The Pain Game: Don’t Be Duped Into Playing

Posted on September 26, 2011 by danielleegnew

You know, one of the “old stand-byes” in the human condition is “pain”. Both physical and psychological – even spiritual – there have been countless books written on how to deal with this most inconvenient, yet oddly necessary, application of our emotionality. There are vast pharmaceutical companies who reap extraordinary amounts of money assisting those to squelch the pain that dominates their lives. And, there are motivational speakers whose charisma douses the fires that constantly lick at the bottom of our souls as we dangle above the inferno that is our own inner turmoil.

And – there are people like me, who have a chance to “see” how “it” is all put together, and the “why’s” then become far more apparent. Love it or hate it, I am wired to be the decoder of ingredients, the “spiritual reverse engineer”, the “tracker of energetic patterns”, who, once I have a scent, will stay on that anomaly until, to the best of my ability, I can de-tangle and de-crypt the energy signature for the purpose of explaining, in good ol’ plain English — how “it’s” put together. The hope is that if people understand “it” – they can handle “it”. Thanks to enormously gracious clients, I have given some pretty fantastic nicknames — “The Psychic MacGuyver” and “The Fixer” — when applying this aptitude to explain “it”. This “it” can range from OffWorld technology to the State of the Union to, well – layers of human emotionality.

However, even with this odd but helpful aptitude that I’ve been given, there is no amount of reasoning in hearing the “causes”, no amount of “cure” for the human spirit’s evolutionary need to experience pain. Pain just hurts, no matter what the reason. I could tell a client that the reason their head hurts is because the invisible piano, the one that was just dangling precariously above them on a frayed wire, has now fallen on their head.

Yippee for my acute sixth-sense observational abilities. It still hurts.

Pain is part of how we learn. It is part of how we grieve. At times, pain is the tender underbelly of trust. At other times, it is how we persecute ourselves in our attempt to be able to love ourselves. Sometimes, pain is a motivator, to inspire us to remove ourselves from harmful situations. Pain is not a culprit, or a demon. It’s simply a symptom that something within us is moving. There are as many energetic incarnations of the application of “pain” as there are different human souls, and no two people’s pain is identical, or can be compared. This is incredibly important to recognize, when attempting to assist someone in moving past the pain that has them spiritually – or sometimes, quite literally – stricken to the floor in a fetal position.

And that’s a hard position to live life while assuming.

So, with this incredibly complex issue of assisting people to choose to move past the fetal position, and engage the brilliance of the rest of their life — you can imagine my — dare I say it? — my irritation with those who try and force everyone to play “The Pain Game”.

What is the Pain Game, you may ask? Well, I’m quite sure that you’ve been sucked into a round or two. It’s a nasty social game, where someone who is hurting then causes other people to hurt, simply to watch the other person writhe in pain, so it will distract them from their own crippling misery. Sort of like someone who is being eaten by snakes then lighting someone else on fire – for a brief moment, the thrill of the blaze takes their mind off of the fact that they are headed down the belly of the Anaconda.

We are allowed to share our pain with friends – it’s how we cope when we hurt. We receive fantastic support from those who love us in the form of comforting words, a hug, a meal, or even the ol’ standby, a “shot in the arm” from our dear friend Mr. Jack Daniels. Reaching out to receive assistance with our pain is far different than someone who is playing The Pain Game, and it’s very important to point this out. There are many wonderful people who struggle through depression, sexual abuse, and a litany of other horrors in their life, only to come out the other side to be amazing mothers, fathers, and some of the most bright-shining, inspirational people of our time.

Clearly, these folks are not playing The Pain Game.

The Pain Game starts when a person has been hurting for a very long time, and will not address the core cause of the pain, usually out of a deep-seeded fear of experiencing even more pain. This type of pain that is left to fester is typically emotional. Instead of working past the lesson that the pain brings, the person enables the pain to take root in their spirit, in their soul, in their personality, because the “Devil we know” is better than the devil we don’t. While they remain in pain, they know what to expect – they are familiar with each cutting stroke of the emotional pain they’ve been carrying, so even though they are emotionally and spiritually cut to ribbons, they are “in control” of the familiar agony.

They then become so used to the debilitating pain that it transforms into a way of life. The individual starts developing habits to supports the pain, and structures all of their relationships BEHIND the pain, because the pain, then, is the primary relationship in their existence. After all, there is no room for Light in a spirit that insists on remaining dark.

The pain then moves from simply being a way of life, into an energy that craves life in order to continue living within the person. Darkness, or Dark Entities, are deeply attracted to the crippling nature of pain, because when humans are in agony, it releases a very specific spiritual energy. Think of it like bleeding into shark-infested waters. The sharks are just doing their job, cleaning the oceans by eating the wounded prey in the sea. In the same way, Darkness is just doing its job, being attracted by an open, festering wound inside of someone’s spirit.

This is a very unfortunate cycle to be caught up in, as many times, the type of pain that is buried within a soul so deep, and has festered to the point of puncturing a “black hole” in the “heart” of the person — is a tough canyon to close. But nothing is impossible. It simply takes a great deal of effort to climb out of the position of “feeding ground for Darkness”. And often, the people who are so far down this rabbit hole of pain simply don’t have the emotional or spiritual wherewithal to attempt that steep climb, without some serious assistance or intervention. So, these last-mentioned folks aren’t the ones who play The Pain Game.

The ones who play are the ones who are not yet so far down the rabbit hole that they’ve become an all-you-can-eat-demon-buffet. The ones who play still have the ability to veer off their course themselves, and make a better choice for themselves – but instead, they choose to inflict upon others ruination, darkness, humiliation, degradation — all of the hurt they feel. They choose to Pay Pain Forward, rather than arrest the culprit within.

The psychological community refers to this behavior as “The cycle of abuse”.

I refer to this behavior as sheer, unmitigated A-Holism. I’m not a Psychologist. It’s not necessary for me to be medically correct.

There is absolutely NO excuse – none – for choosing to drag down another individual, simply because we are unhappy. Sure, we all have our good days and our bad days, but The Pain Game goes well beyond that. I have dodged out of the way of many people who play The Pain Game as a way of life, attempting to drag others into their dramas, their despair, the “Them Show”, starring THEM. This type of behavior serves no purpose other than to feed the pain inside of the individual, because sacrificing their spirit to the dark is no longer enough.

Certainly, there are mental illnesses associated with this behavior: Borderline personality disorder, Sociopathic illnesses, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, anything that would render the wielder of the pain free of guilt, because there is a lack of conscience present. However, many of these aforementioned conditions were brought on by trauma. There is no “Sociopath” gene to speak of. Even different addictions can have a spiritual side-effect, such as the addict receiving an energetic rush off of the suffering of another. For instance, alcoholism, and the Dark Entities that are attracted to the suffering that is instigated in one’s soul by that condition, appear to be particularly attracted to causing emotional torment for others. This serves a two-fold purpose: to feed the Darkness that is piggy backing on the illness of the individual, and to take the individual’s mind off of what is fueling the need to run from themselves. These spiritual side effects vary greatly from substance to substance. The type of Dark Entities that feed off of the pain that is released by the drug heroin tend to isolate their food source, or “victim”, within the effects of the drug, and suck the user’s life force, rather than inspire the user to actively make someone else’s life hell. It’s a very nasty business, the cause-and-effect of substance abuse, pain, and the different Dark Entity “restaurant chains” that thusly spring forth.

Now, I am in absolutely no way stating that “alcoholics are evil”, or all heroin users are possessed, or that anyone who plays The Pain Game must be an addict, an alcoholic, a sociopath, or mentally ill. In fact, that whole group of folks may “play” the Pain Game from time to time – but the true Pain Game patriots are the ones who just play to play, because it makes them feel powerful, or gathers them attention – at the expense of everyone else around them who is just trying to live their lives, and clean up their own pain, and do the best to be a reasonable member of the human family.

We all have known that “one person” at the workplace, in the family, anywhere, really, who has repeatedly needed to stop the show by declaring their – yup, you guessed it – pain for that day – ad-nauseam. Though the declaration may be wrapped in physical symptoms (“Uh, my back, my feet, my kidneys!”) the underlying energy is: “Hi! I’m in the room, need your attention, and don’t care if I ruin your day, because it’s all about me, my needs, my insecurities, and my underlying anger at myself for allowing myself to be an invisible doormat my whole life.”

Wow. Yeah, sign me up for the cubicle right next to “Mr. Miserable”.

Let’s not forget “Vance Victim”, the guy who will talk your ear off about this promotion or that promotion that he’s been passed up for, because dang it, he’s being used by “The Man”. Let’s not forget that his wife is spending all of his money and his kids hate him. Vance is so busy crying in his laptop about how rotten his life is – and ruining everyone else’s lunch while he’s doing it – that Vance writes himself a prescription for failure, and everyone else in the room feels a sudden need to cast themselves out of a twenty story window.

Last but not least, there is “Mary Martyr”, who throws herself and everyone else under the bus because she’s too fearful to stand up to those she should really be facing down in her life. Mary’s favorite version of The Pain Game is to trap you between the doorway and Hell, and go on and on and on and on about “how she’s been bled dry” by this person, or that person, or is being secretly persecuted by this or that. Don’t turn your back on Mary, though, because you’ll find yourself tossed between the bus axel and the pavement in less than five seconds, should the occasion arise. Mary does not trust herself because she’s chosen cowardice over courage, and she’s going to make everyone else pay for her inability to come to grips with her own self-loathing – one hour of their life at a time.

We all must live with insecurities, pain, and fear. It is HOW we live with it that separates those of us who wish to be part of the solution, from those who wish to continue to fuel the problem. On my Psychic Facebook Page, I attempt to decode, and pass along uplifting messages I receive for humanity. It never fails that someone who is a lifetime pass holder to The Pain Game will invariably pop on a thread and expound on their vitriol toward all the “Butt-Kissing Mary Poppins Do-Gooders” of the world, who just don’t understand their pain, pain, pain. Because Garsh-Dingit, if they are miserable, so will be everybody else. And don’t you forget it.

One who feels the need to dump a bucket of cold water on the uplifting process of another, simply because they are angry that they are not feeling uplifted at that time, is no better than a jealous the three year old who snatches a toy away from another toddler. We, as spiritual beings and as adults, seem to struggle with the fine line between “voicing our opinion”, “processing our pain verbally”, and crossing the line into bullying others because we feel invisible. It is not the job of The Universe to make us feel secure enough to choose to treat others with dignity, even though we are struggling. That is OUR job. And we have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail to keep ourselves in check in this regard.

When we encounter someone who is playing The Pain Game, all we can do is simply not play. One can attempt to bring Light into that person’s process, but remember, in order to play The Pain Game, the person playing must draw people into the muck, not be pulled from the muck. The only way to win The Pain Game – is not to play with the person serving.

I have great compassion for all who suffer. I have little tolerance for the action of victimization of another, simply because one is suffering. I struggle with the latter part, because often, one who suffers desire to create suffering. I struggle because I have seen the long-reaching effects of The Pain Game on the people who are drawn into the foray before they are aware of what’s happening – I see it hundreds of times a day on Facebook and Twitter alone. The venom fostered by the false security provided by Internet Anonymity has launched an entirely new league of Pain Game Pros. And I simply don’t understand the compunction to ruin another’s day, simply because I can.

I have a family member who struggles with debilitating back, neck, and neurological issues – my Uncle Mike. He, unlike many, does not play The Pain Game. He wakes up every morning with disfiguring Parkinson’s Disease and a fused spine, and attempts to make a positive difference in the world – even if it is smiling at one person that day, or extending a courteous word. He has been through his share of ridiculous hardships, both physical and emotional. Epidurals shot into his spine are required to pull the reigns back on the blinding physical nerve and muscle pain that he deals with every day. If anyone had the resume to be team captain in The Pain Game – it would be my Uncle Mike. Instead, he chooses Light. He chooses to write poetry about angels. He chooses to uplift those around him. Because when his spirit is in pain, it brings him solace to help, rather than to harm. And, he would be mortified if he knew I was including him in this article, because his outlook is simply HIS outlook – it is not a statement, nor is he attempting to be a walking, talking visual aid for pain survival. He simply is who he is, and that is enough.

His is a personal code, a personal choice, every day, not a mysterious condition one comes down with, known as “compassion”. We often don’t have control over which situations are dealt to us, but we do have control over how we choose to handle them, especially in these shifting times, when sociology, the economy, and the world – are rapidly changing. When the house is on fire, no one likes the guy who sprays gasoline on the lawn.

Be a light where you are. You don’t have to be perfect. Simply don’t be a stumbling block in the meantime. It’s okay if we have a bad day – that’s what an earnest apology is for. We vent to our friends, so we may unburden ourselves from the pain that holds us back from the joy of that day. We grieve until it passes, and not a minute sooner. Feel free to BE HUMAN. It’s who we are – we have earned that right. Choose wellness, not spiritual incarceration. Choose hope, not bitterness. Choose trust, not fear. Though we do not control the entire vertical and horizontal, our daily Universe is ultimately what we choose it to be.

