Anu

Epilogue

We are not usually born with visible scars from our past lives or with full awareness of what our spiritual gifts are. We are born at the mercy of those in our environment, just as they were born at the mercy of those in their environment. How we take responsibility varies depending upon the version of mercy we ourselves were first shown. Yet, when we discover more deeply that we are spirit, a new understanding of responsibility matures within us. Some of us are better equipped at responding to the various actions of others, whereas some of us jump straight into reactivity, taking things personally and unable to see a bigger picture–unable to see Anu for who he is.

“You are bad, therefore you must take responsibility,” becomes, “You reacted and it affected me. It is my responsibility to listen to the Great Spirit for guidance, and to learn the lesson that is there for me.” Or, “I reacted and it affected you. It is my responsibility to listen to the Great Spirit for guidance, and to learn the lesson that is there for me.” 

In the old version of responsibility, the little boy is responsible for hurting the little girl. The little boy is the perpetrator and the little girl is the innocent victim. In the new paradigm of responsibility, both children are to listen to the Great Spirit for guidance and to uncover the lesson that is there for each of them.

When we don’t acknowledge spirit, subtle energy and the many ways human beings can become the effect of energy, we cannot possibly take responsibility in a way that heals us and allows a ripple effect of healing to spread out from us.

Feeding into the polarity of good and bad, right and wrong takes front and center stage and we become the effect of the seesaw tipping side to side, naturally never being able to transcend it. We fight for a sense of stability by being ‘right’ but in order to do so, someone else must be ‘wrong.’ We must always live in competition, fighting for our space while upholding a huge source of collective pain: the separation of ‘us’ vs ‘them’–the absence of Anu. 

In any story you read, try to observe each character rather than identify or side with one that you like. In this story, for example, can you see through the eyes of each character without becoming any of them? Can you see each of their limitations? Where do you make judgments about each character and why? 

Author’s Note

Unlike some of the other stories that I’ve written—some shared in this blog, others yet to be shared—this story came through while I was in a lot of physical pain. I was taking ibuprofen leading up to a root canal procedure, but was still waking up in the middle of the night from the pain. Amidst this humbling experience, there was a day I sat down at the table and listened to very healing tribal chanting music that a friend had introduced me to. As my favorite part of the music passed, I began to see mental image pictures that were not of my life or memories of this life. I do a lot of clairvoyant meditation, so this was not alarming. I just said hello to the images that showed up and pretty soon I had a knowing that these pictures were telling me a story. 

When the creative energy flows it takes precedence over all other things—even physical pain. I opened up a new document and just began to type out what I saw starting from that very first mental image picture of the boy perched over the stream yelling something. In the flow state, I do my best to remain in the present moment, meaning that I don’t go to what was before that scene and I don’t start thinking about what will happen. In fact, the thinking mind is turned off and I direct my awareness to each piece that is being shown to me. From that little boy’s image, it opened into the words he was yelling, and then to the mystic grandmother who had herbs in her hands and looked up to stare at him. 

As the author or transmuter of this story, I have to be tapped into the wisdom that says not to identify with any one character. I, myself, am asked to see through the eyes of each character without becoming any of them. I need to be able to see each of their limitations and remain tapped into that lens of discernment rather than judgment. Had I judged Anu from the start and taken sides with the little girl, I would have never learned what his gift was and the powerful gift he gives us all through being himself. The gift of being ‘Anu.’ Later, after I’d written out the whole story and turned my thinking mind back on, I decided to google the meaning of the name ‘Anu.’ One of the meanings is ‘mercy.’ This touched me deeply as it brought the story full circle. 

In the past when I’ve worked with small children and interacted with them, I’ve recognized moments when emotions have taken over or they’ve matched some other intense energy and the energy is expressed through them. In other words, I’ve had the awareness of when children channel energy that is not their own. We are the most forgiving and have the most mercy towards children when they do this even though many of us are not taught about energy mechanics beyond a general understanding of what emotions are. Some children are extremely empathic and pick up on the emotions of others, often times confusing them with their own.  

