A couple of months ago, I decided to open this box of magic, thinking, Oh, this old thing. What could possibly happen? And oh, magic. Isn't it fun?
This is the story of what changed, and made it (finally) possible for me to release The Flow Materials. It’s a story of reunion. A story with angels and weeping and, in the end, soup.
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Everything was on fire, every bush was burning. I didn’t want to miss anything before, eventually, I'd go back to being normal - grocery shopping, dinner parties, doctors' appointments. And then, two months ago, seven years after it began, I started to publish the Flow Journals.
At the end of last year, I started publishing the secret something I’d been hiding in my journals for seven years. (It was an open secret. Anyone who’d followed me back then had seen glimpses of this work. It leaked out of me all the time - illuminating everything I wrote and taught and said and did.)
Still, in my mind (and my heart) it was a great secret mystery box of magic that was too precious and terrifying to share.
This is the story of what changed, and made it (finally) possible for me to release The Flow Materials.
It’s a story of reunion. A story with angels and weeping and, in the end, soup.
(In my house, there is always soup in the end.)
On with the story…
Two months ago, something let go of me - a layer of invisible pressure, a weighted blanket, a heavy cloak I’d been carrying over my head like a ghost costume for years.
It let go and I found myself weightless.
Heaviness transformed to silk.
Pressure became butterfly wings.
Forgive the mixing of metaphors.
What I’m trying to illustrate is this:
That which had been heavy was now light.
I found myself diving upward, resurfacing:
a dolphin, moving toward air,
a submarine rising from the deep
after (years of) (important) underwater research.
You get the picture.
I was weightless.
I am sure this has something to do with the configuration of Neptune and Pluto and Saturn. I am sure this has something to do with Lisa Briggs, the soul-whispering therapist I consulted for an eating disorder.
“You don’t have an eating disorder,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
Then, I sobbed for 12 weeks.
When the weighted blanket let go of me.
I kept checking it was gone.
I kept looking at my hands,
wiggling my fingers and toes.
One day, I found myself dancing (barefoot) in the kitchen.
The next day, I danced again.
I was (suddenly) interested in ... everything
Also, I had this power. (And yes, of course, I’d always HAD this power - it’s just that now, it was moving.) (And yes, of course, it was ALWAYS moving - it’s just that now, when it moved, it didn’t … hurt.)
Moving power sometimes looks like sobbing. Sometimes looks like dancing. In me, it looked like laughing - wildly - during orgasms and news reports. It looked (well, it felt) like sand was sifting out of my body onto the floor beneath massage tables. In me, it looked, during a tremoring workshop, as if my body was a BIG wave in the ocean and it was moving itself the way that it wanted to move, oscillating up and down up and down for half an hour.
“You okay with this?” my teacher asked.
”Oh my god I love this!” I called from the ocean, my hips dolphining upward and downward, my head gently banging against the wall.
the release of effervescent joy which had been trapped beneath grief is what this looked like.
Anyway, one day, I had the thought to pull out those notebooks I’d started back in 2014 when my father was dying and the angels were talking to me. The notes which, since then, I’d typed up and printed out and read back to myself every year,
in wonder - and annoyance: This whole thing is just weird. Part magic and part what the hell?
I was still trying to understand, back then, how prayers work. I mean, who answers them? I mean, if God really does hear every single prayer then God cannot possibly be anything BUT a field of love and blessing, a field of response. And if God is a field, if God is response — less scary man in the sky and more like . . . nature, more like, everywhere, in everything—then God must be listening through every molecule of creation, to me. And if God is listening to everything, through everything, then God must be … answering… through everything.
So, yeah. This is what I was thinking about then
- and also, I was trying to figure out how tigers and teachers and songs were able to cross from my dreams into my waking life. Cuz this was happening. All the time. And it was freaking me out. Because no one - in all my years of growing up and moving, step by step, through grade school, high school, college, had EVER mentioned that anything like this could happen.
So… left to my own devices…
I was just trying to get it all down on paper. Just trying to be responsible for what I was seeing, what I was being given.
Everything was on fire, every bush was burning. I didn’t want to miss anything before, eventually, I'd go back to being normal - grocery shopping, dinner parties, doctors' appointments. And then, two months ago, seven years after it began, I started to publish the notebooks.
As usual, I completely misunderstood what I was doing - what would happen. I thought I was past all that magic and angel music. I honestly thought the guides were 'gone' and that I was operating on residual glitter. No, that’s not true. What I thought (knew) was that the guides had penetrated me to the bone. It’s not that I didn’t like, 'need' them anymore. It’s just that I felt - I believed - they were inside of me. And that our work together was complete. I figured they'd moved on to a more attentive human, someone more suited to stand on a stage and share their message with the world.
I was 'beyond all of that' - as if 'all of that' had been a game, a flight of fancy I once took for a while, playing with angels before graduating into some more adult activity.
(Obviously, this was a set up for a big reveal. Obviously, the more adult activity was at least part of the weighted blanket. But it was necessary. I did need the grounding. I did need the scholarship. I needed to understand what (the hell) was happening to me.)
I needed it because pretending I didn’t understand had (kind of) split me. (It splits all of us.) And I’d become two Amys. One under water. Dreaming, swimming imaginal currents all night. One above ground. Studying, paying bills - planning and building things.
Above ground, I established a way of being with clients and students and found a teaching and writing voice that feels stable and strong. Under Water, the swimming was informing and feeding all of it.
Under Water, my dreams were exploding with imagery. Above ground, the dreams wove into my teaching.
Then, one day last year, I was spiraling ‘round the my friend’s backyard labyrinth when a family of deer came up to watch me.
”Oh,” I said. “Hello.”
Under Water Amy sent a burst of love to the proud buck and felt him receive the silent greeting.
The male lowered his head, as if nodding to me - and Above Ground Amy could not pretend this hadn’t happened.
And so the two Amys began to walk toward one another. I began to understand what kind of animal I am: a hybrid. Part dolphin (sleek and wet, one long muscle of swimming joy), part deer whisperer, part research submarine, taking deep water soundings of the dream time.
The two Amys support one another.
Above-Ground-Amy makes order of the kitchen cabinets.
Under Water Amy hovers her hand over a basket of eggplant to find the one that’s most alive.
Above Ground Amy moves the garden from the back to the side of the house.
Under-Water-Amy asks the hedgehogs to leave the cucumbers alone.
Above-Water-Amy snaps photos for Instagram.
Under-Water-Amy walks in the forest, greeting the trees.
And they greet her back.
Eventually, two Amys become one - a smart, fleshy, fully feeling human being who is capable of cooking Turkey White Bean Kale soup while surrounded by celestials singing songs of love.
This is what's normal now. This is what has always been real.
This is what was needed. This is what was given. And all of it was good.
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I am so grateful that you’ve read this far - absolutely honored, actually.