Like Two Ships Passing in the Night

We met at a conference in Copenhagen, two Viking women, one from Iceland, the other from Canada. We may not have even noticed each other, had I not come down with severe stomach pains. We didn’t spend much time together, but our meeting led to a major shift in the way that I was defining myself.

I have always been a warrior, fighting battles in one way or another since I was a child. However, I did not define myself that way; and those around me did not either. I was considered a troublemaker. Someone to avoid. Someone to mock. And through my eyes, my battles were often something to be ashamed of; something to hide.

The shift in perception happened during a training session in Copenhagen. The focus of the class was on the long-term effects of trauma that happens to a baby during gestation and birth. One of the major lessons that I have learned over the past few years, via my work with quantum biofeedback, is the importance of what happens during gestation and how the baby is affected by what goes on around them while they are in the womb. It’s a lesson that I believe we knew in the past but have forgotten to honor in our current world. The safety of the womb has been compromised by abuse, war, hunger, toxins, fear, the threat of abortion, rejection, betrayal and so much more. Our assumption that the fetus is not a human being and that a baby is born a blank slate that we can do whatever we want with, is so far off the mark, it is terrifying. It’s amazing that any of us survive.

The message that we received during this presentation was that we accept the definition of ourselves through our experiences during gestation and birth and these definitions become the basic focus throughout our lives. Now, as a ‘troublemaker,’ I immediately argued that point, mainly because I do not believe that anything that happens to us is written in stone. There are many different journeys that we each experience throughout our lives that will define us in one way or another. However, in the midst of this belief, I knew that it was important to take into consideration the reality of the experience in the womb and during birth. One of the ways the presenter suggested that we do this was to think about the stories that we have heard over and over again, either about our gestation and/or our birth. The question to be answered was how do these stories affect us as an adult in the present moment?

I don’t have any stories at all about my gestation and so, unless I interview my mother, I was stuck there. But I did have a major story about my birth. I began reviewing it in detail and trying to figure what message I was being taught every time this story was told.

I am a December baby. On the evening I arrived in this world, Christmas was being celebrated by the staff of the hospital where I was born. I came so quickly that the doctor was not able to get to the hospital, which meant that I was delivered by the head nurse. She had rushed over from the Christmas party in her new wool suit and not taking the time to change her clothes or to cover herself before I arrived. Thus, I drenched this new suit with birthing fluids and ruined it. This is a story I have been told countless times by my mother, my aunts and even by the head nurse herself. I ruined her suit with my birth. I am sure that no one told me the story to make me feel bad. In fact, in many ways, I think they thought it was funny. In the midst of that, I do know that I took on the definition of “troublemaker” and accepted the shame that went with it.

There were other stories that accompanied this one. Of having a loud and unusual cry that one could hear throughout the whole hospital and was so distinctive that my mom knew immediately if it was me or another baby crying. Of hitting my developmental milestones early, walking by the time I was nine months old and climbing anything and everything I could access, so that my mother had to keep the chairs on top of the table when we weren’t sitting on them in order to protect me. And from a babysitter: the story of her bathing me and dressing me up in my best outfit to welcome my new baby sister home, only to find me, a short time later happily sitting in a pan of motor oil. My dad had drained it from the car just before he left to pick up my mother and the new baby. Stories, which were again shared with affection and humor, and yet in their own way strengthened my view of myself as a troublemaker.

So there I am, sitting in the class, thinking about these things when a severe cramp runs through my body. I get up and rush to the toilet which relieves a bit of the pain, but not all. I try to return to class, but it hurts too much and end up back in the bathroom again. When I return, I choose not to disturb the class. I take a seat on a couch outside the classroom. Maybe if I can relax for a while, the pain will go away.

Now you have to realize is that I was at a conference for healers. All kinds of healers. When someone is in distress, they are not afraid to reach out and offer help. The first to arrive was Margret, who was demonstrating the use of Scalar Lasers at the conference. She immediately began working on my tummy with her laser. As it did its thing, we began to talk. She asked what I was doing when the pain started. I told her what the class was focused on and described how I was going through the stories of my gestation and birth in my mind. Then I shared my birth story.

In return she shared another story. This is when things got very interesting. She claimed that when man got to the point of extreme destruction and dropped the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, a call went out through the universe to save the planet. Spirits throughout the universe rushed to the earth to save it. You can identify these spirits through the speed of their birth process for they were indeed rushing to save our world. The first to arrive were the Sailors and they are here to guide the warriors. Margret claimed that she is a sailor. The next that came were the Warriors, who are also known as the Rainbow Warriors.

According to Margret, I am one of them. Whoa!

At that point I remembered that I did have my device with me. I went up to my room to work on myself. It identified the problem as food poisoning. I spent the final banquet of the conference in my bathroom forcing myself to throw up. By morning I felt okay, free to do the hop on/ hop off tour with a friend. Life is good!

In the midst of this, I had the story to contend with. Is it true? I have no idea, but there are certain aspects about me that make me wonder if indeed it might be so. As a very young child watching what was happening in our church at times and knowing with conviction that it wasn’t ‘Christian.’ Of recognizing a child molester for what he was, as a preschooler, and not falling for the gifts and promises he offered like so many other little ones did. Not that I could put this knowledge into words and protect others, but I did understand who he was and thus protected myself. Of being so much more aware of the whole picture than most people are. An awareness of what it is truly happening in the world, of the difference between right and wrong and good and evil in ways that so many don’t seem to recognize. Of my willingness to fight for what I believe in, in the midst of criticism and mockery. Am I really a Rainbow Warrior?

I came home and begin to research her story on the internet What I found was not quite what she had shared with me. It seems that this term has been taken over by Greenpeace who, yes indeed, are engaged in a battle to save our planet. But I certainly don’t feel like I am one of them. Is it because I am not a Rainbow Warrior? Or is it, perhaps, that have they taken the legends of the past and shaped them to fit their purpose?

Is her story true? Does it matter? I came to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter at all. We only spent about a half an hour together, but it was enough time to change my view of myself completely. She fulfilled her role as a Sailor by sharing the story with me. I took on the role as a Warrior – giving up my label as a trouble-maker. I am not going to be ashamed of what I do or hide it from the world any longer.

Many years ago, I had a poster hanging in my living room which proclaimed that “the pen is mightier than the sword”. I was attempting to be a writer at that point and not making much headway. In fact, in the midst of the chaos I was living in, I actually burned everything I had written to date, something I have regretted ever since. For I know my sword is ‘the pen’ (computer keyboard). I am taking it up and using it to fight for what I feel I have been assigned in the coming days, weeks, month, and years. Fighting tooth and nail with a very special young lady in my life and her family as they face the battle of cancer. Fighting alongside all of the ‘me too’ women. Fighting for my friends on the autism spectrum who are being denied their freedom to communicate in the way that works best for them by narrow minded, self-serving people. Fighting for us all against the pharmaceutical giants who are destroying the health of humanity through their vaccinations and medications as they worship the almighty dollar and its profit margin. I actually started these battles many years ago with the publication of my books Autism Handle with Care, Autism a New Understanding and Sharing our Wisdom. I really stepped up to the plate with the publication of my books In Search of Self and Just so Happy, but they are only the beginning.

I am armed. I am ready. And I am a WARRIOR!