I myself am very empathic. One stand-out memory I have of channeling energy that was not my own was when I visited ground zero of the atomic bomb site in Nagasaki, Japan. By that time I had already visited Hiroshima where the first atomic bomb had been dropped. I’d had a ‘normal’ somber experience then, and I assumed this second site would be similar. It was not. The moment my foot stepped on the ground zero area, an intense amount of emotional pain and sadness entered my body and a flood of tears just poured out. I remember feeling startled when it happened because I wasn’t having a sad time in my current life, so the sadness was so sudden and very tangibly not my own as it coursed through my energy channels and found expression through me. This was during a time before I learned about energy work and clairvoyant meditation, so like many people the only way I could talk about what happened was to own the pain and sadness as if it were mine. However, it wasn’t. And it often isn’t for many children as well. 

When parents, teachers and other authority figures are blind to how energy works, we end up disciplining and labeling children based solely off of the behaviors they demonstrate rather than honing the ability to discern when they are channeling something else and help them reclaim their energetic space. Anu is a beautiful example of an extremely empathic child who is tuned into the intense energies stuck in physical locations and objects. We could receive him the best when he channeled the energy of the blue ostrich feather, but when he became the energy near the stream or the energy trapped in the object and pushed the little girl, could we still see him for who he truly is? Or do we create labels and barriers? 

The hardest thing about being very empathic is living in a world that still isn’t able to openly acknowledge energy let alone energy-sensitive people. As I write this, I see a mental image picture of a disability placard hung in people’s cars, except it’s a yellow colored one meant to help others identify those of us who walk around largely feeling disabled by our natural sensitivities! Awareness is never about condoning any particular kind of human behavior. Awareness is about discerning what is really happening rather than letting the analytical mind run rampant and slap labels on every thing, situation and person involved. As more of these powerful short stories find a voice through me, I see that I’m in a unique position to tell them as I can both transmute them into written form and illustrate the images that come through as well. 

This story is such a potent teaching for many of us gaining more awareness of energy and how it affects not only ourselves, but everyone and everything around us. As the author of this story, it really was a gift in and of itself simply to have it come through me, especially during a rough time. It has left a question that still sits in me and guides my awareness:

If Anu had never been seen for who he truly is by that little girl, he would not know his real name—he would not know divine mercy. What happens to a child who remains unseen his whole life and so easily becomes the dark energies stuck in his environment?  

A Wise Man’s Tale

Long ago, times were different but the quests of man proved timeless. In every ancient civilization or distant village there was sure to emerge at some point a wise old man.

Once in a remote land, emerged a wise old man. He was discovered sitting under a great big tree outside the bounds of a village. Nobody knew him, yet his ability to offer meaningful, personal messages to any seeker was unparalleled. In fact, word of this wise old man spread like wildfire and before long, groups of pilgrims showed up in the nearby village asking to be led to his whereabouts. Every day, as if by some unspoken agreement, the old man could be found sitting under the same great big tree–silent, yet ready to impart wisdom. 

Even though the wise old man would only give out one message per pilgrim, that did not stop a great line from forming, as people could not help but feel a deep curiosity and wonder for this venerable sage. 

I was such a man. Upon first hearing word of this mysterious wise man, I had quickly made preparations to set off on what was surely to be a great pilgrimage. After all, I had burning questions that just could not wait. 

After arriving in the village, I had spent the next three days in line, trying to get a good glimpse of the old man as he met with each pilgrim. Each meeting would begin in the same fashion. A seeker would approach the wise man who would gesture for him to take a seat in front of him. Then, the old man’s lips would move briefly, followed by a long pause. Sometimes the pause was only a minute; other times it could last 10 minutes. Or in one man’s case, it had taken nearly one hour before the old man spoke again. What had the old man said before the pause? This was a burning question that each one of us pilgrims would soon learn the answer to. 

After receiving the wisdom, some would leave solemnly. “Now it all makes sense,” they would say. Some would leave in tears, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.” And some would approach the line of waiting pilgrims saying, “He truly is the wisest old man!”

