Jump Girl

by Salicrow

  I put my hands over my ears, and the voices got louder. It was as if I had paid closer attention to them, bringing them into focus. Thousands and thousands of voices were whispering and chatting at once. I felt like I was connected to a telephone switchboard or a fiber-optic node that was completely open, letting its entire carrier wave speak at once. There were overlays and undertones and lights within them. In my mind’s eye it looked like the web of a funnel spider with tiny lights at all the places where the strands intersected. If I focused on a light, it would get brighter, and I could hear what was being said more clearly. Sometimes the voice was speaking directly to me; more often it was a rambling conversation, as if it was speaking to somebody else and I was eavesdropping.

  The voices and flickering lights washed over me like waves, getting louder and then receding into the distance. I felt distant, separated from my body and the waking world. I still remembered I was Sali, but I questioned how I was going to function with this insane volume of voices seeping through. How was I going to concentrate? How was I to live my life and get anything done? Here’s something to think about: we all live in such a tornado and cascade. That’s the nature of the universe, something Stephen Hawking and other deaf and blind scientists don’t understand when they devise their unified models of reality. That’s where we are, but most folks don’t hear or see it.

  I watched one of the lights in the web get suddenly brighter, and Adam came into my mind. I saw him in my mind’s eye, felt his energy, and heard his voice. He said, You have a long way to go, and you’ll need to learn how to rest while you can. You will need to find solace and quiet in a very loud world.

  His words were familiar. I had heard them before, in my dream with the white hallway and my Reiki Master lying in the white bed. He had told me I would need to find solace and quiet because the intensity and power I was experiencing were real.

  The words were a life raft. I focused on only the light and sound of Adam, rendering all other voices quiet by comparison. Soon I could hear only him, encouraging me, coaxing me onward, reminding me that this was all just a review. All of it. The past lifetimes, the toning, the shamanism, the spirit communication were all a review. As he spoke I saw flashes of familiar lifetimes, beings in whose lives I had done things that were similar to what I was doing now in this lifetime. I saw myself connected to spirits always, working with the earth. In some epochs I delivered prophecy, holding people entranced with my voice. I saw myself persecuted, celebrated, ignored. It was all just a review.

  Adam’s voice got quiet, as if he was purposely speaking softly: Now focus only on the voice of your own mind.

  I breathed deeply, reaching out for my own energy, making contact with my waking world. I started to ramble: “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about. How am I supposed to think on the spot? How do I know that it’s not someone else speaking to me?”

  When I listened to my words, my voice, I heard an echo, like a reverberation in a large, open space. I was alone. Mine was the only voice I heard. I did not hear Adam, I did not hear Peter, I did not hear the magnitude of inflections and modulations that had crashed over me only moments before.

  As I thought about this for a while, I started to feel a pressure building up. Adam came back into my mind: You will need to work on this skill. At first you will feel fatigued if you work too hard at keeping us out, but after a while you will simply do it.

  I don’t know how long I lay on my bed in the world of spirit. I woke to the sound of the front door opening and Noel coming into the house. I was disoriented and had a hard time exiting my trance state. I had been energetically open for weeks, making me wobbly in the waking world.

  The rest of that day went by in a blur: food, kids, schoolwork. All the while spirits spoke in my head. It was distracting at times because they often spoke in their own languages and voices. I had just been introduced to the idea of focusing to block them out of my mind, and apparently they were going to try me out and make sure I exercised my new skill.

  They often tested me the most when I was the most exhausted and fragile. Feeling tired, busy, and overwhelmed was a guarantee that I was going to have company of a spiritual nature. They were teaching me that, like a true warrior, I needed to be able to have control when I was at my weakest. Only then would I have real mastery over my abilities.

  I went to bed that night exhausted. That was a warning sign that I would be working, like a road sign reading CONSTRUCTION AHEAD. But I didn’t heed it. I went to bed tired, with the hope that I would sleep long and hard.

  I woke to a feeling of energy in my body. I first felt it at the base of my spine as heat and a sensation of electricity. I realized that spirit was working on me. This didn’t alarm me because it wasn’t the first time my spirits had decided to do kundalini-like work on me. I could feel the energy of both Adam and Peter in the room and that of Tamin close to my body, manipulating the vibration of my root chakra.

  The energy intensified, becoming a pulsing, rhythmic wave. As the tempo increased, it began to give off light, like a fast-blinking strobe. The pulsing flash then began to make a sound that came on all at once, a loud roaring like a waterfall. My body began to tremble and shake. I called out loud and woke Noel. I told him something was happening to me and I didn’t know what it was.

  Light suddenly shot up through my body, and the roaring sound became deafening. I felt like I had so much energy in me that I would be visible from space, if not for the roof of my house. I felt dizzy and electrified. I wanted to crawl out of my skin; I wanted it to stop. The sensations resembled the feeling of shock I experienced after giving birth to my daughter, only a hundred times stronger. My body was convulsing as if I had just plunged into ice-cold water. I was hyperaware. The voices I had heard earlier that day were back. They were the roaring sound that whipped through my body from my groin to the top of my head. The roaring sound was a compass of voices.

