Sitting looking out at the horizon with a feeling of amazement the woman was no longer alone. The beauty of this land had been hidden until this present moment. She wrapped the blanket closely around her; this had been her only protection for many lifetimes. It held within, all the remnants of her previous lives. At first glance it was a beautiful array of colours, showing a grand tapestry of stories. The woman had begun the tapestry at an early age, it was her life w stories and experiences at she traveled through time.
The colours remained brilliant, with a slight fading at the centre if you looked closely. The red revealed the fiery embers of her life force. The light bleeding from this centre witnessed a deep loss, far in the past. Over the years this part of her was in great danger of giving up, she gave so much of herself to others regardless of her inner voice calling her to take time out. The woman was a giver, she gave unto others, time, money and love. As she looked upon the colours memories of the tasks she had performed surfaced. She gave of herself hoping in return to find love. This love was the beginning of her search for knowing herself. She remembered the intensity of the weaving increasing as she moved in closer to feelings buried deep in her tortured soul. Her earnest attempts to grasp her inner light which seemed to be slowly diminishing. The more she gave unto others, with little regard for herself brought to her awareness the need to stay vigilant.
Keep weaving My Child, came the voice, you will soon begin to understand, this wounding is your gift, your life line to recovery, by doing this work you will regain your passion for life.
Many emotions arose from this graphic picture which was filled with anger and torment. She stepped outside of the anger, enabling her to look at the surfacing emotions and imagery; one figure bore the resemblance of an angry devil, similar to the drawings she had made many years ago. Stamping their feet and growling in manipulative tones, controlling and reeling, they still had the ability to transport her back into the realms of fear.
What was this fear? “Look deeper, cry the tears waiting to be released and soon the answer will be found,” came the same quiet voice.
Are you worthy? Who are you to ask for love? Rejection is all you have known.
Create it, search it out, and believe you are worthy.
Step into the insane world and once again push her away. The voices so strong all around her the red flames of hate and destruction surround her, she screams to be released from this endless dance.
The colour begins to change, orange, colour of the sunset, the ending of a day, a change, and a new tomorrow. As she once again peers into the orange hue, there is a joy surfacing, a wonder, but the yesterdays once again begin to play with the flame. A promise of new relationships, brighter more caring loving and compassionate.
The doubter is now waiting to greet her. Look within Child, what do you see. The woman is old, bent and carrying more weight than her small frame can comfortably hold. She wears a scarf over her hair, hiding its beauty from the world. She begins to whisper, we don’t deserve this love, look what has happened to us in the past. We were not cherished, we were not loved, and we were victims of life. There will be nothing for us now, keep on working, searching, you need more knowledge to prove we are acceptable. We can do this alone. So the whispering continues, never daring to speak aloud as others would soon discover who we truly are. That hated, awful, cruel, dismembered part of the human race. See how easy it is to pull us apart. Let’s stay hidden.
Who are you, who are you, who are you screams the girl, I am your Doubter. I am stronger than you and while I reign I have you smoldering away in the embers of this fire.
Raise up calls the voice softly. Rise up, but the girl is still lost in the flames. As the colours begin to interweave, she perceives a change there is another force entering. The gold flames begin to rise higher and the blanket begins to take on the golden light. It colour brings a softening the others, but it also bestows upon the girl emotions long pushed away. She begins to cry which soon turns into rage, rage at being locked into the centre of this turmoil. There is no sanity here, the emotions want pity, they seek another to take care of her, they reach out in desperation for someone else to hold her and give her once again the love she so dearly desires. The relationship was weaved into the illusion of perfect union. The love she gave away to another who lived far far away. He was unavailable, unobtainable, but with this there was also a comfort, being so distant, she would never have to commit. The other would never really know who she truly was. If they did they would never want to be with her, as she would consume and devour them whole. They would become part of the weave; they were part of the protection needed to survive. She wrapped the blanket closer to her frail body, hoping it would bring her warmth and comfort as it had in the past. The air began to fill with a pungent smell, bringing with it still more memories. The colour was changing once again and the girl gasped as the pain of the change left her breathless. A rose pink tone was now emerging, she continued to weave and the story began to unfold. This new colour reminded her of the rawness of her wound. The wound was open and vulnerable, she wept into the pool of rose toned silk leaving tear stains of despair and loneliness. The heart centre of this girl was beginning to open to a new story, but the old ache had yet to feel its presence.
