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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.

Patchwork Quilt: Part 1: Integrating the Self

I slipped into a beautiful dream at the Self Realization Fellowship yesterday and magic ensued...

In the vision, I stood as a little girl in the center of a circle of grandmothers who were weaving a patchwork quilt. With eyes of wonder, I watched them share a single golden thread between them as they sewed the most beautiful quilt I had ever seen— wild with colors that were softened only by their supple textures.

“This is You.” The grandmothers whispered from inside me, showing me the thread. “And this is all of your gifts returned.” They nestled the quilt into my hands. “Keep them this time. Spread this quilt out before you and take yourself in. Wrap it around you and know that you are whole... with each and every piece perfectly placed.”

Their message spoke to my personal process and to a question that had arisen from it. ‘Must we deconstruct the human in order to know ourself as divine?’

It is a question that has traveled with me throughout my Toltec process of stopping the world and detaching my identity from my body, its emotions and their stories. I was told to die to what was and only then could I be reborn as the light that I am.

Though I embraced Death in my personal journey and as a valuable tool for my students, I couldn’t shake the Mother’s voice inside me that kept calling for birth without a prerequisite of death. I had even begun to bring students through Teotihuacan backwards, starting as divine and becoming human. It has proven to be a potent and wholly transformative experience for them and yet I wasn’t fully applying it to my own process. I was still digging graves.

The grandmothers were inviting me to honor my history and to recollect all the selves I had buried. “I will.” I told them. “Thank you.”

When I opened my eyes, I found myself gazing upon a grandmother—of flesh and blood—dressed in a golden sari with her hands in prayer and her head bowed to me. Our eyes met and without words we bowed to each other in unison, three times.

It was the final kiss of magic that I needed. In her gaze, I felt myself as that patchwork quilt and its golden thread. I reintegrated—girl, woman, Grandmother Spirit—in one sacred, living quilt.

Two into One
Patchwork Quilt: Part 2: The Common Thread of the ...

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