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 "That's Right Baby, I Was born This Way"

When I was born I was already a Seer, a Storyteller, a Healer and a Very Sensitive Person. The body I was born into acts much like a receiver and I notice information that does not always relate to me, even information not readily apparent. Sometimes, I even get information I am not searching for and don't want to know. This is how I am made and how I make my living. Along with the ordinary and obvious, my world is made of layers and layers of vibrations and waves, colors and smells, memories and glimpses of what may come. I use this information as medicine, to help others heal and feel better about themselves and their lives. When I tell you that I feel your pain, I mean it. Physical information, I receive, is bolstered by and further explained through visions. These abilities were not bestowed upon me as sweet gifts from a benevolent deity because I took a couple of weekend warrior classes or got the blessing of some famous guru. I earned my access through multiple lifetimes of hard work. Like everyone else, I earned the life I have. Perhaps, unlike everyone else, I have been made aware of this. To the best of my abilities, I work for Great Spirit and live my heyoka life under the beating wings of Thunder Beings. I strive to be in balance with my opportunities and to use my medicine to help others find balance in their own lives, as well.  Feed-back suggests I am very good at what I do.  

I was born predisposed to having visions, but, my physical sight has been adjusted through corrective eye surgeries, several severe head injuries and a few near-death experiences. My story has been an amazing journey, and it begins before I was born. I know, because I remember.

There is nothing special about me talking early, that except that I was nine weeks old when I started. My mother took multiple polls to determine this since most babies don't speak until they are, at least, a year old. I was precocious. My beautiful mother smiled, proudly, as she told me this story when I was about nine, then she changed the subject. She had already determined, by that time, that I would never feel like I was different than my brother and sister, because she loved us all the same. In our family, no one was forced to feel special.

Memories of past lives and horrible death experiences came when I was not quite four years old. I questioned my parents about them, asking, "why those people killed me like that, when I had not done anything bad to them". In return, they asked what I'd been watching on television. I explained that I remembered things from back before I was born. Rather than taking me seriously, they laughed. Then, they asked me to tell their friends about my memories. Hoping for answers and only getting more laughter, I became suspicious and demanded to know where my real parents were.  Of course, they insisted that they were them.

Being a spiritually aware toddler, in the 1950's, was not an easy path to try and learn to walk on, especially with no visible means of support. But, like all little kids who are lucky enough not to die, I grew up anyway. Looking back on parts of my life, writing this story, this one fact stands out most of all. I am still alive.  More than once, or even twice, the odds I would survive were against me.

"Hard Heads"

One evening, our two-hundred and thirty-pound pet Billy goat surprised me by treating me like one of his own. As I leaned down to slip a bowl underneath the heavy-duty steel gate of his enclosure, he charged, hitting the gate at full force. We were eye to eye. The gate acted like a croquet mallet, sending me upwards about eighteen feet. Suddenly and without warning, I was looking at clear blue sky, instead of a herd of goats in a pasture. I was very surprised. To this day, I can hardly believe the number of things I thought of or remembered in those few seconds of flight or that I stayed so calm during the entire event. The impact, literally, took my head off. The famous brain surgeon, at the second hospital I was sent to that night, declared me a miracle.  X-rays and CAT scans showed the blow had separated my body from my head between the fourth and fifth vertebrae. Incredibly, those bones had, somehow, fitted themselves back into place, without severely damaging or severing my spinal cord. I spent four days in a morphine haze while my husband called on every healing spirit he could think of for help. My best friend, a doctor in her own right, left her patients and sat at my side, while the room around us filled with prayers from around the world. Spirit had taken my head and let me live to tell the tale with full mobility. I am one lucky heyoka.

The spiritual messenger, that I met in Peru, suggested I was particularly lucky, too, because God had seen fit to reach out and, personally, give me a little adjustment. The goat-wreck is not my only serious smack to the head, there are at least two more, but, it provides a good example of what I mean when I say I've had a few run-in's with near death.  Amazing injuries offer amazing opportunities for growth. 

Who doesn't love family? Right?