We are ALL so much greater than the sum total of everything “bad” that’s ever happened to us. Let us all exercise discernment, strength, compassion and discipline, especially during these challenging times, to try and stay away from becoming that one human who takes their half out of the middle. Because let’s face it — Vance Victim never gets invited to the company barbeque.

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God Is In the Quiet Spaces

Posted on June 21, 2011 by danielleegnew

I’m in my home state of Montana right now, on tour teaching spiritual classes and playing music. I chose to be here for an extended length of time this summer to also help out my mom with a rotator cuff surgery she had. The trip was to be fairly structured between music rehearsals, seeing family, and the spiritual classes, but as all good plans often do — mine imploded here and there after changes in several people’s schedules. This left me with quite a conundrum: 50 days in Montana, and nary a thing to do, in between shows. To some, that may sound like bliss. I thought it would be bliss until I realized that 50 days is a LONG time to simply “hang out”.

However, I began to see a pattern in my dismay. In keeping up countless music, radio, and TV production dates in Los Angeles over the past nine years, I realized that I, innately, fill empty space. If I have a blank spot in my calendar, I fill it, with a meeting, a project, a something. I fill that empty spot with an activity. Because, being raised in the Old West, “idle hands are the Devil’s tool”, donchya know. At least that’s what I’d heard, and clearly, I’d made it into a way of life that even Jillian Michaels would be impressed with — both in terms of discipline, AND heavy lifting.

So here I sit, with several down days in Montana, wondering what this is all about. I decide to help my folks out and re-paint their bathroom and re-stain their bathroom cupboards. The remodel was a success and before I know it, I have this sense of great satisfaction in service to another, as well as having completed a project that actually HAD an ending. Now this may sound strange, but when you work in entertainment, many of your projects DON’T have an ending: A filmed TV Pilot can float in space indefinitely until someone buys it, for instance. So to see the bathroom *finished* was, well… Extremely gratifying. Plus my Italian parents were thrilled, and my mom got a new bathroom just in time for her surgery. The latter is very important if you’re an Italian, whose mental key to a clean recovery is new, flouncy curtains.

One day while staining the bathroom cabinets, I went outside, to get some fresh air. Nothing says “dead brain cells” like oil- based wood stain. I stood in the sun, and let it beat upon my face. My folks have huge old trees in their yard, and I heard a myriad of different birds chirping, something I don’t hear back home in Los Angeles, and listened to the wind through the enormous maple leaves. I breathed in the fresh air, and just… experienced that moment. For standing in one place, there was an incredible amount of activity all around me.

Pretty soon it dawns on me that I’ve been standing there a REALLY long time. Now, one could argue that my euphoric delay was based on a large amount of stain I’d been breathing — except the bathroom was actually really well ventilated. I was also wearing a scarf on my head, a ratty paint-covered T-shirt, a pair of black cotton paint-covered capris…and cowboy boots. Basically, I looked homeless. But there I stood in my parent’s front yard for who knows how long, just — standing, looking homeless. And sniffing the fresh air. And listening. For a long time. And it was blissful.

It was then that I realized — the great and powerful Creator, who I will call “God”, so we all know who I am referring to — has an enormous sense of humor. In the midst of this moment of blissful “nothingness” — I feel God, just waving at me like a crazed four-year-old meeting Elmo for the first time. It makes me smile, and I actually say, “Oh! Well hi!” Because I realize, geez — when was the last time I actually slowed down enough to receive one of those incoming “God-o-Grams”? I couldn’t recall the last time. And I missed it.

See, chatting with angels is different. I do that a lot in my job, and they are messengers, so they’re constantly popping in and out, on task, rushing about and dropping off information like an army of litigator ants. Angels feel like freight trains. God feels like warm caramel being drizzled on your tummy.

I’ll take two, please.

I’m realizing that God, in God’s weird sense of humor, had been waiting for me to chill out long enough for God to get a word in edge wise. Unlike human beings, a species hell-bent on Self-obsession, God is all about patience, and giving a person space. In fact, God will give us so much space that we will forget God’s even there. Now, that would KILL a human, to be forgotten. But God doesn’t shrink in the face of “forgotten”, because God is in everything, and ergo, can’t actually ever BE forgotten, lest one chooses to forget EVERYTHING.

So here I am, devoid of any activity outside of service to another — my parents — and *who* shows up to the party in the long perfect stretch of quiet in the outdoors, but God. We didn’t chat a whole lot, as, unlike angels, God isn’t a chatter, but a feeler. Instead, I felt God, felt this goofy four-year-old excitement that I actually slowed down enough to experience the God all around me, and I felt peace. That’s God’s greatest gift to the neurosis known as Humanity: A wash of Peace, for absolutely no reason at all.

It further dawns on me that I could be experiencing this whenever I wanted to, but it was up to me to slow down long enough to lock into that peaceful, easy feeling. Then I just felt a little silly, as I sense God giggling at me:

“Danielle, I know you. I knew if I waited, you’d do your TV shows, your albums, your films, your plays, your radio shows, but eventually… You’d end up with time you couldn’t fill. And that was *my* time, as all I have is time. So… How have you been? And don’t wait so long to say hello next time. I miss you!”

And I felt myself saying, “Hey, I miss you, too!”

But God just smiled. Because God can’t “miss”. I get another grin out of that, because even in God’s being silly, there is such peace.

The point, besides “if you breathe enough oil-based wood stain, you can experience God” ;), is that if we never create “still spaces” in our lives, we won’t allow ourselves to connect to that warm gooey caramel drizzle known as God. The Parent Creator waits for us to make room to connect. It goes against God’s nature to violate free will by demanding an audience. Yet we cry out to God constantly to be “shown signs”, and we demand God’s attention. The irony is that we *always* have God’s attention. God just doesn’t have ours.

For us to feel re-charged as spiritual creatures, we must give our attention to “empty space” once in awhile, to allow God some room to say howdy. God is our Source, our Universal Hub, and we are not separate from Source. This “howdy time” can be achieved through meditation, taking a walk, or just sitting in the yard or on the beach. Let go of the need to text, facebook on the iPhone, or call a friend — let the wind be your friend, and the rustle of the trees be your conversation. Then allow yourself to feel the Peace of God.

Speaking of peace, I took that photo of the sunset tonight, the longest day of the year, at 9pm Mountain Time, and since I felt God give me a wink when I took the photo, I thought I’d include it. Besides — there’s nothing more gorgeous than a Montana summer sunset. Maybe God will wave at you like an exuberant four-year-old, through the photo? That’s especially fun to be on the other end of.

I’m lying in the dark of my childhood home’s basement, on the couch, typing this blog on my Blackberry, and I can’t feel my right hand anymore. BUT, I felt this was an important enough message to pass along, even if my thumbs are turning blue.

Which, I’m fairly certain — God would think is hilarious.

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A Debilitating Earthquake to Destroy Las Vegas?

Posted on May 21, 2011 by danielleegnew

I can’t imagine throwing out the type of prediction that heralded the end of the world. Especially attaching a calendar date, such as this May 21st hoopla – which, as I’m certain you have already guessed – will not be the day the world ends. Or the day Jesus comes back. Besides, I’m fairly certain Jesus is in Cancun right now, officiating over the Coconut Festival. (They wanted Bono, but he was busy feeding African kids.)

Announcing the end of the world, along with citing Jesus on the guest list, would require a hubris that shoots far beyond my ability to comprehend, let alone muster. As such, my dreams are far less grandiose – no descending Savior dividing the righteous from the unrighteous as the blackened skies of The Rapture erupt with purple lightning and Arc Angels. No, instead, I get to dream about pending disasters of the Secular kind.

This time, centered in my dream was a city worthy of good Rapture Wrecking – one of my favorite 4-hours-from-Los-Angeles road trips, Sin City herself – Las Vegas.

I actually had this dream while on an incredibly rigorous 12-date music tour in the Pacific Northwest at the end of a January 2011. I had been sleeping well every night, but one morning, I woke up from this disturbing dream that I had a hard time “shaking”.

The dream was as follows:

There was no ramp-up to the dream that I can remember. It was if I was beamed directly into the dream, mid-action. That itself was very strange. The dream begins with me in mid-hurl as I’m being thrown forward on a sidewalk. I catch myself with my right hand, scraping it on the cement. I’m being tossed by the ground shaking violently back and forth, small light bulbs bursting above me, shower of fine glass raining down on the sidewalk, bulbs plummeting and exploding, so many bulbs raining down —

What in the…? I’m looked around – it’s mid-day — where am I?  What is going on? How did I even get here?

I can’t keep my footing as the ground is heaving so dramatically. Between my lack of footing and the sound of one thousand angry trains rumbling beneath the sidewalk, I’m tipped off that indeed, this is an earthquake. A monster, the likes I’ve never experienced. The geothermal pressure is uncomfortable in my inner ear, down my throat.

But where am I? The buildings aren’t that tall – three, maybe four stories, if that?

A giant antique tin overhang is twisting and tearing apart, the metal screaming above me. I don’t have time to look up, amidst the shower of glass, and suddenly an enormous metal facing, looks like from the 1950’s, comes crashing down mere feet in front of me, the thin tin twisted up like tinfoil and the colorful wire guts shaking out of their 60-year-old home.

I scramble toward the middle of the street to get out from beneath whatever overhang I’m clearly standing beneath. I turn to look up, over my shoulder, just in time to see enormous dark-blue letters from an equally enormous marquee crashing to the sidewalk below, where I had been. The bulky marquee panels then pop out, curling like angry sails to the ground, the old, brittle plastic cracking into shards that are bounced dozens of yards away.

It dawns on me: A marquee, huge letter signage, thousands of light bubs, glass – oh my God. I’m in Las Vegas. I have to be.

Not the new strip, but the old section, downtown, home of the original two and three story casinos whose 1950’s glitter was created by thousands of independently burning lights, tacked over cheap sign tin then slapped up quickly to establish the string of watering holes that put Vegas on the map. Old Vegas is maintained to this day. Or it was – until this.

I scramble my way to the center of an intersection, to get out from beneath the rain of glass. I can’t get my footing, the ground is bounding and grinding so erratically. I recall thinking that the shaking was extremely severe, even for an earthquake. I’m tossed on to my knees over and over again. On the opposite corner of the street, a building about four stories high finally begins to give up its light-blue reflective windows. The glass panels are no match for the pressure of the building shifting and twisting – they pop and shatter outward like a child playing with bubble wrap. These windows and their building, which I’m pretty sure is a bank, are taking a beating, but aren’t nearly reduced to the twisted and gutted wreck like the old casinos behind me. Yet even the mortar on this new tan-bricked bank, whose more modern construction is wearing better against the earthquake, has sprouted cracks racing up the structure, like varicose veins exploding up the ankle of a geriatric P.E. coach.

I am able to crawl-stumble to the center of the intersection, dodging traffic light poles above me that are violently swaying like an oak tree in a tornado. The traffic lights, looking like macabre wedding bells, swing back and forth rapidly. I then get a good look up the street.

The street on the horizon is rising. Cars which had been parked at the curb are sliding down the street toward me, the road lifting as if on hydraulics. The cars tumble and roll and pile up on one another, and then a separate car comes flying out into the intersection from the street to my right, and smashes into the blue-windowed building. Obviously, the street to my right is rising as well – then the road that I have been watching steadily raise in front of me cracks in half, a deep crevice opening up as both sides continue to push upward. The crevice is snaking down the asphalt, toward the center of the intersection, directly toward me – I’m out of room to run, out of safe places to escape. I frantically dive to the right to avoid being swallowed into this black cavernous drop that’s gaping open in the road —

— I’m standing in the middle of a gravel lot. I look around – I’m not in Vegas anymore. It’s night. I’m standing in the middle of what looked like it had been, at one time, an old fort, now in an old historic part of town. High walls slathered in creosote and some kind of dark stain are made of logs and timber, over 20 feet tall. I’m boxed in, but it’s comforting – no glass. I feel like I’m in Texas, or Arizona, or New Mexico – somewhere that had an old fort present in the settling of the country.

In front of me stands a man, mid to late twenties, about 6 foot 2, doughy, wire-rimmed glasses, sort of wavy and unkempt hair, wearing a paint-stained brown baggy T-shirt and work pants. He works on some sort of construction crew here, wherever “here” is. I’m realizing that the dirt lot was the location of a structure that this crew had torn down. This man was on the night crew. He holds a ball peen hammer.  They’re finishing taking out the rest of whatever must be torn out.

