Anthropological records note the flute as the oldest known musical instrument, dating back 43,000 years — the earliest version made of bird bone and found in a cave in Germany.

In these times of uncertainty and unrest, we too can turn to the flute as a tool to help us feel the Beloved, as our life-breath, move through us… and to help our grief, fears, and pain move through and out of us as well.

Author and music therapist Christine Stevens will help you discover the flute as one of the most accessible instruments to play — for sound healing, self-expression, mindfulness, prayer, breathwork, connection to nature and Spirit, and personal transformation.

Register Here For Free

What You'll Learn During This Free Sound Healing Class

• Discover the flute as a tool for moving stuck emotions and opening to your natural breath and the flow of the present moment
  
• Receive a flute meditation to connect you to your heart and a new story for your life and our world during these transformational times
  
• Participate in a flute and drum ceremony by placing your intentions into a prayer pillow for humanity  
  
• Discover how the flute has a 5-note scale inspired by birdsong, can play no wrong notes, and connects us with lunar/feminine and solar/masculine energies
  
• Enjoy a musical tour of flutes from Bali, Ireland, and Iraq, and including a Native American double flute
  
• Be guided in a Musical Tree Experience for feeling into the power of the drum to ground us and the flute to uplift us

The holes in the flute, like our wounds, can become an entry to a “new song,” a new way of being… as we consider self-discoveries that have arisen during these difficult times.

You won’t want to miss this opportunity to experience the healing power of the flute and gain inspiration for your new song!

No musical experience — or flute — is necessary… just a willingness to open to spontaneous feelings of liberation, joy, and self-expression…

Register Here For Free

In The Flute as Sound Medicine to Open Your Heart & Expand Your World: A Tool for Transformation, Self-Expression & Prayer, you’ll have the opportunity to feel how playing the flute can help you move stuck emotions, uplift and relax you, connect you with nature and Spirit, and provide a joyous vehicle for self-expression.

The post The Flute as Sound Medicine to Open Your Heart & Expand Your World – With Christine Stevens appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

The research is pouring in on the profound benefits of meditation practice. Science now confirms what practitioners have known for centuries: Meditation is a powerful tool for human evolution.

How could sitting quietly “doing nothing” possibly make such a difference in your life? The truth is found in many dimensions. We'll explore some of the most important points in this brief article. Of course, to fully understand, you'll have to meditate for yourself. If you need some inspiration or re-motivation for that venture, read the free “Raise Your Vibration” ebook on the right and also continue reading this article.

Let's talk about the benefits of meditation in four dimensions of our being: physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual. Meditation in its best forms is a truly holistic practice; it works on all levels of your being. It has the power to improve your health and immune function, increase your emotional sensitivity and emotional balance, clear and focus your mind, and strengthen your sense of spiritual connection.

Let's go through each of these in turn…

Dr. Herbert Benson began his research into the physiological changes during meditation practice at Harvard University in 1968. He published a groundbreaking book, called “The Relaxation Response” in 1975. In this book, he described a state of deep relaxation that occurs in meditation that counters the physical and emotional effects of stress or the “fight/flight” response.

Stress activates the sympathetic nervous system which puts us in a state of hyperactive readiness that can be useful during real emergency situations. However, chronic stress is a condition that tears down the body and inhibits its ability to adapt, grow, and repair itself. Chronic stress shunts blood away from the internal organs to the extremities which hampers digestion and immunity. Our muscles tighten into a state of persistent tension, blood pressure rises, emotions get locked into a protective fear mode, and our mind is less able to process new information and find creative solutions.

In addition, chronic stress is associated with chronic inflammation in the body which is being linked to almost every major disease, including cancer, heart disease, and autoimmune dysfunction. With the speed, pressure, and intensity of human life at an all-time high and on the rise, it's absolutely imperative that we learn to master stress and relax our bodies.

The relaxation response described by Dr. Benson activates the parasympathetic nervous system which is our recovery and repair mode. People who learn to activate the relaxation response using a simple meditation technique show almost immediate positive physiological changes. Their breathing slows and deepens, their hearts come into rhythmic coherence, their brainwaves slow and synchronize, and they experience a pleasurable sense of relief and relaxation.

