and sometimes giving of one's-self means that we have to give up our
very-selves. Imagine if the whole world wasn't selfish. thank you.
Until...

Finding my-self at the bridge...

I know two big, beautiful dogs who I pass on my way to and from my
travels into the world. But my heart breaks when I drive by. They are
chained up, and in the year that I have gone this way, I have never once
seen them off their leashes or being exercised or patted. Yes, they have
dog houses and water and food, but they are lacking the freedom to be
dogs and lacking a basic need of all living creatures: warmth and love.

Sometimes, as I drive by, I burst into tears of anger and compassion and
feel myself chained, too. What is being done is legal, and there is
nothing I can do. I almost can’t bear the pain. So, in my efforts to not
feel anger toward the owner, who ignores even my salutary wave, and to
see how I could spiritually alleviate their pain, I undertook a shamanic
journey to seek answers.

As a practitioner of core shamanism, when I need sacred guidance, I go
on a “journey.” When one journeys, he alters his consciousness by
listening to monotonous drumming and connects with spiritual guidance in
the forms of power animals or teachers. Beautiful answers, healing
information, and creative ideas are often the result, and while the
journey may be allegorical or metaphorical, I have found that it is
always profound and revealing.

As I set out on my journey, I held my intention in my heart “What can I
do to help those dogs?”

I reached my teacher and he said, “My dear, do you want to see the
childhood of the man who owns them?” Surprised, but trusting as always
in his wisdom, I said, “Yes.” Horrified, I watched the man as a boy
being thrown around a room by his burly father; I watched him slapped,
pushed, yelled at and humiliated into a small dark corner of his own
soul.

I felt a new understanding of and compassion for him realizing that in
his treatment of the dogs, he was only mirroring his own fragmentation.
I thought: we are all so wounded, no wonder we wound the creatures with
whom we share this planet. I asked my teacher, “Why are humans and
nature so separate? Why have we humans done such terrible things to the
earth—and consequently—ourselves?”

In response, my teacher took me back in time to show me where the
original fissure occurred—to a very primal state of human existence
where people gathered and hunted. In living close to the earth, they
knew they were a part of the earth, not removed from it.

Then I saw a bolt of lightning come from the sky and strike a small
child dead. The distraught parents held their dying child and shook
their fists at the sky. Next, I saw a fire consume a small band of
people who were trapped in a small dwelling while their panicked fellows
vainly attempted to save them. Last, I saw earthquakes and tidal waves
wipe out human lives instantaneously.

In the pain and anger of loss, these people turned their confusion on
nature— and began to slowly “get back at” her—to dominate, to subjugate.
I said to my teacher, “What can I do to help?”

He said almost matter-of-factly, “You need to do a soul retrieval for
the human race.” In disbelief, I thought, Oh, is that all? knowing that
what he was asking would be painful and intensely challenging. But,
because I love the universe so, and because I completely trust my spirit
teacher, I knew that I must do what he was asking. Soul retrieval is a
healing technique whereby the shaman journeys for another with the
intention of bringing back lost soul pieces to restore wholeness.

Thus, we began our descent. We spiraled into the earth, deeper than I
had ever journeyed before—to the earth’s core. We arrived and entered a
swirling chamber —fiery and acidic. In a prison cell, I saw the Soul of
Humanity, who appeared as a tar-like, human-like being, both sad and
confused, holding the bars of its cage. Outside the cage, I had to duck
to avoid being bombarded by little gargoyle-like demons.

My teacher said, “There is much you must do here. First, you must
understand that those ‘demons’ are all split-off pieces of the human
race. There is much soul loss here, much confusion. You must heal these
pieces with compassion.”

Knowing what to do, I called on divine love to come into me—and it did,
as a shaft of white, healing light, through my head, down into my heart,
and into my outstretched hands. Before long, I was sending this
compassion to all the demons, and they changed into child-like beings,
happy to be drenched in light.

I gathered them all together and took them to the Soul of Humanity and
blew them, one by one, into that spirit body. After I had finished, the
Soul of Humanity had also changed. Now, what appeared was a half-man,
half-woman, aglow and smiling. And the cage bars fell away. I felt such
relief, and my teacher instructed me to take Humanity to the realm of
the Sun, who in this journey was indeed God. I joyfully flew with
Humanity and my teacher to the Sun, who stood as large as a house before
us. The Sun was pleased, and I sighed with relief, thinking my work was
complete.

But my teacher turned to me and said, “Now, you must retrieve the Soul
of Nature, as well.”

Exhausted and frightened, I said, “Can I come back tomorrow and do
that?”

But he looked at me with seriousness and said, “You cannot do half of a
job; you asked how you could help, and this is the way.” I knew he was
right; if I really was committed to being an instrument of spirit, I
must do what was asked of me. My years of journeywork had also taught me
that I am never given more than I can handle.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Okay. Let’s go.” We traveled to the ocean
and dove deeply. Down and down we went; as we dropped, it grew darker,
thicker. I felt fear rise up in me as I followed, knowing we were
getting close to our destination: the broken Soul of Nature.

