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don Miguel Ruiz



Musings of an Awakening Spirit

Stories, poetry & general musings of Rebecca Haywood, a modern-day Shaman with a penchant for bringing the divine into the human experience.

Fencing in our Creativity

I am the fence!
And my lines
Bend time
And wild
It all away.

Lately my walking meditations have been much like those of my childhood—listening without a question in my heart. It has been nice to return to this place of simply receiving the medicine of the moment, without the prayers that so often lead these walks.

It draws me back to my training days with Sarita and our practice of channeling—just her and I in that tiny healing room in San Diego. We weren’t there to serve anyone in particular. We were simply practicing receiving and delivering Spirit’s message. These were some of my favorite experiences of channeling. Though the energy wasn’t necessarily stronger, it felt truer to the Spirit voice that was coming through... like the words weren’t molded for my ears or for another’s.

That’s how it was for me as a child except I wasn’t listening for Spirits per say; I was listening to the trees and the wind and the birds. I was listening to the Mother, I suppose, and all of her Allies. Songs and poems would come to me, far beyond the mind of a little girl or the later “troubled” teenager. They would soothe me and yet they weren’t pointed at me. It was as if they simply needed to be spoken, sung, or written—released into the air or borne to a solitary witness—and that was enough of a delivery. Somehow the seed was planted or sent on the wind to wherever or whomever needed it.

I didn’t have this understanding then nor did I seek one. It was simply what I did, what I enjoyed doing. There was no mission to uphold, no people to serve, no “Healer” or “Shaman” to be. And yet I was serving—just as I do now, just as we all do when we open ourselves to receiving and delivering Life’s message... even when no one else is there to hear it.

Healers, Painters, Comedians—we are all messengers and we all serve It up. Let’s give ourselves permission to be without purpose every once in a while... to return to the simple love of our craft— the joy of receiving and delivering, the freedom of being in those moments, of those moments, without fencing our expression in or bending to their time.

Let us wild the artist away and return to the nature of our art.

The Trauma Self’s Strive to Thrive
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