Photo by Pixabay
This is the final post in a series about my journey into the metaphysical world, starting with a ghostly image taken on the site of demolished train station, followed by a surreal encounter during an acupuncture appointment, and then learning to trust what is true. If you missed any of the previous posts, click on the links below.
And now, for the conclusion of this series…
In November 2021, my husband and I were celebrating the sale of our 30-year-old house. It sold quickly, easily, and for more than we could have imagined. We wanted to rent back the house through the holidays, and the new owner graciously agreed. This allowed my husband and I to spend one last Christmas in the house where we had raised our children. Our offspring, now adults, flew in from out of town.
After the new year, we planned to downsize to an updated condo in Iowa.
Why Iowa? It was a frequent question asked by others. Iowa City checked many of the boxes–vibrant college town with a small arts scene, lower cost of living, access to good health care, close to an airport, and friendly people. As my husband and I entered a new phase of life, it offered a simpler lifestyle.
The holiday season of 2021 was bittersweet. We said good-bye to friends and family, packed up boxes of photo albums, and enjoyed the company of our millennial sons and a significant other.
On December 30, 2021, just days before our move to Iowa, a firestorm swept through our town of Louisville, Colorado. We evacuated quickly, grabbing the boxes of photo albums that had already been packed for the move.
Even though our home was spared from the fire, our final days in Colorado were chaotic. When my plane touched down in Iowa, I felt raw and tender. It was a January evening in the Midwest and the temperature was in the single digits. As I approached the small airport, the darkness, punctuated with twinkling lights, was oddly comforting. Iowa was my refuge, the perfect place to rest.
Iowa was also a place to experience stillness. The solitude of long winter days provided a backdrop for being, rather than doing. I had no appetite for working with clients, with one exception. I enjoyed the energy of Akashic Records sessions, precisely because it asked nothing of me other than to just be. Sessions with clients felt healing, for me and for them. Rather than jumping back into a full work schedule, I started to think of myself as semi-retired.
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In March, I had a reading with a fellow Akashic Records practitioner, in which I was advised to “sit with my ancestors.” I had no clue what that meant, but I was willing to give it a try. The healing experience with my grandfather in the acupuncturist’s office came to mind. I also knew from working with clients that I could sense the details of stories from people who had passed over. These stories were the key to resolving anxieties and angst with the living.
Using the skills from the Akashic Records work, I collaborated with a family member to figure out a protocol for sitting with our ancestors. Together, we uncovered stories worthy of a book on our family history. But more importantly, we transformed old narratives of flawed (and sometimes annoying) human personalities into a deeper understanding of our ancestors’ humanity. We stumbled upon and dissolved familial patterns that no longer served us—beliefs around money and scarcity, blame as a go-to emotion, and taxing behaviors as a way of life. The healing of our ancestors became our healing and the healing of our descendants. We were healing a lineage.
Looking back, I can see how the visit by my other worldly grandfather in Jane’s office was the starting point and model for ancestral healing. Jane was my bridge between the living and the dead. Now, I am that bridge for my clients. The love, compassion, and forgiveness that I had for my grandfather led to a transformation for both of us. This showed me the key components of any ancestral healing session.
Photo by Pixabay
It has been nearly a year since I moved from Colorado to Iowa. Initially, the move was about downsizing a residence and simplifying my life. It has been so much more. The dramatic exit from one state to another was a crossing of a threshold. I left behind an old identity, steeped in the busyness of a dutiful daughter and a loving mother raising children and stepped into a new identity, immersed in the love and compassion of a sacred healer. The trauma that I experienced in the move was a gift. I needed to be broken open, so that I could experience life on its own terms, without resistance. Only then could I see the beauty all around me.
I am an explorer at heart. I am happiest when I can dive in, with both feet, learning through immersion. Ironically, “sitting with my ancestors” required me to be still. It asked me to listen deeply, to hear the quiet whispers. It invited me to have faith in the strength of invisible threads. Iowa became the place where I could slow down, to experience life and death in a new way.
The serenity of the farm across the street, viewed from the second story of my home office, is a reminder of this. Nature is all around and I feel at one with the rolling landscape. The seasons change every few months. And they are eternal in returning, year after year.
I started this series with a quote from Steve Jobs, about looking back and connecting the dots. This quote, from his widow, Laurine Powell Jobs, speaks to me now:
“I understand the gift of each day—the gift that is life. We are not promised life and then we don’t know how long it is. So I’m able to cherish it and be really clear about what is my highest and best use as long as I’m here. What good stuff can I do that would be useful and meaningful? That is the driving force in my life.”
The good stuff for me is this:
To heal the hearts of families–past, present and future
This is my soul’s divine purpose. My work in the world is a culmination of everything I have learned, taught and done in my lifetime thus far. It is my joy and passion.