I feel energy vibrations. I can walk into a house and know within five minutes if it is a safe house or a house that is quietly whispering “get out.” And if I hear “get out,” I linger. I have experienced that the voices aren’t there to overwhelm or harm me, the energy is not there as good or bad, but it is there to act like a cattle prod to shock me into confronting a place I would rather avoid.
I also feel the energy of places, the subtle vortexes that throw me off balance. Walking in the woods or on a mountain trail, my feet fail me and I stagger to retain my balance. Then I sit and meditate at that spot. The energy possesses me and clarity opens up my imagination. From the top of my head to the soles of my feet, I vibrate in rhythm to the heartbeat of heaven.
Words don’t work as teachers. Words are so considered and so measured that any real meaning or impact those words might have has been sanitized out even before they leave the lips. Today we call that politically correct speech. In my grandfather’s day, words followed the rule, “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Words have failed us.
But the subtle energy that doesn’t ask us for permission to speak but nevertheless floods us with invitations and opportunities to grapple with the unknown, that teacher doesn’t give a damn about being correct, just a reflection of stark reality.
I have grown comfortable with wordless communication, with the sharing of energy. Right now, go outside and feel the breeze or the heat or the cold. I am there calling your name, drawing you into a new reality.
