If you would like to know more about this song, I recommend reading the information written by the person who originally posted it on YouTube, Hans-André Stamm.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Le Bouvier
If you would like to know more about this song, I recommend reading the information written by the person who originally posted it on YouTube, Hans-André Stamm.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Anne Hess on Ascension
Anne seems to prefer to focus on the positive too. I love the way, at the beginning of the interview she is impatient with the interviewer, who is pressing her to talk about the controllers and the way things have been for many centuries. Her irritation can be seen in her reluctance to listen and her body language, the way at one point she grabs a pile of cards and books and tidies them away in an angry manner, as though she were on the verge of terminating the conversation. Later on, she is more relaxed in a different environment, outside on a swing seat.
Coming back to myself is great. When I stop looking at how awful everything is in the news on TV or on the internet, I realise how happy I am despite all of it. Listening to Anne reminds me that there are people who are working for the benefit of all. She said something wonderful. She said that the plan is for everyone to ascend. This takes me back to when I was a teenager and I said in my head that I couldn't be truly happy until everyone else was happy. An impossibility you might say. But the little voice inside me answered in the affirmative meaning that it is possible. And I know the little voice tells me the truth. We will have to wait and see but my heart is bouncing around like an ecstatic baby goat as I think about what might happen in the future.
*A word about ascension. This is not ascension as it is understood by the christian faiths but a word used to describe the rise in frequency. As Anne Hess explains, everything is energy and energy vibrates. The rate at which it vibrates is called the frequency and the speed at which something or someone vibrates determines its density. Our planet is dense and some of the people who live on it are even denser. (Sorry, couldn't resist!) But as shown by science, this density is an illusion as, when seen on the sub-atomic level, there is no matter only energy. The rising frequency means that the energy of which we and our planet are composed is increasing the rate at which it vibrates and this affects us in many different ways. I do not have all the answers, and I am as uncertain as any of you reading this what this will mean for us, but what I do know is that as our vibratory frequency increases we will have a stronger connection to our higher selves (the higher mind) as well as increasing access to the collective unconscious, as Jung called it, the quantum field of intelligence. This can be observed as an inner knowing, like when we just know the answer to something but we're not sure how we know it. Another thing to watch out for is the increase in telepathy, so no more lying! Honesty will become the natural way in our interactions with others. One thing that many teachers are talking about now is the need to come from the heart centre. This means that, instead of using the intellect, we need to realise that true wisdom comes from the heart. The heart centre is the bridge between the spiritual and the physical realms, the blending of those energies, the masculine and feminine and other polarities, and the balance point where we harmonise our spiritual selves with our physical selves. The heart knows the truth of who we are and that the only way forward is to imbue every thought and action with loving intention and to live our lives authentically, peeling away the layers of our superficial projections and allowing the light of our souls to shine through.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
The Wounded Healer
She was excited to learn that the old house had its own library. As soon as she was able, she excused herself from the dinner table and climbed the wide stairs to the second floor. Following the passage, she opened the third door on the left and walked into the room. Ahead of her was the tall window through which abundant light flooded the room. To the left and to the right the walls were lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling, each shelf full of books of varying sizes; largest tomes on the bottom levels, getting gradually smaller towards the top. She would have plenty to keep her occupied for the next few weeks.
She began on her left, scanning the spines of the books. Half way up the bookcase, her eye was drawn to faded gold lettering that glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. She read the words, Chiron, The Wounded Healer. Something struck her about these words and she reached for the book instinctively and allowed it to fall open at no particular page. She began to read from the top of the first paragraph,
She paused and looked around her for somewhere to sit. The window seat looked comfortable so she walked over to install herself on its silk cushions. There she stayed reading the book until the red sky had turned black, flicking on the brass standard lamp so that she could read on into the night.
