My 1st Craniosacral Therapy Appointment (Part 2)

Continued from My 1st Craniosacral Therapy Appointment – Part 1)

======Part 2 =====

Still with me? Let’s roll. 

So, back in the forest…

I’m standing there, right behind the “blacksmith.” The sound of the river in the background has died away now, replaced by the crackling of the fire in the forge. The mouth of the furnace was blazing with a gentle roar. The heat was welcoming.

I stood behind the blacksmith, looking past his left shoulder, watching him work. I couldn’t see his face from this vantage point. He was hammering on his anvil. I wanted to know exactly what he was hammering. I looked down at his hands. He was hammering something small and metal, his left hand holding it in a clamp. I wasn’t able to recognize what, exactly. But it felt necessary. Joyless. Gray.

I know him, I thought.

The blacksmith appeared to be in his mid-40’s. He was caucasian. Wrinkles.  Brown hair beginning to gray. His hair was long, and pulled into a sort of pony tail in the back. I immediately knew that he lived here. I also immediately knew that there was a family here, but for whatever reason, they are forever gone. And, I immediately intuited certain things about him. Strong. Gentle. Mighty. Warrior. Broken. Defeated. Hiding.

I know him. Now, this sounds cray cray. But – I suddenly knew: this man was me. I could see his face as he was hammering, and – He did not look like me. It was not “me.” But – and I don’t know how or why – I knew this was me. That this is me or was me or all of the above or something else altogether. I can’t explain it. Again, it’s just a knowing. But I knew he was me.

I looked around the forge. To the left there was what looked to me like material or ore or scrapped metal – not sure. Directly in front, there was a forge. To the right, there was a pile of hay. And there, sticking out of the hay, I noticed a sword, all covered except for the hilt. It lay sticking out of the hay pile, either hidden or forgotten or both. I focused my attention there, observing the sword in amazement. Though covered in dust and in need of repair, this was truly a remarkable sword. Custom. Looking closer, underneath all of the grayish dust that hid the details, I could see it was truly artisan and finely crafted. This was regal. Fit for kings. 

And I also knew it belonged to this “blacksmith.” 

I looked into his eyes. I felt his story. All of it. And it broke my heart. 

This man is no “blacksmith.”

And right when that happened – wham- I immediately I found myself on the path, behind the man, following him as he walked. I could tell it was a flashback – I was seeing/re-experiencing something that has happened in his past. Like he was sharing a memory with me.

I was walking on the path, following the man about 6 feet behind him. I first noticed the ribbon or string he tied his pony tail with. He was walking steady and slow and purposeful, and sad. His sword (the same one from earlier) was worn on his back. The birds were watching, but not singing. They were sad too. I looked down at his strong arms. I noticed white cloth drapping over whatever he was carrying, and it struck me as odd, because the golden light wasn’t touching it. It was just white. The color white everyone knows and recognizes. None of the golden hue was touching it. It was void of the light of life.

I looked closer at the bundle in his arms. He was craddling a person, wearing this white flowing garment. Tucked in the nook of his left arm, I noticed the lifeless face of a beautiful young girl. She had blondish-brown hair. Appeared to be around 10-13 years of age. Her lifeless head bobbing with every step.

I knew that she was his daughter, and that he was her father – but not really. This one is hard to explain. Like, yes, by all modern standards they were father and daughter in this life, but it was deeper than that somehow. The nature of their bond. His pledge to her.

No golden light was touching her or her garments. They were normal colors – white clothes, pale skin face, etc. But because they were devoid of the golden light hue, they were pretty much colorless here. 

The man carried her towards the river. He was beyond weeping. The tears simply rolled down a resigned face far beyond grieving, all the way to the water’s edge of the river.

He knelt down and lowered her into the water. The golden light swirled as her clothing in the white slowly sank into the depths. Only her face remained, encircled by the swirling of the water. 

I looked at the girl, the golden water swirled around the sides of her face. I know her, I thought. Slowly, her face began to sink into the golden waters. As it did, I thought I saw something slowly swirling around her head, coming from out of the water. I looked closer, and it was a snake. A golden snake, matching the golden color of light, slowly snaking across her forehead as the forehead disappeared into light. It wasn’t a scary or creepy snake, at all. It was beautiful.

