In my book, Notes on Hunger, I describe many experiences that happened to me in real-time as well as those from the dream world.
My pathway led me to connect with ancestors I never met in person.
One of these was my father’s mother, Isabella. There were moments during my childhood when she emerged from the dream world to help me. From my desk in Vermont in 2018, I look back and ask what those moments expected of me. Isabella died a few days after my birth in 1951. It was a stone that let me see into her. It’s hard to explain, but for me, stones are a window to truth.
When I hold a stone, I see what my intuition already knows, but it’s amplified and cleansed of distortion. Stone holds true. It doesn’t waver. It knows the law of the generations. Karma, if you will. Our kin show us what we are, who we are, by throwing our projections back into our hands. Like in a hall of mirrors in a carnival “fun house”, the mirrors my ancestors showed me could hide what I needed to know to break free and move forward. They could also reveal my true path. What was real? How could I tell?
They meant to test my mettle. I began to wonder about repetition of pattern, these patterns that seemed to come from previous generations on both sides of my family. What could be changed? In my experience, when an ancestor tossed the distortion of illusion into my hands the primary emotion I felt was of being trapped with no way out. That’s how I learned to tell the difference between reality and an illusion. What weighed me down without leading me forward? What illusions was I feeding on?
The feeling of being trapped with no way out was a clue. Stone always shows me what’s real. I slowly broke free of cycling dramas I got myself into when my father presented them to me as reality. If you want to know more about his please find a copy of my book, there is information there.