  Peter spoke: Sali, you are okay. Your kundalini is opening. Your chakra system is going through an overhaul. Do not be afraid; this was to be expected. Try to relax into it.

  Relax into it? What kind of advice was that? He might as well have said, “Hey, Sali, you’re shaking like you’re having a seizure, and you’re hearing thousands of voices in your head while a lightning bolt surges through your system. Just try to relax into it.”

  This was not at all like the pleasurable kundalini opening I had experienced while having sex. This was far rawer. I felt like I was being torn asunder. Still, Peter’s was the only advice I had, so what else could I do? I tried to concentrate on one spot. I chose my feet, thinking I surely was in need of grounding. Noel must have been thinking the same thing because he soon placed himself at my feet, trying to give me some stability as I rode out the cascade.

  When it stopped, I was overwhelmed. In reality the whole thing probably only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours. My body had the same kind of exhaustion one feels after a really good orgasm. It was content and tired. But my mind needed answers.

  Peter explained that the energy of kundalini was indeed similar to that of orgasm and that if I ever really couldn’t take the experience of kundalini opening, all I had to do was have an orgasm. This seemed like a pretty good alternative—and something that my husband was more than willing to help me with!

  I spent hours that night talking to Peter about what I had experienced. I had heard of the kundalini before but had never experienced it. He explained that it was a power source stored in the body that lay dormant in most people most of the time. The manner in which I experienced my opening had to do with the energy moving through blocks, healing me as it went.

  This made me think of kundalini as a triage medic who said, Give them a leather strap to bite on, and dig that shit out. I planned to research kundalini the next day, gather all the information I could, and talk more to my spirits about it. After all, they had proven to be the best teachers, and I was beginning to believe that I had chosen them for that role.<
br />
  In Sanskrit, kundalini means “coiled like a serpent.” The term refers to the latent life energy, or prana, that rests at the base of the spine, dormant on the back side of the root chakra. Through the practice of Reiki, yoga, meditation, and other spiritual disciplines, it is possible to awaken this coiled serpent energy. It is also possible to experience a spontaneous opening of the kundalini. This is usually brought on by trauma or shock. With kundalini arousal or awakening, energy moves through the sushumna, the central spinal channel between the ida and pingala spirals, up through the chakras. The awakening of kundalini results in higher consciousness, opening of psychic gifts, and a strong feeling of connection with the divine. In some cases, kundalini rising can even bring on moments of superhuman abilities.

  The next day my kundalini opened several times. After the third time, before noon, as I found myself shaking uncontrollably while white-light energy surged through my body, I wanted it to stop. I pleaded with my spirits, “There must be a way to bring this into balance. I understand I have healing to do, but does it have to be all at once, does it have to be so many times in one day?” I haggled with the spirit world about how to ration out my kundalini experiences, spread them out over a period of time and make them a bit more tolerable, and this time my haggling worked. I was given a break.

  My kundalini continued to open, often multiple times a day, over a period of months. I was walking the tightrope between brilliance and insanity, and I often wondered on which side I would land. With time, the surge of energy faded in intensity as it worked out the emotional blocks that hampered its passage.

  To this day it is not uncommon for me to experience my kundalini when I’m doing high levels of energy work or when I visit sites of earth energy. It is a much more comfortable ride now. I still shake a bit from the supercharge, but it’s no stronger than the shivers. In these moments my senses are heightened and I can feel both my waking body and my higher self present. Often I sense my incarnation as Chazut, watching me through the eyes of my higher self.

  42

  No Sleep for Days

  As my body went through power surge after power surge and the opening of my kundalini made me feel as if I was coming apart at the seams, I began to experience an unusual form of insomnia. I would wake up in the middle of the night with my mind fully conscious, but my consciousness was not fully in my body.

  I was still closely connected to my body; I wasn’t traveling to other times and places. But I found myself floating just above my body as it lay in my bed. I was in the realm of spirit. Time functioned strangely when this happened. I could look at the clock for what felt like twenty minutes or half an hour before one minute would tick off.

  Sometimes I had visitors during these experiences. Usually it was Tamin. He talked to me about the concepts of time and space and how these things differ between the world of the living and the world of the dead. For the living, forty years seems like a long time, but to the dead forty years can go by in the blink of an eye. Similarly, two hours in the world of spirit can be two minutes in the world of the living. Tamin spoke of these things while I existed outside of normal waking time, hovering just above my body.

  I wondered if my ability to step into the world of spirit was somehow connected to my experience as a teenager when I slowed time. I reflected on times in my childhood when I questioned which reality was the real one. Was the waking world more real than the world of dreams, or was the world of dreams, the world of spirits, more real? I decided they were, and are, equally important. My work here in the waking world has merit. What I do here counts and has value. My experiences in the spirit world, as significant as they are, do not negate that.

