Stories from My Personal, Home, Business, Nature, and Animal Intuitive Consultations
“The world is stranger, and more amazing, than we realize. That’s why I tell true stories about my intuitive experiences. I hope they touch your heart, because that’s how we’ll save the world, and ourselves—by finding love.” — Robyn
Personal intuitive stories are far ranging. I have helped people learn to tap their strongest intuitive abilities by teaching them simple exercises they can do as they go about their busy lives (yay for multi-tasking). Fallon and I have developed a way to look at your personal ‘shielding’ or ‘second skin’ to determine where it needs some attention, and then help you alter it. Each situation is different because each person learns to use their intuition to do this work. It is awesome!
We look at relationship and career issues. We help you jumpstart and explore your creativity and your creative projects. We don’t give you answers: that’s impossible and disrespectful. We help you find your own, which is the only way real transformation occurs. Our intuitive insight is, literally, another dimension to help you on your unique journey.
Sometimes we talk with the dead, from family members to animals. This is emotional work and it is nothing like the “I see an A, is there an Adam in the room,” or “What was our favorite song?” which might all be quite valid, just not what we do. You see, my dad runs a Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side, which means he greets the dead as they move from their bodies to the spirit world, and he will bring the dead to talk with me and with you as the situation warrants.
We do something most intuitives do not: we help you have actual conversations with your animals, home, business, creative project, land, and the dead. Again, one word: awesome!
You can find more stories about our work below, and at our magazine, Bridging the Paradigms. Join us there to tell us your stories.
Stories About Homes
All of life, whatever its physical form, has a separate and distinct soul and personality, consciousness, equality, rights, responsibility, and free choice to do its work. All life, seen and unseen, contributes equally to a conscious, self-aware, evolving planet. All life holds the fate of the world in its choice. This includes our homes.
Our homes are living beings. The difference is, you live and sometimes work in them, so their needs are as intimate as yours. To you your home is part of your family; to your home, you are its family. Seen from an inclusive mindset, this is at once an enormous responsibility and opportunity for us to authentically connect with our most intimate, private settings.
The thing is, it is rare for us to consider our homes to be living beings with their own opinions. However, some people do respond to their homes in subtle ways that prove they do communicate with them on some level. For example, if you walk into a home and just know it’s yours, don’t think it’s all about you. The house is probably trying very hard to get your attention. (Note also that many homes are becoming vividly aware of themselves and are eagerly trying to attract anyone who can hear them, which is how I figured this all out in the first place. So be discreet if you’re house-hunting and willing to engage a home as an equal, you’ll have lots of volunteers!) The same goes for paint colors and even dishes, furniture, and decorative items. If you are wondering whether something belongs in your home, simply ask it. You never know what you’ll hear (and you may or may not like it).
Many homes actively search for their families. Ever visit an open house and feel welcomed? Or not? Of course, it’s partly your attitude in searching, but it’s also the house, looking for its family, or desperately hanging on to its family and refusing to move on.
I’ve met both kinds of homes. When I first started hearing houses speak to me I thought I was looking for one to buy, and drove my real estate agent crazy going from place to place. She had intuitives in her family, and finally pointed out to me that something else was going on. By that time I could walk into a house and point out all its positives and negatives as I looked around the room, from the house’s aversion to a new family to its eagerness to share itself with a new one, sometimes mine. I also visited a house I was strongly pulled to, where my agent sent me in alone. Once inside, I realized the house was overwhelmed by mold, and had asked me to witness its death.
“Look,” another house shouted when I was in the basement, looking out over a large backyard. “I have a sink to wash the dogs in and a really big back yard.” At another house, on a calm, windless day, my agent walked freely through the front door, but it slammed abruptly in my face. She was ready to leave right then, but I walked in anyway, noticing that every defect in every room was made quite obvious to me. I thanked the house for sharing, told it I would not be buying it, and suggested it work closely with its family, since I had been told they were determined to move on.
I went to one open house, convinced it was mine because it had been calling me, only to walk through the front door and blurt out, “This isn’t my house, it doesn’t even want me. What am I doing here?” I glanced around and spotted a woman staring around her, star-struck. “Oh,” I said to my agent. “It’s her house.” If I had been more confident in what I was learning at the time, I would have the woman she was in her house. Later, I realized that was exactly what the house had wanted: it knew I could hear houses speak, and it wanted me to help it find its new family.