And then she sank, all the way, down into the water. 

And she was gone. 

And – wham – I’m back at the blacksmith shop, and the flashback is over. The man stops hammering. He is standing there, breathing. Taking it all in. Contemplating.  He gets serious now. There is a change in his dispotion, in his vibration. Like he has  accepted all things. It’s like knows what he now must do.

He drops the clamp and whatever project he was working on, and heats the furnace blazing hot. I see him walk over to the hay pile. He pulls out the old sword. Dusty. Dull. Broken. In need of repair. He picks it up and looks at it. For some reason, it makes him afraid.

But the fire is burning hot.

He pulls out the old sword from its covering and inspects the blade. It pains him to see the neglect of this blade. But he stares it down, and there’s a glow in his eye. He begins heating the fires even hotter than they were. He is streaming with sweat, heating the blade and striking it over and over as sparks fly. 

There is a sort of swell in the air. A shift. A vibration of hope. 

And -wham- now I’m following him on the path again. He was not walking towards the river. Opposite direction. Deeper into the woods. His clothes have changed. He has the proper attire on now, fit for the outdoors, for battle, and for anything worth being called wild. And he was walking the path with sword strapped across his back, gleaming with light.

I looked up ahead. Above the treetops, I could see a mountain in the distance. I knew this was where he was headed. 

And then -wham- I am with him near near the top of the mountain now. It’s not an Everest sized of mountain, but it’s big for the area. It’s incredibly windy here. It’s all dark, all across the land. It’s cold. The light of the forest is long gone. The night is passing – the slightest morning gray in east. There’s a faint golden glow in the mans sword. He’s climbed a long way.

Up ahead, there is a sort of old tower near the top. A signal tower, or ancient sort of lighthouse. It was like a tall stone tower, squared. And thats when it struck me I’ve had a dream of this exact place. This exact scene, right here. And I know this, because it’s a recurring dream I’ve been having, over the past 3 years. It’s a dream about a man climbing an old lighthouse looking thing in a morning dawn – THIS thing. 

And so, what happens from here, happens EXACTLY like in the recurring dream:

The man walks up the base of this thing lighthouse thing. It is dark and gray all around.  Rock. Water. Death. Dusk. The light of the forest is gone here. The sun is about to rise in the east. He looks up and ties his hair behind his ears. 

As I’m watching thinking “How’s he gonna light the thing when he gets to the top” he takes out his sword. It is glowing, with bright light. And his hands begin to glow. They are glowing with light, somehow. He straps the sword to his back And he begins to just free-climb the damn thing, with glowing balls of light in his hands. Scaling the lighthouse tower. With sword on back and hands big balls of light. All the way up, to the top. 

Ok so that right there – thats where my dream has always ended. Right before he gets to the top. But – dudes – in this craniosacral deal, it didn’t end there. It kept going. 

The man reach the top of the tower, His hands blazing with light. And sitting at the top of the tower, with her legs over the outside ledge facing the east and watching the coming sunrise, there was a woman. 

I was shocked and surprised to see that there was a woman waiting here. But apparently, the man was not surprised at all. He was thrilled. He immediately knew her and recognized her. There was an animalistic spirit about him when he saw her. Like an excited horse. A renewal. A washing. He knew her. 

Something in me told me who she was, but honestly kind of freaked me out and I didn’t want to believe it. It can’t be, I thought. 

The wind was so strong here. The woman’s beautiful wavy brown hair was flowing in the wind. I couldn’t see her face but knew her to be the most beautiful soul I’d ever seen. She was at such peace, confidently looking towards the future,  waiting for the sun. I DO know her, I thought.

She turned and looked at me (the man). The wind picked up when she looked at me. Like, a crazy wind. As if it were hers. I’ve seen this before. Her hair was like a horse‘s mane at full gallop. And when I looked into her eyes, I was hit with a knowing and a recognition that is so difficult to explain. Holy s***. I recognize this person. I KNOW this person. Not only in this vision or whatever -but in real life. The KNOWING of it. And the reality of that, the TRUTH of that, scared me.

I (he) sat down Next to her, on her right hand side. She gave me a look as I sat there, one that communicated a humorous “of course you’d be here too” and “of course you’d sit there, on my right hand side.” She was happy about it. She looked at the sword with amazement, and looked at him with a nodding approval, one of both pride and pleasure. 

