Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Archive for the tag “indigo adult.”

The Paperback is OUT!

At long last THE PAPERBACK OF THE SPIRIT OF FLYING IS HERE!!!  And what a long strange at times completely exhausting trip it’s been!
My labour of love – I hope you enjoy reading it.

Currently available in the UK on Amazon:  http://amzn.to/1v0tQUL
And in the USA  http://amzn.to/1uHjSFr

Phineas the thumb-cat inspects the very first copy of the bookbook!

Phineas the thumb-cat inspects the very first copy of the bookbook!

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Hmmm, yea, good question

We’re sitting peacefully in the kitchen, me and Miao Cat. I’m writing and she’s snoozing on the chair next to mine.

I’m about to break for coffee when I hear

– Why do you not like parts of your body? It’s your body. It’d make sense if you didn’t like parts of your mind.
– Where did That one come from Kit-Kit?
– Just wondered.

I make the coffee and sit back down.

– Are you happy here, Miao-Cat?
– Are you? Happy enough. I have a job to do. Teaching you.

While we were talking my phone rang.
– Ugh. Why do you have to use those to talk to one another?
– Because it is quicker and easier.
– Really? But you are talking to me now!?!
– When humans are stressed and in a hurry, we don’t trust telepathy.
Miao does the stare that is her cat equivalent of rolling her eyes.
– Yes. It’s complicated.
– Obviously. Humans. Say no more.

Made me chuckle. I’ve learnt more from our cats and especially Miao than I ever thought possible. I love this precious soul sharing our house and our lives. She is so wise, so remarkably astute it sometimes blows me away. She IS me at times; the better part of me…

Beautiful furball x x x

 

16 October 2012

Coffee, mothers and daughters

THE SCENT of coffee so faint in the air, wafting in through the window from somewhere. In my mind I can still see the bright red garden furniture my parents used to have, the corner of the garden where they used to be placed, next to the red-current bush and the flowers in their sloping bed , all shielded from view by a hedge.

At that time the energies of that corner was soothing and calm most of the time.  No matter how hard at times, it was still life as we once knew it. The short summer months made us appreciate and the balmy evenings even more. Is the place I remember from whenever still there? It is on the map, google says so, but energetically?  Probably not. On my last visit the whole community felt dead or dying.

Now I’d like a garden you can sit in without being eaten alive… Without having to shout to be heard over the traffic and out of sight of the world and his wife.

As usual I always want what I didn’t or cannot have, be it an impossible equation or just not an option. Or the price too high to pay, but then, isn’t a few highs better than a straight line? A slow heart-beat rather than flat-lining in an emotional sense.

I always imagined that at some point, always in the future, I’d visit and we’d sit in the garden, somewhere in a garden, and have our coffees and be friends at last. Isn’t that what most daughters want with their mothers? No such luck.

I suppose I’m old enough now to technically have a grown daughter, of my heart if not my blood, but I still occasionally wish for someone to fill that role for me too.
I also wish that some day we’d got on, one day she’d accept me for who I am and not just see me as the black sheep, the replacement baby for the son they lost, the daughter she never ”got”. We cannot make people understand us, and this may be especially true for the first wave indigo adults as we really did not naturally fit the norms of what was expected of us. We broke every rule by just existing. We didn’t so much ask for understanding, just for acceptance. Love. To be heard and listened to. Guess that was in short supply. After all, it’s kind of difficult to give what you haven’t got. And even when we do, it does not necessarily live up to expectations, did it mother?

Thing is, it does not even have to be a mother. Just an older woman of companionable nature. I don’t spend much time lamenting over missing out on the whole mother-daughter thing anymore, but I think to some degree we all long for that wise & unconditional acceptance we all hope to get from someone.

So I hanker after an illusive past that I never got to have, how very constructive a way to live your life – not.

So I have instant coffee with myself (and a notepad and my favorite pen) at the kitchen table with the red bistro table cloth from France, but it just isn’t the same.

-That’s why you have cats – and dogs – little bundles of love wrapped up in lovely fur! I’m caught by surprise by this timely comment from Miaowser, who yawns before going back to sleep on the chair next to mine. Indeed Miao-Cat, indeed.

Catpaw on July 4th, 2012.