HOUSES AND FAMILY LIFE
Our home, Frank, actively participates in our family life and in my work. I laughed when he told me his name: bluntness is not always my strength, but certainly a strong part of my personality. Frank is a good match for me and my multi-species family.
Frank negotiates my comfort with neighboring homes, helping to maintain a clear, happy space for us to live and work in. He also helps me speak with other homes—it always intrigues me when I do a session and Frank chimes in, because he not only adds his own perspective, but the homes are often more relaxed about chatting when he’s there. Sometimes he’s just a big goof.
One cold winter I was working at my computer when I suddenly started hearing water running. Everywhere. Pipes had been freezing all over Seattle during a cold snap, and I worried that this had happened to a house that was calling for help. Where was it? How could I help?
I finally realized it was the home that friends had just rented but not yet moved into; it really disliked being wet. I called them to warn them. Turns out my friend had spent the afternoon cleaning their new home, with every faucet wide open and every surface thoroughly mopped down. It wasn’t broken pipes, it was a thorough watery cleaning that was upsetting this house.
Some weeks later I was cleaning my own home, Frank, scrubbing the bathroom, when I heard muttering: “I don’t like all the water and cleaning.” Then I heard Frank dryly respond, “Be grateful. I could be cleaned more often.”
Startled, I realized I was overhearing my friend’s house and Frank. “Hello!” I called out. “I can hear you!”
“Good,” Frank said.
“Could you be a little less obvious?” I teased.
They both laughed, pleased they’d each made their point.
Last I heard, the house was still getting regularly scrubbed, and Frank is still right: I never get him as clean as he’d liked, but I try.
WORKING WITH HOUSES
Many people perform various kinds of feng shui and energy work with homes, from clearing to re-arranging and site preparation. Be sure they know what they’re doing. Many people don’t realize or respect that they are dealing with powerful earth forces. I believe that the people who originally created systems like feng shui were keenly aware that their work directly related to the planet itself; I hope that this perspective works its way back into our consciousness.
I can clear a home energetically, guided by my intuition on what is needed as I physically walk through a home or work with it long distance. People and their homes appreciate a ritual approach to this work; it helps everyone concentrate and reflect on an intimate, cleansing aspect of family life. I use some ritual elements, but it always depends on what occurs during the session.
What I add to this work is a direct conversation between the house and its family, whether it is clearing the space or preparing the house for sale or rental. Sometimes it’s a means of letting go of each other, at others it’s renewal. These direct conversations are often surprising, as homes are rarely given the opportunity to speak directly to us. Homes are also quite emotional, because their job is, after all, to shelter us.
Stories about Businesses
I was surprised when I first spoke intuitively with a business. It just hadn’t occurred to me, even though I knew that everything is alive. Literally. A tricky part is how that knowledge reverberates in our lives, or, perhaps, whether we will allow it to.
For people the concept that other beings have something to say to us, the right and often need to say it, challenges the basic mindset that we’re the apex of civilization. We have different brains than animals, and someone once said to me that a home or a business doesn’t have a brain, so we’re better than they are. I think it’s more like the human brain is designed to help our bodies survive and thrive. Other beings don’t need that particular device. It makes them different, not inferior. Biology is destiny? Sort of.
People often get hung up on the simple fact that we invented our cars, our homes, our businesses, and much of what surrounds us (like peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips or computers). Sometimes I’ll look at my dogs and cat and realize we invented them, too. People are used to winging it, and then imposing rules on what they end up with.
Because we invent things we think we’ve created them and that creates inequality in something approaching ‘divine’ fashion. Well, birds build nests, ants build anthills, so why is a car or house any different? They are things we’ve decided we need to survive. So they come and help us do that. It really is that simple.
In the current state of the world we depend on our businesses to acquire the money to buy the things we need to survive, from food to shelter. Whether we work for someone else, or go out on our own as I do, we need our businesses. And our businesses need us.