Long-term meditation practice lowers blood pressure, increases the release of “feel good” neurotransmitters such as serotonin, dopamine, and GABA, and stimulates the production of DHEA, a hormone which helps the body repair and regenerate itself.

When you meditate, your body not only comes down from stress, but you feel better and more in charge of your inner life. You are more aware of your inner feelings and more able to manage them. Research at the Center for Spirituality and the Mind at the University of Pennsylvania shows that meditation practice develops the anterior cingulate, a structure in the midbrain that enables you to manage your thoughts and feelings and increases your ability to empathize with and have compassion for others. In other words, meditation is good for your personal well-being and for building strong relationships.

Meditation also develops the prefrontal lobes in the front of the brain, just behind your forehead. The prefrontal lobes enable you to focus your attention and integrate your experiences in meaningful and productive ways. Studies with Tibetan monks at the University of Wisconsin have shown increased thickness in the prefrontal lobes and increased neural connections between the frontal lobes and the rest of the brain in those who have meditated for extended periods of time.

Research at the University of Pennsylvania also suggests that meditation practice enhances memory formation and retention. This points to its use as a possible preventive measure for Alzheimer's and other conditions associated with aging and the brain.

Not only does meditation have these powerful effects on the body, emotions, and brain, but there are more profound and less easy to study spiritual effects. In general, meditation develops your ability to feel connected to life. People often describe their deep meditations as times when they feel most like themselves. They also experience themselves as part of the One Life that we all share. Meditators often describe a deep sense of trust, support, and guidance that comes in their meditation practice.

Kevin Schoeninger teaches people how to discover the benefits of meditation. To learn a simple meditation technique (it only takes a few minutes) you can use to instantly release ANY unwanted thought feeling or belief, visit his website at EnergyMeditationSecret.com

The post “Raise Your Vibration” – Free PDF efrom Kevin Schoeninger appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

At first, the merchants even received equal traffic through their shops, but — as time went on — the first merchant's shop became more popular among the people. The second merchant noticed this and became concerned. One particularly slow day, he decided to look into the matter. As he stepped out his door to visit his neighbor, he passed one of his regular customers leaving the first merchant's shop carrying their weekly purchase of flowers. In disbelief, the second merchant hurried into the next store.

Indeed, the store was teeming with customers. The second merchant noticed his competitor wasn't taking the money himself, as he always did. The first merchant was out among the aisles, talking with his customers. To his amazement, the second merchant watched as the first would chat at great length with the customers and even would occasionally talk to the flowers themselves! The second merchant prided himself on being a serious store owner and could not understand this leisurely approach to running a shop. Yet this behavior seemed to be working for the first merchant, as his thriving store would attest.

When the second merchant could stand it no longer, he approached the first and politely asked to interrupt the conversation. The first merchant smiled, handed his customers to one of his clerks, and turned his attention to his exasperated neighbor.

The second merchant asked, “Brother, I am your humble student. Our stores are nearly the same in all ways, yet your results are doubling while mine are halving. I do not understand.”

“Brother,” the first merchant said, “We are the same in most ways, this is true. The difference lies in what we see with our hearts. You see your store as a store, your plants as plants, and your customers as customers. I see my store as a beloved home and my cherished friends are my customers, clerks and plants, all present to be adored. In that way, we are very, very different.”

Special thanks to Matt Schoenherr of Zero Inspiration for sharing this story with us!

The author of this spiritual story is unknown and greatly appreciated. If you know who wrote this, or can provide a source that I can cite then please contact me and let me know!

Also, if you decide to reprint this story on your website, you do not need to include this author biography box… please just link back to http://www.Spiritual-Short-Stories.com

The post The Two Flower Merchants appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

No, it's a very beautiful young angel. Here? An angel? Her name is Esther. And she smacks into the highest spruce tree. One wing now trapped between two branches.

Help me, is a cry that travels across the valley.

HEELLP MEEE!! is an answering echo.

Looking between the limbs, Esther can see a pond below. At first it seems no one is around. But, croaking sounds come to her ears.

“Who is this stranger?” frogs ask, eyes bulging in surprise.