How will I leave? What will I say? I wondered. Slowly, the line moved forward.

Finally, it was my turn. With great anticipation I approached the old man who gestured with his hand for me to sit. Now, I would hear the words before the pause! I thought to myself. Every part of my body felt on high alert. Whatever words were to come, I’d take them in fully and well.  

“Match the stillness of this tree,” said the old man.

“What?” I blurted out.

The old man had already closed his eyes. And so I sat bewildered for a moment before closing my eyes, too. I struggled to swallow as a ball of confusion in my throat could not be released.   

The stillness of this tree.. match it. How, though? He’s not going to tell me, is he? At first I could not control the scattering of my own thoughts. New ones appeared with the momentum that the previous ones had created. Eventually, I came to the realization that every person who had sat here before me must have been able to cope with the same mysterious instruction, and so I decided to give it a try. 

With eyes closed, I began to watch myself go into a deeper inward state. My swirling thoughts remained, but became more distant as if they were children taking their noisy play, further and further away. Soon I was not paying attention at all to the noise of the children, but reaching towards the stillness of the tree in hopes of matching it. 

As I sat very still, I began to notice something. It was like a vague presence or a sensing. What is this sense? And just as if I’d spoken the wondering aloud, a reply came.

Sit in this stillness, and you will get all your answers.

No sooner had I received this piece of guidance, then the wise old man bid me farewell. My eyes popped open to see his hand already gesturing for the next pilgrim to be guided forward. Awkwardly, I thanked him and stumbled away, confused.

I felt many eyes on me as I walked past the remaining line of pilgrims, but I was too confused and in a daze to care how they saw me. As I made my way back to the nearby village, a sinking feeling of disappointment grew from my confusion. Had the old man gotten tired during my visit? Is that why he spoke only one sentence? The more I questioned what had happened back there under the shade of that large tree, the deeper I sank into disappointment. Nothing could erase the fact that I had come all this way looking for answers, and I hadn’t gotten any. 

The trek back to my own village was a slow and solemn one. My will to seek answers to my questions had suffered from this pilgrimage, and it was with a heavy heart–as if something had died in me– that I approached the familiar place I called home. 

I painted a smile on my face as I was greeted by neighbors and friends. Their children pulled at my sleeves to see what gifts I’d brought back. I promised them all the juiciest story about meeting the wisest old man under a great big tree that evening. Seeing their eyes light up in anticipation, my heart began to accept that it had come home again and that all could resume as normal.  

Several days passed, and it was on my walk back from collecting kindle wood that I stumbled upon a little girl from the village no more than 8 years old sitting in the shade of a tree. I paused to watch what she was doing, and soon realized that she was sitting completely still. My heart began to move and thump as if trying to speak to me through my chest. A million things became clear to me as it did. A man could walk for days to meet the wisest old man, and come back empty-handed. Yet, a little girl could listen to a story and explore its wisdom by trying to taste it herself.

Overcome with curiosity, I decided to go and ask the little girl if she had gotten any answers.

The End

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Author’s note:

Thumbnail sketches

When I hear the phrase, “information age” I think of turning to the internet for answers. The power that comes with a simple click of a button connecting us to our answers is beyond seductive. However, trouble arises when we rely less and less on our own direct connection to wisdom and life experience and replace it with the belief that something outside of ourselves has our answers. When this delicate balance of looking outward and looking inward is upset, we can unintentionally give our power away to whoever or whatever we view as the “authority.” In doing so, we can also begin the practice of invalidating ourselves by not turning inward and building trust in ourselves. If this continues, we can lose touch with our own power before it has had a chance to really blossom. 

When this story came through, I immediately identified with the seeker–the man who went out of his way to meet the wise old man in a distant land. Then, as the story unfolded, I took a step back and observed more quietly in the background. Was the wise old man really wise? Or was he wise only when he matched the stillness of the tree? And when the seeker heard the reply to sit in stillness to get all his answers, had that reply come from the wise old man, or the seeker’s own connection to wisdom? At first I wanted to know, but then I saw the wisdom in not saying either way. 

