Who am I and why am I here?

Unsurprisingly, the story of this blog has been an unfolding journey… like the morning sun kissing the surface of a still pond… or the slowly awakening petals of a lotus, opening until we reach its heart.

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Image: Pond lily by Kevin M, freeimages.com

This blog began as a way for me to begin writing again… something I had given up as a young woman when I realized I must give myself only one option for the words that needed to be spoken. Now, words begged to be written. I was burning with outrage at the way our Western throw-away society throws away people. I wanted to ignite hope in the hopeless. I wanted to communicate to those considering suicide that “dead is not dead”. I wanted to light a candle in the darkness.

I still want to do that…

But on the way, it changed…

Life called. We live in a society where children must be fed and educated, and a roof over our heads just takes money. My blog morphed into a business website. I learned about Faith and Abundance (yes! with capital letters) and my clinical rooms became a re-charging station for people who help others.

And still, there has been a book calling me… a book calling me to write it. The message has changed. I am still listening for what it may be while I polish each post like a gem… making today’s few words gleam in the sun, resonating with joy and peace, love and hope.

Wishing you all the very best for 2016. May miracles find you daily.

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We are all connected…

We are all connected…

Unsurprisingly, I had nightmares that night.

When I finally returned to my hotel room after the first day of the ‘Many Lives Many Masters’ workshop with Dr Brian Weiss, I reluctantly turned on the TV, feeling compelled by a sense of world citizenship. “I should make sure that I know what is happening.” I told myself.

I watched the strained faces of the reporters, I heard the attempts at counting bodies and watched the mountain of flowers grow, and I felt numb and disconnected. It always surprises me – that disconnect. You think I would be prepared for it. There have been so many atrocities in my lifetime, so many disasters, some the violence of nature and some the violence of man.

But I never get used to experiencing those first moments and feeling nothing because it is so shocking… and feeling like I should feel something.

I started to sense the fear being broadcast along with the terrible news, infecting listeners like the most recent form of winter flu. I knew better than to absorb the violence and cruelty into my aura.

I took a deep breath and imagined Light and Love and Healing pouring into Paris. I asked for everyone affected to be nurtured and supported during the crisis. And I asked for forgiveness for the misguided souls who had perpetrated such a criminal act. But I had overlooked something.

I woke in the early hours, bathed in sweat and overwhelmed by panic.

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Image: The Ochre Pits – Sacred Site, Central Australia by Anne Marie McGlasson, 1993

The aboriginal sacred sites were filled with mud. They were choking with pollution and crying out to me for help. I was up to my waist and covered in mud, digging, digging and digging. trying desperately to clear the mud so that the sites could glow again. So they could do their job as a part of a greater system of transmitting life force around the planet. And there was too much mud. It was caving back in on me as I tried to move it away. I was failing. My chest heaved with tortured sobs.

Barely awake, I frantically texted one of my favourite friends from Past Life Regression Therapy training. It was only the next day that I realized that I hadn’t been very coherent, but he listened and lovingly put the dirt under my feet… and I went back to sleep so my higher consciousness could finish the job.

We are one world and one people. What affects one of us affects us all. We are instrinsically attached to this planet we call Earth – mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Indigenous people understand this. Their ceremonies and rituals honour our interconnection with the planet.

The impact of terrorist attack in Paris spread out like a wave, washing through people’s psyche and filling the sacred sites of the world with shock and horror. And there was a group of souls who answered the call to action. I was not alone in clearing the scared sites that night. I woke in the morning with a vision – the sacred sites were clear and once again transmitting their golden light back to humanity.

Click here for more information about our connection to the planet.

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Soul mate… everyday miracles

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” Albert Einstein

The tiny warm bundle that snuggled with room to spare in my cupped hands was deeply asleep. I could feel the boneless way she was lying. All babies did this when I held them. Eventually, their little bodies would just… relax.

She has sucked urgently on my thumb while the Reiki energy poured into her body. She recognized it. It was life. It was love. It was what she needed to survive.

The breeder watched in amazement. “I don’t know what you are doing there and I don’t know how she recognizes it as nourishment… but she does.”

Time to put her back to bed with her sister.

Lizzie’s babies were in the laundry.

“I had to put her in here to whelp” said the breeder. “I couldn’t trust her not to abandon them in a bigger pen and its too cold this time of year for the babies not to be close to their mums.” I had already had a tour of the shed where the ‘good mums’ had their babies, their happy little faces enquiring of me what I might want.

Lizzie tried to bolt out of the door. “No, no” said the breeder sternly. “You stay here and look after your babies. That’s your job.” And then quietly added “…and this is the last litter for you. You are clearly not enjoying it and it’s not fair on the puppies.”

Lizzie eyed us speculatively.

“My biggest worry” said the breeder “is that I cant get her to eat, and if she wont eat, there’s no milk for the puppies. She’s making colostrum and her milk should come in shortly, but not if she wont eat. I don’t hold out much hope. I think the biggest puppy will do OK hand reared, but the little one… she has a slight underbite… oops there goes the phone! I’ll be right back.”

I squatted down on my haunches. I looked Lizzie dead in the face. Compassion poured from my heart for her. I felt so sorry for her. I felt sorry for myself.

“I know it’s hard” I coached her. “It’s hard birthing them. It’s hard raising them, but you have responsibilities. There really isn’t a choice. They are relying on you.” I laid symbols over her to comfort her and energise her for the job that needed doing.

The breeder walked back into the laundry as Lizzie snatched a couple of mouthfuls and then laid down for the puppies to suckle.

She looked at me in round eyed shock “What did you do?”

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Image: Lizzie by Anne Marie McGlasson, 2004

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