She looked at me. Green eyes. I know those eyes. She made herself open to me, and I saw her, and who she was, and I knew her. And then I understood that everything in the man’s journey was to bring him here. And she understood the same for her. We both knew. We were one.

Suddenly a snake started circling her head. Similar to the one that circled the girls head in the river – but this one was different. The snake was circling over and over, weaving and sliding, dancing and turning a never-ending figure 8 circle of bright golden light. It was a kind of crown. It felt like she was revealing herself, who she really was. There was a deep knowing, like – a knowing that somehow reverberated in my actual frickin bones. Can’t explain it. Then she leaned in closer, as if to kiss me –

And then it was over.

I was back on the massage table. 

“I’ll give you a minute to come to,” I heard the craniosacral lady say.

I sat up slowly. Groggily. I couldn’t say anything for a few minutes. My eyes were puffy and red. I felt like I had just run 20 miles. I was exhausted. And refreshed. At the same time

“How do you feel.” she said

“Umm….” I said. 

“So you heard water…” she inquired. 

I looked up at her and gave her a look that pretty much said “lady I heard and saw a crap ton of things”

“You had a lot going on,” she said. “That was powerful. Your cranial levels (or something) were completely open – you were taking it all in.” 

I told her about the river and about the forest of gold. As I was telling her this her eyes seemed to become both very serious and very excited, like she was in a kind of giddy anticipatory shock. 

She sat down and looked me in the eyes, with curious excitement. “Did you meet anyone? See anyone else?”

“Yes.” And my stomach dropped. I can’t tell her about who I saw, I thought. I cant, she knows the person in real life.

I told her about the blacksmith. I told her about the children in the forest, about the homestead. I told her about the daughter. Told her about the sword and reforging it on the journey to the mountain. I told her about the lighthouse, and the dream that I’ve been having, and then reaching the top – and then I stopped. 

“What about at the lighthouse?” she asked

“There was a woman.”

“Did you recognize her,” she asked. More gently this time. 

I was thinking about the woman. Because, I know this person in real life. I was thinking about who she is, as a person. As a soul. What she is doing in life. And- because the situation was extremely complicated at the time –  it broke my heart. And I looked up at the massage therapist and I told her, trying to fight the tears.

“Yes.” I said softly. Painfully. “I recognized her. I know who she is.”

She could see the fear in my eyes and the reservation in my voice. I looked at her with desperation. I wanted to tell her. But I couldn’t. I wanted to cry out at the top of my lungs – “Yeah it’s a person we both know – it’s the frickin’ friend who recommended me to you in the first place and there is some really weird shit going on between us in the ju-ju realms.” She could see my inner conflict. It’s like she knew it.

“You don’t have to say,” she said.

“Its complicated”, I said. “Insanely complicated. I have been told that this person is my “twin soul”. I haven’t been too sure what to make of that. She can’t be. The life circumstances -” I paused – “don’t fit.”

She sat down, still looking at me. There was a look of knowing in her eyes and face. 

“I see,” she said. “Whoever this person is, she is clearly connected to you. And Her appearing to you is meant to encourage you, to give you hope. Not pain.” She says. “It’s also meant to clarify what you need to do in order to heal and step into your destiny, areas of your life that need healing, so that you can step into who you are, and what you are here to do.” 

I sat there looking at the ground, taking it all in. 

“Do you know what you need to do?” she asked. 

“Yes,” I whispered. 

The therapist begins to pack her things. “You are a light healer,” she said. I asked her what that meant. She began explaining to me what a light healer or light worker is, and talked to me about the nature of her work.

She told me about a private group of light healers that get together on a weekly basis, in a weekly Zoom meeting. “Normally you would need to take two fairly extensive prerequisite courses before joining this group,” she said, “But you are ready. I can tell. You may not know this, but you are an advanced light worker.”

I shrugged. The meaning of that was kinda lost on me.

Softly she added, “And we all need teachers.”

Yes. We do. I told her I was grateful for the invitation. The light worker council (I think that’s what she called it…. I might have added some flavor) was two days away.

And although I didn’t think much of the invitation when she gave it to me, I had no idea what I was in for next…….

__________

~ Continued in Part 3

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