I’m suddenly realizing that something is wrong. Well, not that it’s wrong right this second, but it’s going to be VERY wrong in a few moments. This guy is not very bright. And I’m realizing I need to get the hammer out of his hand, or he’s going to be overcome by something very dark, very evil – and use it on me, and another gal that is standing next to me.

“Can I have your hammer?” I ask him.

He’s looking at me really strangely. “Well, I need it for work.”

“I understand,” I said, “but can you give it to me, for just a minute?”

He’s getting a touch irritated with me. “No, I need it to keep working,” he says.

I finally reach in and wrap my fingers around the hammer, because I’m realizing that this dark and evil thing has already started to try and overtake this guy – a possession of sorts. I’m pretty insistent at this point, as I realize he’s going to try and sink that ball peen hammer straight into my brain pan, once this evil spirit gets completely seated in him. “I promise you, I’ll give it right back. I just need to hold it for a minute – please.”

He gives me this glazed look, or rather – this thing that’s trying to crawl inside of him gives me this glazed look, but he lets me peel the hammer out of his hand. The look starts to change in his eye – but I now have the hammer.  I throw hard, lobbing the hammer over the wall of the fort. He’s glazed out, and just stands there, and stares at me with contempt. The “thing” has overtaken him.

It then dawns on me that these evil entities are going to be lighting all over people across this whole city, taking them over. I look over at the gateway to this old fort – two doors both around 20 feet high – and I see my mom, along with a group of others, disappearing out the door, and into the parking lot. I yell to stop her from leaving out into the lot, but she disappears before I can stop her.

I immediately run to the door, but in the split second it takes me to get there – she is gone into thin air, along with the mall crowd of people. I run out to the lot, calling for her. The parking area outside the fort walls is a typical gravel lot, full of cars. There are only two street lamps in the lot, feebly cutting orange through the dusty night. I begin shouting for my mom, frantic to find her before one of these possessed people get a hold of her. No one knew about these evil entities but me – I hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone yet. I just figured out that this infestation was befalling this place. I could feel an epidemic sprouting all over the city.

I realize my mom’s car is in the back of the lot, which is an area without lights, but is chain-linked in – I can see where the light from the streetlamp behind me fades out, into the blackness of this back lot. I’m calling, trying to keep my voice down. As I cross into this dim chain link area, I can faintly see people start to emerge from between the cars, slowly.  They are staring at me, silently. These people have all been overtaken by this evil epidemic. Normal looking people, but taken over as if wide-awake, sharp-minded, normal looking Zombies.

I stop at the edge of where the street light dims into blackness. I keep quietly calling for my mom. I can hear someone running toward me in the gravel, from far back in the lot, but I can’t see them in the pitch black. They are right out of the light’s view. The steps get faster and crunchier in the gravel, crunch crunch, crunch-crunch chrunchrunchruch, and three steps away I can finally see a man, dimly lit, running straight at me with some kind of tire iron, or pick, raised in his hand. He runs straight into me —

— I wake up. Or, well, “wake up”. In fact, I had a hard time waking.  As hokey as this may sound, I was awake, my eyes were open, I was observing my room around me, yet I was transitioning out from one place to another. It looked as if the walls of the room that I was staying in appeared to be covered in “cells” – it was a touch disturbing, the whole “dimensional shift” aspect of waking from this “dream” and into an “in between place” while I waited for my consciousness to firmly seat back into my body – hovering in a place that looked like it should have been a set for “Jacob’s Ladder”, superimposed over the walls of my room. I was clearly awake, but not quite “all back yet”. That doesn’t happen very often.

Needless to say, coming back from wherever I had been in my spiritual consciousness in order to gather this dream was a tad rough. I was none too excited about the strange, creepy, Purgatory-Adjacent leftovers all around the room that were slowly fading out, like the two sets of what looked like black and grey clawed hands, frozen while reaching up through the top of the dresser. As if that makes any sense. Clearly, in whatever dimension these things existed – there wasn’t a dresser there. I was awake, laying in bed, but staring at two places at once: The room I was staying in, and this “place”, both occupying the same place at the same time – because I was occupying more than one place at one time.

Again – that rarely happens. It hasn’t happened to me in years, and as you can imagine  – I’m rather glad about that. But it happened this time, and it definitely got my full attention. Besides me just wondering what the heck had been in my bath water the night before, it was likely that in the grand scheme of things, I was allowed to experience this bizarre H.P. Lovecraft scenario in order to draw my attention to the dream. It’s the Universe’s way of saying “remember this – it bears weight.” Yet enough, enough of the waking-out-of-the-dream-into-the-set-of-The-Ring segue.

I’d like to take a moment to mention that I had been staying in this room for 14 days at this point. It was a gorgeous room with lovely bedding, khaki green walls, cream colored carpeting, a bottle of Patron and bottles of sparkling water, supplied to me by the record label I’m signed to. And, though the room started out quiet, it began to increase with spiritual activity as my stay persisted, especially the last four days. And the activity wasn’t that friendly.

The location where I was staying is built on some rather eerie land, and the structure has a presence. I’d run into a formerly human spirit in the upstairs hallway, but it was benign. However, this room was a little different. It had a lurker or two that wasn’t my friend upstairs. I could physically see a dark shadow moving through the room when the lights were on, and my jury was out on whether or not it was a dark human spirit, or some kind of not-so-happy earth spirit that came with the creepy land this place is built upon – but it gave me the willies, and as such, I would ask it to not bother me, say extra prayers to charge the space up — and ignored it for the most part. When in doubt – ignore. Especially when you’re fairly sure that the spirit is inhuman.

The room I was staying in didn’t have any windows. That kind of environment with stagnant energy flow is a magnet for dark spirits, earth spirits, and non-human entities. From an aesthetic perspective, it is a beautiful converted space, and has a fader to the very nice modern halogen chandelier hanging from the high roof. At night, I would fade the lights almost completely out – they would be nearly off, but down to a tiny, low glow, just so there would be some light in this room. Otherwise, to turn the lights out left one in a pitch black space, where I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. Again, no windows.

The night before I had this unnerving dream was the second to the last night I was to be there, at the end of the tour. The things in the room had a much greater opportunity to observe me, and my patterns, and figure out where my buttons were, to push. I had placed the light very low and gone to bed, just like I did every other night for the last twelve days. I went to sleep. I later popped awake in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason…except the room was pitch black.

The lights had been turned out. And not by me, while I was sleeping.

I blinked a couple of times before I realized that I was indeed, in pitch blackness. Luckily, there was a space heater on, and I could see its little red light glowing in the darkness as it hummed with heat. I immediately knew what had occurred. The thing in the room had turned the light out. It was tired of being ignored. This was its big show of dominance. It knew I was not fond of the blackness in the room – it had overheard me talking to someone on the phone about it.

I was none too happy to be in pitch black room with a negative entity or two. But, knowing that this thing wanted me to be scared, I just got irritated. The “scare factor” was a touch obvious for my taste at that point.

“Really?” I said into the inky blackness. “Ah, come on, you guys, I have got to get sleep. Seriously.”

I climbed out of bed and shuffled through the inky blackness to the far wall where the fader was.

“I have a show tomorrow, you guys. Yes, I get it, you’re here, and you turned the lights off. But come on, you woke me up. This is not cool, you guys.”

I was keeping my cool, because in this situation, if you loose your cool, it’s like losing a stare-off with a wolf – be prepared for the pounce. I’m feeling for the light switch in the dark, and feeling this thing standing just two inches off of my left, and thinking to myself, man, if you could breathe, thing, I’d feel your breath on my check.

It was one of those combination switches, where it had an on-off switch, or the fader could be potted up or down. At night, I would pot the fader almost all the way down. I first felt to see if the switch had been turned off. It had not. It was still on.

This thing had actually faded the light ALL the way down, so had I hit the switch either way – I would have still been in pitch darkness. Smart.

“Aw, man, come on, you actually faded it down?” I said, trying to fill the room with at least my voice to cut the creepiness of this thing standing right beside me in the blackness.

I feel right next to the switch, and sure enough – the little fader was pulled all the way to the bottom. That’s obviously something that must be done manually. I pushed it up. The lights glowed in the room.

“I’m serious, you guys. I need to sleep. If you can’t leave me alone, you have to leave. Period.”

And with that, I said a prayer, closed my eyes and passed out. I never had a “problem” with the light after that. The next night, I dreamed about Vegas falling in on itself and people being possessed by demons. Nice. As a side note, the morning after that dream, I walked out into the common area of place I was staying, and the label CEO asked me if I was okay, because he said I looked awful. Truly, I felt awful. I told him about the earthquake part of the dream. He said he hoped it was just a dream.

When the Japan quake first happened, I thought the Vegas dream was a premonition for that incident, and the lights and marquees I saw, that I thought were Vegas, were actually Tokyo, and I had mis-called the scenery. But the more I have sat with this dream, the more I realized – nope. It wasn’t Japan. It’s Las Vegas. And it hasn’t happened yet.

Just recently this dream has been weighing heavily on me again. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I Googled “Las Vegas Fault Line Map”, and was a bit stunned at what I found.

Turns out that the Frenchman Mountain fault runs through the Las Vegas valley. And it’s a real rattler. It also turns out that the San Andreas fault runs through Reno. According to an article in the Las Vegas Review-Journal entitled “State geologist estimates possible earthquake risk”:

Someday Las Vegans will read a headline that states, “2,300 Die From 7.0 Magnitude Earthquake,” state Geologist Jon Price predicted.

The full article is here, and is rather fascinating, though a little unnerving.

http://www.lvrj.com/news/state-geologist-estimates-possible-earthquake-risk-69268747.html 

So. Was my dream just the bi-product of staying in a haunted room? Maybe the second part was, with the demon-possessed people – although I think that was a touch allegorically predictive as well. AND – remember the guy in the dream who I took the ball peen hammer from? Well he was a dead-ringer for the actual person the “Missing Peace” team interviewed, two months later, regarding the murder of Norma Lopez. So that was an odd synchronicity there.

So no. The world will not be ending on May 21st. If it did, and you’re reading this, then I guess you were on the “denied rapture” list. Sorry, dude. If you were planning on hitting Vegas to drown your sorrows over not being picked for the prom, you may want to step it up a bit. That, or wait – I bet you’ll be able to get one heck of a room at the Bellagio for practically nothing, after the quake.

What can I say — I’m a “glass-half-full” kind of gal.

Posted in World Prophecies / 2012 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Light vs. Dark: Is Humankind Actually Born Evil?

Posted on May 17, 2011 by danielleegnew

As long as Humankind has developed the ability to reason, there has been great controversy surrounding the true spiritual nature of our species. Are we good, or are we bad? Are we creatures of the Light, or are we minions of the Dark?

Or – do we check “All of the Above”?

Humanity is incredibly fascinated with itself, like a baby staring at its own refection in the pond. We ponder the most minute of our own details (“Do I look fat in this dress?”) to the most obscure (“Why is this thumb bigger than the other?”).We are masters of self-obsession, all in the name of “self-exploration”. But at what point does this myopic viewpoint – all in the name of science, of course — become so inwardly obsessive that we are incapable of seeing ourselves for who, and what, we are? And worse – at what
point does Darkness leverage our lack of perspective?

I find myself in the minority when discussing the origins of the spirit of human kind, because I cannot find any evidence to support the theory that Humankind, as a species, is “born evil”.  This appears to challenge, and even threaten, the very fabric of belief that many hold dear. In the Christian faith, under which technically I would qualify as a practitioner considering I’ve Pastored more than one Christian church, Humankind’s “evil nature” is the glue that binds us in a dependent relationship with God. I personally find this allegory to be nearly blasphemous, and I have gone toe-to-toe with more than one clergy person, defending the spiritual nature of Humanity. Just because we as a species make some bone-head choices does not make us the Spawn of Satan.

But it sure is much easier for any organization to control people if they first believe they were born a useless piece of garbage.

To assume that we, as spiritual creatures, must cling to God because we are evil without God, is to claim that we were created in Darkness, yet must cling to Light for salvation. However, there are several things wrong with this theory – primarily being as that Light and Dark cannot be in the same exact place at the same exact time, as Light will eradicate the Dark if Darkness lingers too closely. So, for Humankind to be Dark, and seek the shelter of Light – well, again, Dark wouldn’t do that, or it would go up in a puff of
smoke.

However, like a homing pigeon, Humankind seeks to return to its point of origin, which is The Light. Humankind is at home once surrounded by kindness, love, compassion, and understanding. None of those attributes define Darkness.  We seek The Light because it IS our resting place.  It IS our Point of Origin. It IS our home. It IS the vibration from which we came. It IS the dimension that defines our identity of heaven, which is singularly different for every person. We seek The Light because it is what we know to be true, on a spiritually molecular level. Whether this Light is given a name by us – Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, Pagan, Taoist, New Thought, or Atheist – The Light is the frequency where we all find peace in commonality.

