Polaris Channelings and Writings

[Blog (Non-channeled) May 2010]

I’ve mentioned before some of the places I meditate: walking in the forest; sitting out by the beach; up in what Matthew calls my Zen room; in the shower; in the bath; doing tai chi; or sometimes just lying on my bed, eyes open. My meditation isn’t limited to those places, but each of them contains a clear space to hearing my inner guidance.

Today it was the bathtub.

Sometimes I put on music in the bath – usually a deep chant or crystal singing bowls or something from Hemisync – but more often I lie in watery silence, feeling my breath. The warm water supports my body, listening. My heartbeat slows a little and my breaths come evenly. Thoughts meander through quiet places. There is an invitation.

-Do you trust us? (REALLY trust us?)

Ye-yes.

[pointed silence]

I let out the breath I had been holding. Yes. Yes, I trust you.

-Then let go.

!!

-Just let go.

[pause] What happens if I let go?

-Nothing. And everything.

 

I let go.

Trust.

What does that mean? From my experience in the work I do with so many people, I believe that for many of us, trust is a theoretical idea that’s in close kinship with blind faith. There’s a trick in there somewhere, and “trust” is the magic word that is uttered to get people to let down their guard, make a mistake, and get hurt.

It’s hard to trust what you can’t see or feel or know, especially if you have reason not to trust.

For me, trust is knowingness. I deeply know in my body, heart, and soul whether something is right. I have spent enough time in my life ignoring alarm bells to know what a mistake in trusting myself feels like. And I have spent enough time being told that my personal inclinations were wrong, that I was imagining things, to allow anyone but ME be the one to determine what is right and what isn’t.

The only way I can help someone else find trust is by showing them their connection to Self. Everyone has a different road to this connection, but we all have one. We all have a connection to Self.

How do I know my guidance is real? That I can trust the words I hear?

Again, for me it is knowing. It’s more than a body sense and more than an emotion that rings true. And it’s more than an intellectual understanding. It is all of those, and yet it is more. It’s a lot like a a-ha moment, and all of us have those from time to time. It’s also similar, in a way, to déjà vu, the unquestioning sense that something important has just happened. The feeling of trust for my guidance is all quite seamless now and I only hesitate when it’s about something that I can’t yet feel my way forward into. So I go to the edges and feel from there, and usually either find a place to hang onto or get the message to not worry about it. Either works.

I trust my guidance because I choose to. Because living this way is joyful for me. Because I know deep within that it’s the right thing to do for me. And because I am happy.

I’m back to the words I heard this evening in the bath. Then let go. The thought came, at the time, as a question. Haven’t I been letting go? Is there more letting go to do? My unasked question went unanswered, but I think I know anyway.

There is always more.

Welcome to your next step.

[Blog (Non-channeled) May, 2010]

Song is universal. It connects us to a larger place within ourselves, and it connects us to one another. Through human history, we have connected to shared experience, grief, sorrow, joy, and anger through shared song. Song is in our cells, in our embedded memory.

Most children sing naturally and easily unless song is acculturated out of them by misunderstanding parents (shh! Stop that noise!) or well-meaning parents (That’s wonderful! You need lessons, and a coach, and costumes, and WE’LL MAKE YOU A STAR!). As a result, I have few memories of singing as a child. It wasn’t encouraged, and there was a huge specter of competition with anything musical. My mother was a trained singer and could have either gone into opera or classical piano had she not married and had children. The comparisons were obvious and painful whenever I tried something musical at home.

I discovered joy in singing in high school. I sang easily and naturally, and loved the group-high from lifting shared voices to create music and emotion. Plus, unlike the flute (I was good but loathed practicing) I could be good at it without effort. Score! And the singers were a different group from band. My tribe.

Now I sing in two local community choruses and the experience is much as the same. It’s something that nourishes my soul. Together we create something larger than ourselves. Together we share a moment suspended in time, a note hung in stillness. Together we connect at the heart.

We can all sing. It’s a part of our hardwiring as humans.

Here. We can do it together right now. On THREE, just let a note out. Any note. We’ll do this at the same time. Just a note, using the syllable “Ahhh”, and hold it for several beats, or as long as you can sustain your breath. Okay? Ready? One, two, THREE.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh………….

I heard you. I felt you. I felt our shared chorus, right in my heart chakra. Yes, all the notes were different, and that was part of the beauty. We are each a different note in a vast complicated symphony.

Guidance often suggests that I sing. I frequently awaken with different songs in the background of my awareness, songs that often follow me through the day, waiting to be brought to life with the voice I give them. There’s a river of song running through each of us, providing a current that can move us from one place to another.