A BUSINESS IS BORN
It took a long time for Alchemy West to develop: in fact, it’s constantly undergoing changes as Fallon and I deepen our work together. I wasn’t quite sure how it would come together; I just knew I needed to be patient, which is not my strength. (I believe meditation should take about 10 seconds, and I do some of my intuitive work while doing other things—multi-tasking to the extreme!)
Eventually I created two separate websites under one corporation that needed to represent the earth paradigm, the reality that all life must cooperate to create a healthy future for our evolving planet.
My work is about transforming community. I believe that if we recognized all life as equals we would learn how to honor a hurricane and a weed, our homes and our food, our animals and our communities. We can decide to be stuck-up humans or equal citizens on the planet.
So how could I describe transformation that isn’t tied to the past, is modern and innovative yet honors the traditions it came from—our human past? I didn’t know, but I finally realized that my business would know, so I asked it what its name was. And back it came: Alchemy West. Of course. People are afraid of alchemy, because they think of dark occult weirdnesses, but alchemy is change and transformation, and this kind of alchemy is new, which my business thinks of as ‘west.’
My next step was to create a website when I have stubbornly refused to have a relationship with my computer (yes, I’m human and I goof up like everybody else). It took me months to settle on what I needed, sit down and do it, and find the right people to help me. In the process I became much clearer about what I needed out of business: community. I support other people and their businesses, but they don’t always support me. It’s a lesson I will continue to learn, because I’ll never give up on bringing people and other beings together for work and fun, for all those things that define a cooperative world.
What I didn’t realize was that my business had its own ideas about how it wanted to work, and that the many other beings I work with actually expected to be a part of the decision-making process. When I tried to do things strictly my way, for all the usual reasons, like giving business to friends to support their businesses as well, it didn’t always work. In fact, several times the failures were so huge that everything collapsed around me.
Part of the reason was that the beings I worked with, especially the business itself, absolutely refused to cooperate with some people, and there was no getting past that. Plus, most of the beings who are part of my community are not human: they are animals, volcanoes, beaches, my home, my desk, guides, crystals, salt lamps, the list goes on (and, yes, my computer)! Try to get all those beings to agree on a logo or the words on a page! It has been a wonderful learning experience, and for that I thank them, the community I call the Alchemy West Committee.
Now I am learning to screen people I hire to work for me. I first tell them about the committee, and then if they’re still willing, I run them past the committee. I promote a cooperative world, so I guess it makes sense to figure out how to live one. It’s ongoing.
Stories About Nature: Gardens, Land, and Weather Systems
Yes, nature itself participates in creating and maintaining a healthy planet. Even nature that frightens and angers us, like hurricanes and earthquakes.
I talk with nature. Everybody does: why do you think hurricanes sometimes get so screwed up?
But note: I talk with weather. I try not to change it: it’s all mixed up in the concept of ‘unintended consequences’ and the simple truth that humans don’t know enough to mess with their dogs’ genetics, let alone something as massive as a weather system. Anyway, we all talk to weather, which is part of the problem: the operating principle is with.
Yes, I talk with gardens and the beings who look out for them. Yes, I talk with volcanoes, the ocean, and oil spills. All of nature is willing to talk and work with us. The question is: what are humans willing to do?
It often astonishes me how hostile people are towards nature, from our gardens to the land around us and weather systems. Why?
So … how do you respond to nature? Really, our environment is everything. Are you afraid of global warming? Are you worried about the health of the land around you? Can we all stop worrying and start taking small steps that will get us all to the same place at the right time?
Okay, take a deep breath …
Can you be at peace with a hurricane? Can you quit using pesticides, pruning your plants to death, and spreading black plastic or weed mats around your garden? (They block the energy that comes from wind and rain, and so the plants and the land they’re on suffocate. Honest.)
Let’s see now…
We all notice and appreciate gardens, even if we’re just watching our dogs pee on them.
The Guardians of Alki
Yes, I talk with gardens and the beings who look out for them: where I live, I call them the Guardians of Alki, because Alki Beach is our neighborhood, and the names the guardians have historically been assigned are mean and scary and not worthy of us or them. Besides, at the time it didn’t occur to me to ask them their name, or that it might be inappropriate (it is) to just give them one. This is how I learned a good lesson on naming.