Please, help me get LOOOOSE, the angel calls.

But frogs can't climb trees, croaky voices answer.

A hawk listens from his perch. He thought about chasing this falling visitor before she landed in the tree. Too late, now his dinner is overdue.

The angel twisted around. One branch gave way. And Esther dropped to a lower resting place. Nothing broken. Yet. She had been so careful to follow her plan. Around the moon, left at Newfoundland, then land beside Cobequid Bay near Truro, Nova Scotia.

She was supposed to go to a nearby pasture, not on top of the highest tree in the forest. Is anyone else around? she whispered.

Three mallard ducks were busy feeding on vegetation and insects. Quack! Quack! they shouted. Are you in trouble?

Yes, please help me, the angel pleaded from above.

“Not me,” said the largest duck. “Those branches might ruin my colorful feathers.” The others agreed. “I might get stuck myself,” another said.

Let me try, said one small duck. He paddled furiously across the water then leaped into space. He was able to get a closer look at the problem. As his wings brushed against several limbs, Esther fell two branches lower. Unable to help, he quickly returned to the pond below.

The noise alarmed a red squirrel that began scampering around his tree home. It's a human child! bushy red chattered. With red cheeks and wings like a bird!

An eagle flew lower to help. However, his six-foot wings were too wide.

A young Cygnet swam slowly into view. He wasn't very large and everyone knew he was an orphan. In fact, no one in the pond really understood what kind of bird or duck he was. Besides, he was so very plain looking.

Peering through trembling leaves, he said, I think I can help you.

How? the angel answered fearfully.”

Just let go of the branches, the Cygnet said.

Let go? Esther's voice trembled. But I'll fall, maybe hurt myself. She wrapped her wings tighter around a branch.

I'll catch you, the Cygnet said.

But you're so little, answered the angel.

Let go of the branch, and land on my back, the Cygnet said. “I may be little, but I'm strong.”

Are you sure it will work? the angel asked timidly.

Have faith, the young Cygnet replied.

And Esther did have faith. After all, she was an angel. Letting go of the branch, she dropped once more. Now she traveled down and down. She went in a straight line between leaves and branches. It was as if a perfect trail had been prepared.

She went flying past the watchful eye of the hawk. Past a nosey Crow, and disappeared from the sight of a sharp-eyed eagle. Esther made a perfect landing on top of a feathery back. The shock scared a raccoon leaning on a nearby limb. He quickly dropped to the ground.

OOMPH!” and “THANKS! were words barely heard above the angel's thumping heart. She flapped both wings slowly. Then back and forth until she rose into the air. She flew around carefully, testing every movement. Nothing broken, only a few feathers out of place.

The Cygnet's eyes grew large at the beautiful sight before him. A glow surrounded the angel, her smile radiant as the morning sun. Wings expanded to full size, sending gusts of perfumed air in his direction.

I wish I could be beautiful as you, the young Cygnet said.

You will, the angel answered. One day every creature in the forest will stare at your beauty.

Oh sure, the Cygnet said. Compared to all these ducks, I look awful.

The angel smiled knowingly as she flapped her wings. Her reddish cheeks were full of understanding. The little Cygnet heard the angel's voice come like a mighty wind, before she disappeared into the sky.

Have faith. One day, you will grow into the most beautiful bird in the forest,” said Esther the angel. “They will call you, Swan.”

* * *

Copyright © 2009 by Richard & Esther Provencher
All Rights Reserved

Richard and Esther Provencher have many poems and stories in print and online. They have four children and five grandchildren. As foster and adopting parents they were inspired by their youngest adopted son to write “A Boy Named Wish.” The direct link for a print copy is: http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/a-boy-named-wish/7960846

The post An Angel’s Friend appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

What was once a way station for passing cargo boats was now a romantic 200-year-old stone cottage situated immediately on the banks of the wide waterway. The back of the house was nestled into a wild, wooded area. It was a perfect setting for our long, esoteric discussions held over endless pots of mint tea and an occasional bottle of wine.