Our parents had three children and proudly raised us as three different families. To keep the peace between the three of us, our parents determined that none of us would ever see ourselves as special. They loved us all the same and expected us to be all the same. In fact, to be noticed by others, as special could embarrass our parents. Our father was offered good jobs, in part, because his kids were normal and un-embarrassing, kids. Younger readers of this story might find that a hard thing to believe, but, in those days the appearance of an employee's family mattered to his boss. None of us had our talents, or problems, exploited, even when we tried. Sometimes, I'd tell a dream or share an insight or prediction that time proved correct. That made me dangerously close to being special and that was a problem, partly because of appearances sake and partly because my mother was the dutiful daughter of Southern Baptist Sunday school teachers. What I did was not an acceptable activity.

Unable to make my visions stop, those nearest and dearest to me belittled and made fun of them. I became a cry baby and was told I needed to toughen up. I was laughed at for thinking I had any original thoughts. If a thought was original or had value, then someone smart would think it, not me. I was not smart. I was only an imaginative child. In our family, only older and educated people were smart people. Being older, my smart sister tried to beat some sense into me, sometimes at my mother's request, to no avail. In spite of all that loving effort to keep me from becoming an embarrassment, I remain a fly in my family's collective eye. My natural talents and, thus, my self-esteem, are still belittled, downplayed and disavowed by the people who raised me to trust them. Like every other child, I learned what I was worth and what love is, at their hands. I have no doubt that I am loved by them. Our mother and father worked hard to make sure we children had good lives. We got good medical care and the clothes we wanted to wear. Even when there was no money, we were showered with love and surprise gifts. They brought us to church, made sure we did our homework, followed the rules they set out for us and acted respectably in public. We got tucked in each night with the words, "I love you" the last thing we heard. There was never any question that we were loved and wanted. Our three families, even rolled into one, had the kind of parents a lot of kids dream of and wish for. We were lucky children. Still, I was raised by ignorant bullies.  I expect that many readers will recognize their own family dynamics in mine. 

"The Light"

Because my body feels and gathers information coming from others, as well as myself, self-preservation dictates I work as a healer. At this point in my story, my family will be forgiven if they doubt this. Like them, I do the best I can with what I have to work with. I try my best, to give my best, not wanting to offer less, because I know we get back what we give out. That said, sometimes, I am the medicine woman and, sometimes, I am the medicine. This has always been my story.

Great Spirit saw fit that I be born, this time, into a Southern family, with all of the influences and trimmings of the deep South. To recap, that meant I was supposed to follow Jesus and not embarrass my family. This was especially important business for me, since I was not very smart. It took me a long time to recognize the weight of that upbringing. According to the family and most of the preachers, if I happily did what they told me to do, long enough, God would reveal His plan for me and all would be well. So, I read the whole Bible, hoping to gain God's favor. If you have never read it, most of the book is compiled of stories about "Christian soldiers" killing each other. The message of love from the son of God is as over-looked and ignored as I was. According to what that book told me, the only true Light Bearer in the Bible had died at the hands of bullies. It was a magical revelation. I was not ready to die. The stars came out and the Light shone down upon me in the daytime. I felt like I was starring in my own Cecil B. DeMille film. And, at that moment, Jesus did, indeed, speak to me.

He said, "Stop worshipping dead words on a dead page, sister. Go. Be the light you are looking for". 

For the next twenty years or so, I did my best to ignore this advice. Seriously. Who would believe that the Son of God would talk to someone as insignificant as me? I thought I was delusional and set out to prove that I wasn't. My internal light went dark. I married an abuser, since mistreatment equaled love, and practiced not dying as I tried to learn how to live. Things got so bad that I begged God for death. When that didn't happen, I stopped talking to him. Then, a curious thing happened. God began to talk to me through my mother-in-law, who was the best part of my marriage. She truly saw me for who and what I was. We loved each other completely, right from the start. She held out her Light, so that I might See. She helped me find ways to forgive her son as she introduced me to a Great Sprit that lived outside the Bible. 

"Smart People Get Edumacated"

Barbara was the first Seer I met who would openly admit to it. She said she was a seeker of something she called The Light. She told me that the Light was strong in me and I remembered my Cecile B. DeMillle moment. She had me read books by Madame Blavatsky, Edgar Cayce, Col. Churchward, Manly P. Hall and the Rosicrucians. When I told her that the books made sense to me, she suggested the unthinkable. She suggested I was smart. She helped me through my first past life regression and began to talk to me about the significance of dreaming. She asked me about my visions and physical sensations and told me how I might use the information I got to help heal myself and others. I remember how her laughter sounded like tinkling bells as she brushed away my fears of God and told me I was perfect. She opened my eyes and my heart and began to teach me new things about love.


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