Dreams and other Worlds

I think my husband probably knows me better than anyone else.  He is my best friend as well as my beloved  and one thing that stood out from the beginning was that I felt completely at ease with him.  I know I described this to my friends  as feeling safe, but time has refined it to at ease.

With him there’s no pretense, I am myself wholly and unreservedly and that was a first in a romantic relationship for me.  My spiritual life, my introverted self and my crazy nutty side are all seen and accepted, as is the dreamer, the writer and the psychic.  The person who starts a lot of projects but finishes few, sometimes because I get bored, other times out of fear of failure.  The woman who talks to discarnates, animals and sometimes even plants but not very many humans.  The one who wants to help so much and cries sometimes because nobody wants what she has to offer.   The me who loves a quiet coffee with the cat upon rising while my body slowly wakes up too…

One (of my two) best friends growing up was Cathie (not her real name).  Our dads were best friends from their school days and about once a month (or sometimes more often) we’d get together for the weekend and a lot of fun was had over the years.  In the summer our families would sometimes go caravanning together for a couple of weeks too.  When we were old enough to write Cathie and I would exchange letters on a weekly basis and when I got a bit older I’d spend a week with their family during the summer holidays.

Cathie was the pretty and popular girl at her school ( a Piscean) while I was the odd one out  at mine; awkward, self-conscious, wise waaaay beyond my years, forever making things and writing.  We both loved reading, horses,  and dancing.  In a sense I recognize the two of us in the girls in the novel Beaches (made into a movie starring Bette Midler) but who was who is debatable!

Then I left home around 16 and for reasons unknown at least to me, we lost contact.  I invited her to come and stay with me in the big city for a weekend, to go shopping and to the cinema etc, but she always declined and stopped writing too.  We met once more, a family get together at their home and had a good time with some of her friends and boyfriend, but the connection between us was no longer there.  Soon the birthday and Xmas cards fizzled out too.

Their whole family was invited to my first wedding in 1995, but only her dad showed.  A few years later I heard via my dad that she was thinking about meeting up for a day in London, but by then I was simply not interested.  If she could not even contact me herself, why should I blow 2 months savings from my underpaid job for a couple of hours?  I declined and told my dad that after over 20 years of nothing she could start by writing (or phone) me herself.  Not a word, which was fine with me.

To me that incident  felt similar to when I first went to college and the in-crowd (who had ignored me for years and never even acknowledged my presence with a simple hello) suddenly wanted to be ‘’friends’’ and come and visit.  They all got politely turned down.  If I wasn’t cool enough to be friends with before, it was certainly not me they were suddenly interested in, just a place to crash for free on their shopping and clubbing outing.  My friends were always welcome.

Then last night, in a different time, world and space… with a different past, we met again for a weekend at some retreat with people we both knew.  We’d just turned 31 and 32 respectively.  I was married to my now husband (who I met when I was 40 btw).  Cathie and I were two of few people who were practically sober.  Some had gone to their chalets/cabanas, others were falling asleep in the common on the rattan sofas and beanbags.  We were sat on the back of her truck (?)  flicking through an old photo album with pictures from our youth, laughing and remembering.  Kodak instamatic days…  Once again we were long lost sisters catching up.  We’d been walking and talking for hours while the others had been larking around.

We picked up drinks and snacks from the open palapa style self serve ’’kitchen’’, and as I looked at the breaded chicken mini burgers,  said out loud that if I wasn’t already a vegetarian, after seeing those I’d probably consider becoming one, and  she laughed and said I was so funny.

She’d picked up her laptop (which was the same as mine but a different colour) and said she just wanted to check coz she’d posted a blog entry earlier on.  I was delighted that she had started writing and looked forward  to reading it.  As we walked up a path towards one of many curious little nooks around the estate to sit down and have our snack, we talked about consciousness and our blogs.  It was a very relaxed and easy conversation, a very joyous feeling of re-discovering who we’d become in the years apart rather than just telling our ‘’stories’’.

That’s when I woke up, still feeling that warm and fuzzy feeling that only a best  friend relationship with an other woman can bring.  Basking in the close feeling of it I kept my eyes closed for a few minutes.