While she read she learned that Chiron had been wounded with an arrow tipped with blood of the Hydra, the many-headed beast. This would have meant certain death for a mortal but Chiron, as a son of the Titan, Chronos, was immortal and so did not die. However, tragically his wound would not heal and he was left to suffer in agony. He was finally released from his agony by Zeus, who allowed him to change places with Prometheus who in turn, having stolen fire, had been chained to a rock where a griffin ate his liver each day after it re-grew overnight. Zeus agreed that Prometheus could be released from his torture if an immortal would take his place in Tartarus which Chiron agreed to do so that he, too, could escape his own misery.
But this happened after much time had passed and, during this time as Chiron searched for a cure, his pain caused him to develop many different forms of healing, which he used with great success for the benefit of others but with no relief for his own torment. He became a master healer, a shaman, a wise man and was venerated by all who knew him. His wound became the source of his compassion for others' suffering, a visceral knowing of the pain endured by his patients, enabling him to refine his healing art to its highest octave.
She stopped reading. It was late now and the moon was high above her, shining directly in through the window. She switched off the lamp and sat gazing at the sky. She, too, had a wound that wouldn't heal. Although her wound wasn't physical, the pain in her chest was and it ached when she allowed herself to remember. At times it overwhelmed her and she feared she might sink under it's weight, so she tried not to think about it usually. But now was different. She was beginning to see the gift that it held for her. There's a reason for everything. Someone said that to her once but she didn't believe it until now.
Her thoughts moved to her mother whose health had deteriorated recently. She was afraid she might die. She had felt helpless when the doctor told her the prognosis. She had hated him when he told her there was nothing they could do. She knew it wasn't his fault but she couldn't believe him. She refused to believe him. Where there's life there's hope. Just another saying.
But now she did have hope, just a little voice but it was growing louder by the minute. Perhaps she held part of the answer to this problem. Many years ago she'd asked to be a healer. She had always been strongly drawn to the healing arts and studied and read books on the subject. She had taken courses and become qualified in some treatments. But during the course of making a living she had lost her belief in herself and her abilities. She had wanted so much to help her mother but she didn't believe she could. The voices of doubt descended upon her again. Don't be ridiculous! You're not a doctor, you are nobody! There's nothing you can do.
But this time she recognised the source of the voices. They came from her fear, her fear of failure. Her fear of trying to help her mother but of failing, of not making a difference. And then she realised what she must do. She must use her wound to ground her in the moment. She would confront her pain not run from it for it was what made her alive in the world. It would anchor her to the Earth and as she channelled the healing energy through her hands, her mother would feel that she was truly loved, safe and cared for. She would dedicate herself to learning the secrets of the past; the secrets of the plants, the herbs and the minerals. If she was to remain the virgin, unfulfilled, she would not allow her incarnation as one of the female sex to be wasted. Instead she would transform herself into the lost archetype of the Crone. She would help to resurrect the ancient healing arts and focus on helping others. And when her wound wept she would use its tears to cure theirs.
She began on her left, scanning the spines of the books. Half way up the bookcase, her eye was drawn to faded gold lettering that glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. She read the words, Chiron, The Wounded Healer. Something struck her about these words and she reached for the book instinctively and allowed it to fall open at no particular page. She began to read from the top of the first paragraph,
"Hercules roared and charged at the nearest group of centaurs who balking at the sight and sound of his formidable attack, turned and galloped towards the hills. He grunted and span around searching for the others only to see that they had also taken off in the opposite direction. Quickly, he took out his bow and let fly a series of arrows in all directions towards the groups of fleeing centaurs. All fell short of their targets except one. A low moan from behind him made him spin round. Lying on the ground, clutching his thigh was Chiron. What had he done? As the red rage left him and his senses returned, he realised with horror that he had wounded his beloved friend and teacher."
She paused and looked around her for somewhere to sit. The window seat looked comfortable so she walked over to install herself on its silk cushions. There she stayed reading the book until the red sky had turned black, flicking on the brass standard lamp so that she could read on into the night.