One fragrant spring morning, after a particularly elevating discourse, we decided to venture to a nearby town for lunch. We drove along a stretch of country road bordered on either side by tall grasses. Suzie, her pale blue eyes large and watery, called out that a tortoise had just emerged from the grasses on our right side. Following her pointing finger, we spotted it, bobbing head and all, slowly making its way across the gravelly edge of the road. Suzie was clearly distraught. It'll get hit by a car! We gotta stop and do something! Please, let's stop

Our spiritual conversations had put us in a loving-all-life mode. Of course, we would stop and help the tortoise. How could we do otherwise? Unfortunately, while our love and compassion may have been plentiful, our talk had not increased our wisdom by much. Our encounter with the creature would bring a startling realization into sharp focus for our little group of God-seekers.

There were six of us encircling the poor thing, its head now withdrawn into his shell and its body motionless. The resident intellectual in our group devised a plan. I think that two of us, er, one on each side, you know, lifting by the shell, should simply carry him across the road. Several people nodded. And someone needs to watch for any traffic that might come along. This will be a slow walk…he looks mighty heavy.

Do turtles bite? I had to ask, my practicality getting the best of me. My question was ignored; perhaps because no one knew the answer.

Just then, a red pickup truck pulled off the road a few yards ahead of where we stood. The driver opened his door, got out, slammed the door closed again and sauntered toward us. He flipped a cigarette into the grasses. My eyes followed the flight of the cigarette and then came back to the sun-wrinkled face under the green John Deere cap. I didn't like the feel of this.

That your turtle? he inquired.

Some of us mumbled inane phrases like, Well, no…not really…it's a wild turtle. Our chests were puffing up a bit with the thought of the good deed we were about to perform. Should we explain our do-good plan to the stranger?

There was no opportunity. He reached into our circle and grabbed our new friend by the tail, and in the wink of an eye, hurled the turtle into the back of his pickup. It made a sickening thud as it slid across the bottom and hit the inside wall of the truck bed. We were all too stunned to speak.

The man moved around to the driver's side and opened his door. Thanks, thanks a lot, he called back at us, I just love turtle soup.

There we stood, six fools, still in a circle, heads down, eyes staring at the now vacant area at our feet. Suzie was the first to speak, If we'd left the turtle alone, the man probably would have driven right by it.

Yeah, I agreed. We were out here like a big road sign that read Fresh Turtle. The others nodded in agreement, and the turtle paid for our lesson with its life.

Copyright 2008 – Jo Leonard is a spiritual adventurer. Her passion in life is to share the knowledge she has gathered after a lifetime of searching for God. She has traveled the world presenting consciousness-provoking talks and workshops to other like-minded seekers.

A published author, her writings, both non-fiction and fiction alike, are spiritually insightful and inspiring. Her day jobs have run the gamut from professional actress to conference planner to operating a commercial printing company. Engaging fully in life has been the grist mill of her personal refinement. She currently lives in Occoquan, Virginia with her husband and two Siamese cats.

To learn more about her, visit jeleonard.com

The post Turtle Soup appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

One day, as she nibbled on a carrot stick, a co-worker I had nicknamed Zeta told me of a past life recall she'd had. She remembered flying in a one person aircraft, seeing herself as both the pilot and a bombardier. A white cloth was tied around her head. She was horrified as she watched herself dropping bombs on people who were going about their lives in an open plaza in Atlantis.

At the time, some of my managerial duties included providing oversight to a department that was editing video recordings from a recent conference. We had hired an outside production company to help record the event and to assist our own folks with assembling the material for eventual distribution to the membership.

One day in casual conversation, one of the production assistants from the outside company confided in me that she was still troubled by a dream she'd had years ago. Before going any further, however, she made it perfectly clear that she did not believe in any of the things we believed in — things such as prophetic dreams, reincarnation or karma. Slightly red-faced from knowingly being in contradiction to her own belief system, she told me her dream.

It seems that she had been walking across a plaza where there were lots of people milling about doing what people do on pleasant days. A deafening sound descended, quite literally, out of the blue. The crowd began to run in all directions as dozens of low-flying planes roared into sight and began dropping bombs, creating small, but effective explosions. The production assistant recalled that the pilots wore (drum roll here) white headbands.