To cite a Judeo-Christian reference, Jesus Christ was quoted as saying “You are the LIGHT of the world.” Jesus didn’t say “You are the rotten pieces of garbage of the world.”  We
are Light beings in a physical body living in a free will environment where Chaos and Coincidence are neighbors. With a recipe like that, we’re bound to make some really rotten choices. Yet our lack of discernment in choice-making does not make us “evil”. If I trip and fall into a bucket of blue paint, I am not therefore blue-skinned. I’m just covered in something I’ve stepped in. Thus is the nature of the Human Spirit.

One has to remember that religious texts like the Bible were written from a specific cultural perspective, and in the Bible’s case, more than 3,000 years ago. The Bible has been edited and re-edited by numerous Kings and religious leaders over the centuries, to fulfill many different agendas, and what we have left now is an interesting mix of Middle Eastern tribal history, allegories, stories, spiritual wisdom, and fables. And that’s okay. The nature of Creation is likely not able to be captured by one modality of storytelling,
anyway. The more, the better. The idea of GOD cannot be captured in one perspective, in one voice. For instance, the Bible is a collection of writings from many different authors, spanning thousands of years. The Hindu religion has over 1000 names and personifications of God in its attempt to understand the fullness of God, which Christians love to misinterpret as the Hindu religion having 1000 LITERAL GODS.  But that’s simply not true. Hinduism simply gives a name, and face, to over 1000 ASPECTS of God. Considering Hinduism is an amalgamation of many diverse religious traditions and does not have one originator, or founder, it is fascinating that the “agreed upon version” of God takes 1000 personifications. And, considering that Hinduism is the oldest identifiable religion in the world, meaning they’ve had quite a bit of time to “hammer out” the concept of God – “settling” on 1000 versions is saying something.

The fact is – The Light has no preference for how we find our way home. It just wants us to find the front porch in the middle of the night – so it leaves The Light on. My personal spiritual belief system is a hybrid of Christianity, Native American beliefs, some Buddhist manifestations, and a nod toward The Tao. It has been my realization after years of speaking with numerous Guides, Angels, Inter-Dimensionals, and even some like-frequencied OffWorlders, that the fullness of God, the span of The Light, is far beyond my entire comprehension anyway. So, if I have to patchwork together a belief system from several Sources in order to match my understanding of spirituality from the Human perspective in an attempt to view God with a wide-angle lense — so be it.

We do our best to find our way, and to establish commonality with one another, while living amidst a sea of separately existing “perspectives” everyday. Each one of us has a separate cultural universe between our ears – our own ideas about life — and when we meet by the water cooler, we must somehow translate our own understanding of the Universe to another person, and they must do the same – think of the aliens in the bar in “Star Wars”. It’s truly amazing that we are ever able to communicate at all, each one of us operating in our own separate universe, let alone tie in communicating the concept of God.

I find it fascinating that so many people feel the need to emotionally attach themselves to anger, hatred, and Darkness, in order to identify themselves as “human”. There is a misconception that to reach into the fullness of “being human”, we must also experience the darkest recesses of our capabilities. We must somehow sink to the lowest of our lows, and drudge out of ourselves the worst possible behavior, to then claim that we have experienced the “full capacity” of actually “being human”. I say that this claim is inane.
Simply because I have a mouth, and am capable of chewing anything, does not mean that it’s desirable, or even a good idea, to shovel fecal matter down my throat. Just because we HAVE the capacity to do something, doesn’t necessarily mean we should. And if we choose to do something that is at best questionable, and at worst hideous, to then blame this action on “being human” is as irresponsible as blaming fire for the destruction of Hiroshima.

The notion that “without the dark, we would not know light” is a Philosophical statement about the propensity for Human Beings to assign comparison in order to gain understanding of our full spiritual and emotional movement. From a spiritual perspective, it’s more accurate to say that without the Light, we would not see clearly through the Dark. Light cuts through the Dark, and eradicates it. That is it’s function. Light or dark, black or white, the human spirit is the Great Grey Area.

Humankind, in our dichotomous make-up, appears to need polarization in order to recognize our range of choices. However, outside of the human need to personify the relationship between two independent forces — Light and Dark – these forces, left to their own devices, would independently rattle along the universe just fine, doing their own thing, keeping their own coffee dates, not worrying about the calendar of the other. Darkness would not cross the path of Light for it knows that it cannot withstand the frequency and the weight of Light, and it would be destroyed. In an attempt to understand who we are, or to better appreciate our circumstances, we seem to be the ones hung up on the “vital link” between these two forces, which really — is only vital to us, in our own self-exploration. Outside of that — Light is Light, and Dark is Dark, and they serve their own functions. We seem to find great meaning in attempting to justify their “balance” within ourselves. Yet from a spiritual perspective, the “balance” is not necessary and does not exist outside of ourselves, or outside of our own personal application. It’s like that saying: All apples are fruit, but not all fruit are apples.

Yes, Humankind is fallible. We are animals, and animals have a propensity toward violence when threatened. We are fearful, and can stampede and rage with mob mentality. We become injured and broken, and we decide to pass down the injury. As such, very bad things happen to very good people. We are often quick to hurt and quicker to blame. We are sometimes weak, sometimes selfish, sometimes cruel, and sometimes, we act in a manner that is barely human, for all of its savageness. We are capable of great faults. The Roman archery term, “sin”, means “to miss the mark”. In this regard, yes, we are all sinners now and again – we occasionally miss the mark. But a newborn baby responds to love, and nurturing, and compassion, directly out of the womb. The baby’s spirit responds to the ear makers of Light, as it just left the perfection of Light to join us on this three-dimensional plane. Children must be taught hatred. It is not intrinsic. But they never need to be taught love. That is innate.

Therefore, your honor, I rest my case that Humankind is not born “evil”. We are simply born impressionable. Thanks to our spiritually genetic encode of Light, we seek The Light, and in aligning with our Point of Origin, we are kept safe within a vibration of Light that Darkness will not dare penetrate. To quote a common phrase in the Christian Bible as example, Jesus Christ said “Through me, you will be saved.” Part of that statement is literal, and part of that statement is figurative: Literal in the fact that to align with the Light is to stand within a resonance that repels Darkness. Figurative in that if one is to take on selfless actions like that of Jesus, the karma from one’s selfless deeds will resonate with Light, creating a barrier that Darkness cannot cross.  Either way, the war of principalities between Light and Dark, waged in the psyche of Humankind, is not our battle. We are simply the battle ground. And at times, we are the collateral damage.

We are brothers and sisters in Light, no matter how “Light” is to be interpreted to make sense to each one of us. However we decide to define our Point of Origin, it does not change the fact: Light and Dark cannot be in the same place, at the same time. As the Native American spiritual teaching states — we must either feed the Black Dog inside of us, or the White Dog. Whichever we feed will be our Guide.

It is our CHOICE. Not our birth mandate.

Posted in Identifying Energies | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Snake in the Berry Bush: Discernment vs. Darkness

Posted on May 1, 2011 by danielleegnew

I’m a firm believer that if you want to convey a widely-understood message, then it must be completely digestible by everyone. How do we achieve this, you may ask, with a world as diverse as ours? Well, I would answer, let us tap history to solve this mystery:

The Fable.

Fables tell a tale in a way where the message becomes universal, leaping across cultures, landscapes, educational backgrounds, age groups, and even eras. The short-hand cousin of the fable is the parable, another wielding of the words that I’m simply in love with. Being someone who can take a clue from those messengers before me who were far more adept in general, I realized the best way to communicate some of the most complex spiritual modalities, such as the approach pattern of Darkness, is through a story. As such –I wrote this fable.

I’m a big fan of the practical application of spiritual principles in everyday life. Not that sitting atop a mountain alongside a guru who bestows all his knowledge upon us wouldn’t be fabulous, but considering that most of us are balancing life between the Blackberry, iPad, laptop, text field, and work and family obligations – the whole “mountain top guru” thing is a bit… unrealistic. Instead, I opted to bring the message to the masses, not the mountain to Mohammed.

I am a true appreciator of the fable, as many of you likely have noticed in my own personal delivery style here on the blog. This fable I wrote was originally placed on my once-MySpace page, several years ago. However, I felt that its home was here, in the ranks of other spiritually inclined pieces, seeing that there really is no telling the difference between MySpace and TMZ anymore. And considering that MySpace barely has a pulse, that’s not saying much for TMZ, for which, not much could be said in the first place.

I give you my fable:

The Snake in the Berry Bush
© 2007 / 2011

Once upon a time, there was a snake that lived in a berry bush. The entire animal kingdom knew that the snake was there, and that the snake’s apatite was enormous. Every animal knew better than to get too close to the snake’s bush, because the snake would cast a spell over the animal using her hypnotic eyes, and in a flash the animals would end up in the snake’s belly.

All of the animals safely gathered food in their own clearings, as not to get near the snake’s lair. One day, mother monkey said to her son, “Go to the bushes in our clearing and gather berries for the family’s dinner tonight. Your sister and brother are very hungry. But you must be home before sundown. The forest is not safe.”

“I will,” said the young monkey, not paying attention and fussing to find a basket.

“How do I know that you will bring back food, and bring it back before the sun goes down?” said his mother. “How do I know that you will not go play with the other young monkeys, and ignore your responsibilities?”

The young monkey put his basket down and looked his mother straight in the eye, “I give you my word, mother, that I will fill the basket, and that I will be home before sundown.”

“Then you may go, my son,” she said, and sent her child out into the clearing.

The young monkey went to gather berries as he was told, and he noticed that all the berry bushes in his clearing had been picked clean.  The young monkey was distressed.

“What will I do?” said the young monkey. “My mother trusted me to bring back food for my family, and the bushes are empty.”

A sweet voice cut across the clearing, “You will find fruit on my bush.”

The young monkey looked around, but saw no one. He ventured carefully to the edge of the clearing where he heard the voice, and called out. “You there, will you tell me where to find fruit for my family? It is late in the day, and the bushes in my clearing have been picked clean.”

“Here,” said the sweet voice, “come here, to my bush. It is overflowing with berries”

The young monkey squinted into the forest, and saw a small bush bursting with enormous plump, ripe berries. He looked around for his mother, “But I cannot leave the clearing, or surely the snake will get me.”

“It saddens my heart” said the sweet voice, “that the other animals say such terrible things about me.”

The young monkey’s blood ran cold as he realized that he was indeed, talking to the snake herself, though he could not see her through the trees. “But it is known by all that you eat the animals in the forest, once they get too close to you.”

“I have lived a quiet life under my bush, yet I am left painfully alone because of stories such as yours. All the animals are frightened of me. I am lonely, as no one will stop and talk with me.”

The young monkey was confused. “But it is known that one glance into your eyes, and an animal will instantly freeze in its tracks, hypnotized, and then it will be your dinner!”

“That is not true,” the sweet voice from the plump berry thicket answered. “I am very beautiful. I have colorful green scales and a smooth pink tongue, and a few animals in the forest are jealous of my beauty. So they spread untruths about me to make me sound ugly, and here I sit, alone. It is such a shame, as the berries on my bush are so sweet and delicious, and would feed so many mouths. ”

The young monkey was now even more confused. The snake’s voice was very sweet, and her bush was indeed bending over its branches with thick fruit. His mother, sister and brother would surely be so happy if he came back with his basket piled high with such sweet, ripe berries.

The young monkey stepped out of the safety of his own clearing. “How do I know that you will not eat me?”

“If I meant to eat you, would I not take you by surprise? Would I not simply wait for you to approach my bush to pluck my berries, then pounce upon you? Besides, I too eat berries.”

“You too eat berries?” the young monkey said, edging closer to the snake’s bush.

“Yes, I do. This is why I live beneath this full blooming bush. This is how I know that the berries on my bush are so very sweet and delicious. Yet there are far too many for me to eat all of them myself, and some are beginning to rot. It is sad that so many go to waste.”

“I don’t know,” said the young monkey. “My mother may be angry if she knows that I stepped out of the safety of our clearing to gather food.”

“I would not want your mother to be angry with you,” the snake said sweetly. “It is best that you go back to your clearing and find food there. Thank you so much for talking with me. It has been a very long time since I have had a conversation. Good bye.”

The young monkey backed into the safety of his clearing and began going from bush to bush, searching for food. But every berry bush was empty, and the sun was sinking behind the mountain. His mother, sister and brother would surely be very hungry if he came back with no food at all.

The young monkey returned to the spot where he heard the snake’s voice. “Snake! I cannot find any berries in my clearing, none at all. The bushes have been picked clean so late in the day, and my family will be hungry! May I please have some of your berries?”

The young monkey heard a rustling in the plump berry bush, “Of course,” she said sweetly, “I surely cannot eat them all. But you best hurry, so that your mother will not know you are gone from your clearing. We would not want her to be angry.”

