Cookie Monster

The now quiet house helps Wanda's mind relax. Sitting in the big, yellow office chair, she gazes out at the garden. The sweet stillness inspires her, and she prays.

To serve in love and guidance of her Over-soul, she must release herself from envy. Jealousy consumes her when she witnesses strong connection to the Divine. She yearns to bring Light to this dark place. In the her heart, she knows there is no comparison or separation between her path and theirs. She sabotages her growth with feelings of failure. Wanda wishes to dispel her jealousy and to understand what deeper longing drives her to this response. Emotions are a key to unlock the patterns.

"I am ashamed of the jealousy. I pass it to you, Jesus, son of Mary, so I may know it thoroughly. Teach me how to love it fully."

Settling into a calm meditative state, Wanda invites Jesus to join her. His presence looms in the background at first. He encourages the bravery needed to witness the truth with compassion. Wanda finds the trust needed to relax into the vision. As their energies unite, a vision crystalizes.

Wanda can feel before opening her eyes that the body she inhabits is not familiar. Peering down at her feet, she sees they are filthy and bare, sinking into cool sand. The transportation through the illusion of time, Wanda stares at dusty stone walls surrounding a throng of people dressed in loose robes. Is it Rome or Greece? No, not there.

It's early morning, but the sun is already sweltering. On her back, Wanda carries a heavy , rolled cloth full of wares to sell at the market. It clangs as she shuffles along. her form is frail and young, maybe eleven or twelve years old.

She wears smelly rags, her matted hair crawls with lice and Wanda's nails are split and crusted with filth. She offends even herself. Others barely regard her as human. Cowering, she takes care not to touch anyone, haunted with memories of beatings dealt for such indiscretions in the past. Suffering, without any allegiance to another, she has no family or community where she can find refuge. Wanda perseveres.

At a gated entrance to the bigger market area, Wanda searches for a suitable spot to display her wares. Untying the satchel, she spreads the assortment of stolen and found objects. A dented oil lamp, a few pieces of pottery, including a watering jug and tarnished spoon, she hopes to barter for food. She interacts as the social strata dictates with others equally as unworthy. The dry heat burns the inside of her nose. She crotches against the wall to hide until the sun retreats.

The vision deepens into a soul connection not just a visual sense. A peaceful wave fills Wanda's heart and this past life version for her. It feels familiar. It is the same one who Wanda called to help heal her heart. It is Jesus. His presence bathes their soul essence with a Divine Love and they weep through timelines.

Sudden surge of revulsion brakes the union. The bedraggled mind of the decrepit one rejects the Love. The young injured soul of the beggar cannot come to terms with being loved in any way. Wanda resumes the separate stance of observer, as two bored, well dressed men hear the cries coming from the huddled pile of rags.

"Look here, the rags and garbage weep," the taller man jeers.

"Can it be a living thing? Say it isn't so," the partner chimes in. There is no movement from the girl in rags.

She remains as a rabbit under the gaze of a snake. The crying, even breathing ceases. The drumming of her heartbeat deafens the rest of the comments. She kneels with her face in the sand, unable to utter words in supplication, just pleads in her heart to be ignored.

"It believes we should pardon its smell."

"The air is wasted in every breathe it takes."

"We do a service to humanity by ridding our great metropolis of this pestilence." They playfully retrieve rocks to begin their service.

Throwing rocks with a ferocity filled with disgust and vehemence, they relish each strike. Daring to get closer, they urinate in her wounds. "Curse the whore that bore you!"

She did not refuse their decree. Her peace at their judgement infuriated them even more. They spy a larger rock and combine effort to lift the weight to crush her skull. The end of the life is a relief to all.

A breath sucks into Wanda's lungs, reminding her she is in a body in the 20th century. Her vision is blank, but only momentarily. The next past life comes into focus.

She sits, her bony protuberances cut into the woven mat on the floor. Her eyes slowly adjust to the dim light. She hears the grunts of copulation behind the next curtain. Sore and bruised, Wanda knows this lifetime she is a lowly prostitute, currently waiting the next assault. In this environment, with the acrid odors of bodily fluids, smoke and the itch of fleas, Wanda notes that this lifetime is easily worse than the last.

Switching quickly to the next vision, Wanda gasps as she becomes aware of the intense fear surging through her. Wanda is a mature indigenous woman with a measure of status in her tribe. She stands erect and defiant in the center of her village. The stench of burning bodies and the pounding of her heart inform Wanda that the people are dead.

This stance catches the notice of the soldiers. The woman waits for the crack and the ball of fire to take her breath away. But the white men have other plans. Challenging them with her bravery, they grab her by the hair and punch her teeth out. Taking turns the rape and torture continues for countless days. The shame and torment take her life.

The image changes again to a different era without pause. Wanda is tied to a stake, the townsfolk sling profanities and throw rotted food stuffs to further humiliate the proud, arrogant witch. She is to be burned at the stake. As fear swells in her chest, she prays for peace. She is a seer.

As she hangs limp from exhaustion, she recognizes a young girl in the crowd. It's Lua. No, wait. That's not Lua but her daughter in this past lifetime. This girl is fairer. But those eyes. Wanda knows those eyes. It is Lua but in a different life. Lua and this girl are one and the same.