It had felt as real as this life (of course), but in reflection it was interesting to observe the differences  too.  This Cathie had been an inch or two taller than me.  It was peculiar how the elements all came together in one place; the temperate climate, the midnight if not exactly sun so at least far from dark, the past and the present, 3 continents, the gentle supportive atmosphere, my husband and our friends.

It had felt peculiar to experience having a different set of memories and a different past, and how we’d both knew our way around the place we were staying.  Of course, the photo album does not exist in this lifetime, and I don’t know in what language we spoke.

For me, it’s the complete set of memories and a past quite different to my waking one that gives it away that this was no ordinary dream.  Like in a regression or spontaneous download of another incarnation, but with greater freedom to access the information of that other me.  Unusual also in it’s ordinariness perhaps, the absence of bizarre and crazy happenings and the rich sensory feast of real life.

I was not left with any residual desire to contact Cathie, nor any animosity which given the lack of closure I could almost have expected from myself.  I don’t like loose ends but I’ve come to accept them.  Our parts in each others lives had obviously played themselves out, given that it has been almost 30 yrs now of no contact.   Let the past stay in the past rather than try to resuscitate a relationship just because we have ‘’history’’.

It did however highlight how much I would enjoy having a close (female) friend living nearby again.  It’s been almost 5 years since I moved here.

So, whoever you are, wherever you’ve been [raises the iced coffee], cheers and know you are welcome.

Gonna get myself (re) connected…

Gonna get myself (re-)connected… 

(Excerpt from The spirit of flying, shared here to reaffirm not all all alien contact experiences need be traumatic.  All of mine have so far been both inspiring and beautiful)

The scene:-

On and off throughout my life I’ve had the ‘’not dreams’’ of being off to an other existence at night.  I described these nocturnal adventures in my old journals, the ones that mostly  like the proverbal  baby should not have gone out with the bath water…  I threw most of them away when I moved to Mexico.  I never wanted to read the laments of my oft tortured being ever again and to read through all of it even once to recover the nuggets (that would prove to be gold) I did not do.  Time was short and there was also the issue of suitcase space.

At one point years earlier I remember finding in a magazine at the quacks or somewhere, a photo of a building that looked so much like the one I so often had visited in spirit at night that my jaw quite literally dropped.  It looked the same, even if the energetic imprint didn’t match.

The nights leading up to attending the Reconnection Healing Workshop in Mexico City in June 2010 was of a similar nature.  Raw by lack of sleep, over exertion and altitude sickness made for some of the worst migraines ever.  I spent the first night in MC too hot, too cold, with diarrhea, nose bleeds, vomiting, cold sweats, slipping in and out of dimensions and remote viewing myself (and others) at far away places.

I felt there were 8-10 entities around me whom I affectionately called the cleaning crew, prepping me for what was to come.  Who (or where from) they were I could only guess at that time.  The following day, after having been thoroughly physically purged, my husband brought me some migraine tablets that stayed down and kicked in.  I even got a much needed hour of sleep.

Tentatively I got up, had a shower and some coffee and toast before venturing out to visit The Blue House, once home to Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, now a museum.

Talk about powerful paintings!  I have never been a visual person At All, (something that all who have known me in person can attest to).  Art to me tend to simply fall in one of three categories; like, don’t like and next.  Music is the medium that has the power to move me.

So behold my surprise when the emotions infused within each of the paintings washed over me, one after another.  It didn’t stop there, things, furniture, corsets and crutches.  All in between frequent trips to the toilets…  tmi perhaps, but I really wasn’t away with the faeries, it was very grounding or at least physical of sorts.

She (Frida) must have really poured her heart and soul into these paintings.  Her feelings and emotions, love and pain clearly palpable in every one .  all in the sentient equivalent of Technicolor.

As me and my husband proceeded through the house my back felt worse and worse and I had to sit or crouch down more and more often.  I mentally kicked myself in the shins for not having been to see the chiropractor before we left Isla, holding out and hoping for a miracle cure to occur at the weekend.  On a scale of one to ten where 10 equals fainting, I persistently hovered around an 8-9, clammy with cold sweat and at times experiencing the tunnel vision that usually precedes fainting in my experience.   Oh well, too bad.