The young monkey was thrilled to provide such a feast for his family! He hopped over to the bush, and plucked handful after handful of bursting berries into his basket. As his basket was filling, he felt very sorry for the snake, alone in her bountiful bush. He thought about how terrible it was that the animals in the forest had misjudged the snake, simply because a few were jealous. He would fill up his berry basket, and go tell his mother how gracious the snake had been. He would tell all the animals in the forest that the snake was their friend.

As his basket filled, he saw a beautiful green set of scales move within the bush. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, glistening with little rainbows as the snake moved. A lovely pink tongue flicked out of the bush and tickled the young monkey’s hand. The young monkey jumped back, startled.

“Do not be afraid of me,” the snake said gently. “I wish to see you to say hello, but Creator made my eyesight to be very poor. I must use my tongue so as to smell you instead, and you smell as if you have a beautiful coat of thick monkey fur! You are a monkey! How beautiful and handsome you must be! I am very lucky to have a friend as beautiful as you are. Your mother must be so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” said the monkey, his chest puffed out with pride as he continued to pile heap after heap of ripe berries in to his basket. “She is very proud of me. You yourself have very beautiful scales. I now know why some animals may be jealous. You have the colored bow that sets in the clouds within your very flesh!”

The snake’s beautiful rainbow skin slipped over the top of monkey’s feet, her velvety soft underbelly tickling the tops of his toes as she slithered beneath the bush. “Why thank you, monkey. It warms my heart to hear you say this. But what more of you?  My belly tells me that your feet are so very big. You must be a big handsome young man, so stout and strong. Your mother must be very, very proud of you.”

“Yes,” the young monkey said, puffing his chest out even more over his overflowing basket of berries, “and she is going to be even more proud of me when she sees the banquet I am bringing home.”

“I am glad that we are friends,” said the snake.

“Me too,” said the young monkey. “I shall tell everyone the truth about you, of the lies spread about you, and all the animals shall come and say hello, and you will never be lonely again.”

“Does that mean that you will come back and visit me?” asked the snake, shyly.

“Of course I will!” the young monkey answered his beautiful new found friend. His basket was finally full, with ripened berries falling over the edges and onto the ground. “It is time for me to leave, but I will visit you tomorrow.”

“How do I know that you are not just saying this?” the snake said, crestfallen. “How do I know that you will not disappear from my berry bush, and I will never see you again, like so many other animals who have made the promise to be my friend before you, but who have left me all alone?”

The sadness in her voice broke the young monkey’s heart for the beautiful misunderstood snake. The young monkey put his overflowing basket down, and moved the bushes away so that he could look the snake directly in her eyes. “I give you my word, snake, that I will come back tomorrow and we will talk and laugh, just like today.”

The young monkey took a step back to reach for his basket, but he could not move any further. He was frozen into place, hypnotized, staring straight into to the swimming yellow eyes of the snake. It was then that he noticed that all around the snake’s huge mouth were berry stains.

“Snake,” he said, “what is happening? I cannot move, and I told my mother I would bring food home for my family before the sun went down!”

The beautiful snake coiled around the paralyzed monkey and said nothing, but opened her huge gaping jaws so wide that the monkey could see down her throat to the end of her tail. In her belly, he could see bushels and bushels of berries, all the berries from all the bushes in his clearing.

The young monkey, still hypnotized by the snake’s glance, was frightened. “Snake, what is happening? You told me that I would not be hypnotized by looking into your eyes!”

“No, I did not” the snake said sweetly. “You told me that once an animal looked in my eyes, it instantly freezes in its tracks, hypnotized, and then becomes my dinner. As I told you, that is not true. All animals typically take at least one step, as you had, before my spell takes them.”

“But snake,” cried the young monkey, “You told me that you don’t eat monkeys!”

“No,” said the snake sweetly, “I said that I eat berries. I do eat berries. I also eat monkeys. The bigger and stronger the monkey, the more full I will be.  You are very big and strong. You will make for a nice meal, and I will not be hungry for a long time.”

“But snake,” cried the helpless monkey, “you yourself told me that you did not mean to eat me!”

“No,” said the snake sweetly, “I told you that if I meant to eat you, would I not take you by surprise? Would I not simply wait for you to approach my bush to pluck my berries, then pounce upon you? And I have done just those things. I waited until you came to my bush to pluck my berries, and I took you by surprise and pounced on you. I have done everything as I said I would do.”

“But snake,” cried the confused monkey, “I thought that you were lonely and did not want to be left alone!”

“Ah”, the snake said gently, licking her chops, “that is correct. But once I eat you, you will be inside of me, and I will not be alone.”

“But snake,” cried the crestfallen monkey, “I thought you were my friend!”

“I am your friend,” said the snake as she lowered her jaws around the monkey’s ears, “but my apatite is my master.”

Then in a flash, the snake swallowed the monkey whole, and for desert, ate all the plump berries in the basket that the young monkey had worked so hard to pick.

“Snake!” the despairing young monkey cried one last time from inside her belly. “You tricked me!”

“No”, the snake said sweetly, “it was your hunger that tricked you. I am only a snake.”

The moral of the story is: No matter how sweet the bush, don’t listen to a snake.

Posted in Identifying Energies | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

‘Want’ vs. ‘Have’: Are You Ready to Receive?

Posted on April 19, 2011 by danielleegnew

There’s an old saying: “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.” In this archetypal American catch-phrase, there is much wisdom. It’s one thing to continue to “want” – that’s an entire energy signature all on its own, ripe with its own inward journey of self-evaluation. It’s another thing “to get”. The latter is a game-changer that forces growth, commitment, the courage to change, and the strength to support the very thing that we have worked so hard for.

I know many people who have worked their entire lives to reach one singular goal. And upon reaching this goal, the person in question seems a bit stunned. The fact is, they often times don’t know what to do with themselves, because their entire journey up to that very moment was – well – all about the journey. It was about the business meetings, the strategy of the investors, the struggle to create something brilliant against all odds. The entire process was about struggle, and who the person was able to become, through the struggle.

So finally, when The Universe and the person’s actions coincide, and the journey comes to fruition at the end, as the “goal” is achieved – the poor person who has developed a whole sense of identity around the “struggle” then must address: Who am I, if not the person who is constantly “trying”?

Human beings are very much like sharks. Sharks must keep moving in order to continually pass water over their gills — or they will drown. In the same way, humans must continually keep moving in their personal journey, or we will drown in a sea of lost identity. These forward movements in life don’t always need to be History Channel monumental – they could be mentoring a child through little league, or on the math team, or crocheting a baby blanket for a friend’s newborn. These forward movements could include going back to graduate school at 35, or building a shed in the back yard. No matter how big or how small, we, as a species, must always have a project. It’s the way we are designed. And when we achieve something that we’ve worked a long time toward, quite often, we aren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves after the fact. We then have a tendency to become slightly disillusioned with what we have achieved. I like to call this the “Day After Christmas Syndrome”. DACS is that feeling of let-down we get after being so pumped up for so long about one singular event. Once the event is over – blah — we’re staring at a wet, bleak January.

How many times have you known a friend who was romantically infatuated with another person, only to lose interest in said person once they actually started dating them? Once the journey of the chase was over – once the moments of self-exploration had passed—the actual maintenance of the relationship was a bore. Welcome to the human condition.

It is incredibly important, however, for we as a species, to strike a balance with the fact that we, like the shark, must keep moving. Our own need to connect, nurture, and measure our life path through small or even large achievements, are markers through this “movement”. In order to document our journey in a way that we understand, we must fully understand our addiction to struggle. I say “addiction” because that would then indicate something that we have a compulsion to partake in, past our better judgment.

The person who lights up a crack pipe, and inhales the chemical burn that feels like glass all the way down their throat, isn’t sucking on that smoke because it feels good. They are doing it because their physical compulsion to smoke that drug overrides everything they know is a bad idea. Spiritually, we become addicted to the rush of struggle. Though human beings boast that we want peace and quiet, what we immediately fall prey to is drama, unrest, and testing boundaries. Why? Because we understand all-to-well what struggle feels like, and we tend to gravitate to what we know, because we fear change. While we are in struggle, we are in a familiar zone in which we really don’t have to make any decisions, because we are too busy being in crisis.

Humans rarely trust themselves, especially to make long-binding decisions. As such, we will find any reason possible to get out of committing to almost anything. Usually, the two driving factors that “seal the deal” in any given situation that demands commitment are either 1) money, or 2) sex. The latter was a big motivator to drive the legal marriage of two adults in the Christian community – you wanna make whoopee? The commit, and go get some.  Does your employer want you to stay at the job? Then they will give you a raise. Our human commitment, at first, often needs to be bartered for. Once we are in the situation, thankfully – the human heart takes over, and typically, compassion trumps fear.

Yet in order for our heart to take over, we must make an effort to come out of our relationship with struggle. As long as we can stay distracted on the drug called Struggle, we don’t have to address some of our more pressing spiritual matters, like insecurity, loneliness, fear of rejection, fear of failure, or any other garden variety human fear. We are often so “high” on Struggle that we wouldn’t know an opportunity if it fell onto our head like a piano. And like a non-treated drug addict, who lets opportunities, jobs, and even their families fall away, those who cannot come to grips with their addiction to Struggle will never be able to pull themselves out of that ever-present spin-cycle of chaos that an entire “Jerry Springer” franchise was built upon.

Not all struggle is a bad thing, obviously. Healthy struggle is also a learning tool. Through struggle comes great growth by overcoming obstacles that are put in our path — obstacles whose design is to “work out” different spiritual muscles throughout our spiritual bodies. Babies must struggle to walk, and it is this struggle that develops the muscles in their legs that will carry them for a lifetime. It’s when the struggle becomes the journey, not an impasse, that the imbalance creates a problem.

So it is that we often freeze in the moment right after we receive something we have always wanted. We feel the energy of Struggle, our faithful companion, slip to the background as the energy of Achievement takes its place. However – we often times don’t know Achievement as well as we know Struggle, and as such, aren’t as quickly to develop a relationship with it. Because let’s face it – humans are afraid of change, and as discussed, rarely trust themselves.

So here is poor Achievement, standing right in front of us in our moment of glory, wanting to give us a great big hug and welcome us to a new chapter in our journey —  and we simply stare it in the face, like a zombie on valium. Poor Achievement is wanting to take our hand and show us all around this new section of our own inner domain that we didn’t entirely know existed until we’d recently gained access to it – through Achievement – yet we dig in our heels and make excuses why we can’t go on the tour within ourselves. As if on cue, our cell phone starts firing off in our pocket, nonstop, and we look down to see “Struggle Calling” on the screen. We push ignore. Achievement is very confused, and pulls us to the side to ask: “I thought you wanted to meet me!”

We answer, “I did too. But…you’re not what I expected.”

Achievement looks as us, puzzled, and says, “Well what did you expect?”

This is where we shift from foot to foot, because we don’t want to hurt Achievement’s feelings. “Well…I thought you’d be bigger.”

“I don’t understand,” says Achievement. “I’m just as tall as you are.”

“Yes, but…I thought you’d me more impressive.”

“I don’t understand,” answers Achievement. “You were impressed enough to make me.”

“Yes,” we answer, “but I thought there would be…I don’t know. More.”

Achievement just looks at us, quietly, in a studious fashion, and finally speaks. “More fanfare? More fuss?”

“Yes!” we proclaim excitedly. “More prestige, more respect, but…everything is the same. The only difference is that you’re here now.”

“So,” Achievement muses, “You thought that once I arrived, I would change everything?”

“I guess so, yes. But nothing seems to have changed.” Our phone begins to fire off on our pocket again. We check it – “Struggle Calling”. We hit the ignore button.

Achievement sits down on the second step of a grand staircase where it’s been attempting to lead us upward. “Hmm. It looks like you’ve created quite a problem for yourself.”

Now we are the ones who are confused. “Come again?”

“Well, you worked so hard to create me, thinking I would change everything. Yet how can I bring change if you won’t accept me?”

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t accept you –“

“Yes, you did,” Achievement interrupts. “You thought I’d be bigger. More impressive. You won’t even let me take you on the tour of this wing of your own inner mansion, even though you own it, yet have never been through a majority of these glorious spaces inside of yourself, because you gave me the keys, and told me not to let you in until we met –“

“—and until I’d earned it,” we suddenly recall the conversation, much to our chagrin.

“That’s right,” answers Achievement. “So – you’ve created me, you’ve given yourself permission to access all these beautiful rooms inside of yourself now – there’s a spa on the second floor, by the way – but you won’t step over the threshold.”

“Yes,” we mumble, “that’s kind of a problem.” Again, our phone begins to fire off. We check it – “Struggle Calling”. This time, before we are able to hit the ignore button, Achievement snatches the phone from our hand and answers, much to our horror.

“Hello, Struggle? …Yeah, it IS Achievement, what’s it to you? …No, you listen to ME. Stop stalking this person. They’re done with you, and they’re with me now.  They don’t need you anymore, and when they do, I’m sure you’ll get a call. We are about to go on the tour, so BUG OFF!”