The first time I saw the Guardians, I was closing up the house for the night when I noticed all these strange-looking beings milling around in the backyard, on the wild, isolated hillside. Some looked like walking trees, others like plants, others like combinations of people and plants. None of them looked human, but they were also picnicking and settling down to peep in my window! I had never seen anything that looked remotely like these beings, and all I could do was stare. Then, like any normal, rational human, I turned away, muttering, “Criminy, I need drugs.”
Of course, I couldn’t resist one more peek. That’s when they noticed me. “Look, there she is!” a few yelled, so I was sure that, yes, they were peeping! And making a game out of it! Then they waved at me.
Dumbfounded, I stared, then thought, Oh, what the heck (it’s kind of my motto now). I waved back. Slowly. Bemused, to say the least.
That’s how I met the Guardians. Turned out they were gardeners, so for the next year I worked with them to rehabilitate the ruined gardens at our condo, from the soil up (and yes, there were real humans doing the work, not me, I’m physically handicapped). Finally, it was October, and I was rushing to get plants into the garden before winter. These beings had been nothing but helpful: to the wild and domestic land that surrounds us to the amazing being that is our neighborhood. But winter was coming quick, and the plants weren’t yet purchased or planted. The Guardians were anxious to go into the garden before winter, so I invited them to come into my home and live with us for a month until the plants were in—as long as they first got approval from my animals.
One of the guardians, the smallest, shyest, and most unusual looking (like a possum with a bright green round bush growing out of its back) took me up on the offer and moved in. My animals didn’t mind, and it often made me laugh, because it would hide and peek out at me as I walked by, and then duck under the furniture when I teased it: “I can see you.”
Some time after that I read something that made me realize that other people didn’t call these beings Guardians. They were formally known as fairies, and many people used to think, and maybe still do, that fairies are bad guys and will hurt us if they can (why, I have no idea).
I was astonished that somebody with that kind of reputation would do what the Guardians had done: benignly, patiently help me build a garden. Or fail to identify themselves, which seemed, somehow, wrong. After all that work together, I thought they should have told me who they were. Why, I have no idea. (Note again that at the time it never occurred to me to ask them their name; I was arrogant and unthinking in simply assigning them a name based on the work I thought they did.)
Honestly, I didn’t really know what a fairy was, and still don’t. (One of the things my guides like about me is that I’m somewhat clueless about the in’s and out’s of things like witchcraft, shamanism, or folklore, so I’m bold and daring—they say this, laughing—or at least open to new experiences that aren’t pre-defined. For example, I think about talking with something, like an oil spill, and then I’m there. The first few times I did this I had no idea people called it astral traveling. I think this is also why I have such a large community of beings who accompany me on my conversational jaunts, as I sometimes goof up and need backup, and they are all easily amused. The closest I’ve come to accidentally killing myself I was tackled by an annoyed guide, so I’m learning to be more cautious.)
So anyway, there they were, looking at me, and I was mad. “You’re fairies?” I yelled. “You’re fairies? Why didn’t you tell me you were fairies?”
They very solemnly looked at me and said, “If you knew they called us fairies, would you have invited us into your home?”
That stopped me in my tracks. Would I? Does a name make a difference, or is it the work, or intent? What a lesson!
“Yes,” I said. “Because I know and trust your work. What they call you doesn’t matter.”
Something changed in that moment. They looked at me, at each other, and smiled. And when the garden was finally planted, the Guardians of Alki moved into it and settled down for the winter, including our little visitor. By then it was November, and quite mild. I worried about that. Even I knew it takes awhile for a garden to get established, and a freeze could ruin everything.
It was the land and the weather itself that answered me, joking. “Did you think we’d put you to all this work and then freeze the garden?”
I laughed and relaxed. We had a mild, dry winter that year, unusual for Seattle. In fact, I had to drag out the hose and water most of the winter. But spring was worth it.
And, a year later, a coyote appeared regularly outside my office window. For two springs and summers I grinned happily as I watched this wild dog play on an isolated hillside, nap, scratch its fleas, try to catch a bird shadow, tease my cat, dash away when it accidentally spotted me, and lounge while I worked. Yes, I knew more about animals than plants, had spent three years turning a ruined landscape into a certified Backyard Wildlife Habitat, complete with some rare native plants, and yet what truly thrilled me was the coyote.
