Blog Appreciation Day, or, ‘I love This Writer’

This is a new feature I’m adopting for my blog. The blogging community is filled with inspiration, wonder, education, and talented people, and like a nest building bower bird I collect the pretty blue things.

Brenna Yovanoff is a YA author who posts short stories here. Her writing is mysterious and seductive, and I've learnt more about writing from her and her critique partners than any other source. She likes terrifying teens, was raised by gypsies, sews her own clothes, and I suspect she’s Dean Koontz’s love child (everyone knows I'm kidding right?). She also has a soon to be released pretty blue thing here.

I guess I need a disclaimer now: Brenna has not traded her grandmother’s jewelry, bribed me, knitted me a jumper, or kidnapped my cat, but she has earned my respect.

I’m sharing this story because Brenna has captured the emotion that surrounds a spirit who has not gone into the light. Every emotion is amplified. The no-light is a lonely wilderness with sanctuary tantalizingly close. Sprits ache with longing, but they cannot identify what they long for. Imagine breathing in, and then not being able to exhale for eternity. You dream, but you cannot sleep. All your senses have been turned off, but you are still aware of everything, suspended in no-time.

Fiction by Brenna: Neighbors

It takes forever for the house next door to sell. Poor For Sale Sign, rickety and crooked, like it's been leaning there all summer, all year, all my life.

The real estate agent blames the lack of interest—no, the entire state of the housing market—on our yard. She leaves a note taped to our front door, saying that no decent family would move in next to a disaster like ours, that the lawn is an eyesore. And it kind of is. I want to tell my dad to get off his ass, crawl out of the bottle and pull-start that mower, but at the same time, I don't want to tell him anything. It's easier, just walking past the mess like it doesn't even exist.

And the house does sell, despite the condition of our yard. I lie out in the weedy grass and watch the people come and go, first the movers and then the family. Their son looks my age, maybe a year or two older. He's tall and dark-haired, with great shoulders and long, graceful hands. He's always texting—never even looks up or turns around, but I don't need to know the color of his eyes to tell that he's delicious. I watch from over the fence, hopeful and terrified that at any moment, he'll turn and see me there. ( continue reading here )

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No, We Don't Heal Naked Here

I’m in writing mode so I have to be brief—the muse has teeth.

I’ve had some funny things happen while I’ve been healing, so I thought I’d share one. A lady came for healing and proceeded to undress while my back was turned. I was lighting candles at the time, and when I turned around she was about to take off her singlet. A thin, here’s my breasts I don’t wear bras cotton singlet. I also noticed she had rolled the top of her I don’t wear briefs either skin tight pants down.

I smiled and casually told her, “There’s no need to take your clothes off.”

She smiled back and told me that she had been to a, I’d rather not say, healing workshop, and the people running the workshop had told one of the participants that they weren’t ready to be healed because they didn’t take their clothes off.

Impossibly her pants stretched further as she hopped onto the healing table, and I wondered if it was painful. No. Apparently not, as she made no effort to reposition her yes I have a birthmark. I concentrated on my pre-healing routine while she informed me that a lady had then undressed and presented herself for healing: music, check, dim lights, check, tan lines, check, nipples—oh crap! Check!

“She undressed in front of everyone?”

“Yes.”

“No screen or sheet to cover her?”

“No.”

In case you’re wondering, you can keep your clothes on when you come for a healing. Please.

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Aotearoa's Calling Me Home

Besides the incredible scenery, there is always something interesting and nostalgic to enrich the experience of travelling in New Zealand. Aotearoa spoke to me as I travelled. Old wounds were healed and new ones soothed. “Listen and remember.”

I’ve explored old houses on every farm I’ve worked on. Sheltered from the rain, raised new born lambs, stacked hay bales, treated animal skins, and housed chickens where families once lived. All the ghosts are with the living. Only memories remain, caught in spider webs bullied by dust and time, and unnoticed by passersby.

As we travelled, New Zealand reminded me of all the things I’ve enjoyed:

The smell of fresh cut hay.

The thrill of the chase, smiling dogs, the smell of blood, and the satisfying weight of bringing home dinner.

I remember you.

Milking time. In the middle of winter its not so bad being crapped on by a cow.

Angels in the water.