Achievement hangs up and hands the phone back to us. We are red in the face, and our voice is feeble. “Um, I don’t know who that was…”

“Oh, of course you do. Everybody knows Struggle. It won’t bother you again. At least for awhile. Now – are you going to accept that I can’t change anything, until you accept everything?”

Now our “commitment” button is being pushed. “Excuse me? What are you talking about — accept everything?”

Achievement sighs. “Yes, everything. Accept that everything has always been right at your fingertips, right at your control – your happiness, your well being, your own access to all the secret floors inside of yourself, in your own mansion– you already had access to everything, but you wouldn’t let yourself experience any of it because you were always distracted by calls from Struggle, and you thought you needed my permission. But you don’t need my permission, which is why you weren’t impressed when you met me. You knew, deep down, that you don’t need me for any of this. You are the power of You. I am only your Achievement.”

For the first time, we feel badly, because we realize the pressure we’ve put on our Achievement. “Wow. I’m so sorry. I’ve treated you very unfairly. You can never live up to being something that would completely transform me.”

“No, I can’t,” says Achievement sadly.

We take a moment to let this sink in. “And I have to tell you — I’m really, really proud of you.”

Achievement starts to beam again, “You are?”

“You bet I am! Look at you – you’re smart, you’re determined – you make me very, very proud.”

“Thank you,” says Achievement. “That’s my job. To make you proud – of yourself.”

“In fact, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend an afternoon at the spa with – so what say you show me that second story in my mansion, and we celebrate?”

Achievement smiles, and we all head upstairs. “I’m very good at celebrating! Congratulations again, and it’s so nice to spend time with you!”

As we climb the stairs, we realize that we should deeply value the gift of the time we get to spend with Achievement, because it will be brief. We realize that our friend can only stay with us for a little while, and will leave us later with a smile, in our own mansion, alone with the power that is us.

When we finally come to the completion of a project cycle, of a work cycle, even of a relationship cycle, and we achieve something we have always wanted, it is paramount that we ACCEPT the transitions in our life that come along with moving onward, and upward. It is an important rite of passage in our spiritual and emotional development to receive our transition with grace. This movement does not invalidate our former struggles, nor does it remove us from our former life, into a life we know nothing about – unless a person wins the lottery, and even then, the quality of life is up to the winner. The movement must contain permission we give ourselves to accept that there is more to our existence than struggle, and that we can handle the responsibility that comes with lovingly managing what we have always wanted. Our movement forward is that of a shark:

We must keep swimming, or drown.

Posted in Life Path | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Going On Record Part 1: Secrets of UFO Propulsion and Craft

Posted on April 16, 2011 by danielleegnew

Usually, as a Psychic, I know how to mind my own business. However, as of late, with the pending issues with the world, and moreover, with some more pending issues with our OffWorld friends and their potential to assist us, I regularly ask myself: Shouldn’t I be notifying someone who has the ability to help many, like our government, with the OffWorld Cultural information that I have?

When I get in this perplexed space, I hop online and head over to two websites – Whitehouse.gov, and CIA.gov.  I’ve “seen” our involvement with our OffWorld friends. I assume we are aware of the potential we have to learn from them. I’m quite sure that President Obama had to sit through the very same briefing that every modern President has had to sit through, regarding UFO activity and the military. The poor guy came out on camera in a news conference two weeks after he was sworn in – with more grey hair. In two weeks. So I’m sure he got the UFO rundown, on top of everything else that’s pending with the nation.

The fact is, when I go to these sites, I pull up the contact page, and just stare at it, attempting to figure out how to construct a letter that doesn’t make me sound like an X-Files Fan Fiction reject, or someone whose medication ran out. My fingers hover over the keyboard, twitching, wanting to type and reach out to these organizations with a letter that says “I can help you with this!” yet when the pivotal moment comes, to fire off the letter – I don’t.

In my pausing, I will tell myself, over and over again, that President Obama asked everyone to “pitch in”, all across the nation, with any information that could potentially help the country. He has directed the American Public to WhiteHouse.org on more than one occasion, telling us that every letter is read, and considered, because who is to say what new technologies or new knowledge is running around rampant and yet undiscovered in our great nation?

So, even though I, along with everybody, have received a repeat invitation to write the President and offer some knowledge that could be of great use, which also could include our OffWorlder, or “Alien” situation (actually, it would be of huge use, which is why I’m not sure how to proceed with this) – I don’t. The truth is, at the 11 1/2th hour, I chicken out completely. My loss in nerve does not have to do with the information I have, or that I keep receiving from our OffWorld friends. It’s to do with how I fear WE will react to the messenger.

Seriously, it’s bad enough to have had to deal with the ramifications and stereotypes associated with being “a Psychic”, in everyday society. But even most Psychics cringe and excuse themselves from the conversation when you start to talk about UFO’s. It’s true. Paranormal Investigators and UFOlogists are not the same crowd, though sometimes people like both. Paranormal enthusiasts think that UFOlogists are obsessive crazies who never bathe, live in bunkers or airstream trailers in the desert, and sleep with HAM radios taped to their heads. So considering the bulk of my work as a Psychic is with the spiritual  and paranormal community, and even our own spiritual and paranormal communities are divided on the UFO issue, you can imagine my hesitation at contacting anyone outside of either of those modalities.  Don’t even get me started on the law enforcement I work with.  

I mean, I’m not afraid I will be harmed, or drug off by Men in Black and buried away in an underground bunker, although that thought has occurred to me. I’m actually fearful that not only will I be viewed as a Grade A Kook, because why wouldn’t I – let’s be honest — but that when the time came for this information to REALLY matter, and I stepped forward to offer it – they would dismiss me as that one weird Star Trek lady on record who wrote the CIA and asked if she could help decrypt OffWorld language, communication styles, and propulsion systems. Which, you know…is what I want to help with.

I did write the CIA a vague and delicately-worded inquiry email about the OffWorlder issues once, asking if they needed help, and I’m sure you won’t be shocked to hear that I never heard back from them. In fairness to the CIA, I happen to know that they have quite a team of PhD’ed people already working on all this, so a random email would not only look INSANE, but wouldn’t exactly be the type of channel the CIA would take to vetting people they would work with on a top-level clearance job. But as in many things in life – there just wasn’t a really “good way” to ask if I could help out.

I may not have a PhD, but I do have a built-in “radio antennae” that picks these OffWorlders up, constantly, and what’s weirder is that I can understand it. That part is kind of unnerving, but whatever – I’m not sure why I find it any more odd than listening to Joe Dead Guy ramble on about why he won’t cross over. I do know that someone “in the know” would find value in this “translation system” I seem to have, regarding these OffWorld communications. So there you go, CIA. Eat your heart out.

Yet amidst all this “big talk” — here I sit, writing to you. So much for diving in on President Obama’s “everybody come forward” credo. Now, these of course are my fears that I’m sharing. Yet every time I look down the probability margins of how this information would be received, it’s never good. It’s not bad, but there’s enough wiggle room to make me nervous. That, and I’m not particularly sure with the spreading paranoia in the Governmental system in general that I want to be flagged in their database as “that one lady”.

Instead, I stare at the keyboard, utterly frustrated that I have information that would be useful to not only our science fields, especially during this energy crisis, but our communication fields. I certainly don’t think I’m the only human on earth who has access to this information, but when I “check”, it appears that I’m one of a rather small percentage, and when I cast out that Psychic net, to see if any of the other folks who are receiving close to what I am receiving are stepping up and contacting parties that can make a difference, such as the White House or the CIA (it just sounds so stupid to even type that out – good God!) – I get an obvious big goose egg. When I look into reasons why, well – I’m looking at myself.

We all want to take the proper channels and have this information recorded, yet a great majority of us are scared to take the proper on-record channels, for fear of looking like a complete crack-smoking mental indigent. And while I’m dumping my trunk of insecurities out for all to see, I can only imagine how MY particular CIA background check would go:

Agent Smith: “Hmm, let’s see… she lives in Los Angles (chuckles) …of course she does, land of the fruits and nuts… she never graduated college, was a political activist – oh, look, she’s a gay rights activist, too — of course she is — was a rock star, did some acting, works as a…Psychic Radio and TV Host (still chuckling) and…what is this… Film Director? What, is she also a Ballerina and a Fireman? HA HA HA!! Hey, Ted, file this one under ‘That One Lady’, right between ‘Swear They’re Elvis’ and ‘Sightings of Joan Rivers’ Real Face’.”

Yeah. 

Hey man, I may work in La La Land, but I can’t help that I pick up the OffWorlders Network. Don’t be haters, CIA. – Sheesh, for all I know, they wouldn’t be. I’m just afraid they WOULD be, and this information is too important to have them poo-poo  just because I live down the street from Lindsay Lohan. This entire situation is living proof that God has a huge sense of humor!

So – I’m taking a middle ground on all this, and you’re it. Since I can’t seem to bring the nerve up to follow-up my completely-ignored (and probably rightfully so) cold-call hinty-email to the CIA, or to even drop Obama a line even though he asked us to – I will post what I know…right here. That way, all the good folks who read my blog can roll their eyes if they wish, and the CIA can someday find this document online using their web crawlers, and the info will get to them, without ME having to get to them. Although, I will say – my bucket list contains a desire to be able to consult on a team that works with this OffWorld technology and culture. There is a lot of really amazing real-time stuff that is always going on with these OffWorlders that I’m, for whatever reason, picking up, on “The Network”, that would be so useful to us, as a society and a nation.

Here we go – I give you Part One of many to come – Propulsion and Craft:      

Seeing as that I’m not on the Secretary of State’s “first call” list when it comes to our government’s dealing with our OffWorld friends ;), I’ve done a respectful amount of “Psychic snooping” to see what we – and they – are up to, together. As such, I do know that our government, moreover, our Military, has a pretty decent handle on attempting to reverse engineer some of the OffWorlder technology, but they are stumped at a particular level of how to get some of this stuff to “work”, and don’t even get me started on the blatant lack of information our world governments – not just our own –are missing regarding a proper way to communicate with these Entities. (That’s just kind of embarrassing.)

Now, as inane as this sounds, these OffWorlders actually chatter on and on about routine working in their own craft, like pilots chatting at the control tower. And, seeing as that, for whatever reason, I’m “wired” to pick many of these races up, it’s like eves dropping on two truckers killing time chatting about their rigs across a CB.  As such, you get a chance to hear about all sorts of stuff that isn’t working properly, within these craft. And, if you’re like me, you go all “Discovery Channel”, and begin to piece things together about how it all works. I geek out on this stuff.

For instance: Did you know that in one-man drone craft belonging to the Greys, the power source (much like our gas tank) involves a spinning “wad” of liquid mostly-metallic substance that, because of the INSANELY fast rotation of this wad in the center of the craft, acts as a “mini earth’s core”, while the hull of this ship spins against the rotation of this spinning metal core, creating what I’ve termed a “zero buoyancy” between the craft, and the earth’s gravitational field? It’s true – these craft have this liquidy-metal stuff that’s WAY lighter than Mercury, and if it’s going clockwise, and the hull is going counter clockwise, the effect is a “mini atmosphere” created around the ship, like the earth spinning in space. It’s somewhat like a pressurized mini sub in the ocean, which appears to “float” underwater because the sub, filled with air, can rest within the resistance and pressure of the water. As such, these craft can “float” using the resistance of our atmosphere (and our gravitational spin) against their own “mini atmosphere” that they created around the ship using this spinny-liquidy-metal core and a conversely spinning hull. They can control how much “resistance” they create against our atmosphere to control their speed, and altitude. They can create a zero-buoyancy that reduces aerodynamic “drag” to nothing, and shoot away like a bullet, because they aren’t relying on our atmosphere to create vacuum and drag to fly, like an airplane. Their ship itself has created its own atmosphere – so they are literally floating, in our atmosphere, with speed, like a gyroscope.

This is why people report “silent” craft. A balloon, floating in the air, doesn’t make noise. Neither do these craft, from the ground. If you get up close to one, you will hear a low-grade humming, but that’s from the spin. But you have to be very close to one.

Also, the “lights” some people see on these craft – not the lights that are solid and stationary, but the lights that sort of swim, and change colors – the reason THAT is happening is because you have to remember, these craft have created their own “mini atmospheres” around themselves, to create this zero-buoyancy in our atmosphere. When the extremely minimal amount of friction happens between their “atmosphere”, and ours, it can create a static charge, and sometimes, creates something that’s much akin to the northern lights, as the sun’s energy skims across out outer atmosphere in space. Only on this case, the “lights” are the static EMF charge skimming between their ships’ “atmosphere” and ours. Again, think Northern lights wrapped around the middle of a spinning object.

