My spirit guides told me in the way they often do (with words and pictures in my mind) that the music coming through was the Language of Light. They also gave me instructions of what to do with it. I scratched my head. My mind couldn’t make sense of it. Short of banging a frying pan on my thick skull, they tried many times to help me understand. But it all sounded like gobbledy-gook.
I had no reference point.
But when I found Jamye Price on YouTube I finally began to understand.
Since then, I’ve had friends and clients come lie under the piano who’ve had powerful experiences, awakenings, inspirations, and downloads. They felt like they released a ton of baggage and emotional gunk effortlessly, sank into themselves on very deep levels, had exquisite visions, and were shown their Soul’s path in ways they didn’t know before.
When someone complimented her, she’d say, “Oh it’s nothing.”
When someone appreciated her, she’d say, “You’d do the same.”
When opportunities rose right in front of her nose, her mind swirled with “I’m not good enough” and the opportunity would pass to someone else. But she always wondered, “What would have happened if I had reached out and taken it?”
She was afraid to speak about her gifts, especially the ones that made her look different.
She was afraid to stick out in the crowd. She’d felt different her whole life.
Cindy was a psychic.
It’s a good thing in certain areas of your life. Sure you don’t want to brag or be arrogant.
But it’s not so good in others especially if you’re an intuitive, creative, empath, or spiritual. You know, the areas which aren’t so mainstream.
Its important — essential — for women to be proud. And yes, even loud about your gifts. Otherwise who will know about them? Who will receive your unique specialness?
So only a handful of close friends and family knew about Cindy’s psychic abilities even though, inside, she felt how profound, powerful, and beautiful they were.
I can relate to Cindy. I grew up in India where, as a woman, I was conditioned not to take the limelight, take up space, or glow with pride about my accomplishments.
Turns out it’s not just Indian women. I see women from all countries struggle with the same issue. They don’t talk about their gifts.
What about you? Are you too humble?
What you lose out on when you’re too humble.
♥ You don’t get to be seen, heard, and known for who you are. (Do you long for that?)
♥ You don’t get to take up space .
♥ You don’t get to feel the wonderful satisfaction of offering and sharing who you are and what’s coming through you to others.
♥ You don’t get to be all of you. Out loud. Out proud.
And you know what? ♥ We lose you. The world loses out when you’re too humble.
♥ And… in my work with people I’ve seen so many heal from depression, anxiety, cancer, and other mental and physical health issues when they begin to express and step into their gifts. Your Soul Purpose is essential for your whole health.
So what do you say? Take a chance.
Acknowledge, own, and claim how kind, generous, compassionate, creative, talented, and _______ you are.
In fact, get a piece of paper and write 10 wonderful things about you and 10 of your gifts.
Then, tell someone.
You could even try this as a fun thing to do with a friend.
When I got Lyme Disease, I knew it was about my third chakra — I needed to come into my power.
When, as an Indian woman, I’d grown up to believe power was pretty much the domain of men. Ugh.
So I had to un-think, un-believe, and un-learn all my family and cultural messaging. Decide what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to throw out. Phew. That took a good while. And there’s more I’m clearing out.
And… open to, affirm, and live from new perspectives and beliefs about being in my power as a woman.
(We’re never done evolving, are we?)
The wonderful gift of it all is that it led me to my Soul Purpose: to help other women come into their Power and Truth.
So this leads me to You…
Are You dealing with a fifth chakra disease?
If you are, then you might want to consider whether part of your medicine might be to find your voice and speak your truth.
What’s a fifth chakra disease, you ask?
Well, fifth chakra diseases are those related to:
voice loss or stammering
speech and speaking issues
teeth and gums
Frequent colds and coughs
Emotional fifth chakra issues are:
self-esteem and confidence
you find it hard to speak your truth and express yourself
people pleasing and co-dependence in your relationships
you find it hard to be yourself around people and have some social anxiety
hard to take up space
dishonesty and reduced integrity
struggle to be authentic
fear of public speaking
So, if you’re dealing with a fifth chakra disease, some medicine for you might well be to find your voice and speak your truth.
Which is common to most women on the planet at this time.
Even though everyone and everything around me clamors to be big, says we are big, need to be big, I shy away from those messages and seek to be small. Everyone says the way to be, live, and succeed is to be big, bold, and beautiful and although I know I am that, I don’t want to wave it about just as I don’t hang a flag from my roof to make a statement that I’m proud of my country.
For being big, bold, and beautiful is a private matter. It is something I just know. It lives inside me. I don’t need to trumpet it with a blowhorn.
Besides, when I am small I’m close to the ground and can walk with snails and turtles.
When I’m small I can look up at trees and visit with their smiling green spirits.
When I’m small I can pause to hear the voices of stars.
But mainly, when I’m small I can let go of my gargantuan ego and pride.