If your logical mind is asking how someone on the ground could tell what the pilots were wearing, I can only say that dreams do not play out like our lives in the physical universe. In dreams, you can be present in your all-knowing, 360-degree soul body as an observer.

I imagine my mouth must have hung open as I listened to her story. Two people I knew who didn't know one another had the same dream from different perspectives. As they say, something was afoot in all of this.

Hesitantly, I asked the production assistant if she would like to meet someone who had told me about a similar dream. She nodded. “Stay right here,” I said as I spun on my heel and started off in the direction of Zeta's cubicle.

Zeta and the production assistant exchanged stories as they stood in the back hallway. Hardly able to breathe, I watched in silence and astonishment. This was one of those momentous moments in time and space that somehow get orchestrated to resolve a longstanding karmic debt. The disturbing memory of that day in Atlantis, lodged deeply within both their hearts, was about to be removed with the precision of a surgeon's knife.

How simply the karma played itself out. Zeta looked at the production assistant, tears swimming in her eyes, and said, “I'm sorry.” The production assistant nodded her acceptance and a debt was paid.

The world began to spin again.

Not all karma gets to be worked out in such a simple and straightforward manner. And who knows, perhaps the two of them have been meeting and working toward this moment for centuries. The moral of the story, however, is to stay awake. Watch for those moments when you can consciously finish unfinished business and make further spiritual progression possible for all. If you miss a moment, it might be a long time coming before all the circumstances and conditions for resolution get so perfectly lined up once again.

The bottom line: live consciously, resolve, grow.

Jo Leonard is a spiritual adventurer. Her passion in life is to share the knowledge she has gathered after a lifetime of searching for God. She has traveled the world presenting consciousness-provoking talks and workshops to other like-minded seekers.

A published author, her writings, both non-fiction and fiction alike, are spiritually insightful and inspiring. Her day jobs have run the gamut from professional actress to conference planner to operating a commercial printing company. Engaging fully in life has been the grist mill of her personal refinement. She currently lives in Occoquan, Virginia with her husband and two Siamese cats.

To learn more about her, visit jeleonard.com

The post A Reincarnation Story appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

I awoke in the dream as Cencea. I was sitting in a tavern of huge proportions, the size being a sure sign that I was no longer in the physical world. Engaged in a lively philosophical debate, I huddled with three friends at the end of a long, roughly-hewn wood table.

The dream had my attention right away. One of my most favorite things to do in the waking world is to sit around with friends and talk the good God stuff while eating things like pasta and bits of bread dipped in seasoned olive oil.

The dream fare was a little different than that. Various bowls and eating utensils were scattered in front of us, the remains of our late evening supper. A creamy-colored ceramic bowl held hardened chunks of stonebread. I knew it to be sweet and soft and sensuous when freshly baked, but stone-like when left beyond the time it takes to consume a meal — hence its name. A slice of green pianti cheese, the edges petrifying with each passing moment, lay abandoned on a clay platter. A purplish fruit had stained, if only slightly, our lips and fingertips.

Once the sights had become familiar, I settled deeper into the dream and tuned into the sound.

Mica, moistening his finger and collecting stray bits of bread off the table with a stabbing motion, spoke in an impassioned whisper. Finding the way to G-G-God, s-s-seeing the face of God, merging with God….I am being made m-mad with God fever. His pupils were black circles with no visible iris. Have we t-t-tried every m-m-method? Every practice? W-w-what do we do next my g-good friends?

In my waking world, I didn't know who these people were, but obviously in the world of dreams, we were tight, as they say, and plotting a means by which to storm the gates of heaven.

Maybe it's a matter of worthiness, Bretha offered, nervously fingering her short blond hair. Maybe we're not worthy, yet.

Toma, usually the quiet one, poured everyone tea from an oddly-shaped blue pot. Then he suddenly rose to his feet, took his cup in both hands and held it upward, arms fully outstretched. Tell us, God, what more do we need to do? he wailed without restraint. What more do we need to be?

I may have been embarrassed by his display in the waking world but in this dream world I didn't care. I wanted to know God as much as the others did. If it required running naked in the streets, I would have done it. As Cencea, I used hand gestures to encourage Toma to wail louder.