I remember being a little girl and being less conditioned by society as well as still very ignorant to the goings-on of the world. I think I would have loved to hear this story back then. When we are so young and innocent, our connection to Nature is naturally so much stronger. We can listen to a story like this and not for a moment think that wisdom is only for some people depending on their age and or gender. In fact, this story is not a tale about a wise man at all; but a simple demonstration of the wisdom that can be found when we commune with Nature. 

My wish today is that, especially during this time of year, the child in each of us can look at this simple act of matching the stillness of a tree and just know there are gifts–perhaps meaningful personal messages for us–waiting in the light for us.. 

..that just like wisdom, gifts don’t always have to be found outside of ourselves. 

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No matter who or where a story comes from, moments of movement and moments of stillness can be found embedded within it. This precious balance can be seen in any form of wisdom and it is the fundamental key in the ancient human quest for answers. Even the relationship between the state of questioning and the state of having answers can be simplified into this duality of movement and stillness. 

When we sit simmering in our questions, there is great movement within. In matching the stillness of a tree, these questions stop simmering and eventually can become still. In the simple absence of questions, or absence of mental activity we experience while questioning, it is akin to having the answers. We allow ourselves to experience a deeper stillness. Rather than looking for the answers to your questions, what happens when we allow ourselves to stop asking questions? When we practice the stillness that we assume comes after we get our answers?  

The Gift Exchange

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The Gift Exchange

A year ago in November, as I was walking back from the library under a long line of monkey pod trees on Kapiolani Blvd, a story popped into my head. It entered quite effortlessly although a bit jumbled-like a folder full of disorganized files. After I got home, I sketched it out and “file” by “file” every small element made its meaningfulness known to me in the flow of the process.

The main character looked like my little sister Suki from childhood wearing the same light blue nightgown and having distinct shaped hair. Her posture-unsure of herself-wasn’t an accident and wasn’t just her posture, it was my posture, and was to represent the struggle shared by many souls in this world trying to awaken and step fully into their truth. Every step is unfamiliar, you are unsure, and you have a thirst for a kind of support and reassurance that the world cannot quench.

Due to personal circumstances at that time of my life, I was made ready to step more fully into my own truth: that I am an artist. Why was it so hard to get here? Why is it so hard to come alive? To really wake up? I don’t know. But there is an overflowing amount of joy that seems to self-generate simply by my living my truth. The world is my ball of clay to fiddle with. And it’s not about the end result, it’s about the joy you feel holding that ball of clay and entering into the creative process.

In life we have roles, and I was always playing out numerous ones like daughter, sister, wife, teacher, and friend, but in the midst of all that I wasn’t living my truth. It’s a very spiritual feeling that is difficult to describe aside from the special kind of “knowing” you just experience directly from the heart. It’s not like I’d never heard the saying that you should “follow your heart.” I think a lot of us do. However, I now feel a kind of pull that suggests that true authenticity means aligning one’s choices and actions more fully with the heart. It isn’t enough to follow it in its general directional pull, we can aspire to merge with it to really “satisfy” our unique nature and constitution. What that looks like for me-an artist and storyteller-is always going to be different from what it looks like for others on different paths, but what is the same is the bravery it takes for us to hold fast to our respective truths in a hyper-stimulating world of endless influences.

Line by line as I scrambled to illustrate this story in time for Suki’s birthday last December, I held tight to that truth and watched myself really surrender to the creative process for perhaps the first time. It used to be about working hard, but now it’s about working hard to surrender. We are not our thoughts, or emotions. We are our nature: the language of the heart and soul. We need to listen to that language and become fluent in order to really grasp the capacity we all have to give of ourselves in the most meaningful way. It is my intention for the “If souls could talk” visual narrative series to attempt to touch on some of the universal symbolism of that language.

We are now in the midst of the “season of giving.” It can be a synonymous time with feeling that we aren’t giving enough, and sensing that the amount we really want to give is sadly beyond our capacity. This year, let’s not feel that way. May we all find joy and thanks in being ourselves and knowing that that is enough <3