And it is then that She invites me to Her castle of Grace. And I can enter, humble, small, close to the ground in my tattered rags of pride and fear and shame.
I enter here small.
I can only enter small.
As I step over the threshold, the golden wood floors warm my bare soles. The tall ceilings and wide rooms are painted the color of love. My eyes are starry with wonder. That each tapestry, each rug, each chair and table and couch has been chosen and placed by Her. Jasmine, gardenia, and frangipani are everywhere, nodding their poetry. Come. Come hither, they say, for I am timid and disbelieving and wondering why I am here. I bury my nose in their openness. Inhale their sweetness deep and long.
The love in the air makes me want to cry as I’ve cried a thousand times before yet it always seems like the first.
And I approach Her. She sits in a cloud of a blue gown on her golden throne, jeweled golden scepter in hand, regal as only a queen can be. Queen is not a title given to her by man, woman or anyone. But a quality she was born, rules, and loves with. I almost swoon with her Presence. Her chiseled face soft and strong. Her eyes speak a love that make me forget my name.
She has invited me here to give me everything. Everything my big-little ego desires.
But I cannot remember those desires that were so desperately vital yesterday. They seem like the rubbish I scrummaged through yesterday for scraps of food.
I cannot think before Her. I cannot speak. I can only bow. And look at her blue hemlines on the golden floor.
She has invited me here to give me everything I don’t even know I desire.
And then I remember. It has no words. It is only a feeling. I cup my hands to say, “Sweet Lady, fill me with You.”
Let me know You. Let me may adore You. Let me be with You with every breath, in every word, in every act.
Anything else is too painful. Everything else is too painful.
And I stand before Her, small, in tattered rags, my hands cupped and open. And receive Her.
That, you see, is why I like being small.
For only then do I really know what really matters. Only then do I know what is really true. Only then do I know Her.
I press my head against the white wall inside the wooden triangle, King Solomon’s triangle, just outside the blue and white healing rooms.
King Solomon, who’s shown me visions, guided me, lit me up with crystals.
Belly up, my body’s against white. Hips down against blue. Palms flat against the walnut wood triangle. Blue and white. The colors the Entities chose for the spiritual hospital in Brazil.
And not just any blue and white — they’re the colors of Mother Mary’s robes. Her blue. Sky blue on a hot summer day.
It’s my last day here. I press my forehead against the wall, close my eyes, and say goodbye. Thank the Entities for their beautiful work with me these two weeks, for their gifts, their messages, their healing, their love.
Always I receive more than my arms can carry. Always I receive more than I can imagine. Always the Sacred bends with immeasurable grace to touch me, shower me.Always my body, my heart, are cracked, split, melted open with love, with light.
To Love. To Light.
To truths revealed, as I shake with sobs, that my mind and ego haven’t wanted to see, haven’t wanted to know.
To my soul’s truth buried deep, a pearl in the folds of an oyster’s flesh.
I say goodbye. Thank the Entities with all my heart, from the bottom of my heart.
And still, even with my arms full, I ask greedily. For one more thing.
Please show me…
The next instant She is there.
Ruby-red thick, heavy satin robes draped more beautifully than any queen in any movie, studded and embroidered with jewels that stars would want for their eyes.
Red as the Sacred Heart. Red as blood. Red as life. Red as a vagina. Red, the sacred feminine.
She is majesty. She is grace. She is taller than the brick tile ceiling for, with my inner eye, I can see only her robes waist down from the roof.
It is Her. Mother Mary.
My heart bows.
She was there the first time I went to the Casa. She was everywhere. She was all I could see.
She has held and healed my little one, who found comfort and solace with her, who hid and played inside the folds of her blue and white robes.
She has cradled, rocked, mothered me into life. Her heart a simple, wide, open flower. Asking nothing. Giving all.
She has held the waters of Sacred to my dry lips, poured life and love into my parched mouth.
She has been with me since that first time, healing, guiding, teaching, showing me things my mind cannot believe, what I am to do, how to work with Her.
Always the questions. Me? A brown Indian woman? Born a Hindu? Who will listen to me? Who will believe me? How can I talk about You?
But she is different today from any other time I have seen her. She is magnificent, regal, statuesque.
She bends down from above the roof, her face more exquisite than any. Her eyes look into mine. She cups my chin in her palm.
“Daughter, I’m not just a shepherd girl. I am Queen of Heaven. This is who I am. People do not know me this way. You could not see me that way before. You needed me to be simple. For you could come to me as a child.
“But now you are ready. As a woman. This is how you will be in the world. This is how you will walk, stand, sit, eat, talk. This is how you will carry my work into the world.
And she looks at the basket that is my work. One by one, she sends rays of light to each blossom and shoot and seed, tipping all their colors with her blessings.
I cannot speak, so full am I with her majesty, her red regal robes, the radiance that is Her, her power so full of grace.
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