The reason I even know about this “Northern Lights” effect is because one of the Greys was basically “bitching” about how the static charge was affecting some property in the liquidy-metal stuff and making it work in a less efficient way. The other craft responded by saying that it couldn’t be helped because of the solar flares, so to just deal with it, basically. I mean, this race doesn’t exactly “speak” in that type of vernacular – they are a lot less expressive and emotional about it – but that’s the jist of the conversation.

I also learned that if both this spinning liquidy-metallic stuff, and outer hull, get to spinning like mad within in the vacuum of the atmosphere the craft has created around itself, the craft can then also act as an enormous supercharged electromagnet, and if it’s in the right place, globally, bend space by tapping access points in the earth’s own Electomagnetic field. Why bed space, you may ask? Well, according to these guys, it’s like a shortcut – a tunnel between “A” and “B”. There are a LOT of portal jump-points throughout the globe, and these guys have been using them forever. For instance, think about the Bermuda Triangle, and how pilots talk about going through mysterious electrified tunnels in the clouds, and suddenly ending up hundreds of miles closer than they should be to their destination, for the limited time they have been on the air. Somehow, these pilots “jump space” much like these craft do, only our OffWorld friends have a much better command on what’s going on, and how to use these doorways, and have craft that will work better through these “A” to “B” tunnels (that appear to be what we would call “interdimensional”). Basically, they are like mini-wormholes that can be accessed and activated by ENORMOUS amounts of gravitational and magnetic pressure.

Also, our OffWorld friends can increase the gravitational well around these craft just enough to bend space just enough not to open a full-on tunnel portal, but to bend light, and when they bend light, it makes them appear to “disappear”. Well, they are still there, but we can’t see them because of the way they’ve bent light around themselves.  (See, this is the stuff I’d love to sit in and explain to a science team, who could actually build and replicate something like this). 

Our radar won’t even pick them up, even though they are there, because the radar is looking for a mass that will deflect the signal back to the source. If you bend light, you bend space, and deflect a radar signal around the bend. What our radar techs needs to be doing is using a high-oscillation rate “sonar” in mid air (I have all sorts of tonal schematics on the type of sonar that would work) , not radar, because though the “sonar” won’t bounce off of the refracted space surface, but will skim it, and spin off of it, creating a static once the tone glances across the bent space. Triangulate the sonar receivers to a satellite, and BINGO, you’ll find these craft sitting right in front of you, but you’ll never see them. You’ll “hear” the rough patch in the air, where they are located.

I love the idea of a sonar, mid-air. That was something that I actually came up with while riding a passenger plane across the Mojave, and realizing that we, by far, were not the only things up on the air. In addition to being “the OffWorld Whisperer” (heh ;)), I do have an acoustic sciences background in “real life”, thank you. I did pay attention in my science classes, and I know how sound travels, and is disturbed, by EMF fields. Geez, anybody knows that – when solar flares are really bad, the FM radio crackles and pops as the sun’s EMF hits the earth and rattles our atmosphere — ergo, rattling those FM waves.

Do I know what that liquidy-metal stuff is? No. I do know what it looks like – imagine melting down a CD, if it could keep its metallic properties. It has that “rainbow shimmer” that a CD has, and is a very light bluish-silver beneath the rainbowy sheen. It gets really, really hot, but these craft are sort of shaped like a donut, and where the hole would be is this liquidy stuff, spinning, and the heat is thrown out the top and bottom of the craft, out the “donut hole”, which also makes the bottom center of the craft, from out point of view, to appear to “glow like a big solid white blue light”. In fact, the Long Beach Police even have infrared video from their chopper of something over the Long Beach Harbor, a glowing light dumping molten looking clumps from the bottom of the craft into the ocean. I saw this clip on “Fact or Faked”, and they couldn’t de-bunk the phenomenon, nor could the Long Beach Police, who took the footage. I sat in amazement watching this on TV, realizing that something had gone terribly wrong with the propulsion system, and the OffWorlders were dumping the liquidy-metal stuff rather than have it result in an equivalent of a “melt down”, though this technology isn’t nuclear. The craft hovered and dumped crud into the ocean for more than three minutes. Of course, if we dove for the stuff, it would be hard to find – it looks like though it has a metal base, it has a tendency to dissipate in water, though some of it may cool into smaller chunks, which divers may mistake for rocks on the bottom. The video below is an edited one of the original 3:45 min video — you can find that one on YouTube, if you want to watch an OffWorld craft “sputter oil”, so to speak, for three minutes.


This liquidy stuff is pretty wicked nifty. I wish I knew what it was. Our OffWorld friends can direct the properties of this stuff, and that’s where you get the “beam” that comes out of the bottom of the craft, with which many abductess have reported being “lifted” into the craft. The “beam” is, in essence, not a beam at all, but an extension of the ships’  “atmosphere” that is at a zero-buoyancy point already – so anything that comes within that field will float, just like the ship will. They can “direct” this “beam”, or rather, force it down below the craft, by increasing the spinning of liquidy-metal but not increasing the spinning of the hull, sort of getting a “splatter” effect from centrifugal force of the liquidy-metal’s mass.

I’ll stop here for now, as this may be getting just a touch technical and dry for many. I’ll write later about the different craft, which species has which types, their communication styles – I’ll get it all out here, on the blog. I understand that OffWorlders aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. But they are our Galactic family, and we have a lot to learn from them. So if you’re now deciding that I’m “That One Lady” right about now, I apologize.

Pardon me, while I retire off to my airstream trailer  ;).

Posted in UFOs / OffWorlders | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

‘Missing Peace’ — Score 1 For The Good Guys

Posted on April 12, 2011 by danielleegnew

If we’re lucky, we get a chance in this lifetime to make a difference. I believe we are given this chance time and time again, yet we sometimes hesitate on taking it. I’m proud to say that I have been given an enormous opportunity to make a difference in many respects throughout my lifetime, and most recently, I have been blessed to have been part of an amazing team of people who truly CARE about not only one another, but the clients we work with – The Missing Peace Team, where a group of veteran law enforcement officers and a group of vetted Psychics come together to bring closure to cold cases, and the families attached to them.

It just so happens that Missing Peace is also a TV show (www.MissingPeaceTeam.com). They are deciding right now on which network to place it with. In the meantime, you can watch it right now, online, below. I give you my debut episode on Missing Peace – it’s actually episode 2, and I was a guest star, until I was graciously extended an invitation by the entire team to be a permanent cast member, after the shoot. I am honored, and I am humbled by such a tremendous responsibility, and dynamic opportunity, to bring healing to so many people, as one third of a three-person Psychic team that is out of this world. So please watch, and enjoy, Missing Peace: The Norma Lopez Case.  May blessing, peace, and comfort always be with the Lopez family.

Posted in Spirituality in Media | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

When Dreams Become Predictions, or – Is It Just a Scrap of Cheese?

Posted on April 7, 2011 by danielleegnew

[Author’s note: I wrote this piece in Word on April 4th, and made the decision to wait a few days to post this here.]

I had a dream last night (night of April 3rd) that I felt was a tad auspicious, and a bit worth noting. It could be nothing – a spec of cheese, to quote Ebenezer Scrooge – or perhaps I’m watching too much SyFy Channel… but typically, when I have a dream of this nature, there tends to be more “to it”.  So this is what came through:

I was driving, and I pulled off of a rather rural looking freeway in a hilly area, stopping for a rest at a slight overlook in a valley at what looked like a two story motor inn. The Inn had with wooden storm shutters and was a bit ratty – sun-bleached paint, etc, and it was surrounded by a small, outback convenience-type store with a gas pump. The low rolling hills surrounding the area were covered in rolling grass, and dirt and rocks, and looked rather dry and desolate – much like something you’d see in Eastern Montana, or the Dakotas, or even down here in California, going east, but this place didn’t feel to be any of those locations.

A low, thick cloud ceiling hung over the hills, casting a grayness to the ground. It looked to have been in the evening at some time, around maybe 5-6pm ish. It had the feeling of spring / early summer, and that it was gearing up to rain. It was warm out, and humid.

A small roadside crowd started to gather in the parking lot, pointing and looking out over the hills. Behind the hills, a large column of fire was erupting into the air, over and over again. I asked a guy next to me what was going on, and he said that there was a “plant” over the hill (that looked to be, maybe, a couple of miles away, judging by the enormous plume in the air) and that the plant had “blown”. I was making an assumption that it was a natural gas geyser that had lit on fire, exploding high into the air, and raging in an enormous belching and stuttering fire column. The guy was decent enough, a head full of blondish brown hair with a slight wave, wearing an outdoorsmen’s vest over a canvass shirt, sort of a traditional square jaw – very LL Bean-meets-a-geologist looking, actually.

People were pulling off the side of the road to watch this incredible display, which was gaining in volume and height. Then, the fire column stopped. The crowd in the parking lot all began to disperse, as people do, milling amongst themselves, and I got to talking with this man about the plant, the area – just light conversation you’d make with a stranger. He had told me that the plant had had problems for awhile, and now, they wouldn’t contain it. He never told me what “it” was.

Suddenly, without any noise, this MASSIVE white column of smoke erupted where the fire geyser was, and continued climbing upward – my stomach sank as I watched this thing, and it was HUGE, towering above us, even half a mile away. An echo of a “boom” finally caught up to us, as I watched the top of the column billow out into a mushroom, and I realized this enormous cloud looked just like a nuclear burst. I began shouting to everyone to get inside. (Now, I realize that being “in the house” after a nuclear explosion won’t make much difference, but the point was that in a crisis, we, as a species, apparently, want to keep our head covered.)

Anyway – my point of going inside was to beat the impending shock wave by getting inside the hotel structure, and maybe crawling underneath something that would prevent me from getting swept away by the shock wave half a mile away, traveling fast, that had not yet reached us in the several seconds we were watching the plume.

I no more got in the structure than this shockwave tore into the roadside motel, sweeping part of it away like an enormous broom and blowing the building apart. I was in a small room like a utility closet, listening to the cracking, snapping, and moaning of a building being torn apart, clamoring under an old stored teacher’s desk made of metal, from the 60’s, that had been shoved against a wall. The whole motel structure groaned and cracked as it was collapsing on itself, like it was made of balsa wood, being moved off it’s foundations and twisted apart in the shockwave. You could hear the shockwave wind roaring past the building as it wretched it around, like a thousand angry dragons.

The rumbling superheated wind finally blew past, and I crawled out of this wreckage, and turned into a woman who had had a child with her – I was suddenly calling out for my daughter, who had been separated from me in the blast. (The child was found, and I returned to being myself.) I found the guy in the twisted carnage of the “inside” of the motel, the same one that I ran into the motel with, and he, too, was covered in dust, but was okay. We decided to go outside to survey the wreckage.

As we stepped outside, the entire parking lot was dark, being “snowed on” with what looked like fine ash flakes. You could barely see ten feet in front of you as this light, fine ash poured silently from the sky. The ground had been burned clean and structures were twisted up like toys, with this fine, grey-white floating ash raining down on everything, covering it up to eight inches just in the moments after the blast. I pulled up the turtle neck I was wearing, and covered my nose and mouth, because I didn’t want to breathe in any of this radioactive ash – again, like “breathing through a turtle neck” helps, but hey, it’s a survival instinct – and I also had an awareness that whatever this ash was, it would rip up my lungs. I was blinking furiously as it was so fine that it kept getting in my eyes, and it burned. I was looking for my car, to leave, but all the cars in the lot had been twisted up, and looked like they had been scorched inside of a blast furnace.

That‘s when I woke up.

Now, here’s what I found most odd about this dream: The giant plume cloud that was reaching toward the sky was white, not full of fire, like a nuclear explosion – yet it had the immense power to mushroom at the top. The shock wave that hit the structure did not have the double-push-pull effect of a nuclear blast, which will mow over a target, and then immediately, re-mow over the target as the energy is sucked backwards, back up into the mushroom cloud. This was one HUGE enormous blast wave, containing great heat, only traveling away from the source of the explosion. And, upon going outside of the ruined structure, it was raining ash – the same kind of ash that covered the Northwest countryside after Mount St. Helens blew wide open, and I had an acute awareness not to breathe it in, or it would cut up my lungs – which is exactly what volcano ash will do, as it is, literally, floating shards of volcanic glass.

The plume and she shockwave had to have come from a volcano, or some absolutely enormous geothermal source. But why my preoccupation with nuclear fallout in the ash? Why did I see the explosion as nuclear

As I laid in my bed, wondering what he heck I had to eat the night before – I realized that I was looking at two events, that my subconscious had woven into one – a devastating geothermal explosion followed by a wickedly destructive myoplastic blast cloud filled with ash, all containing some sort of nuclear radiation poisoning. Was the plant in my dream, the one that was over the hill, a nuclear plant that was far too close to this geothermal explosion? Was this failing plant’s nuclear poisons blown clear into the air through the force of this volcano, or whatever it was, bursting right next to it?

