It’s best to listen to the soul the first time it speaks.
It will never stop speaking—not ever—until you listen and do what it says.
The soul speaks in many languages, starting with the soft and ending with the hard.
First, it asks you, nicely, to listen to it.
Then it asks you nicely again.
If you’ve heard, but have not listened (cough: all of us, most of the time) it will ask you a third time with a much angrier voice, and that’s just the way it is when a soul has something to say to the body that drives it.
Oftentimes our soul gets to three or more before we act and soothe it. Some people die without soothing it at all, and that’s why I’m writing these words.
Today, the energy of the earth feels like a dense, dark chocolate cake. They say it’s because Mercury is in retrograde and the moon is doing all sorts of eclipsing and the like, so things are probably going to feel a bit dense. But why does my brain have to feel it like chocolate cake? Perhaps I need more sleep.
I’ve been afraid to really go into too many of the changes that have been slowly melting my life over the past eighteen months (such as a new recognition of the way my brain perceives subtle differences in energetic states) and there’s a reason for that. Fear. Fear of losing my nearest and dearest. Fear of being seen as, ‘Ah, yes. That crazy girl who thinks she can feel the difference between an everyday kind of day, and a lunar eclipse kind of day.’
Well. I mean…it’s happening, whether I like it or not. And I have lost people, and likely will continue to do so, over time, sadly. But what seems to have been the theme of the day (for, oh, I don’t know, a whole year) is that the universe is really just not having a bar of my nonsense denial phase and is really rather emphatically pushing me to move into my new skin.
I think I’m finally ready to run with it.
For those of you who are pretty happy with the blog the way it is…don’t worry. I don’t see any drastic changes happening with the creative type posts I pop up— this is my creative haven, after all, and I’m so grateful to have the chance to share that deeper part of me with all of you.
But what I am thinking I might do, is be brave and talk a little more about some of the more interesting things associated with this new land of woo woo I’ve fallen into. The random psychic stuff that happened at the start. The energy stuff. The way I used to see the world, and the way I just don’t see it that way anymore.
Yes. I’m going to go there, you guys, because it’s really actually kind of cool and exciting, depending on how wide you’re willing to open your mind. I’ve been fully checked physically and mentally— all is good. So now I’m forced to face the ultimate truth. That all this must mean…I am more than what I always thought I was. You are too. We all are, in fact. So why don’t we just run with exploring these possibilities and see where they lead. I’m game if you are. xx
I took another sneaky day away from here, yesterday. I was busy ‘processing’ some soul questions and spilling the watery leftovers out my eyes. It’s an ugly blubbering kind of thing that happens when I cry, although I like my Step Dad’s version better. Once upon a time, he turned to my eighteen-year-old watery blues and said with a gentle, funny-man smile: ‘Hey, it’s not that bad. At least you look beautiful when you cry.’ (Ha ha ha. Sigh. My goodness I love that man.)
I want to talk a little bit about this thing that’s happening to me because, in truth, it’s the most profound thing to have ever happened in the world relative to me. I’m only in communication with one other person who has experienced this sort of drastic life transformation, too, (a beautiful friend of my Mum’s) so it’s been quite a lonely and frightening thing to go through, in some ways.
For close to a year, I have been going back and forth between two parts of me, trying desperately to merge these two very different aspects of myself into one whole human. Often times, this transition has felt like two different versions of me (my goodness I wish I could draw you a diagram) fighting it out to take control of who I am and where my life is going to next.
For most of my life, the rational side of me has taken centre stage. It has been the maker and keeper of rules, the iron-fisted disciplinarian that has made sense of the world around me in a very orderly manner. It has kept me safe. Then there’s the spiritual side of me, who I lost contact with some time after I became a ‘mature adult,’ and only now has she returned now that my heart has fully opened for business again. Oh boy, has she shaken things up.
The rational side of me—the order keeper that anchors me into reality—has had a bit to say about the arrival of her spiritual counterpart. She’s not all that keen to see what the new girl has to say, and I don’t blame her either. Among other things, this new spiritual opening has brought a level of sensitivity into my world which has opened up all sorts of weird and wonderful doors: a connection to nature that defies human comprehension would be one of those odd things the new girl has tossed onto the gameboard. (I’ll try and do a separate post on that connection, one day. It’s very hard to explain the lovely feelings that sometimes flow through me when I connect with the earth.)
So yes, while these two are battling it out, there have been some bumps in the road which have caused some tears— but actually, that’s where you guys are really helping me. You’ve given me a beautiful channel to move my newly resurrected creative energy through, and you’ve also given me some pretty wonderful shoulders to cry on along the way. That’s why I love blogging. The human connection. It’s not me against the world, it’s all of us together, sharing the good, the bad and the ugly of life.
It told me a story about the heartaches I choose to hide from.