The new imagery revealed hope. The question she asked was how I heal this gaping wound, what needs to be done here, whatever it is, it must be done quickly.
Look within, go down deep within yourself and catch the flame, bring it back into your heart, knowing that it belongs to you and only you, this flame can never be given away. That voice again. Did she have the energy to journey within? the voice encouraged and soothed her. The journey began with tears, casting aside the blame, facing the shame she had felt for most of this lifetime and looked upon the face of guilt. Who is guilt; show me your face, the one who has helped me in my demise. The one who has always been wronged. Striving for perfection, yet achieving none. There she stands regal and proud, her hair streaming wild as she rides on a steed of jet black. The stallion contrasts her looks so pale, red, orange and gold. She holds the power and the stallion of night steers the way. Forward they gallop looking outside in a pace so fast, that those in their way fall stumble and shake. The guilty one is strong by Lord; she sends messages of inadequacy to the one holding desperately on to the blanket of protection. Yet the girl continues to weave and the rose pink begins to penetrate her heart bringing with it the love of self. A warmth from within the girl reveals the subtle changes happening as she embodies this love. The glow grows and the speaker of truth surfaces, bringing with him his colour. The colour of blue skies and oceans, meeting together to share ancient wisdom. He does not seek to stand out, yet he is seen, his eyes are the same colour with a depth she had but seen once in this life time. In his eyes she sees the love and acceptance of one who has journeyed far, he sits awhile and shares the tales of lands he has traveled trough in search of her.
Their eyes connect and they share the recognition, their souls have touched before and now reach out to one another, with a love so deep it stirs the old fears, she holds onto the blanket. He encourages her to speak, speak forth my child, share your journey, keep not this tale within your heart. It is time, the blanket is nearly complete. The uncertainty makes her tremble; still he remains at her side encouraging her to speak her truth. Truth creates miracles; this is whispered by the winds and as sunset fades into the indigo colour of night. The weaver picks up the silken threads lying before her; the indigo colour is now used around the perimeter of the blanket. Rest awhile my child, take in the peace of your Father’s love, know his kindness and feel his presence surround you now. Sleep a little, the journey has been arduous. Let the peace begin to enter your heart, allow the healing to take place. Leave behind the past illusions let the figure of peace show you where your gift of love is stored. Journey now through the canopy of illusion and seek your gift. It is awaiting you. Let Him gently guide you through the door into the light of his presence.
The girl blinks at the light as it penetrates her being, its brilliance is blinding, yet so peaceful, so much joy and the laughter is infectious. All of her cells call out for the light, bring it too me, let me know it, touch it, feel it, smell it. This, oh yes this is what I have searched for. The blanket was my protection, it gave me warmth, but that was only a physical warmth. My soul was crying out for more, it was dying, cold and damp locked into a dungeon of fear, of lifelessness. It searched on the outside, fearing to look within.
The blanket now lay on the ground, its silken threads glistening in the moonlight. She danced upon the hilltop, singing songs of new beginnings, new life.
The blanket would stay there on the ground, it may be used by another who comes to learn the lessons it teaches. The weaver waited patiently, others would come so she could once again pierce their heart with the thread of truth.
The girl looked down upon herself, she had changed. She was no longer a maiden she was a woman. The world of illusion no longer lay in the weaver’s hands, it lay behind her. She looked upon her world through eyes of love and all who looked upon her saw the radiance contained within. The woman’s eyes no longer held a dread they drew in the light of the heavens and connected with the love of mother earth revealing a union of completeness.