It is raining that everywhere soft green Spring rain. I am drinking deep her cool mellow mood, but mellow does not describe my mood today. I am exuberant! I am singing! Silver threads of mystery wove themselves into my story yesterday, pulling dream, history, and body into one holy blanket. I am still marveling at the lush fabric that has been created, and the thrill of anticipation for what has yet to be woven.
Yesterday the rains were thick with electricity. In this tumultuous atmosphere I drove an hour and a half to meet with an energy healer. I made this appointment mostly out of curiosity, though certainly there is a deeper desire to get to the crux of things, to find a higher expression of myself. In the relative calm of the country highways my dream of the previous night fell into my consciousness, first as images pieced together, and later as the whole dreamstory. But it is the cluster of blue clouds faintly resembling a tornado that pulls down my first dream image.
I am in my hometown—Jackson, Mississippi. I am at a woman’s house with my children. The sky is thick with cloud, and stepping out into the drive I see that there are tornadoes forming to the West. I rush back into the house and calmly explain that we need to get into the basement of the house. My hostess mirrors my calm behavior and we go into her basement.
Her name is Reva, as in “rev your motor.” She is thin with short curly hair, and seems to be around sixty. She seems almost business-like at first, though very gentle. We talk briefly about her work, about me, and about the important relationships in my life. I lay down on her table. She begins by measuring my chakras with a pendulum, which I think is very cool. Except for the fact that my second chakra is blocked, leaving all the upper chakras with little or no motion. “This is what you are showing me,” she says assuringly, “this is not necessarily how you are all the time, but what you are asking to receive healing for.”
The room is darkened, painted a deep purple that is softened by highlights of a lighter shade. There are stars painted on the walls, too. Soft music is playing, and thunder is pushing his heavy feet through the sky onto far-off hills. The rain falls and her hands move slowly and gently over my body. My eyes are closed, and I sense movement at a very deep level in my body.
I am horrified when we arrive in the basement only to find it has huge windows. These windows are not enough to protect us from the terrible vacuous power of a tornado. The glass would splinter and fly everywhere as a thousand arrows. I turn to my hostess with anger at her vanity. “This basement is not safe!” I said to her emphatically. “How could you build such windows in your basement?”
Reva finishes her hands on work and brings out the pendulum again. All the chakras are open, and the pendulum marks this with wide circles. Even without the movement of the pendulum I know that something has happened here, something deeply wonderful. “Your chakras will continue to expand,” she says. “But there’s a cloud over your head.” She takes her magic hands and with forceful sweeping motions she begins moving it away from me. “It would be good for you to take a bath today. And drink a lot of water. There’s a lot of toxicity coming off your energy field.” She gives me a few minutes of solitude.
My hostess guides me with complete composure to the large window at the back of her basement. Looking through, I am astounded to see an immense mountain looming up to the sky, right in her backyard. She is at the foot of this mountain, a giant of beauty, and through her window one can see the unbelievably steep slope of mountain, up to its very heights. And all of it is dressed in the shimmering green of Spring, and adorned with small evergreen firs.
When Reva returns to the room we begin to talk about the healing work—what she found, and what I felt. I am wondering to myself if someone who works with your energy will then know you intimately, even if you’ve shared only a few words. In some sense, this is true. She describes how in my childhood I learned very quickly that it was not safe for me to be as big as I am, in an energetic sense. She described how I collapsed my energy inward, and she demonstrates this by pulling her knees in, and pointing her toes inward. I have been pigeon-toed with slumping shoulders for as long as I can remember. She described how I pulled my energy upwards into the spiritual/mental realm as she waved her hand around her head. I consider how many times I have been described as “living in my own world” or as someone who “lives with her head in the clouds.”
She then speaks more truth. It is good to hear it, to know it in this way. How my energy has become disconnected from the Earth because of this energetic siphoning into the spiritual and mental realms. How I need to know that it is safe to be here, on this Earth. That I don’t need to be guarded. That the darts that people send my way are their issues, that I can have the shield of strong centered energy to send their darts back to them. She says that their darts are their own issues. (Yes, she really did use nearly the exact same image that I described in my entry the jeep, the arrows, and the Goddess). Everything that she says resonates with me. By the time I leave I am so excited to have begun this journey. And driving away I remember my dream, and understand it immediately. The unguarded basement, the mountain of self. There are windows in my basement now. The children are safe. The mountain is greening. It is delightfully synchronous.
Then I move on to my next appointment of the day. As I drive into the city I think of how my hair has been long for so very long. It feels connected to my energetic existence in the realms of thought and spirit. I think of all the haircuts my mother gave me, the worst being in sixth grade when she cut my hair incredibly short and then gave me a perm. It made me look like a curly-headed turtle with thick glasses. I wonder if even this was a subconscious effort on my mother’s part to suppress and control the wild energy of Stephanie.
But now I am choosing to get my hair cut. All the long locks that have every morning been twisted and knotted into a bun on top of my head will be sent away and made into wigs for children who are also cancer patients. I am letting go of this identity, and moving into another. I have never been to a salon before. My stylist, about whom I also had a dream, is cheerful and smart. She cuts the long ponytail with the hungry mouth of the scissors and then proceeds to nip away at what’s left. I step out onto the streets of Asheville catching glimpses of my new self in the windows of bookstores and restaurants. I meet with my brother, and we share a meal, and then a coffee. Our talk runs deep and clear as rivers.
As I drive home I shake my short wavy locks. They laugh. I look in the mirror and laugh too. I know something magical has begun to unfold in my body, in my life. The Earth is greening, and so am I