I rarely share this aspect of myself because its private, precious and slightly un-comprehensible. Words don’t always come when I’m speaking about my own spiritual path, however, I’ve decided to use this site for an immediate need which is to record the past 48 hours in which I have had a profound series of events.
Do not trouble yourself with what you might read.
Though it is not dangerous to anyone per se, it might be stirring for some, heinous for others, a crock of bull perhaps for even more.
But don’t worry and do not trouble yourself should you continue to read. I can see ye now ,eyebrow cocked… finger on the delete button. Thats fine. Thats fine. Yer alright. If you must read it and you think I’m half mad to begin with then think of it as a piece of fiction I’m sharing with you but please, I have to get this out of my system.
Let me write this down.
I have been over the course of this year studying the practise of Core Shaman ism.
This is the ancient experience of communing with Nature, the Elements and the Divine.
Within this study one practises a form of mediation called journeying. Like all mystic traditions there are three worlds upon which can enter and learn. The Upper World, the Middle World and the Lower World.
Like all traditions, there are Guides who come to your aid, to assist you, to instruct, and protect you. The Lower World has Animal Guides that may appear to share common trait by which you can see your reflection and perhaps take some insightful knowledge about a situation or about yourself
In the Core Shamanic practise there are a number of ceremonies constructed to release karmic bondage or ties that constrict you from your true self. Ultimately I think, we all want to be the best person we can possibly be and we have that birthright to obtain this. The discussion about the millions of people subjected to incredible cruelties and poverty is one that I cannot tackle at this moment, perhaps I can another time, but for the here and now, let me state that my life’s purpose is to be the highest and best person I can be, hurting no one and bringing blessing to everyone involved.
So one of the ceremonies is call the “Cord Cutting Ceremony”. Here the Shaman consults with her guides to discover where the cords of negative energy are twisted between two people. The cords are stretched from one person chakras to the others’. It makes sense when we hear conversational lines lines, ” He’s got a hold on me”.
Or ” I ‘ve been hurt so badly, I cannot trust or love ever again”
For whatever reason, this ceremony is beautiful release of emotional baggage and cleansing and strengthening of your personal energy centres.
Thursday August 21st was the new moon. New Moons are very good for release old patterns. Getting rid of clutter, stuff, ways of thinking . I was scheduled to have a Cord Cutting Ceremony performed between myself and my father who had died four years ago.
I should also say that I have been actively working on my relationship with my father since is his death. That sounds strange doesn’t it. Me self and me father couldn’t actually come to an easy peace between us while he was alive but in death I have worked hard to understand him as a man, and a father. The best thing I could do for the both of us is to cut the cords for not only do you come into your own power but as well it allows the other to come to into their own power. They understand their truths. Perhaps, no longer live vicariously through you (as parents tend to do with their children), or perhaps remove the protective measures taken on behalf of one person to one another, which seizes to help and instead, binds and block , limits your choices
These cords can trap a soul to this plane of existence. Cutting them gives everybody a chance.
So…. to my story………Wednesday I began to prepare myself for the Thursday New Moon Cord Cutting Ceremony. I took myself and my dog Pup down to the Sluice Gates and turned right through a small lane way that is used by fishermen ( and fisher women) . At the bottom of the lane the shore is line a wide and I took a fancy to drive the car right onto the beach so I could see Lough Allen and the great mountain Sleive An Arran. In the distance on the bank of the shore was lone pony looking toward to mountain. I took this as good sign that I might meditate here for one of Guides is horse and I have often rode him across the waters of Lough Allen to strange and wonderful places.
This meditation that I am currently practising consists of listening to either a half hour or a fifteen minute CD of Shamanic drumming.The tempo of the drumming, the beats per minute are equivalent to a baby’s heartbeat and the internal rhythm found in the core of the earth.
( more on that another day perhaps)
When we mediate or journey or quite frankly, do anything in this life, we always have an intention. The clearer our intention is, the more likely we shall obtain it. My intention was to go the Lower World to meet my Guides and ask if the Cord Cutting Ceremony with my father was a correct thing to do.
So off I went on my horse. I saw much on my journey but the end result was a conversation I had with my father who met me and agreed that the ceremony would be the best for all. Three times during our meeting he asked me if the horse was still on the shore. Each time, I raised myself form one state and looked through my fingers to see the horse still on the shore. when he asked me the third time, I remembered a conversation my sister-in-law Caroline had told me she had with Dad before he died. He had always suffered from bad eyesight and while in the hospital he turned to her and said how remarkable that his eyesight was fine. He could see better than ever. She was sitting there, as clear as could be, he could see the horses on the beach just fine, everything was great.
My conversation with my father came to an end I felt assured that the moving to the Cutting Cord Ceremony would be a healing measure for the both of us.
I thanked him, my Guides and I returned to what some referred to as this mundane state of reality. When I opened my eyes, I though my vision had blurred because there were now two horse on the beach. They turned and looked in my direction and then began to slowly make they’re way towards me.
From out of the shrubs. another horse joined them.And suddenly they surrounded the car. The eldest even tried to put his hoof on the bonnet of my vehicle. My little car tooted it horn in a most child-like fashion . And the horses kept circling us.
Eventually I was able to back up the car and leave. And the next day I fulfilled my promise and Daddy-o and cut the cord that strangled us budgeter and we now sit in peace with each other.
