Spiritual Issues or Illusions? And Patterns! I posted something yesterday — the muggle protection charm. This blog post is an email that I wrote to a friend. Part way through it I decided to make this a blog post… for whatever it’s worth to those who also struggle with questions around spiritual issues and illusions.
This is part of my spiritual challenge or how would you say it?–just one of those lingering issues that I still have an issue with–Ha! I have “an issue with an issue”; and both issues are an illusion–so, really there are no issues, except for within my own mind.
And I have a feeling that one or the other will work its way into the blog or newsletter this week.
It’s like this issue is everywhere I go, it’s a pattern. You remember, right? I moved from the last place I rented because they cut down all the trees on the property next door–you know how disturbed I was about it. Remember? The family of deer lost their home too (they covered a pit wherein the deer lived under the berry bushes) while they massacred each and every single tree along with the berry bushes simply to put in a stupid trailer and a few horses.
When I first started to awaken or attempt to be conscious or to be aware there was an awareness, it was somewhere in the 80’s… No, wait, it goes farther back than that even. I just had a
flash of a similar troubling “issue with my issue”when I was a child. It was forgotten until this very moment. I do recall that it troubled me a good while but like these other issues there
was nothing whatsoever I could do about it–hand’s tied; out of my jurisdiction; not my area as John Travolta would say in his movie role, playing Archangel Michael.
Trees, always trees and animals; the cruel and thoughtless death of either disturbs my spirit deep, deep, deeply. We were kids, you see? Oh, around 7 or 8 up until around 12. There was this huge tree at the entrance area to the housing section–there were two actually… Ficus trees, one on either side of the entrance to that neighborhood of houses–in the middle of a plot of land, smack in the middle and then on the edge of the land on either side of the road a half-high brick wall with the letters of the name of the area proudly displayed. It was a middle class area actually and eventually turning to lower class long after we moved. Not that this last sentence has anything to do with the story of the trees. They grew as we did and it was “THE” play area and gathering spot of all of us as we grew up, you see? We’d walk along the half wall and climb the Ficus trees as they grew–larger and larger they did as we were growing as well. Until finally, they were large enough to climb and climb we did! These trees became massive, their trunks nearly a car length wide with lots of branches and places to camouflage and hide. We played as many childhood games as we could imagine there beneath and inside those trees. Those two trees were “IT” for us kids, you know?
And as I recall at times there’d be up to two-dozen of us gathering there to play with not a swing-set or sliding board in sight. No matter, the trees were “IT”and our minds imaginations made up the rest of it—it, the games.
One day one of the trees was gone, missing, out of there, nothing but a hole left and stretching my mind to the memory of it now, the recollection comes. We were told it was diseased and had to be removed. I knew it was a lie. And next thing you know a house starts to be built right upon the very spot that our old friend’s large trunk once sprung out of Mother Earth.
And then, years later, the same thing happened to our other friend, the other Ficus tree on the other side of the road. I was older by that time as I recall, perhaps ready for middle school or even high school–that part is a bit blurry. The half-walls were taken down and the tree gone suddenly. And that plot of land, too–our old gathering spot, taken over by house construction right in the middle, over the top of the roots of our friend, the Ficus tree. Ha! One can almost imagine the owners of the home being haunted by children’s gleeful, playful voices in the middle of the night. Of course, that brings up a whole other area of speculation, doesn’t it?
What once stood or was on the land where you live? Around here it was all once Cherokee as most of the ‘born and raised’ locals inherited land that was stolen from those Native Americans. That’s not prejudice, it’s fact–even the “local born” teacher at the college who teaches a course in Appalachian Culture will tell you that–I took the course and used my intuition to discern truth versus lies. But on that point, even she did not differ.
On THIS property where I now rent, on the ridge right above me and to the left, I’m told (by the property owner who used to live here as a child) that on that ridge above the house is an Indian “Mound”–a burying-place for the Native American ancestors. I’ve never gone up there to look but next time my grandson comes, I’m going to ask him go up there with me to see. He’s always wanted to go back behind the major tree line and I wouldn’t let him go without me. Now, for some reason, I feel called to go and try to find it. We will take an offering.
Usually, so I’ve been told, mounds can be found nearby where 2 or 3 creeks come close to each other or perferrably meet up. They are considered power spots. I’m just realizing that I live near a power spot! Here where I live there is a creek across the way and also behind me to the left. I remember now. This actually would be the right place for a mound here where the creeks fork and where it is highest elevation on that ridge out back.
I rent from the lords of the land around here.
In the last place I lived there was a church that I was behind and I was concerned that the old house that I rented was on top of a grave yard (they are almost always behind churches here). Then I saw the graveyard up on the side of a nearby mountain and was relieved. Baptists as well as Cherokee like to bury their dead where there is a beautiful view, usually up high. In fact, the house I was renting before was an old school-house which actually made me pretty happy as far a vibes go. I’ll take living where an old school-house was over living over a graveyard most any day of the week!
So I was remembering this morning — and this came by way of me just trying to get a handle on this mystery, the sadness, the whole business of trees and so forth — the lack of reverence for the sacredness of nature from humans, etc. And the memory was about how devastated and heartsick I felt when… Well, let’s start with the yellow brick road that I was walking down (ha ha) and when looking for a job (physical therapy), I chose a facility that was located in a wooded area; yet it was still in a city.