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Free from Perception and the Observed

An important part of my work as a healer is to heal spirit. I started doing this in a meditative state, but now I’m able to do it by being aware that it’s happening. I can do it now while I’m typing. A holographic image overlays what I’m seeing and follows the movements of my eyes and head. No matter how quickly I turn the hologram travels with me.

The only drawback is that if it’s happening when I’m in a conversation it’s noticeable that I’m not paying attention. I get in trouble the same way when I’m watching Friday night footy—sales at Cotton On are just as important as grand finals.

With clients often the same emotion, illness or injury can be found in a deceased relative in spirit. I've talked about this pattern before. By healing spirit, which many people perceive to be not real, the client’s energy field changes and vibrates at let’s-get-well.

Let’s do this. I’ll put aside every experience I’ve had with spirit, every moment of medical intuition, and all the knowledge I’ve gained. If spirit is not real then I’m healing nothing. If I’m not healing anything then I’m not even a healer. I’ve become someone who has welcomed a stranger into their home because that person is unwell.

The only tool I have left to alter that person’s state is intention. I wish them to be well. When intention is focussed you can accomplish anything. How do you focus intention?

Put aside everything:
• I’m a (?)
• I believe (?)
• I feel (?)
• I have (?)
• I need (?)

When you’re done–I am (?)

This was Jesus’ gift. He saw and felt everything because He was (?) It heightens sense, emotion, response (pain, love), and intention. He became a champion for change because he saw what everyone else could not. He was the bravest of us all.

I may have lost my way writing this post, because I’m still thinking about yesterdays post. When Jesus is with me I feel and see what has not been recorded. Everything we believe, we have created.

Intention works in the absolute of what is, free from perception and the observed

As always I welcome your thoughts and comments. Cheers, Simon.

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Augustine the muse

My top 5 tips for Energy Healers

I’m asked all the time about how I heal, and although some of what I’m about to share is on my website, and scattered throughout other posts, here’s my top five tips for having consistent results. Of course these might change next week, and they should, because action and consciousness evolve as faith grows.

1) Have faith. When I mention this most people assume I’m talking about having faith in God, or in spirit. Have faith in yourself first. No matter what the outcome believe you can heal. Do not judge your potential to heal by success or failure.

2) Don’t make excuses. I hear too many people saying things like: the person’s not ready to be healed, they’ve chosen this illness for their higher good, they’ve chosen to live a short life, and … (fill the gap). Don’t buy into this at all.

3) Have no expectation. The only thing that you need to focus on is healing. I do this by repeating the phrase perfect health, but I don’t think about how that will manifest in the client. I’m only healing.

4) Every time you heal it’s the first time. There are similarities between healings, but try to avoid comparing one healing with another. This will prevent you from establishing a routine.

5) Know that you’re not in control. The only thing you control is your willingness to walk up to the table over and over again. Don’t be afraid. Dig this out of your subconscious mind. Trust me, in there, it’s screaming, ‘I’m hanging on tight!’

Good luck and happy healing. Whether you’re a healer or a patient I’d love to know what has helped you to heal.
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When I die will my grandson remember me?

The Te Papaiouru Marae and St Faith's Anglican Church at Ohinemutu, Rotorua, was one of the surprise highlights of our holiday. Entry is by donation only and the young girl at the kiosk made us feel welcome. Her smile was sincere and playful, and although it was the end of the day everyone we met greeted us warmly. The energy was peaceful and refreshing.

After looking at the Marae I meandered through the crypts and wondered why the bodies had been entombed above ground. Spirits of Maori accompanied me and I discovered every tomb contained a soldier. The emotions emanating from the spirits filled my lungs with syrup, but the peaceful feeling remained.

I looked up and noticed a Maori teenage boy taking photos.

“I didn’t realise they were all soldiers.”

“Yes. They were brought home to look across the lake.” Gesturing with his camera, “That’s my koro (grandfather) down there.”

A chill runs up my back and I need to swallow. I can hear the emotion in his voice, and if I speak I know I will say something mundane. We stand side by side, surrounded by silence and the dead. I don’t know how to tell him his ancestors are standing with him. He takes another photo. He asks about my holiday and if I’ve visited the geysers. I hadn’t. He smiles and I smile back. The ghosts smile as well.

He’s a local and has visited many times and yet he still takes photos. This overwhelms me. I’m in his energy so I know he takes photos to honour his koro. He never wants to forget. I was taking photos to remember. I felt like a tourist.

Te Papaiouru Marae

St Faith’s Church

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