Saturday, March 19, 2011

Miracles and other wondrous tales

Miracles and other wondrous tales

Before I embark on the next stage of the story, I would like to fill you in on some of the background leading up to this point in my life - this point where I realised that I am being asked to leave my father's house, metaphorically. I suppose some of it is my attempt to defend my resistance to what was to follow.

Such is the nature of our humanness. We become attached and invested in our lives and the way things are.

I was always known and I came to know myself as that, as the girl with the imagination and later in life, the over-sensitive girl. I have memories from very early in my life : from before I could walk. I can remember sitting on my mother's arm and feeling her fear and nervous tension. I can remember the exact detail of where we were standing, which way I was facing and what we were looking at. I can remember the texture of her clothing. I have checked all these details with her many times during the past years, always much to her amazement. I c an remember seeing a ghost for the first time. I was eighteen months old. I can remember speaking to my best friend who lived in the pink house behind us, much to my mother's chagrin, as there was no house, well, according to her. I can remember my frustration with her. This became a key element in my adult life - frustration.

I can remember speaking to the little people in the garden AND I remember clearly not to do so in front of my father who became very angry and impatient with all this nonsense.

But the most vivid memories, which sustained me through the tumultous years, were the ones of my Core. I do not have the words to describe this to you. Then I had no real separate sense of this knowing. I knew myself as an expanded 'being', an awareness and a knowing, which I in later life called Faith. From a very young age I regarded myself, Hettienne, as a character in a fairy tale and this Faith or Awareness used to 'oversee' her and her story, mainly through visions and dreams. When I felt particularly lost or overwhelmed, She would give me a dream or a vision of a fairy tale character which would soothe me, I suppose. It was not as though my intellectual mind grasped the significance of the archetype of the fairy tale, or the symbology. It was more a feeling of 'it's ok', this is the way it is and there is a divine unfolding. Also, a very real sense of detachment from the fairy tale and all these characters.

In my most of my visions and dreams, I was Snow White, usually in the coffin with the glass lid. I could see those outside of the coffin, but they could not hear me and they thought I was 'dead'. As I have said earlier, I felt like Alice living in Wonderland, never lost, but unseen and unknown to those living outside of Wonderland, and this feeling persisted through my entire life, until a few years ago, when everything became integrated.

I had one of my most powerful visions at 13. This vision became my North Star and through the years of seeking, I searched for a full understanding of its power and grace.

I was lying on my bed staring at the tiny little yellow flowers on the wallpaper next to me. I was lying on the bottom bunk. As I stared up, a scene formed. It was a dark night. I was outside. I was standing on a beach. I could hear the waves and smell the ocean. I could see the moonlight reflecting on the silver in the water. There was an enormous red full moon in the sky (a blood moon). I was one of a circle of women. They were all adults, I was the only young one.
We all wore black clothing with hooded capes. The wind tugged at our clothes. I felt a sense of excitement and also some awe. The moment felt heavy and laden with anticipation. There was an incredible presence amongst us.

One woman, clearly the leader of this group, was stirring an enormous black cauldron. Inside was a deep red liquid. She poured some of the liquid into a ceramic cup and held it up to the sky before passing it to the first woman. As the first woman drank the liquid, I could see her swallow, and I merged with her. I became her throat, her swallowing, but most of all, I became her memory. I merged with her life and her memories and her experiences became mine. In that moment, I became generations of women who walked this earth and I knew what they had known and what others after me will know. This process continued. Each woman ahead of me in the circle were given the chance to drink the red liquid. Until it was my turn. I was the last one in the circle.

She turned and looked at me. Her eyes are still burnt into my memory. She said ' and you : drink this poison and find the cure'. I can remember suddenly feeling afraid and laden with a sense of responsibility, almost a burden and an injunction, that I cannot escape. And NO idea what she meant.

And this vision became the wheel of my wagon as I set off into life looking for answers, wanting to know what did she mean? what is the poison she referred to and what is the cure? During my opening welcome at the Goddess Conference that I organised in 2009, I shared this vision with the audience, and indeed, She was the cure.

the miracle of the Presence of the Dove in my life /...


  1. What a powerful story. I was always the odd one the one that saw things and heard things that no one else did and I was ignored by everyone else. But like you, I knew to always trust my heart and so all my life I have done just that. I was always seperate but never alone. I once had a dream/vision of an old woman stirring a cauldron right out in my driveway - she told me to hop in and change into who I was meant to be. I love reading about your life - makes me feel like I am in good company.


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