At last we reached the bottom of the ocean; in front of us was a
swirling, vertical vortex pulling us inside itself. As I felt myself
sucked inside, my teacher said: “This is the pain of the earth. You are
entering the place where the shattered, disembodied soul pieces of every
cut tree, every slaughtered animal, every poisoned river and suffocated
fish have gone. Go with courage.”

I found myself inside a deafening, tormented scream. I felt, not heard,
a million voices screaming in me, through me, and I became the scream.
Forgetting who I was, or why I was there, or how to get back out, I
became that horrific pain. If my teacher had not pulled me out, I may
never have broken free. Shaken, I asked, “How do I help this?”

“Call on the Creator,” he said. “Call on love.” So, together, he and I
floated there, outside this swirling mass of millions of nature’s lost
soul parts, and we called on the love of the divine, which again came
into our heads, into our hearts and powerfully poured from our hands in
shafts illuminating the vortex. Soon the vortex slowed in its spinning
and became dreamy, backlit clouds suspended in the water.

Through tears of gratitude, I watched as a beautiful woman, dressed
entirely in green, her clothes made of grasses, reeds, and leaves, came
toward us from the other direction, with opened hands.

“I am the Soul of Nature,” she announced weakly. But I am depleted and
very sad. I came because I knew you would help me.”

Intuitively, I went to the cloudy vortex and held out my hand. I invited
the now-calm lost pieces of nature to come to me so I could return them
to their true home, inside the green goddess, the Soul of Nature. They
came in a chain, into my right hand, through my heart, and out my left
hand which I had placed on the chest of the Lady. I held the space until
my teacher said, “It is done.”

The Soul of Nature, my teacher, and I journeyed to the Sun where the
Soul of Humanity still waited. The Sun smiled, nodded down at us, and
said to the two characters, “Now you are both here; this is good. For
too long, you have been separated by lack of kindness and blame and
disrespect. It is time this game of pain ceased. It is time you began to
forgive.”

At that, I expected Nature and Humanity to rush toward each other and
embrace warmly, ready for reconciliation. But instead they eyed each
other warily, fearfully, with trepidation. It occurred to me that it
would take much time to mend this friendship; the lost trust would take
a long time to be regained.

The Sun knew this and simply held them there in the gaze of his shining
rays. And he built a great bridge, there in the heavens between Nature
and Humanity, and said, “Humanity, you alone are not responsible for
walking all the way to Nature’s side. Nature, you alone are not
responsible for walking all the way to Humanity’s side. You must meet in
the middle. You must come together—that’s the only cure for the pain.”

Slowly, they walked onto the bridge from either side, little steps, each
looking longingly back at the where they had come from, both unsure. But
at last, they came to stand before each other, there in the face of the
Sun. With much caution, each put out a hand to the other. Their hands
finally came together in a tentative grasp.

There in the sun, the vision was glorious: the earth goddess with
shining eyes in her flowing gowns of green and the Blakean half-man,
half-woman, hair tousled and face gentle there in the golden glow of
God’s light clasping hands, and beginning. Beginnings are all there are,
it seems, and I was witnessing a spectacular one.

My teacher said, “This work is now complete. This is the first step in
healing the gap between Humanity and Nature. Much more must be done, but
what has happened today is of great importance. Watch for the signs
around you that will tell you of the impact of this day.” We then
returned to our special place, and I came back into my body.

I was exhausted but uplifted. The clock told me my journey had lasted
over an hour (most journeys are 15-20 minutes), and I will be wiped out
the rest of the today but filled with blissful gratitude.

This journey has changed much for me, and to honor it, I am telling this
story. The time is here, now. It’s time to forgive each other, forgive
the earth, forgive the Creator, and learn to be compassionate towards
everything that exists. So, I ask, how can you meet nature on the
bridge? What can you do to help manifest the vision of us all living in
a world where we no longer imprison ourselves or the earth, where we
completely bare our genuine light and take each other into the full,
honest embrace of true lovers? When you answer those questions for
yourself, please don’t keep them to yourself. Instead, make them
manifest; bring them forth. Make them part of your life’s work; make
them your unique gift to the universe. . .

Yesterday, after I took this journey, I drove past the dogs. The owner
was in the yard with a wheelbarrow, and my heart swelled with compassion
for the chained dogs and also for him. Just then, he looked up, our eyes
met, and he lifted his hand in a friendly wave. That was the first time
he had ever made this gesture. With tears forming in my eyes, I waved
back.
Thank you Laura for the inspiration, You are a good soul that is just
lost.
patrick
october 03, 2006
to be continued..........

I will reply in strictist confidence and I DO-NOT charge. I have a gift
which means I give it away.

A medium provides evidence of survival of the human personality beyond
the physical state we call death.

He is the link between the two worlds communicating with people who have
died through mind-to-mind contact.

The medium can firstly produce enough information to satisfy the
enquirer that their family member, friend or loved one still survives
and can give an accurate physical description of themselves, their work,
what illness they died of etc.

Once the identity of the spirit person is apparent and accepted, further
evidence can be given about shared and past memories to current events
in the sitter's life. Further information about hobbies and
idiosyncrasies can establish the personality of the communicator.

A medium must always act in a responsible and dignified manner and
should adhere to a code of conduct. The medium should also be aware of
legal, moral and ethical standards in this important work.

If you want to tak or know anymore, please feel free to leave me a
comment or e-mail.
Patrick
Until...

I know many whom expect this kind of Love. What about you? Do you
believe that it is possible?




Real Love...

I was sitting on an old worn-velvet loveseat in the preacher's living
room. Nestled close beside me was Kelly, my beautiful bride-to-be. It
would heave been difficult to slide even a thin book between us.
Across from us, in seperate chairs perhaps ten feet apart, sat the
preacher and his wife, both in their late seventies. She nodded her gray
head and smiled and listened and rocked as her hands worked a rapid
rythum with yarn and knitting needles. He was relaxed and into an old
stuffed recliner, busily jotting notes in a small, well-used black
notebook.
As we discussed the details of our wedding ceremony, I found myself
watching the old couple, not as a preacher and preacher's wife, but as
husband and wife. Suddenly something struck me. Those two, sitting in
seperate chairs with more than three yards between them, conveyed more
love with a single meeting of their eyes than my girlfriend and I were
exchanging with all our snuggling, grinning and whispered endearments.
I still remember thinking, " How do we get from here to there, from
where we are in our eager young love to where they are in there loving
maturity?"
Marriage is a stage on which real love-the kind the apostle Paul would
describe as the greatest virtue-can be enacted for the world to see:
the kind of love that enables us to endure wrong with patience, to
resist evil with conviction, to enjoy the good things with gusto, to
give richly of ourselves with humility, and to nurish another's soul
with long-suffering.
When all these virtues are present, not only is each marriage partner
incomparably blessed, but sometimes a couple of new apprentices about to
take their place on this same stage, can catch a glimpse of what the
marriage relationship could be- a glimpse that won't let them settle for
anything less.
Thank you God.
Patrick
Until..

I thank you for the compliment, and hope that my words, gives your
heart comfort. You need to have a great weekend. You deserve it, long
overdue.
Until...

My friend, My Lover,

I clearly remember when you walked out of the apartment, eyes open wide
in shock, hands clasped at once, then fists banging the walls. A dry
crying followed your silhouette through the narrow corridor to the
elevator. I tried to talk to you; I tried to hold you back, grasping at
your clothes with my knees bent, down on the floor, apologetic, sorry,
unhappy.

You were outraged. Will she ever forgive me? I thought after you left,
without committing to one possible answer or another. It didn't matter.
You hadn't come because of me; you hadn't come to prove anything, or to
demonstrate any kind of unit of spirit or soul. You hadn't come to say
you loved me. You came to my place that day because you wanted to
forget, you wanted to make your existence, and our relationship more
palatable to your needs. You did not seek commitment: You came looking
for solace for your own fears.

I'm sorry about what you saw. I loved you, and nothing could have erased
that feeling, nothing could've scratched that sentiment out of my
struggling heart. I felt lonely, and I sinned, I made a mistake. But I
loved you, my love. I loved you with all my strengths, with the fury of
a wild lion, the hope of a white dove. I wish I could have said all this
to you then. I wish you had let me.

I wondered what happened to you after that dreaded afternoon. I always
thought I would see you again, one way or another: In a casual
encounter, bumping into each other at the popcorn line at a movie
theater, in a sudden rush onto a crowded subway train, in a car when I
was crossing the street, in a bar, in a dream; if nothing else, I would
see you again in a dream.

I always nurtured that soft, cozy feeling, almost a fantasy. You would
come back one day to see me, and unknowingly I would feel your hand
gently landing on my shoulder, like a reluctant feather fighting against
the wind. And you would greet me here, at the old coffee shop, with a
smile and a few words: not many, just a few words for the silence would
have spoken a million words for us already.

It has been three years since you left, and every day during all those
years I wondered where you were; I lived in hope, in a perennial,
non-defiant state of hope. Not today. Today I will drink my coffee black
for a change, let my dreams fall down to reality, and allow the bitter
taste of everyday life seep into my blood and consume my body like a
sprawling cancer. Let my disease become my cure.

I had always been afraid that, had I given up the hope, every day would
look the same. But in the deep end of my thoughts, I realized that every
day for the past three years have also looked terribly the same. And the
expected comfort of reality became as cruel as the desolation of hope.

Why, My Friend, My Partner? Why,
Patrick
Until...