Hiding is much easier than seeking, wouldn’t you say, on account of all the wrong turns made on the way to finding what you’re looking for. In my case, I am looking for an entire person (me) and so you can see how the effort seems a larger game than your average schoolyard version.
A soul doesn’t lie, is what they say, and I think they might be right about that much. When my soul spoke to me today, I had no choice but to listen (which is interesting because I am quite able to ignore my brain on demand.)
I couldn’t tell you how old I was. Seven or eight, maybe. However old I was, though, I was old enough to know what I believed. And what I absolutely did not believe was that my Mum had been killed by Jack the Ripper in a past life, like her meditation session had seemingly ‘revealed’. Ridiculous. Impossible. Absurd.
But I’ll get back to Jack a little later, shall I?
First: some background.
As I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier posts, I was a highly sensitive child. A soft little muffin, and a deep one at that. But what I also seemed to be was an ‘old soul’, and none of the adults in my life ever were quite able to explain how that part of me came about.
The ‘old soul-ness’ kept popping up all the way through my teenage years and manifested in all sorts of different ways. Perhaps one of the most profound came in the form of a monologue I performed in the year eleven drama class play. It was the science teacher who mentioned it. He said—in fact, his whole entire body said— it was surely impossible for a sixteen-year-old to really know the feeling of ‘glass grinding in my spirit.’
‘How did you know?’ he asked, his eyes far more serious now than they had been when he explained to me that a Bunsen burner works best when it’s actually switched on.
‘Umm. I’m not sure,’ I said, slightly alarmed by the intensity of his usually playful eyes. It was an odd thing, I agreed, and honestly, I didn’t know where the depth of my performance had come from. But after seeing those eyes of his change so drastically…part of me wondered.
And part of me has wondered ever since.
So let’s get back to Jack then, shall we, and how he very rudely slaughtered my Mother once upon a lifetime’s past. Because it sounds bloody ridiculous, doesn’t it? Sounds impossible and absolutely, entirely absurd.
Well…yes. It does.
But I have to tell you, I’m not so sure anymore. As a matter of fact, I have been very seriously rethinking the nature of just about everything in this old universe of ours. And I’m thinking, now, that maybe—just very slightly maybe—my Mum might have been right about Jack.
What if the unexplainable really could be explained by remembering further back in time? What if the uncanny childhood wisdom that so many young children seem to possess, actually does come from someplace they have actually been before? Like…another life, perhaps?
I’d like to tell you a story about that, actually. How my piano came to be my ultimate happy place (and healing tool, you might say.)
It’s in my soul, I think. Music. It’s the place I go to escape the world when it gets too noisy, and it’s absolutely the place I go when I need to re-make sense of the world around me.
I suppose you might say I had quite an explosive childhood— and when I say explosive, of course I’m being a bit dramatic (lol). All I mean by ‘explosive’ is that I was a highly sensitive child, and although the world was all sorts of fun and wonderful, my sensitivity sometimes got to me. When the teacher shouted at the kid in the next seat: it wasn’t the kid that felt the brunt of that rage. It was me. I felt it all.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, I needed an outlet, a way to remove the yuck of a world that somehow seemed so much bigger than me. I needed a night light. A safety blanket to catch the waves of emotion, especially the ones that didn’t belong to me.
I still remember asking Mum: ‘Please. Can I have piano lessons?’ to which the reply always came, ‘Brooke. We don’t have a piano.’ Of course, I knew that. But my heart felt like it was being called to. It felt like I just needed to play. I don’t really have the words to explain the pull of such a deep need, but it was there and it never went away until that one special day. My fourteenth birthday, I think. The day I got my first keyboard.
Well. I was beside myself. Here I was, surrounded by lashings of colourful paper, staring at the one thing I intuitively knew I needed. I quickly taught myself to play, which was really just me tinkering away until what I was playing became something that resembled a tune. Soon I was writing songs. When I wrote, I said all the things my heart needed to say, I just let it all go. Whatever wanted to come out. I let it be.
And it felt good. It felt like a wooshing tunnel of wind rushing through me, taking with it all the angry, the sad, the tension. When I played— when I wrote— a new part of me came to life. The right part of me.
The true part of me.
It’s not surprising to me, when I look back, that most of my songs were written when I was in my teenage years, a time of hormones and boys and tears. (Oh, gosh. All the tears.) Those years were a time of absolute truth. A time of boundless dreams, but also a time where the world really could have ended if I happened to be ‘spoken’ to by a teacher that really didn’t know that I was a crier.
When those things made my world explode: I escaped. Into my music, into the wave of beautiful that sang into my bones. And that’s just all sorts of magic to me. That still is all sorts of magic.
My first love. My piano.
Okay. 🙂 Well, that’s enough sop for day two, I suppose. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.