At the age of 5, I uncovered my Native American instincts when my parents took me to Florida to visit a Seminole Indian reservation. Growing up in the mountains of Virginia, I had never seen a real American Indian. Back in the late 1950's and early 1960's, Indians on television were the savages who gave the good-guy cowboys a lot of grief. I was soon to discover that my sympathy for the Indians ran deep in my soul. My parents rarely traveled, so this trip was a big deal for me. It was the first time I was to leave Virginia, and I was going to meet my Grandmother Butler, who lived in Florida. I was a shy and quiet child. My sister was 12 years older than me, so basically, I was an only child growing up. I stuck by my mother’s side and rarely played with other children in the neighborhood. I had a creative mind with imaginary playmates to keep me company. I was excited about getting out of my familiar surroundings, but still, I was cautious about being around strangers.
My grandmother was a small, slender woman in stature but a formidable force in the Butler family. Her skin was leathery from years in the Florida sun, and she wore house dresses made of faded print material. She was not a touchy-feely sort of grandmother. She greeted me with a smile but did not offer a hug. That was OK since she was a stranger at this point to me. Relatives referred to her as “Miss Alice” and rarely as a mom, grandma, or even sis. She carried this title as a reminder of her seniority in the family. Just mentioning Miss Alice in a conversation would get participants to stop in their tracks. No one wanted to cross her. No one ever told me what would happen if someone did take a stand against her, but it was apparent others knew the outcome would be terrifying!
Miss Alice lived in a small concrete house with pebbles on the lawn in place of grass. Inside, her stuffed “trophy” fish hung on all the walls. She had won fishing awards for bringing in the biggest swordfish or shark. Outside in her garden was a full-sized concrete deer, antlers and all. I was attracted to the Bambi looking creature and attempted to climb up upon his back for an imaginary ride. Quickly, Miss Alice instructed my mother to remove me from the deer. Nothing more needed to be said. I remained even closer to my mother for the rest of the day.
I was elated when my mother told me we were going to venture out of that house for a day trip to the nearby Seminole Indian reservation. She promised me I could purchase a doll in the gift shop and see the Indian children perform their drumming ceremony. We toured the village and witnessed the Indian women painting pottery while the men demonstrated their skills at tanning hides and building tee-pees. Finally, everyone gathered around the central area where there was a fire, and many tribe members began to dance and sing to traditional ceremonial songs. Tourists moved in to see the show and enjoy the festive costumes and performance.
The Seminole children sat down and created their separate, private circle. They each had a small drum and began drumming to the beat of the adult dancers. I was fascinated, and my feet started tapping to the music and rhythm. Earlier, I had convinced my mother to buy me a drum in the gift shop along with the doll. Secretively, I skipped over to the circle of children and sat down. Sneaking away was very out of character for me, but I wanted to get a closer look. No one noticed my disappearance as my coloring of dark hair and brown eyes with suntanned arms and legs easily fit into the mix of the native children. For the first time in my life, I felt that I had friends my age who welcomed my company for the common purpose of drumming. I was in heaven. The tourist noticed the children’s circle and began to toss coins of appreciation for their performance. I was shocked that my efforts to drum were being recognized with money, even if it was just pennies. Suddenly, my mother noticed that I was among the Indian children and not by her side. She ran over to the group, picking me up by the shoulder to avoid any more contact with the native children. Even for that brief time, this connection with the native culture was life-changing for me.
I began to admire American Indian jewelry and wear turquoise whenever possible. As a teenager, I braided my hair and tied leather strips around my forehead. I listened to native chanting and wore beaded moccasins around the house. I had become a “closet” Pocahontas. My obsession with native history and lifestyle seemed very out of character for a suburban woman who now was living in North Carolina. No one else could understand why I loved these traditions, colors, and music. It was just my quirk way. Soon I was to uncover the truth to this mystery when I learned about the Akashic records.
During my adventure trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, I became immersed in more native traditions. I visited adobe villages and listened to stories about the Indian’s struggle to live away from the invading white men. There was something in the land of enchantment that gave me a euphoric feeling. Regardless of the fact, I had never been there before; it felt like home. I breathed better, thought better, and felt better in Santa Fe than any other location. There was a cellular memory in that land which I could not escape. Was it possible I had lived there in a past life? If yes, then I wanted to know more about that life to gain a greater understanding of who I had been in those times. Could this knowledge unlock the mystery of my obsession with the Indian way of life?
