I
wriggle closer to my mother’s belly, aware only of the need to get
to the ever flowing well of nourishment. The sweet fluid fills my
belly, as I hear the comforting noise of my own suckling sounds. My
mother’s even breathing makes me sleepy. I cuddle closer to her warm
and familiar smelling body, and drift to sleep.
My
eyes open. I am swimming, more than half of my body submerged in the
refreshingly cool water. Grassy knolls surround the water and a dam
made out of sticks and twigs; beyond the knolls are tall, thin leafy
trees. My mother just gave us a lesson about how to correctly slap our
tails on the water. I remain in the pond to practice slapping by
myself. Oh, how I love it! With all the strength that my small body
can muster, I slap my tail as hard as I can on the surface of the
water with a loud crack. My heart fills with joy. I am a beaver!
Months
have passed. Stronger and bigger now, I am told it is time for me to
leave. Sadness squeezes my heart as I make my way across the dam,
moving away from familiar surroundings filled with fond memories. A
little fear creeps in to my belly, but I know this is the way it must
be.
More
time has passed and I am much older. I see that the underside of my
lodge needs repair. There are shelves, caves, and niches in which to
sleep. I exit underwater and swim to one of the dams, climbing on top
to survey my surroundings. My lodge sits to one side on the biggest
pond. Below are three cascading smaller ponds, each constructed with
elaborate dams. The ponds are below an embankment of bushes and
knolls. Beyond, a large river carves its way through steep wooded
hillsides and an occasional open meadow.
This
morning I am in a very busy mood. Walking along the dam I see all the
areas that need to be repaired. I picture myself carrying wood to just
those spots. The spring air is filled with a sweet sharp smell and I
am eager to begin my work. Viewing my habitat with great satisfaction,
I feel proud to have found such a wonderful location.
The
storms have arrived and it has been raining, with strong winds for
days. Safe inside my lodge, I sleep for longer periods of time.
Suddenly, a loud thud jolts me awake. The lodge is moving. Everything
is moving! My carefully constructed lodge, which took years to build,
is pulled apart by an unfamiliar force. It is crashing down all around
me. Still inside the lodge, I can’t find my way out. What is
happening?
Kawhomp!
Something hits the lodge. I am pinned down by debris. Fast rushing
water flows all around me. I am going to die. There is no panic or
fear. A strange calm envelops my body as I hear, “The location of
your lodge was a poor choice. You built next to the bank of a powerful
river, which is now raging through your ponds.”
I
feel silly, remembering how proud I was of that specific location. I
also feel a little sad, wondering how I had lived the greatest part of
my life steeped in the belief that this had been such an ingenious
discovery.
The sound of
soft drumming reaches into my awareness. I am lying on the floor,
looking up into the rafters of a large dome-shaped pavilion. I am at
the Omega Institute in Rhinecliff, New York, attending an advanced
Shapeshifting seminar facilitated by John Perkins and Llyn Roberts.*
The shapeshift
journey has taken me to a life and death experience as a beaver. I
began the journey with the intent of seeing lessons from a past life
that were relevant to my current incarnation. My mind and senses are
still filled with vibrant images and feelings. As I review the
experience, it occurs to me that I might be chained to a belief in
this current life, which could prove to be erroneous.
Three weeks
later, after my return to Anchorage from the workshop, I become
seriously ill. I have a high fever of 103.7 degrees, though no other
symptoms. As I lie in bed, feeling the fire rage through my body, I am
aware that I am not sweating. What is going on? The fire rampages
through my body like burning waves, devouring things in and around my
internal organs and cavities. I keep waiting for the hallucinations to
arrive, but my mind—or the observer within me—stays clear headed
throughout the ordeal. This lasts for 18 hours, during which time I
have many thoughts about pain, and the experience I am having,
wondering what it is telling me about myself.
Years ago, my
friend Inez and I lived in Southern California. We each rented a small
place near the beach, nestled between the million dollar homes,
although neither of us was wealthy. One day Inez was complaining about
how broke she was feeling. I knew how tough it was to survive among
the huge incomes in our neighborhood and wanted to help her. I had
$200 to spare. Before offering it to her, I inquired about the exact
amount she had left. Inez hesitated for a long moment, and then said,
“I only have $10,000 left in the bank.”
“Wow”, I
bristled, “how much money do you need to feel comfortable?”
“At least $15,000”, she answered.
The fever
makes this incidence pop into my head, as fast and sure as puffed
kernels of corn jump out of the popcorn maker. “It is not what it
seems,” my inner observer repeats to me over and over again. “You
must look at things differently. You have to change your way of
thinking.”
Fear comes
over me as the fever reaches my brain. The heat waves roll through my
cerebral cortex and cerebellum, bouncing from one side of my head to
the other. Although I can hardly move, I manage to call a friend for
help. My internal observer continues to tell me that this is not what
it seems, but I feel the need to break the fever quite urgently by
now.
The trip to a
clinic doctor doesn’t offer any insight, but he advises me to pick
up something for the muscle pain and fever.
On the way to a pharmacy, I collapse from a seizure. After the
seizure, I wake up feeling significantly better. I also start sweating
out the fever.
The physical
recuperation takes a couple of weeks. During this time, I ponder how I
might change my way of thinking. How can I better perceive true intent
when spoken words indicate something else?
During the
weeks following my breakthrough, as I now refer to it, I begin the
practice of listening with my heart instead of my ears. It’s not
that there is anything wrong with my ears, but sometimes words heard
in conversations with others remind me of my past and cause me a pang
of pain in my heart or solar plexus. This is especially disturbing to
me since I have already dealt with this issue numerous times in the
past. I had long forgiven my parents for abandoning me as an infant. I
had learned to love my adoptive parents despite their rejections. My
feelings of being ostracized had subsided and I could now remember
good times in Germany. So, why was I still having issues with
rejection and abandonment? And, how could I get past it?
Here is what I
started to do:
I feel the
area where my physical heart is located. I imagine the space just
above it opening wide like a French door. The feeling is soft and
fluid and I can sense the field of energy around me.
Now I start to listen with my heart. I hear the speaker’s
words, intention, and feelings. No longer is my past pain connected to
their words. There are no pictures of my past, no similar experiences
flashing before my eyes. Just pure love. This process amazes me as my
mind remains calm and my inner observer is in awe. I can now choose my
words of response with a compassionate heart.
The journey
into my beaver life and the lesson it revealed still pulses strongly
within me. I lived my busy beaver life never recognizing the error of
my thinking, of building my lodge where I did. It seemed such an
innocent mistake! Just as then, I now live a very busy life, and can
think of many instances of being stuck in the lodge of my mind.
These past
five months have been filled with plenty of opportunities to feel
rejected through my old pattern of listening. But now the information
comes in through my heart and travels to my brain on a wave of
love—instead of through my ears, getting stuck in my old path of
pain.
My heart is
not yet open all the time, but I am practicing. I feel my ego
dissolving into a soft purple vibration. I am excited to be out in the
world, to contribute, and to feel more connected with oneness than
ever before. Through shape shifting, or shifting consciousness, I have
awakened to a larger dream within me.
Clivia
Feliz, a Massage Therapist, specializing in CranioSacral Therapy
and Visceral Manipulation at Alternative Health Clinic. Clivia also
offers animal telepathy, spiritual readings and seminars in Shamanic
Healing and Shapeshifting. Call:
301-3311
*To
learn more about John Perkins and Llyn Roberts workshops, visit their
website at: www.dreamchange.org