What more, God, what more do you want? he pleaded. He paid no heed to the still-hot tea that sloshed out of his cup and onto his hands. Droplets landed with an exaggerated plopping sound on the wooden table top.

Historically, God has always responded to madmen. I wondered if Toma was mad or merely mocking it up in hopes of tricking God into answering his call. Distracted from my thoughts, I turned and looked in the direction of a tiny voice belonging to a young woman, perhaps only fifteen years of age, who was now sitting at the far end of our table. Bretha, also noticing the girl, hushed our group and asked in a whisper, What did she just say?

The young woman had a perfectly round face, dark hair that fell straight to her shoulders, and the most innocent of light-filled eyes. She repeated her words, a little louder this time, I have had a God-Realization experience.

I looked at my three fellow seekers whose eyes revealed their thoughts: That is simply not possible in one so young, simply not possible. She must be making it up.

Without further invitation from any of us, the girl spoke again. Yes, I have had a God-Realization experience, she said, but I have also learned an important lesson. Meeting God is not nearly so important as being in perfect alignment with the Godwill.

Mica, crumbs forgotten, spoke first. D-did you hear? She said ‘Godwill' as though it were a s-s-single word. Godwill.

The others nodded and took turns muttering the word to themselves. Godwill. Godwill.

Godwill, I repeated in my turn.

I said the word aloud upon re-entering the waking world. Godwill.

What did you say, sweetie? my semi-conscious husband asked, rolling over on his back. Did the alarm go off?

Not an alarm perhaps, but certainly a wake-up call.

Jo Leonard is a spiritual adventurer. Her passion in life is to share the knowledge she has gathered after a lifetime of searching for God. She has traveled the world presenting consciousness-provoking talks and workshops to other like-minded seekers.

A published author, her writings, both non-fiction and fiction alike, are spiritually insightful and inspiring. Her day jobs have run the gamut from professional actress to conference planner to operating a commercial printing company. Engaging fully in life has been the grist mill of her personal refinement. She currently lives in Occoquan, Virginia with her husband and two Siamese cats.

To learn more about her, visit jeleonard.com

The post Godwill appeared first on Spiritual Growth Events.

The field players were in position; the pitcher and the catcher were sharply focused, the first batter was geared up in his box, the referee yelled: play ball, and the game was on. The pitcher wound up and threw the first ball over home plate without the batter responding. Strike One, the referee observed.
~*~*~*~
Three months before Mike had been chosen for the first time to play with the standard team. He was young, seventeen, but because of his exceptional talent, willpower and many hours of training, he had succeeded at this young age to make it to the team. His rather considerable skills at bat, but most of all his fieldwork and his amazing proficiency at the short-stop position, had made all this happen.

Yet, his younger years were not promising at all. Right after birth, the pediatrician found a little rush in his heart and further research revealed only one functioning lung. An artery for the right lung was missing. So it seemed that his life ahead would be, physically speaking, not very active. Mike's school career passed on with ups and downs. During many years he had to miss almost one week each month of school and he lost track of the many visits to hospital which often extended to long periods of time. For that reason, he wasn't able to catch up at school and had to repeat classes a few times. Additionally, he was often bullied and beaten by classmates for no apparent reason.

Euphemistically, one could say he didn't get a very promising start. Yet, Mike always knew there would be a turning point one day. At the age of twelve he watched a baseball game during the Olympics and his heart was captured by it straight away. He had to and should play along with this game. That his physical condition probably interfered with this idea, was no obstacle to him. He signed up at the local baseball team and during his first trainings, two things became clear. In the first place it was obvious that he would be completely exhausted after every training, what up to here he was able to cover up quite well. Secondly, his coach was pleased to observe that Mike could deal with the complexities of the game quite well.

John, the American trainer who didn't know anything about Mike's limitations, soon approached the parents to determine if it was possible to improve his condition in the gym and suggesting to speed up his training to get him ready for the upcoming season.
~*~*~*~
If you really want to accomplish something, one of the criteria is that your family, all around you, stand strongly and unconditionally with you. This certainly was the case with Mike's parents, and more than that. They made it very clear to coach John that the ambitions of their son seemed impossible in the short run, but that they would do everything in their power to help him. That was their goal anyway. They intended to move heaven and earth to prepare their son for an ‘as good as it can get' future and were very aware that his ambitions would only help in accomplishing that.