How does one discover past lives? I began to research the process and found an unusual phrase, Akashic Records. In the bible, this recording of universal history was called the Book of Life. It can be labeled a comprehensive super computer system, perhaps what today would be called cloud computing. There is a central storehouse of all information for every individual who has ever lived upon the earth.These records contain our every thought, deed, word, feeling, and intent.The word, Akashic, comes from the 5000-year-old Sanskrit word akasha, which means space or aether. The Akashic Records are a hidden storage space or library in the collective consciousness field. It is like a secret hall of records, which can be revealed by reaching into the subconscious mind in a deep state of meditation. By accessing information from the Akashic Records, we can review our past, present, and future potential life choices. We can gain a greater understanding of our current tendencies and preferences. Through insight gained in the Akashic, we can improve our relationships with more compassion and understanding.
The sleeping prophet, Edgar Cayce, tapped into this field to provide thousands of intuitive readings during the 1930's. He was even given alternative medical solutions to his client’s issues when seeking assistance within the records. The whole of his readings now fill a library in Virginia Beach at his previous hospital and teaching center.
Determined, I set out to learn how to gain access to these records, or this ancient library collection. I traveled to Raleigh, NC, and found a training class where I joined ten other curious information seekers for a week-long program to open my soul documents. Each participant had a background in spiritual endeavors. Some were knowledgeable about crystals; others were healers, writers, or some just curious about the unknown or spiritual world. I was there for a specific purpose to gain an understanding of my Native American obsession. Our instructions were lengthy, and we learned both how to breathe and meditate,going deeper into the subconscious mind. This level of relaxation gave us access to the records and the higher-dimensional beings known as the Lords of the Records. They are the “angel” librarians who organize and protect this collection on the astral plane. We learned to format questions and how to decipher the visual and auditory images received. Some students left unsuccessful. They could not hold a high vibration long enough to get to the reference desk of the Akashic . I was determined to master my mind for entry into this vault of knowledge. Finally, I began to see and hear in my mind’s eye the answers to the questions I posed. I practiced for hours, both asking and receiving information. The practice questions included; “Show me a past life where I was with a current family member?” or “Show me a past life which prepared me for the lessons in my current life?” Finally ,I asked the big question. “Show me why I am so obsessed with American Indian culture, and specifically in New Mexico?”
I kept my eyes closed tightly, and I focused on the “third eye,” that area between my eyebrows. Figures became visible in the picture, and I could see that this was a similar scene as I had experienced as a child at the Seminole reservation. A ceremonial dance was taking place, and both men and women were dancing in a circle. The point of the ritual was to stomp the ground with every step. I could almost hear the sound of their feet hit the earth, moving around and around. They were wearing bright-colored clothing with headdresses and beaded footwear. The details in this vision were amazingly clear to me. I was a part of the dancers, and I was a shaman and a woman. In my head, I asked why they were pounding the ground with their feet? I received the message that they were implanting ancient wisdom into the ground for future generations to retrieve. This knowledge included healing and hidden historical events. The crystal bed in the earth would hold this information for a time until it was to become available for posterity. My job as the shaman for the tribe was to help implant this healing knowledge base. When my father died, I became the shaman; he had selected me over my brother, and it was an honor for a woman to hold that title.
This event occurred in New Mexico near Santa Fe. When I visited New Mexico in December, 2012, I returned to the area where this information was stored. The time for it to be released was planned for that date as the ancestors had foretold. I was there to receive this ancient knowledge, once again. I thanked the Lords of the Records for their insight and information. I asked for them to close my records, and I began to cry. The deep understanding which I gained had been next to a miracle. The soul memory of a ceremonial dance was in my energy field; it was a part of my past beyond this life. No wonder I loved the native Indian lifestyle. I had been an American Indian in many past life experiences, and a part of me still is that shaman woman.
Chapter from my upcoming book, "The Enlightened Librarian"