Where have all the flowers gone?

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Memorial day has never been about grilling or drinking for me. Every year we would go as a family to the cemetery where there would be a 21 gun salute, Marvin played Taps  (he was my next door neighbor and and former army bugler who taught me how to play it too), In Flanders’s Field was read recited, and then someone sang “Where have the the Flowers gone”.  My sisters and I would gather up the empty shells afterwards to use in crafts. The importance of the event was evident but it wasn’t till much later in life did I realize the gravity of what we were doing there at the cemetery, and I am grateful that I had to wait till I was an adult to really understand how horrible war is, and how much of a rippling affect it can have.  So many you young men have gone away never to return and it has been going on for for too long.  I once had an extremely upsetting experience in a cemetery on the south side of Columbus, Ohio. It was for prisoners of war from the Civil War who had died in captivity. I could feel the fear and  distress of dying so far away from home from every grave I passed. Anyway, I digress.

Death in a war is particularly shocking. The chaos on confusion only adds to the cacophony of emotions that abound in a violent death. Genocide is even more perplexing to the soul- being killed just for existing, and we have had far too many of those if the last century- 16 according to wiki.

Theses are the things I think about on Memorial Day.

And for the past month, in every healing I have done, clients’ ancestors have been coming forward and asking me foe healing. Some are very specific about what they want, either way- I am answering their call.

So this year I am putting together a special event with the Light Sisterz. We will be gathering together to allow our ancestors who died because of war to come forward and receive trauma release and healing. We will also be working with anyone affected by war- those left behind, civilian causalities, the wounded, and anyone else.

The Light Sisterz will open the session with  a meditation to set the tone. Each participant will get one on one time with on of the healers to receive healing for their ancestors and and you the participant. At the end we will circle up and join hands to do a group healing lead by yours truly, where we will ask for the ancestors of our world leaders to come forward, if they choose, and any victims of genocide not related to anyone present who need peace are also welcome to come forward for a release. There will be some meditative activities while you are waiting for your personal session.

The event will be at 1-3:30 pm on Sunday May 28th at The Center SF  in San Francisco.  Tickets are  $30 each and you get them here. Seating is limited in order to make sure each person can have individual attention. It’s going to be an intense and freeing day.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

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A dog and a ghost and a ghost of a dog

My Mom called the other day with a lead on another ghost. Her hairdresser’s dog Barkley had been getting very agitated at something in the house. It was not every day and they checked for animals or anything else that could be unsettling him. The lady said that if it was indeed a ghost, he was welcome there as long as he stopped upsetting the dog. I took a look around and sure enough, it was a wandering spirit who called himself Harold. He had been a traveling salesman and liked to check in on some of the spot along his old route. He had a few places in the area he liked to visit, but never with any ill will to the humans there. Harold never did like dogs. He eventually agreed to stop irritating Barkley and we left it at that.
But it reminded me of another ghost that I had worked with about a year ago. A friend in Arizona told me about a part of her property that her dogs avoided, as did she but was not sure why. I found a woman buried there in an unmarked grave. She was terrified to leave because if she did, he could be waiting. Years had passed since her death and she was still afraid of her husband. He was controlling, jealous, and abusive. They lived outside of town on a secluded ranch with just a few hands to help with the work. She had left her family behind to be with him, as he was, of course, charming at first. She was at first devoted to him, first out of love and then out of fear. He accused her of making eyes at every man he saw near her.
He was convinced that he could never have children. When she got pregnant he assumed that it was someone else’s child. Between her religious convictions and fear of him, she never would have done such a thing. I worked with her for a while, but there was another soul that wanted to chime in.
I was approached by a very large and sad dog. He was very good at keeping the ranch safe and chasing away the other animals and had obeyed every command his master gave him. Even the night master got him would up and excited and had him attack someone. They walked into the field where someone was crying. The name and the woman started arguing. Master gave the command to attack and he did. The master buried the nice lady and told everyone that she had gone back to see her family for a while. The dog’s guilt for killing the lady kept him there.
The lady knew it wasn’t the dog’s fault and she finally had the opportunity to tell him. A few wags of his tail and he left for good. The lady left a little while later, once she knew that her husband could no longer harm her.