As the heat intensifies, Wanda requests protection for the girl, for Lua, who also has the gift. The wood crackles with glowing flames. Maintaining visual contact with Lua, Wanda demonstrates how to enter a trance in order to avoid torture. Wanda leaves her conscious connection with the body before the pain burns through her. The power of the One elevates each cell to vibrate faster, until all sensation is gone. Not one scream is enjoyed by the crowd.

Deeply cloaked in silent timelessness, a veil grows over the right side of Wanda's head. Forming a string, a shadow reaches her third eye and connects to the right side of Wanda's heart. Focusing her intention to receive, she feels her heart melt into a pool of crystal clear water. More liquid pours from her third eye into her heart, overflowing. Wanda wills herself to shrink and submerge into the liquid. There are answers in the flow, she knows.

Forgetting to breathe and in fear of losing her life force she calls on Archangel Michael but he is already there. "You can breathe," he says in her mind.

Trust is essential is this place so she inhales overriding her understanding of water. This is not water the way it is understood in the world. It is liquid though. After reassuring her mind that breathing is safe, she views her surroundings. it seems to be a well. Peering below her feet, she discerns a shining object in the depths. Propelling herself through the murky cold, she dives to investigate. An eerie presence makes itself known but the attraction to the object is stronger.

Wanda links with the presence of Micheal to maintain focus despite the ominous vibe. No harm will come to her. The silver sheen comes into view. The gleam is from a large Hershey's Kiss? Now she chuckles and bubbles release, floating through the murk. "This can"t be all bad," she thinks.

Peeling back the thin foil, Wanda releases a thorny, black throng of vines that choke out the remaining light and wrap themselves around her body. The vines represent an emotional weight that strangles and suffocates the love and compassion originally seeded in the human heart. Wanda's heart races, identifying the intense pit of resentment held in this emotional refuge. The weight is too much to bare. So many lifetimes. So much betrayal.

Wanda succumbs to the base vibration of hatred and resentment towards all those that wronged her. The familiarity comforts her until numb. Darkness threatens to consume her. Her heart flutters, jarring her awake. After lifetimes spent discouraged, destitute, and disconnected from her soul's purpose, Wanda knows she now has a choice.

The warrior in her revitalizes and fights with Light sword in hand, she decimates the encroaching darkness. The vines tighten their grip, threatening to engulf her, she responds to the pain slashing and stabbing, carving out the wholeness she is so desperate to remember. Wanda thrashes until the fear leaves her heart. Black, slimy remnants float to the surface and are cleared by the Light upon contact.

Watching from the bottom of the well, she witnesses the unholy mess dissolve. Immediate clarity floods into her knowing. Hatred creates separation. More compassion for self allows more for others. Renewed hope inspires heart once again.

The water around her stills and her vision clears, a flicker of light catches her attention. Infused with fearless clarity, she approaches the light. It's another container. as her eyes adjust, she can see that the reflection is enhanced by the lotus blossoms and fuffy cloud-like puffs weightless in the fluid around her. A smile crosses her lips, "Like confetti only better." she thinks.

The bliss is whipped away. In a moment she is plummeting. Her insides jostle as she is impossibly dense. A resurgence of Love infuses into her and she regains trust in the experience. Wanda permits the event to unfold. With more allowance comes more clarity.

A woven tapestry, resembling DNA, unfurls before her. Her mind tries to make sense of the patterns. The geometric designs soothe her further. Refined receptivity allows her to witness without question.

She ceases the rapid decent and lands like a feather in a mosque courtyard. The hot, dry air steals the moisture away and wraps her in comfort. A familiar place. Sunlight reflects off the old stone walls. Wanda caresses the sandy surface in reverence, testing the quality of her vision. It feels real. The heat radiating off the stone into her hand verifies the truth in her mind. Gasping, she laughs, in awe of the magic.

Down a long pillared hall, a man in white robes appears. Wanda shields her eyes from the light pouring from Him. Raising her eyes to His face, the light dims. The serenity of His gaze reveals His identity. Jesus? Wanda disbelieves her sight and desperately looks around for another to confirm what she sees. Trust. she listens with her heart.

Holding out His hands, he says, "Give it to me."

Wanda's knees weaken. There's an odd sense of clarity amidst her mind's refusal to accept His presence. She looks around for something worth giving the Son of God. Nothing of note, until between her palms there appears a bubbling gooey mass. She cannot recall how it got there. Shrugging, she offers it to Him. A burst of dry, warm air rushes through the courtyard.

Jesus gobbles it up like Cookie Monster. Nam, nam, nam. Smacking and chomping with relish. He blows his head and Wanda collapses. Jesus reaches into her heart and plants a small seed.

"Forgiveness," He says as an enormous tree sprout from her heart. A peaceful vitality infuses every fiber of Wanda's body. Full of gratitude, Wanda releases the bonds of hatred held in her soul's memory over all the different lifetimes of mistreatment. Wanda is finally free. In the presence of pure faith, Wanda is clean.

The anger and fear blocked her connection to her Divine voice. This clearing opened a strong path to communicating clearly with her Over-soul. Trust your emotions, they bring clarity.