There happened to be trees all around the place and this is where I thought it would be great to work — because of the trees you could see looking out any window there. So I’m working there a year or so when right outside the window in the therapy office where we’d write our notes in the charts–and the window was nearly ceiling to floor and our desktop faced the window, anchored to the wall. So it was like you could not avoid looking out and on that side of the property just after the little parking area there. And it was that we were forced to watch them massacre the trees and there they lay one atop the other–just a field of dead bodies and day after day more fell and it was horrible and affected me deeply. No one else seemed to care or notice but I became sick over it. That was Florida where they love concrete jungles.
Most all the places I’ve rented here in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina have had graveyards nearby–this house is the first without a graveyard within a stone’s throw. When I lived and worked south of here by a few hours (but still in the mountains), where I worked (I found out much later) was the actual place where they gathered the Cherokee — the outdoor prison — where they held them before they began to march them away on the famous journey known as the Trail of Tears. Imagine that!
And about 5 miles from where I worked was once the area that the Cherokee gathered once a year for their “games” like the Olympics. I found all this out later after I moved. The vibes in those areas absolutely correlated! And on a past life level it made perfect sense that I ended up in those places and even where I am right now.
Since those things and others that make me certain that I have reconnected with a Cherokee past life here, I googled the trail of tears and most information gives 1830 – 1850’s. A shiver!
Gosh, I’m laughing a little bit thinking that maybe an old body of mine is buried up on the mound behind me and I am here returning to the place I once lived and died actually. LOL
Oh, so who knows…? Maybe this is why I am so disturbed to the depth of my soul about the trees being cut down across the street. One tries to figure these things out you know? Something so deeply disturbing can seem mysterious especially as it happens or recurs… persists–this trauma I always go through at the thoughtless death of trees and killing of animals.
You as my friend remember the weeks–nearly a month or more–it took for me to get over the time I stumbled upon the group of hunters who had killed a beautiful black bear! And of course, I know you remember the time that I stood with my own body between a deer and a hunter up here in these mountains. That was one deer that did not get shot (least the hunter shoot me too) at that moment in time! You know how I feel, the deer and bear are my brothers (and sisters) and I must stop writing now or I will allow the tear that is forming in the corner of my eye.
I will just add that there are many past life memories from around here and I know that I made a vision quest atop of Grandfather Mountain which is always why I call that mountain ‘my grandfather’ and why the first time (in this current lifetime) that I went there, I felt I was home and did not want to leave–ever!
I was very sad yesterday and nearly ill in my stomach and had to leave here for most of the afternoon so that I could not see the destruction of the earth across the street which once was so beautiful and now it is awful. I had to get away for the day. I have asked for help from higher mind–an insight to help me understand the patterns… I have experienced these devastating feelings numerous times in the past. Pattern!
I did blog post quite a number of Moons ago about a tree friend of mine who had to leave to make way for a highway bridge… (link below).
As a matter of fact dear friend, I may go ahead and cut and paste these words into a blog post.
And since I’ve just decided that I’m doing so, I have a line or two to add then… additions below….
Long time karmic history can take years and lifetimes to overcome and the process of surrender is to the emotionalism and in my case the intense sadness in these cases with the bear, and the trail of tears and the land and the trees and all such other issues in the psyche. The physical body is transitory and all worldly phenomena (the world of matter, of form) and eventually even the illusion of the witness and the observer is because it will also dissolve and return to pure awareness or pure consciousness Itself. And the illusion of time also dissolves into the Allness of Divine Oneness or Concordance. And so at the time of ‘release of form’ (death) of any kind whatsoever–death of trees or bears or deer or our own self, the Presence of the Allness of Creation as Divinity radiates and all is joined together again. So now then, what is the point of lamenting the loss of a tree or a bear or even the self–our own or others or the many–since all form eventually returns to Source.
And these are the few Tao-like thoughts today via an ego that is doing its best to allow the higher self to have free reign of the consciousness, thoughts and the keyboard in order to help me realize the possible source of my emotional patterns with these issues of illusion.
Ha! and a final thing. I mowed the lawn a week ago and as the locals here do all the time, trash was up on the lawn–they throw things out of the car windows without thought as their usual way of doing.
So as I bent down to retrieve the paper, and in doing so saw it was a candy bar wrapper and the name was MOUNDS; and right away I thought that this was some sort of message for me and didn’t know a connection except one.
My mother told a story of when she took her mother-in-law to the funeral home. My mother’s father-in-law had recently crossed over and on the drive home my mother stopped for gas and asked her mother-in-law if she wanted a snack and replied that a candy bar would be fine.
So my mother chose that kind (a Mounds bar) and the old lady went berserk accusing my mother of rubbing it in her face associating the Mounds bar with the death of her husband! She was going a little loco at the time.
I remembered that as I was picking up the candy bar wrapper and disposing of it properly.
Your Friend, Joy
PS– Here is the blog post about that other tree friend of mine and a few others… I hope you will like to read it and if so, just CLICK HERE