While she read she learned that Chiron had been wounded with an arrow tipped with blood of the Hydra, the many-headed beast. This would have meant certain death for a mortal but Chiron, as a son of the Titan, Chronos, was immortal and so did not die. However, tragically his wound would not heal and he was left to suffer in agony. He was finally released from his agony by Zeus, who allowed him to change places with Prometheus who in turn, having stolen fire, had been chained to a rock where a griffin ate his liver each day after it re-grew overnight. Zeus agreed that Prometheus could be released from his torture if an immortal would take his place in Tartarus which Chiron agreed to do so that he, too, could escape his own misery.
But this happened after much time had passed and, during this time as Chiron searched for a cure, his pain caused him to develop many different forms of healing, which he used with great success for the benefit of others but with no relief for his own torment. He became a master healer, a shaman, a wise man and was venerated by all who knew him. His wound became the source of his compassion for others' suffering, a visceral knowing of the pain endured by his patients, enabling him to refine his healing art to its highest octave.
She stopped reading. It was late now and the moon was high above her, shining directly in through the window. She switched off the lamp and sat gazing at the sky. She, too, had a wound that wouldn't heal. Although her wound wasn't physical, the pain in her chest was and it ached when she allowed herself to remember. At times it overwhelmed her and she feared she might sink under it's weight, so she tried not to think about it usually. But now was different. She was beginning to see the gift that it held for her. There's a reason for everything. Someone said that to her once but she didn't believe it until now.
Her thoughts moved to her mother whose health had deteriorated recently. She was afraid she might die. She had felt helpless when the doctor told her the prognosis. She had hated him when he told her there was nothing they could do. She knew it wasn't his fault but she couldn't believe him. She refused to believe him. Where there's life there's hope. Just another saying.
But now she did have hope, just a little voice but it was growing louder by the minute. Perhaps she held part of the answer to this problem. Many years ago she'd asked to be a healer. She had always been strongly drawn to the healing arts and studied and read books on the subject. She had taken courses and become qualified in some treatments. But during the course of making a living she had lost her belief in herself and her abilities. She had wanted so much to help her mother but she didn't believe she could. The voices of doubt descended upon her again. Don't be ridiculous! You're not a doctor, you are nobody! There's nothing you can do.
But this time she recognised the source of the voices. They came from her fear, her fear of failure. Her fear of trying to help her mother but of failing, of not making a difference. And then she realised what she must do. She must use her wound to ground her in the moment. She would confront her pain not run from it for it was what made her alive in the world. It would anchor her to the Earth and as she channelled the healing energy through her hands, her mother would feel that she was truly loved, safe and cared for. She would dedicate herself to learning the secrets of the past; the secrets of the plants, the herbs and the minerals. If she was to remain the virgin, unfulfilled, she would not allow her incarnation as one of the female sex to be wasted. Instead she would transform herself into the lost archetype of the Crone. She would help to resurrect the ancient healing arts and focus on helping others. And when her wound wept she would use its tears to cure theirs.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Return to Eden
Why do people assume that if you care about human rights and individual freedom you must be socialist? And that if you want all people to have equal access to housing, food and water, you must be a communist? Both of these belief systems, as well as those of the opposing view, have undeniably brought suffering. Why have all the political ideologies been a failure? What has been absent for so long from our governing systems is the feminine principle. The world has been obsessed with the masculine principles of domination and conquest, externally imposed order and control along with need to classify and label everything. The feminine principles of caring, compassion and forgiveness and a faith in the natural order have been scorned and considered to be folly and weakness. The strength that is present within actions that arise from gentle hearts is not acknowledged. The pendulum has swung back and forth between extremes for centuries with no solution to be found in either. Now is the time for the energy of the divine feminine to return to its place within the human heart, re-balancing the masculine energies that have run rampant, so that we might reawaken our true nature and remember the way back to the garden.
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