On the way back from the ceremony I was to visit a friend who attends to hair. I loathe hairdressers because of the mirrors and false glamour and idle chat to say nothing of the rotten music and toxic fumes and peering eyes. I rather let my hair go to rats- which some of you might shake your in agreement- yes eileen your hair a rats nest. Nevertheless, you’ll all be glad to know that I now I have a personal stylist who give me head a good shake when it needs it. And I was slated to go to her after the ceremony. Funny thing, before I left the Shaman I ask her if I should go and get the hair down, I wasn’t at all sure about it because the work I finished involved the crown chakras work which is a highly sensitive energy centre.
I wasn’t in the chair twenty minutes when I started to feel sick. I took a break and sat down again and my dear friend could see me turning a shade of green that wasn’t at all my colour. She suggested we do this another day and led me to the washing basin to wash the dye out. I could hardly keep my stomach from heaving.
Finally I was at home.
I must say that both the Shaman and the stylist knew that this month was very bad for me financially, but as September is around the corner and my work will resume then, they generously allowed availed of their talents and I will remunerate them next month.
Without a penny in my pocket, my hardrive just about to collapse, my car in a dire need of attention with the possibility of blowing a gasket any day now… and my cat Declan had been looking at me as if to say that I better be bring home the bacon or the little songbirds are dinner.
I entered my home and picked a letter deliver through the mail slot, patted the good cat and looked for the hot water bottle because I had cramps in my abdomen just like a school girl- and I ain’t no school girl no more.
I filled the bottle with hot water and tucked it into my bed to warm it up and I turned to see a old stream truck that I have carted around with me for the last fives for no reason other than I heard a story that the trunk once belonged to a woman who left Ireland with it bound for New York City and after fifty years or so returned to Ireland with the same trunk. I found the trunk abandoned in a field across the yard from a house I lived in and as it was a perfectly good trunk, took it in, dried it out , used it for a few years, but now it, upright on its side, not really used and quite frankly in the way in the bedroom. back the new Moon thing and getting rid of stuff. So I heaved this old trunk out to my front yard with my collection of birch tree poles and potted plants and as an after thought, I opened it to see if there was anything worth salvaging. At first glance, there wasn’t A large bag of red twist ties was there and a broken plastic ruler,three or four pinky-white altar boy cassocks the local nuns gave for children’s plays and then I saw it.
My father’s buckskin jacket. His touring jacket. My dad was a drummer and had a band that in the 70′s. One of my favourite picture of the band was them standing beside a small air plane that took them to the Yellowknife, in what was called the North West Territories. The rest of the band looked frozen and ill equipped for the Arctic weather. But Daddy-o had his sheep lined jacket on and looked fine.
I got the jacket when he came off the road and I was in my 20′s. I took everywhere. Even when it seized to fit me, my Dad was a small , thin man, And I was once thin, but you’d never call me small.
Now I pulled it out And I hugged it for all I was worth. It smelt of moth balls and old wool and memories. I went inside with it, Sat down still hold onto it. The I found the letter delivered to me that day and I opened it.
It was cheque for 34.00 euro.
The next day. Friday. My female cycle returned after a 8 month absence. The last time the old red cousin came to visit I was in Canada during the Christmas holiday. I landed in Toronto, took one look at the clan and bled for 10 days. Lovely.
Right so.. like I said at the beginning, I need a new hard drive and currently can’t save a thing in the Word Program. Which is pain being a writer all….so I have to blog this stuff out. If no one reads… ah sure thats fine..just a as well. I have written down.
And you happen to read, okay…here you go. A bit of hard cold reality of the life of Eileen O’Toole.
A bit of dynamic synchronicity as Carl Jung would say or as Deepa Chorkra says recently – SynchroDestiny is about becoming aware of the incredible possibilities that always surround us . . . realizing that the universe is constantly sending us clues and messages in the form of serendipitous events. SynchroDestiny also means understanding and participating in the process of meaningful coincidence. It means lending your attention and intention in order to bring the process to fruition.
Thats a kinda cool thought… his e-magazine for the month of August arrived yesterday and there it was. Another way to define the obvious.
This is maddening….I had finished this piece, made the conclusion, signed off and everything… Then someone rang on the phone, and instead of saving the work I went straight to previewing the page, which does not save the new material…. oh….my …the most delicately written truths are gone……………………………… Alright.
I don’t have instant recall. My parting lines before the delete button was pressed were something of the effect that I found this moment, these revelations, a bit comical, a bit sad and a bit strange to think that after lessening the chains that bind I should wake up and bleed. Perhaps it’s gift of sorts from my father who took some innocence from me and with my mother’s agreement urged me never to marry, never to trust, never to bear children. To always keep my career first and foremost in mind.
This is blood is perhaps nod to my fertility untapped, my guarded womanhood, the strength and conviction of my spirit that could not be moulded by another, lest of all my parents.
Released, finally, from self imposed obligations and ideas. Released.
To speak a sky blue truth. My truth.
Moving ever firmly towards my True Self.
Without self-pity. Standing, not swaying.
Not collapsed under the weight of others expectation. Or my own expectations.
What my parent did unwittingly gave me was the courage to be alone in world.
To understand how to be alone and to hold the welfare of my life in my two hands.
I have not reached the dizzy heights they sought for me.
Nor the fame I dreamt for myself.
But I am firmly rooted to the Earth. And I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. For that I am grateful.
For that , I do love my family.
Though I am thousands of miles away from them, I’m sure this love is felt.
It reverberate sand that is worth more than all the gold records and all the standing ovations that were ever thought to come my way.
This moment is supreme.
I am done.
It is written. And with one more step, saved.
thank you for clicking on
take care
always eileen x