The cardiologists and internists at the hospital were not hopeful, though. They pointed out that in theory, a lung transplant and a simultaneous heart operation, would be possible. Yet, much depended on the availability of a donor lung, the commitment of a surgical team, the necessary finances and Mike's condition for surgery which to date wasn't optimal for the known reasons.

Mike's father surfed the internet to investigate all possibilities. He faltered at a vast amount of alternative healers who without exception, didn't see much light at the horizon. None of them considered themselves competent enough to further Mike's oxygen absorption and in that way lift up his constant oxygen debt or even slightly improve it, to brighten Mike's future.

And still, dad Wesley did not give up. Gradually he and his wife came to the conclusion that Mike's determination could be the key to his success. An acupuncture practitioner was brought in who, with his needles, created more breathing space in Mike's chest. Physical therapy enhanced the boy's muscle mass. His common predisposition was boosted by nutritional supplements and homeopathic medicine. Since barely any of the costs were covered by the insurance companies, his mom Melanie accepted a job as a desk receptionist at an insurance company to cover all the expenses.

Yet, all of this didn't seem to be enough. The big reversal came after a dream where Mike -although initially he found this rather weird- seemed to be in direct contact with his grandfather who had passed away two years earlier. During that dream, grandpa assured him that if he really wanted, he would play the great finale in the metropolis in four years time and that he should hang on to this thought.

Afterwards, Mike noticed that his condition kept improving and a massive check-up at the Academic Hospital two years later showed that the so called Ventricle Septum Defect; the hole between both the heart chambers through which oxygen-poor venous blood formerly flowed into the arterial oxygen-rich bloodstream, had closed itself spontaneously. Moreover, the lung tissue of the remaining lung had been significantly improved.

Both these measurable physical values and the incalculable values of the senses, together with baseball team training made sure Mike wasn't sick that often any more. By then he was playing top of the stars at the local team and besides all this, going to school wasn't a threat any more. He became more popular each year, making good grades.
~*~*~*~
Again, two years later, he was ‘scouted' by the metropolitan baseball team. A nice contract was put before him which he, together with his brightly smiling and proud coach John, scrutinized thoroughly. They agreed that he and dad Wesley would take up negotiations with the ball players organization, so Mike could concentrate on his game. Until the day of the big match, he was lined up – to the great satisfaction of his field coach and other team players – as a short stop against lower opponents. And finally on the day of finale, against the huge competitor from H., he was again in the line up! For this occasion, placed in the outfield, with the possibility to move on to the short-stop position, if the weak arm of that player wouldn't make it to the end. The dream he once had about his grandfather, which Mike had not forgotten but always had taken with a grain of salt, had come true!

And the game itself? That reads itself as a young boy's book, with runs and home-runs for and against. During the first four innings the team from H. is ahead. Then Mike moves to the short stop position, where he throws a few fabulous double-plays whereby each time two opponents are out of the game. Eventually they win the championship. It is a victory for the entire team to which Mike has made a great contribution. On the way to the top, discipline is crucial. Even if this top is just a nice feeling. And you bet that with this championship, this tasted like more in a very extraordinary way.

‘Running Fox' is the alter ego, the pseudonym, or maybe another aspect of myself, Dutch writer Hans Brockhuis. I would like to label the writings I create today as, ‘inspired fiction'.

While writing these tales, I seem to be very much in a state of communion with someone who is residing somewhere in the unseen world. Ascended Master Lady Nada is a wonderful being and is widely known in the metaphysical circles in which you and I dwell. Despite the fact that the word nada, in many languages means ‘nothing', it is obvious that she is telling us humans everything, or also ‘filled with fullness.'

Once upon a time, somewhere in the woods near my hometown, I met this running fox, and it was then that I realized that this beautiful creature would be my totem animal and thus became the name under which these writings befall.

