I was an only child raised in a noisy house.
At least that’s how it felt.
Besides some DNA, there was nothing I had in common with my family. Mother, father, and all five siblings were as mysterious to me as outer space. Except that outer space is supposed to be mysterious. Families are supposed to be familiar.
I mean, check it. The words even have the same root!
So there I was, surrounded by people I didn’t get, who didn’t get me, wishing I was from some other family.
An alien princess.
It was so disjointed that I’ve never really understood the idea of family. Never understood a loyalty thicker than water. Never wanted to be part of a tribe.
To accept entry into a tribe would have meant turning off something vital in myself.
As a teen I escaped to books by Kurt Vonnegut (which I actually thought were funny!), Frank Herbert, Anne Rice and to music. The Police, Boomtown Rats and U2 were my cultural signposts.
And there is but one family friend whose influence remains with me today. I wrote about her here.
There is more forgotten from my childhood than remembered.
I respect that decision. Whatever my wise self wanted locked from me, she did so for a reason. She always was older than she appeared.
There were times when I saw things, felt things, knew things I could not have. Hints of some sort of psychic abilities. Not welcome in those surroundings, I did my best to keep them quiet.
I explored the idea of re-incarnation. Felt comfortable believing that in this life I am here to learn independence.
I read bits and pieces of various spiritual and religious practices, after I’d disentangled myself from the constrictions of the Catholic church I’d been immersed in.
Tao te Ching, Nine Ki Astrology, tidbits of Buddhism, astral projection, The Search for Ohm Sety. Every word, every phrase satisfied me with its familiarity.
My beliefs formed despite the way I was raised:
We are here, in this life, to experience deep joy.
I am the only one responsible for my happiness. I am only responsible for my own happiness, not anyone else’s. (this goes for you, too, also!)
These are not my people.
A lifetime later and more influence came from Tom Robbins, Clive Barker and Dean Koontz. I could lose myself in Nine Inch Nails, Tool, The Headstones, Pearl Jam or be woken from a dead sleep by the sonorous baritone of Leonard Cohen. I tag along, trying to keep up with the minds of George Stroumboulopoulos, Jian Ghomeshi and Henry Rollins.
I worked in corporate offices for 25 years and yet felt the haunting energy in antique stores and the unknowable details of news stories.
Around the time I turned 40 I found myself in a health crisis. An undiagnosed, life-slowing, painful, awkward, health crisis.
Looking back with my new found knowledge of energy (thank you Limitless Megan!), I believe that most of what I experienced was not mine – not of my body, not of my own energy. No wonder they could never figure out what it was!
In fact, now I can even tell you the block of my daily walk that triggers it because it still makes my stomach turn.
What the energy is, I don’t know. At least now I realize that it is not mine.
But I do believe it was communicating with something in me, and one day, not long after the medical intuitive had tuned me back into my psychic abilities, while walking along this block, I felt this declaration well up within me.
And I believe this was mine.
It went something like this:
“I am the bastard progeny of a thousand generations of psychics and witches and energy workers, raised without knowledge of their rituals and traditions.
You chose to keep those from me.
To protect yourself? To protect me? I know not why.
And here, on the other side of this lifetime of living with a power that is beyond description, beyond the boundaries of this human shell, I no longer need your rituals and rites.
Those have always been there to protect you. I choose to not hide behind their protection.
I choose to use these powers the way I wish. Without ritual. Without tradition. Without your practices.”
Today I add “I release this power into the world again and again on the wings of butterflies. To connect, to uplift, to comfort, to heal.”
I believe this rich history was hidden from me. And I am so grateful it was.
Grateful for the freedom to pour the power of butterflies into a world thirsty for light.
These butterflies are powerful. So am I.
That’s where I came from. And that’s where I’m coming from.
Let’s find the joy together. Let’s start with the butterflies.