The garden was the most tranquil and serene place one could have wished to find anywhere in a big city and that such a place can exist in a place like MC, second biggest city on earth,  amazed me.  Nor was there any trace of pain or the mental torment said to have followed the frustrated pair of artists who had made their home there.  Not even any  intruding sounds of traffic, just peace, holding space for any visitor to just be.

Closing time was fast approaching so we left  and took a couple of photos of the outside from across the street.  Mario left me leaning against the wall under a tree for shade while getting us some much needed hydration.  Within a couple of minutes the pain in my body had dropped from a 9 to a 2. It was her pain I’d been feeling while we were in the museum!  Funny how that never occurred to me while we were still inside.

Later that evening it was time for me to have the first part of my ‘’reconnection’’ (read Eric Pearls book if you are interested in this process).

The night that followed I once more barely slept at all.  ‘’They’’ were talking at me, showing films and explaining all sorts.  I was only in bed for 4 hours (one of the joys of staying with relatives is the catching up) but the lectures alone went on for way over 8.  Much about what is popularly called quantum science or metaphysics and all very interesting.

Woke up exhausted with what felt like an iron band around my head, pineal and pituitary glands throbbing, nosebleed the minute I rolled over to get up to run to the bathroom retching and the ever present liquid belly (despite the immodium).  Halleluja.  The joys of altitude sickness when you’ve lived your entire life at sea-level paired with high levels of inpouring light…

Spent Saturday and Sunday in the beautiful conference room of a  very posh hotel with hundreds of other practitioners to be from all walks of life.  I had looked forward to this for over a yr and in contrast to having been so open and attentive, I’d barely talked to anyone and no one had talked to me either.  It felt a bit like college and Uni  all over again; ‘’I already have enough friends and no desire to make make more’’.  Well, I do and I deliberately and especially chose to do it here in MC, in the hope that out of all those people with a joint interest in healing there would be one or two at least to connect with, over lunch,  for the weekend or friendship.

I was very disappointed and felt very rejected and tried hard not to show it as I signed the last forms and handed in my name badge before leaving.  It was definitely a challenge not to cry.

I spent a long time being ashamed  of this but here you go.  I have since talked to my soul about this.

Mario had been delayed on the underground on his way to pick me up.  When he turned up he looked like I felt, but for other reasons I will not disclose here.

We took a short walk looking for somewhere to get a coffee.  Near a tree on the tarmac I find a beret shaped cabochon rose-quarts waiting just for me.  A little sign of love from above that I had not been forgotten about, even tho it certainly felt that way.

Ffw to later that night and part 2 of my reconnection.  I’m a little nervous and a bit excited about this one, or rather of how and what will follow.

Four entities come down, 1 to my side and 3 at my feet to start with.  They are The Overssers.  First they start breathing me like I have never breathed before.  My neck is sort of held in an invisible brace, immobilizing my head throughout.  There are adjustments made to the ethereal body in the area of my neck and lower back.

Red and purple dots and beads dance before my closed eyes, later replaced with spring green and pale blue dots and flowers.  My chakras are worked on, the throat, navel/solar plexus, back of throat and finally, just before completed, the heart chakra.  The chakras turn into pulsating balls or spheres of light, 12-15 cm in diameter.

When I (cheeky I admit) want to take a look at what’s going on (with my 3rd eye vision) they switch it off!!

’You are here to bring light and information to the planet’’ they say and make me repeat 3 times.  (very similar to one of the phrases that was given to Eric Pearl).

Now I see 2 pyramids made out of what looks like aluminium/pewter/silver but warmer than any of these in colour.  I am moved closer to the one on the right.  Four saucer shaped crafts (much like the classic ufo’s of early science fiction) decend from above into clear view and just hover there.

About 3 minutes before the whole session comes to an end, I feel something switch on.  There’s no sound, no cogs, no visuals, yet it clearly goes clunk, and with it goes the distinct feeling of turning the mains back on after having done extensive repair works to the wiring of a large house.  One minute it is not there, the next if very definitely is, whatever ‘’it’’ is.

I feel slightly spaced and lightheaded as I get up and the faint smell of sweetcorn lingers,  somewhat puzzling to me.

One more string added to my healing-bow.  And since I chose not to do the advanced course (to be able to facilitate reconnecting other people)  the mystery of what officially went on remains.

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