You may read more by visiting the English Language part of my website at www.runningfox.nl

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One Saturday, I was trying to calm down from a busy work-week and to find some inspiration to make music. I remained in a funky state throughout the day and I began to get frustrated, my emotions got caught in a knot. That evening, I woke up from a nightmare that admonished me not to bring any more negative energy into this world. I sat up in bed and asked internally for help, as I had done repeatedly throughout the day without a discernible answer. After about a half hour of oscillating between frustration and prayer I finally sensed an external presence.

There was a feeling of slight pressure at the top of my head, the position of the crown chakra or violet-ray energy center. I quickly arrested all my thoughts to be aware of what was happening. I audially hallucinated the following words:

“We request permission to perceive this instrument.” [the word ‘instrument' denotes a channeler]

Seemingly instantaneously, another voice answered that sounded like me but was much softer. I guessed that it was my inner self: “You are perceiving this instrument.”

I remained still and simply waited for something to happen. Nothing apparent seemed to occur, although I continued to feel the slight pressure on the top of my head.

Over time, this sensation faded and I went back to thinking my usual thoughts. But, I was able to do so much more fluidly, and I now believe that the help I received was a balancing and/or unblocking of my energy centers. I started to glimpse the reasons behind the specific type of catalysts I had been experiencing at work, to behold their poetic nature, so to speak. I went to sleep and had a prophetic dream:

I was at my desk at work which now had a large sign that was labeled the number “5” (in the Ra Material, the number 5 denotes a level of vibration corresponding to freely given communication, which also applies to myself as a musician). Two people came into the office and they started rearranging where people sat; instead of sitting in my usual spot beside a window and a view, they moved me to a closed cubicle. I became quite angry but the two people simply stared back without emotion or negative intent in their faces, and they seemed to represent very straightforward, average-looking people. Over time I interpreted this to mean that there was no divine order behind the contemporary workplace being so energy- and time-consuming. that this was simply the product of combined free will.

Monday came around and I was sitting at my desk pondering the events of the weekend. I was marveling at the beauty of life's catalyst and how they affected the movement of my psyche in ways that were enriching and downright poetic. I thought to myself that I'm ready and capable of whatever comes my way, and not a few minutes later did I hear my boss yell for me from across the office. It turned out he was on a conference call with a client and he demanded that the project I was working on be finished in half the time it would normally take.

When I went out for lunch that day, I saw a truck with a large sign that said “PIVOT: The Turning Point in Office Interiors”.

Over the next month, I averaged 50-60 hours per week. Having had a dream which prophesied my increased workload at the job, I was more capable of accepting and affirming my situation. I was also thus given the opportunity to focus entirely on balancing my frustrations at work since there was no hope for any other aspirations.

Near the end of my project's completion, I worked through the weekend. Sunday evening came around and I remember a very powerful sunset. Having spent the last two days by myself in the office, I was left alone with my own energy and the space around me started to take on the air of being sacred. Gradually, the objects in my surroundings became more and more expressive, putting on a collective smile.

This expressiveness with time turned into an actual glow of life resonating from everything around me, so that the world felt fully alive. And finally, this living-ness began to exude love, a love that bloomed with bliss. I slipped into a form of ecstasy. And I remained in that place of bliss in varying degrees while I worked.

The long term result was that the office had transformed into a sacred place and from then on I've been able to psychologically revisit a milder form of such a state at will whenever things got too hectic and this helped me accept and enjoy my job from that

Makram Abu-Shakra is a San Francisco based writer, musician, and artist, born in Lebanon in 1971. Most of Makram's work can be found either at http://www.shiftingshadow.net and http://shiftingshadow.blogspot.com

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One day an old monk who used a cane came into the temple. Approaching the altar he said, speaking aloud to God, “Mother, you are said to be God; tell me the truth: are you solid like stone — this image? Or are you formless, indescribable and impossible to touch?”

“Take your cane,” the monk heard a soft voice saying, “and strike my body on the left side.” He did, and the cane hit the stone with a clack. “Now strike me from the other side,” She said. When the cane reached the sculpture it passed right through it as if it were air.

This spiritual story was written by Sri Ramakrishna.

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