office to arrange a termination date: November 18, the day my father died, the day of my one and only paranormal experience that got me into all this psychopomp stuff.

Bridge

As I sat in our drafty bathroom with the space heater blowing on me, I was warm on one side and cold on the other. It seemed so appropriate.

I had my verbal monkey brain chant Cindy's "I Give Thanks" poem:

I give thanks for this time, for this place, for this life, for this love.

I give thanks for the ground that I walk on.

I give thanks for the sky up above.

I give thanks from sunrise to sundown.

And all through the night

I am nestled in a blanket of gratitude

and love.

I give thanks.

I give thanks.

I give thanks.

It recited that while breathing, working the billows.

And I felt hot on one side and cold on the other and the Mannaz came into my brain.

I felt like a bridge.

I felt the Light open and felt like a bridge.

A week or two ago, I had a dream that I met with the indexer spirits who are helping me. They were asking why I was too busy to meet my indexing course Unit C deadline. And instead of telling them the truth--that I chose to work on Remarkable Journey instead-- I lied to them. I told them I was working on articles for Key Words. I lied! The next morning was a weekend morning and as we sat in the den, this dream came to me and I realized that the song playing kept repeating the words "You lied! You lied!"

I think the lie was that I wasn't keeping my commitment to sit. But this morning's sit was so wonderful that I think I'll be keeping my commitment.

I am a bridge.

Feeding the Ghosts

From The Wise Heart: A Guide to the Universal Teachings of Buddhist Psychology by Jack Kornfield, p. 287:

...I told Bruce that in the Buddhist tradition, when demons and hungry ghosts appear, there is a ritual practice of feeding them. In this practice we transform the worst, most rabid, most fearful energies by deliberately visualizing what we can do for them. We picture giving them whatever they want and need, even our own body, until they are fully satisfied.

My spirit guide is Buddhist (no surprise): During an early journey I was being taught that I have nothing to fear. I met a being who wanted to eat my heart and so I gave it to him, repeatedly.

Thick

I can be kind of thick sometimes.

I had a general confusion as to how a flesh-and-blood psychopomp could be of use. That is, couldn't the spirit guides and other more-knowing beings accomplish the task that I'm learning to do? Especially since I've been advised by experienced flesh-and-blood psychopomps to rely on my spirit guide for direction and assistance in the process.

So I asked my spirit guide.

And heard the familiar refrain: I am a bridge.

My services would be needed for those "earthbounds" who cannot or will not see the spirit guides who are there to help them successfully cross over. Perhaps the earthbounds' belief systems prevent them from knowing they have spirit guides to help them. Perhaps the earthbounds are confused on some level about their status and so don't know that crossing over is what they should be doing.

Because they are earthbound, they can see me even when unable to see their spirit guides. So I am the bridge between.

I am a bridge.