  I believe there is a bigger plan, a pattern, woven into the web of fate. We are currently living in a very important time, one that plays a vital long-term role for humanity as a species. I believe we are collectively waking up, becoming more psychic, more empathic, despite appearances and deep resistances that create war, fearmongering, and greed. We are coming more into tune with spirit, and it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I believe that I knew that this was happening and planned a life of service for myself now, to help ease the transition for other people. The jump girl in me wanted to jump in.

  My insomniac conversations in the wee hours of the morning usually began at clock times composed of master numbers—1:11, 2:22, or 3:33. They announced themselves by numerological signs. I was aware of the significance of the vibration, and I believed it was meant to grab my attention, to connect me to the energy created by the whole master series and numbers in general. In traditional numerology, numbers in triplicate would be broken down to a single digit; but I believe there is something hidden energetically in the vibration of triplicates. After all, 3 itself is a number of creation.

  During these episodes when my spirit floated above my body, the energy of the room would often change. The air would become thick with spirit presence. My eyesight would be heightened, allowing me to make out details of the room, even on the darkest nights. My hearing would become supersensitive. I heard the sounds of the house that normally flew beneath my radar, sounds from outside and down the road, coming from the houses of people I knew and didn’t know.

  The atmospheric change would often wake Noel up, and he would lie awake beside me in the dark. After the third night of this sort of disturbance, he started staying up late, for the energy was pushing him to open as well. He doesn’t possess the natural gifts I have, but the gifts he does have began to amplify. He was remembering his past lives, particularly the lifetime in Egypt we shared when I was Chazut and he was brother/lover Ansalon.

  It was a raw, ecstatic time. We were remembering ourselves—the good, the bad, the details we would rather have left unseen. It was a passionate time, as the wounding both in our current lives and in our ancient lives were woven together and healing together.

  During this time Noel worked as a heating contractor in his father’s business. November and December were slow months for him as people began to celebrate the holidays. Most of his work was done on call, when someone’s furnace broke down. The quietness of his work season gave us plenty of flexible hours. The only schedule we were keeping was that of our children.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Even though I was up most of the night, I awoke in the morning feeling both tired and refreshed. Kundalini rising gave the same results as sleeping.

  I was not analyzing the information I received like Velma from Scooby-Doo. I was processing it solely on an experiential level. However, I did a lot of journaling at this time, because my spirits told me I would want the information later for my book. I knew I would someday write about the November Incident. It felt like the title of a mind-bending alternative-reality movie, or a folktale. And it was.

  Tamin began leading me in journeys from this state, sometimes at night and sometimes while Noel was doing Reiki on me. My journeys with Tamin were not to past lives but to places in this life where my power had been lost—places where I held pain.

  On one journey I found myself in the corner of a hospital room. At first I saw myself lying in bed with Noel standing beside me, changing Levi’s diaper. I realized that I had stepped into the moment in which I astrally projected after having her. As soon as this truth dawned on me, the room spun and changed.

  Looking down from the corner of the room, I saw a gray-haired man sitting on the edge of the bed. His skin was tanned, and his hair was cut very short. He had no facial hair, and a something was wrong with his left eye. It was made of glass. I was looking at my father.

  Seeing him in my journey sent me back into my body so quickly that I gasped with the shock. Just before I left the room, in the moment when I recognized him, he looked up into the corner of the room and saw me.

  Part 6

  The November Incident—Part 2

  43

  Visiting My Father

  The fact that my father had sensed me in the room—that he had felt something—hit me like a ton of
bricks. I had always suspected that my father was psychic; I believed such abilities often ran in families, and I had gotten my own powers through his lineage. Add to that his story of getting led out of the bog by an Indian chief and other wyrd stories he told, and it was obvious that he too saw things others did not.

  I felt betrayed—betrayed by the spirits, betrayed by myself. How had I ended up so far from him? I hadn’t spoken to him for almost thirteen years. Why had my spirit gone seeking him out?

  I brought this up with Tamin, and his answer was, You must go back. He reminded me that I had begun this work, these journeys, so I could reclaim my power—power that was partly nullified by old wounds.

  I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to go forward and continue investigating my gifts. But I knew I would have to go. It was always the way: past lives, unfinished business, old traumas, dormant energies, karma-karma-karma. The pattern was inflexible. The path was chosen, and no other options were available. I would either go willingly or be forced to go—the old psychic rule. I had already learned inside out that it was generally more pleasant if I went of my own accord. So I agreed.

  Tamin and I journeyed back to the same location in time and space, back to the moment when I first felt myself in the corner of the hospital room. This time I paid closer attention to details. I examined my father as he sat on the side of the bed. He looked different. He was thinner, with no facial hair, and his hair was short and going white. He looked different from what I expected. I don’t mean his physical appearance, although that too was different; the major difference I saw was that he seemed humble and remorseful, like a man who was sitting consciously with the heaviness of his burden. I had expected him to be bitter and arrogant, full of self-importance, for he had always handled pain and adversity with an air of righteousness, as if he were above the rules, coroneted by his marine training and extreme war experiences.