In any case, it was bad news, because this radioactive ash was falling all over everything, and would continue falling as this huge cloud traveled along the earth.

I thought I would share this, as though I can’t pinpoint a timeframe, I can tell you that usually, when I have disaster dreams, the craziness is not that far out into the distant future. I used to dream about plane crashes two to three days before I would see them on the news. I dreamed about two trains colliding, and the location they exploded together, four weeks before I happened upon the disaster scene. However, my timeline for major events like this is a little different – I dreamed about the first war in Iraq, Desert Storm, when I was 17, and we didn’t go to war until I was 22, five years later. So who is to say. Yet the feeling around this dream was rather present.

I wish that I had some sort of land markers, to see where this was taking place. Regrettably, I do have an idea, though. I could surmise that this would take place in Japan, since they are sitting on the ring of fire with all sorts of volcanic activity – 108 active volcanoes in Japan, 30 of which are remarkably active, with an average of 15 volcanic events also including eruptions in a year. I Googled “Volcanic Activity Japan 2011”, and found a chart of active volcanoes. It was sobering to realize that a startling number of these active volcanoes are within very a short distance from the failing Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant.

I will say that the people in the parking lot looked western – perhaps that’s simply because a cloud of that nature would most certainly make it over to our West Coast? Perhaps that was the analogy of watching the silent explosion, from such a distance, before the faint echoed “boom” caught up to the motel.

Just make sure that you have a turtle neck handy, because apparently – it protects a person from 1) Radiation, and 2) Volcanic ash.

Who knew.

Posted in World Prophecies / 2012 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Don’t Let Go of ‘The Hope Rope’

Posted on April 4, 2011 by danielleegnew

 Hope is not a campaign phrase. It is not the fluff in a bedtime pillow. It is not a myth. It’s an energy signature that obliterates Darkness and locks the hatch on despair. Hope is not the light at the end of the tunnel – it’s the tunnel itself, leading us out of the prison we’ve built brick by brick from our own fear, mortared by our own self-imposed limitation.

I’ve noticed that since the doctrine of “Hope and Change” appeared across every TV screen in the known world back in 2008, a vast number of people have burned out on, and then shelved, this very important energy signature. Thanks to our pop culture’s ability to grind anything into a dead horse, “hope” went the way of “extreme” —  just another over-used word for a nation that is “over it”.

The problem with our love-hate relationship with catchy concepts is that Hope, unlike “extreme”, is not simply an adjective used in flashy packaging – yet we’ve deemed it as such, now rolling our eyes whenever the word is used as if someone is trying to resurrect “Where’s the BEEF?”  We’ve forgotten that before Hope earmarked a generation in a political campaign – it held great meaning.

Now, as the United States creaks and moans beneath the spiritual weight of these changing times, something that was absolutely bound to happen no matter who was captaining the ship in Washington, poor Hope has lost its credibility. We have forgotten the very meaning of such a powerful energy signature, and have deemed it a pipe dream. We have taken out our own fears of what we will never get back, as a nation, on the same word that once brought us together, to great action.

Hope is not a liar.   

Hope is the fuel that ignites us, and propels us into our own unexplored possibility. It is the dream builder, the encourager — our own secret cheering section. Hope slams the door when Darkness slips its fingers through the crack in the jam, widening the doorway to our own doubt. To wrap Hope in a “disappointment costume” is a trick of the Dark, with Darkness betting that we will take the bait. Darkness relies on our moments of fear and sadness in order to use our own pain as a cloak. This cloak is then tossed over the energies in our lives that we know work for us, in order to convince us that we no longer recognize our own familiar path.

If you find yourself losing Hope, ask yourself: “Is it really as bad as it feels?” This is very important, because how we feel is not always accurate. For instance, I can feel nauseated and dizzy from eating bad chicken, but that doesn’t mean the world is actually spinning. I can feel like “it’s all coming to an end”, but the planet is still going to rotate at 1,038 miles an hour (at least at the equator), which means that the sun will rise again and a new day will be had. Our feelings are valid, but like anything in life, are most accurate when tempered with a decent amount of perspective.

Hope is a funny thing, because without it, we have no motivation to continue onward through difficult times. You can see why Hope is a valuable target marked for destruction by Darkness. Think of Hope like a supply convoy heading up into the outback of Alaska, carrying season-breaking medical supplies and food. (Okay, maybe I watch “Ice Road Truckers”.) Darkness knows that if It can just take out the “lifeline” that the convoy provides, the people in the outback Alaska towns will be stranded without the necessary items to survive the long winter. And, they will likely turn on one another for supplies, before perishing in the elements. If Darkness is able to torpedo our Hope, then we will be so distracted as to cut ourselves off from our Parent Creator. We will then turn on one another seeking that Light, until we waste away in our own illusion of separation from Source. I say “illusion” because we are never actually separated from The Universe, but we are absolutely allowed to believe we that are, if that’s what we wish to experience. One way to experience the isolation of “separation” is by losing Hope.

Remember, Darkness can’t take us over, head on, because we are creatures of Light, and the Light, from a Spiritual Physics perspective, is far more dense than Dark. Darkness doesn’t stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat with us, so to speak, so it must pick away at us from the shadows in a way that we will not notice until we believe that it is we, not Darkness, that is the source of our misery. As long as we are distracted by our feelings, we lack the desire to seek perspective. Darkness, being the perfect predator, knows this about the human species, and in fact, banks on our strange addiction to drama and all-things-painful, in order to enact most of Its dirty work. Yet ponder that last sentence – Darkness banks on US to do ITS work. Welcome to the modality of the Ultimate Predator.

As a species, we often times confuse the purpose of Hope energy. In order to Hope, we find ourselves wanting to first feel safe enough to do so — so that we are not disappointed by the outcome later. We want to be able to observe hard, cold facts that support our wishes, so that we feel confident in having Hope. However, the hard, cold facts – the proof that we seek in order to trust ourselves to have faith – has nothing to do with Hope. The facts have to do with outcome.

Hope has to do with navigating the journey.

Okay, this is getting a little abstract, so let me draw this back together: If you have all the facts, you don’t need Hope. The purpose of Hope is to keep our “eye on the prize”, so to speak, to continue focusing that “manifesting energy” into the universe in order to help us get through the rocky spots in life, so that through the Like-Attracts-Like spiritual Physics of our existence, we will bring to us what we HOPE for. Think of Hope like a guide rope, from one building to the next. As long as you are walking on the sidewalk, with your hand on the rope, you won’t lose your way, because the rope is tied firmly from one place to the other.

Which brings me to what I like to call “The Hope Rope”, an analogy for the supportive energy that The Universe provides us with. When we are in duress, The Universe hears our petitions, thoughts, and prayers, and though we are physically unable to see it, The Universe tosses us a rope. Think of this Hope Rope as coming through a vortex that opens up into our future. On the vortex end, the Hope Rope is tied firmly to the “destination” of our Hope, wish, or prayer. Our job is to tie our loose end of the Hope Rope that we’ve just been tossed to the very spot where we are at in our life. This will anchor the rope in not only the future, but the present, because in order for the energy of  Hope to work, it must have two anchor points: Where we are, and where we wish to be. Now that the Hope Rope has been tied to our current location, we can grab a hold and follow it into the future, even if we are not sure where it is leading us.  Just like a guide line between buildings, The Hope Rope is attached to where you once were, and will securely take you to the point that The Universe has tied for you, in the future.

Sometimes, while we are making our journey along The Hope Rope, it takes much longer than we anticipated for us to reach the destination that The Universe has anchored. We begin to second guess whether or not The Universe knew what It was doing when it tied off it’s end. We begin to wonder, since we’ve been wandering for so long, holding onto the rope, if indeed, we are going in the right direction. Often times, when this worry prevails, we let go of The Hope Rope – and BAM, the rope, which has been targeted by Darkness since we tied off our end, is torpedoed — snapping mid-journey — and we are stuck somewhere completely unfamiliar, in a neighborhood that we’ve never been to, surrounded by people we don’t know. We frantically Google our location on our smart phone, because now, with our Hope Rope snapped — we are well and truly lost.

Welcome to the low-rent, high-crime spiritual subdivision called Lost Faith, population 6,000,000,000.         

Of course, we are so busy panicking that we are left standing in a strange neighborhood so very far from the comfort of our own life, that instead of taking a moment to scour the street to find The Universe’s end of the rope, so we may continue our journey – we just freak out, like a lost four year old in a shopping mall. Rather than shaking our fist at Darkness, who sent the torpedo in the first place, we curse The Universe for leading us astray and abandoning us. Naturally, in all this, we take absolutely no responsibility for letting go of the Hope Rope in the first place. Instead, we continue to shake our fist at The Universe while carrying on a one-sided conversation with ourselves about how we should never have “trusted that something would come of it in the first place”.  By the time our schizophrenic-adjacent muttering-and-pacing kicks in, we are so spun out and insane over the thought that we are now lost. We chastise ourselves because we trusted The Universe to take us somewhere that we’ve never been, in order to get us to where we need to be. We completely forget that we willingly went on the journey in the first place.

This is where Darkness strikes the death blow. It waits until we are worked into a four-year-old lather, pacing up and down alleys in this unfamiliar neighborhood, sputtering under our breath to ourselves about how we can’t get any cell signal in this Nowhere Place and how stupid we were to go on the journey in the first place. It follows us and waits until we have twisted and turned so far off of our path that no one will hear us scream as It traps us at the end of a dead end, and torments us with our own insecurities about trusting ourselves.

We, not Darkness, have just created, and allowed ourselves to be trapped in, our own worst hell: The notion that we have been abandoned while blindly trusting our Parent Creator to get us safely to our destination. At least, that is how it FEELS. However, we’ve learned that feelings aren’t always reliable, and with a little perspective, we are able to see how this all really came to play out:

Because of our loss in faith regarding The Universe’s ability to anchor us in the future to the destination that is best for us, we panicked and let go of The Hope Rope, mid journey. We could have, at any time, taken a few seconds to calm down, reach out, and find the rope. Or, look around the street and find the frayed end, after Darkness broke the rope. We could have tied that rope to our current location, and continued onward, because as long as the energy of Hope has two anchors, it can fulfill its function. Instead, we bought the Illusion that we were suddenly separated from our Parent Creator, and we strayed farther and farther from the last known location of the snapping rope, until we got lost down twisted dark alleyways. Like a true predator, Darkness only stands a chance with us if we are separated from the pack.

If you are feeling like you have lost the grip on your Hope Rope, reach out and feel around, to see if it still there. Chances are, it is right where you left it before you were hit with a wave of doubt about the journey that you are on. If you can’t find it, don’t panic. Perhaps Darkness had time to torpedo the rope. Just look around under some refuse in the street called “doubt” and “fear”, find the rope, and make a decision to tie it to your new location — even if it is halfway through your journey. I promise you that The Universe did not give up on Its end. The Universe did not give up on you. Your Parent Creator will never give up on you, or your journey, as long or tumultuous as it may seem.

If you’ve looked everywhere  — under every corner of your own doubt — and you can’t find the snapped end of the rope, just call for another line to be thrown to you. The Universe, who threw you the first line, will throw you another. Start fresh, tie your anchor point down in the midst of the strange neighborhood, and continue on in your journey. Sometimes, the very act of The Universe tossing us a second Hope Rope is enough to get us through. The key to success is believing in the process – believing that the Hope Rope is indeed – tied to your perfect destination.  Without belief, Hope is nothing.

Some may be finding that no matter what they do, they are lost down alleyways and incapable of believing that a Hope Rope is possible. If you find yourself in this situation, let me offer you a little perspective, to offset how you are feeling. Though your life may seem bleak, and though all of your best efforts may seem like they have net you nothing, this is truly only an illusion. True, overdue rent is not an illusion, and neither is divorce, or custody loss, or the death of a loved one, or the termination of a job. Those items are real. The feeling that “nothing else greater will ever come along”, however, is not a real outcome, although it feels “real” in the moment. The illusion is that you are forgotten, and that there is nothing greater. You are never forgotten, even if halfway through the journey, you are lost in unfamiliar territory.

We are not guaranteed a bump-less ride in life. But we are given many, many energetic tools to help us navigate through the rough patches. Hope is an enormous energetic tool, a lifeline to our next greatest destination. Never lose faith in an energetic system that is eons older than we are, as a species. Hope is our guide line. Faith is the knowledge that we can catch The Hope Rope when it is thrown to us. Belief is the fuel that keeps our hand on the rope, even if we don’t know to what or where it is attached in our future – even if we don’t understand why it has been strung through some of the challenging places that we must travel. The energy of Hope is a wink from our Parent Creator. It was firmly in place, and working with gusto, long before the 2008 Presidential election.

Now. Don’t even get me started on the energetic properties of “change”.

Posted in Life Path | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments