Tag: energy (page 1 of 2)

We Could Be Heroes

tfw people keep telling you there is repressed anger inside of you, and you’re like “okay, but I can’t seem to make myself feel anger?” but they are really insistent, so you meditate on “anger” and eventually realize you need to be more precise about naming your feelings, so you set aside time to work on feeling more nuanced feelings, resentment, frustration, self-pity, defiance, and come to fury…

furious

… and feel what decades of pent up fury feels like, and can only think, this is how superheroes and villains are created, and have to focus on grounding out the enormous amount of power that resonates with that because it didn’t feel so great.

think i’ll have to put a stopper in that emotion for now.

Mundane magic

Holy cow. My internet has been down for like 8 hours and for much of that time, my provider wasn’t even answering tech support calls. This is the first weekend I’ve really been home without a lot of stuff going on since Christmas, and I was really looking forward to vegging with some Netflix. AND I have work that I need to get done by Sunday night and need to be able to VPN to work. AND I don’t want to have to go into an office on Monday.

My tech support person didn’t sound very promising. (He started out by asking me what color the light on the DSL router was, and I said, You know I’m a FIOS customer, right? He laughed and said he knows now. He figured out the problem right away, though, but it was a weird one. My router no longer knew the serial for my ONT, and vice versa. So basically the internet connection wasn’t getting into the house. I said that’s really weird, does that happen? And he said he hadn’t seen it in years. We agreed that would be a hassle if it did happen often, because they usually have to send a tech out to fix it on the box itself.

He’d assumed it was mounted someplace out of reach, and I was like is it something I can do? It’s in my closet. So there I am on a step ladder on my tiptoes with a flash light in one hand, pushing board games out of the way so I could see the thing, and it’s bolted closed. One of the bolts comes off, but the other needs a special tool. They’d wanted me to detach the battery (if you also pull the plug, it forces the box to restart).

Of course the battery is under the side that won’t open. He asked if I could see the serial number and the tag where it would be was half covered. Of course the left half so I can’t see which sets of numbers are what. But standing on one leg on tip toes, the other leg on the wall bracing myself, still holding that flashlight, trying to crane my neck around (and it’s sore from chiro today) to see a number on a small tag on a box that is bolted to the wall at a right angle to me. But I found it and gave it to him and we thought that when they added the numbers to both the router and the ONT, it would start working.

But of course it didn’t. The ONT wasn’t taking it. So he was going to give up but decided to give it one more try. Then I said the Universe must be telling me to read more books. Books? he asked. I said, yea, I haven’t had a weekend free at home in weeks and I just wanted to watch some Netflix in bed, you know?

And he laughed, and then said Can I ask you something? Sure. And he said, well, since you said Universe, have you heard that you can just ask the Universe what you want — like say it out loud — and it will happen? And I laughed and said, yea, I’ve been misusing it lately to ask for frivolous favors. My friends don’t believe me but I think they’d admit it seemingly worked. And he said, like what? And I told him about how I went to Vancouver on inauguration day with friends, and we were a little worried about what the border wait might be like because we were running late. But I mentally asked, then said It will be fine, we’ll breeze right through so we can still make dinner plans. And there was like, NO one in line and the CBP person asked us practically nothing. (Sorry friends, I forgot to ask on the way back. Who knew lots of people would be trying to get back IN to the US)?

And last weekend in Leavenworth, we were trying to get into town, after a total failure trying to get one of the like apparently two or three taxis in the whole area; no Lyft; and Uber that showed there in theory could be drivers, but nothing available and no ubers even on the map. So we drove and looked for parking for forever. An asshole in a Volvo SUV stole the only spot we’d found. He totally must have seen us pointing and reacting. We totally should have gone back and smashed his windows. I said we needed to find parking in 5 minutes or I was giving up, and boom! (It’s been working everywhere, these parking guide ultimatums).

He said, well, there is a book about that, I can’t remember the name, but it was about… the laws of attraction.

At this point, he tells me his third try doesn’t work, and said that he needed to finish the ticket and schedule a service visit, and I asked how long the wait is expected to be, and he said he wouldn’t know until it was done. He asked for my cell phone number, for the service call.

Reality sank in that I was probably not going to have internet for days. And that instead of relaxing at home Sunday, I’d be working at Starbucks. So I mentally asked for some help here, because I really didn’t want to give up my lazy weekend. OR have to go work somewhere else on Monday. Or have to wait here all day some day next week with no internet because I’m swamped at work.

I said, I guess I will be reading then. He said, well, let me find the name of that book for you. I think you’d like it.

(Now I’m imagining him texting me later, no doubt against company policy, to make sure I remember the name of the book).

He comes back on the phone to say he had gotten some admin to try again and it should have been working, but it’s still not seeing my router. So he started to set up that service call again. And that he’d found the name of the book, it’s The Secret, and he loved it, his son loved it.

(My crush gets crushed).

He said it made his son into an instant philosopher, and I said, you have to start them young, and he laughed and said yup you do. And we both kind of paused and half sighed, in acknowledgement of how bonkers everything is right now.

Through all this time, I had been laying on the floor under my desk on my cell phone, waiting for the stupid router to light up. I realized how upset I actually was about this, like, really angry and feeling sorry for myself, and suddenly I could actually *access* really deep down feelings of anger and sadness and that I could opt to let those go. And I did. But then I realized that there was some of those things, but also other similar but not quite the same feelings. It became really easy to name them. Self-pity. I was shocked that most of it was self-pity. And that it wasn’t exactly hopelessness or helplessness, but defeat. I felt defeated.

And I decided neither of those things are emotions I associate myself with. I’m not defeated, and I’m certainly not helpless or hopeless. I don’t think I pity myself, at least not in a serious way. (Just when my internet access is out for almost 7 damn hours on a Friday evening).

And I decided to let those go too. And I kept finding more. And letting those go too. There are so many more, but I know how I can let those go when I’m ready to, too. All these things that are not me. Not who I am. Not my energy. It’s amazing to me how much connecting with the emotions of the small current thing helped me recognize the old wounds. I felt such a shift in energy that it was, uhm, kind of arousing. In every sense. My brain is buzzing just as much as my body is. My ‘sight’ is much clearer than usual.

Then I told him I was going to try restarting my router even though it was supposed to just work, and he said in that case, he’d reset on his side too. So he did that, and I did that, and it WORKED.

I said, See? It works. He laughed and agreed. I said thank you, weekend saved! He said no, thank YOU, and we laughed again.

(In another timeline, we somehow meet, get married, and have kids). (Just kidding, I don’t want kids). (Probably).

Thank you tech support (and guides) for my Internet! Now what’s new on Netflix that I need to see….

Active

As I do more and more energy work, it’s clear to me that pain is intimately connected with a sedentary lifestyle. I’m not saying that being very active means no pain, because I’m not even close to being there yet.

But I do know that when I work on moving energy in dark, impacted, or pinched areas, or when the gray “soot” leaves me, something in my body relaxes. Sometimes it’s deep inside my body, sometimes on the surface. The fascia resists and then suddenly glides, and tendon and ligament and muscle and vessels and nerves underneath all suddenly relax.

Being “active” is not sufficient. It needs to be something where you stretch every bit of your body in every way possible. No wonder yoga lifts the spirits as well as making your body feel better. Even just wiggling your spine, pelvis, hip joints, shoulder joints, ribs, neck around. I’m convinced that even just massaging your own armpits for a couple of minutes a day would immediately have an impact on pain, but also a gradual impact on general health.

I’m really happy to see that it can be done with the mind, or at least, with energy clearing. It’s not as efficient when used as an alternative to movement, versus a companion to movement, but that makes me really hopeful for those who have limited mobility.

Made of stars

So I’ve been practicing energy work on myself for a little more than a year now, experimenting with different techniques but mostly just trying to intuit it.

For a variety of reasons, my chakras were so clogged, dark energy everywhere, in some places so thick that the area looks black rather than the color of that chakra’s (normal) vibration, as well as lots of things embedded in them, knotted spots, caged off areas, and even gaping holes. Lots of very deep-seated traumas and fears and a minefield of painful memories.

Over time, it has really almost started to freak me out how directly these wounds correspond to physical ailments, especially bodily pain. Clear some of this gunk and you literally feel a muscle or tendon or something relax, usually from someplace deep inside your flesh. I notice it most really close to bones – along my spine, my neck, shoulders, hipbones.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this openly, but I was tentatively diagnosed with fibromyalgia last year, after years of trying to figure out what was going on. So many tests, medications, chiropractic adjustments, so much physical therapy and acupuncture. It always helped but seemed to just be holding the problem at bay, keeping the symptoms from getting worse but rarely actually feeling better. It takes so much energy and time and money just to maintain the relatively poor level of health I am feeling, to maintain hope that it won’t decline any more.

I’ve been doing a lot of work lately, especially psychological and energetic, and that blackness is no longer pervasive. The colors are muted and covered with soot and film, but they aren’t hidden anymore. They are opening up again. Tonight for the first time, a few small spots were able to get so clear that I saw the true color of those chakras, how bright they are. I immediately thought

“My god! It’s full of stars.”

Power of manipulation

I woke up today with the worst cramps I can remember having. Doubled over in pain, feeling like I needed to throw up.  Fun times. Being a woman can be really awesome sometimes!  I find that sometimes when I try to deal with the issues with dad, I get cramps and pelvic pain, even if it’s not the right time of my cycle.  I suppose my body is reminding me of some of the pain, just as I had been getting paid in my arms and shoulders and neck all this time.

On Friday, I saw an energy healer at a local shop.  I can have trouble relaxing and really tuning in to a session when I’m not convinced the person is legitimate, and I started the session with some qualms.  It ended up being interesting more than helpful.  It was supposed to be energy healing, and honestly, I could see and feel that not much was being done.  She gave a lot of information, but it was mostly a set-up to how very much of her work she thought I needed to come back for.

With that said, she did hone in on the spots that hurt the most for me:  right under my shoulder blade, the top of my shoulder, my collar bone, throat, back of neck, the lump hidden under my hair on the back of my head, right jaw.  All “my” spots.   She seemed to know a lot about what had actually happened, too. Things I hadn’t told anyone yet.  Many things I’d only told one friend.  So I have no doubt she can read intuitively from the body. She knew dad had shaken me by the shoulders and held me down that way. She knew he strangled me.  She knew he’d forced me into oral sex.  She could feel that in my face, jaw, throat.  She gagged a lot as she worked and kept talking about how I’d vomit up black sludge later.  She kept talking about it. It got me worked up, and honestly a bit re-traumatized, and before I knew it it was much later, a much longer session than I’d agreed to for her work. I felt pretty manipulated, especially when I checked in and nothing much worse than I did before working with her. Nothing had shifted away; I felt like I was buried under more.

But she kept gong on, claiming my dad had been with me in many lives and was driven to control me.  Fixated on it.  She told me in one life, when he had been my stepmother, he killed me as a baby. Threw me off a cliff.  “He” didn’t want me, I was in his way.  (In my childhood and especially adolescence, he frequently made me feel like I was in his way).

She described him as cruel.  It was only in those moments that I remembered just how cruel he was.  How I worried that some day he would get really mad and actually kill me.  Now, I think, he would have done it out of spite if he thought he wouldn’t get caught or have to deal with the consequences.  The way she described him sounded like a monster.  Maybe that is the benefit of that iffy lesson, that I have to remember that he was a monster!

All this time I’ve been almost feeling sorry for him, acting as if HE was the victim, just because I know he had a bad childhood.  That childhood didn’t FORCE him to become a monster.  My childhood was as bad or worse, and I turned out to be a good person. He always had a choice.  He just made the self-centered one.  She described him as if he was a demon. Can a demon live with a person who talks about God, holds a bible, goes to church? Sometimes I have trouble reconciling the things that were taught to me (parents, church) with lived experience.  They’d tell me evil is afraid of god, the church, the bible… I’ve seen evil laugh at the naivety of that idea.

I think sometimes I want there to be an explanation external to him – that he was possessed or influenced, so it wasn’t just… him doing the things he did.   Maybe he was just a monster, though.  My mom from time to time brings up that she thinks he’s in Heaven… like, okay, lady, if heaven actually existed, he wouldn’t be there. Not if there was any sense of justice. He should be in Hell.  Of course, Hell for my father would just be not having anyone to manipulate, not having anyone that would admire him, idolize him, trust him, believe in him.  Eventually I will forgive him, but I will never look up to him.  I will always see him as a child molester, a wife beater, a child abuser, a pathological liar, a cheater, a hypocrite.  I will always wish I had a different father, or that he had left us or died when I was young.

I remember one time when he was in a car accident, I think when I was 11 or 12. He had been taking a class in another city, someone ran a red light and hit him. When someone (my grandmother? an aunt?) left a message for us, they made it sound like he was critically injured. I remember feeling a thrill, at the idea he might die, and quickly covering it up. Feeling guilty at my reaction. Suppressing that memory as soon as I could.  It turned out he’d just had mild whiplash.

That can’t be normal, right?  And yet, I remember now that when he actually did die, my reaction wasn’t to cry.  I went into the bathroom because I felt like throwing up. I think I did? I can’t remember any more. I ended up taking a shower and then meeting a relative who was going to drive me “home.” (Writing this now, it’s difficult to think of that place as “home”). My mom had arranged the ride assuming I couldn’t drive.  I think I would have been fine.  The relative was kind of a mess.  I remember I was not crying.  The first time I cried was that night our school’s football game, at the beginning of the game they made an announcement and had a moment of silence.  I remember hugging one of my siblings and crying a little. I pitied us for having to be in that moment.  My brother didn’t have a good game.  Why did we let him play? Somehow we let him feel pressured into it, as if dad would expect him to go on anyway? Who cares what dad would have wanted?  It was terrible to let him do that.  We were just lucky he didn’t get hurt.

I remember crying at the casket at the funeral home with my siblings, but I wasn’t really crying for dad, I was crying for us.  For how fucked up our lives were going to become. For our loss of innocence and security.  I remember thinking: it didn’t even look like him. They colored his hair or something, too dark.  He looked too tanned.  Too smoothed out.  Basically, he didn’t look like someone who had been out drinking and smoking as much as he liked, so he didn’t look like himself .  Maybe that was good, for people not to remember him as he really was.  They could keep pretending that he had been what he wanted them to see, not what who he was.

I’d rather have guides than masters

I do not want to do morning pages anymore. 12 weeks? It’s been like 3 days.

I feel like just typing asdflaks;dfja;efaoisdjfalsdk;jsdf over and over for three pages.  I feel like throwing the laptop across the room.  No, I feel like browsing the internet, some Facebook here, some Netflix there.  Maybe just engrossing myself in a book until bed.

[Look, I KNOW typing them on a computer instead of writing them by hand is a bad idea – it introduces a lot of distractions – but I’m having even more resistance to hand-writing].

I don’t know why I am already so resenting the time I spend doing them.  I don’t know why I am procrastinating until evening rather than writing “morning pages.”  I don’t know why I am so resistant when the time comes to click the keys and put letters onto screen.  I don’t know what will come out, I guess.  I don’t know why I can’t just think and type and write.  What am I afraid of seeing come out?

Yikes.  My stomach just lurched when I typed that.

While procrastinating, I spent some time doing research on different training programs that are available in the Seattle area.  I found a promising looking site/teacher for “healing touch” energy medicine, as well as a reiki training class.   The “healing touch” instructor’s name seems very familiar.  I feel as if I have seen her name on another intuitive’s site or perhaps have seen advertisements at a fair for her services.

I’m interested in exploring this more to see if the training is useful and fruitful for someone who is not already in the health care field. Meaning, would I be able to even see clients?  Do I even care if I’m able to see paying clients?  Perhaps that’s not something to focus on at this point.

I realize part of me already knows what to do, but I don’t feel confident working on others, because I have no explanation for it.  I’ve not been taught, I’ve not been certified, I’ve not been legitimized by someone else.  My heart swelled with pride at a quick mental image of myself as a healer, a helper, of others.  I self-corrected and disciplined myself, insisting it is wrong to be prideful and to want an outcome where I feel important or powerful.  But, I almost immediately realized it isn’t wrong, because that warmth wasn’t about desiring great power.  It was about being seen, noticed, remembered.  Being valued at all.  Maybe even being important.  Not important like the leader of the free world is important.  But important to some. Important to others.  Someone who would be dearly missed if gone.

This surely goes back to childhood, to psychic, emotional and physical injuries that were inflicted on me by dad, by mom and by others. I was told before that I need to get angry about this, to feel and process and release that anger.  I always replied that I just couldn’t see it happening, I just can’t summon up the anger.  Well, tonight I finally did.  Admittedly, it was mild.  Barely a stirring as I read about chakra development stages and realized how much dad had screwed me over and screwed me up in literally every phase.  There for a split second, I felt it.  In the center of my chest, but also high in my gut, a rush of warmth and a clench of tension.

How dare he? How dare he? How DARE he?

It’s baffling to me that my siblings have become so religious when they had the same parents and same upbringing as me.  How can they not see this all as hypocritical, at best, but possibly even more sinister and harmful? Was the abuse I received more impactful than that they received? Perhaps.  I would think though that they saw and felt enough to know something was very very wrong, something was WRONG with the person who promoted himself as our spiritual superior.  Our spiritual guide.

Master. That’s a better word. He never guided us — he ordered us around.  I racked my brain to think of any situation in my childhood where my dad ‘guided’ me. Does grabbing me by the arm or gripping my head hard to jerk me in his direction count? No? Okay then.

‘Mares

I would love to stop having dreams that entities are attacking me in my sleep, especially because it takes me forever to realize I’m still sleeping. Meanwhile the biting, choking, etc feels so real that I’m surprised to wake up without any marks.

Though, not as surprised as I am when I do.

 

What a difference a year makes

Geez what a difference a year of focusing on mental state helps. Last year, I bought the hidden vial crucifix like in Cruel Intentions, and now I’m oohing over malas.

 

What we should have been taught in school

 

I wish someone would have warned me

…that meditation can eventually lead to (temporarily, I assume) feeling like you will never sleep well or feel safe in your own body again.

Older posts

© 2025 Forgotten Spells

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