The Guardians knew that. When I exclaimed over the coyote, they said she was a gift, thanks from them for the work I’d done in the garden and on the hillside to re-establish a native habitat. They gently pointed out that their gift was the coyote, because they knew I liked animals better. I was happy but saddened, too. I really did love the garden, but the guardians were right: I loved the coyote more.
To this day I do not know what name the Guardians give themselves. I haven’t asked, and they like the name I instinctively called them. So the lesson in naming continues. And one in appreciation, too, because I really do love the garden, but that coyote…
The DUWAMISH CLEARING PROJECT
Imagine this spot: it’s where the Duwamish Clearing Project starts. It’s the Green River at Fort Dent Park in Tukwila, Washington. You can get there on a short paved path from the parking lot in a busy city park.
Changing the world is really that easy. No vision quest in the South American jungle (I do not do well in humidity, especially with snakes and bugs). No lengthy hikes in the city (I am physically handicapped, and can only walk on sidewalks). Nothing harder than a picnic at the park. Or a quick intuitive visit from your recliner.
The Duwamish River
Here’s the thing. I live in Seattle, not that far from the superfund site some people call the Duwamish River. It’s a polluted stretch of river that drains into Elliott Bay and Puget Sound. Why is it polluted? Because we humans didn’t know better ages ago when we built up our harbors for industrial use, or if we did we had what we considered more pressing things on our minds.
People are looking to clean the Duwamish River, and they’re doing a good job. The problem is, they are looking at this small strip of river and thinking the work they do, from physical cleanup to energy healing, will cure the problem. Not so. Nice, but incomplete.
The River Speaks
Here’s the thing. Remember, I talk with things, right? That means “with” as in “conversation.” Sometimes these things come to talk with me. That is the case with the being that calls itself “the headwaters of the Duwamish River,” even though scientists will argue about whether it’s a river or even has headwaters (never mind that now).
The headwaters actually used a name I could not pronounce or even decipher phonetically, perhaps its own name (for example, many hurricanes I speak with do identify themselves by their own names, not the names we give them to track them) or one given to it by our indigenous peoples. For now I call this being the “Duwamish Waters” as this river system is complex, includes several rivers, and several events that have occurred for centuries, especially since 2008, and will continue to occur for the next 300 years. (Really, Google the Duwamish River and you’ll see what I mean.)
The “Duwamish Waters” said that what we consider to be the mouth of the Duwamish River, which drains into Puget Sound, will never be clean until the river system itself is energetically re-connected. Why? Because with population buildup and natural earth changes the river system got cut off from its actual drainage site, which is that superfund site in Elliott Bay. Physically cut off, yes, but more importantly, energetically cut off.
Look at it like this: in Tellington TTouch they teach a process by which practitioners actually work on the etheric tail of dogs like spaniels whose tails were cropped. While the physical tail is gone, the etheric tail is still there, and working with it actually improves the dogs’ health. They’ve documented this work.
What the River Wants
That is what this work is like. The “Duwamish Waters” has been disconnected from Puget Sound, and the only way to help it be healthy again is to help it help itself by assisting it to re-establish its connection with its “etheric tail”—the Duwamish River in Seattle.
The “Duwamish Waters” asked me to go to various places along the river and figure out what to do when I got there (there are many people being called to this kind of work, I’m just saying that this is one of my jobs right now, and I’m telling you about it if you feel so inclined to check it out). It turned out to be easy (I love it when that happens).
The center of this activity is Fort Dent Park in Tukwila, Washington (shown in the picture). It includes the Sumner-Puyallup site where a flood diverted the river, and, incidentally, the areas where our native tribes used to gather. Eventually whoever is interested in joining this project will end up at the glacial headwaters of this system on top of Mount Rainier (levitating anyone?).
There is no anger, no warrior stance, no negativity or judgment in this process. No need for Reiki or energy work that forces a change. Only a need for love and acceptance. How hard can that be?
What the system wants is something very easy, elementally human. It wants community. It wants a witness. It wants a party!
In times past, when storms rolled through an area, or avalanches occurred, or flooding diverted river ways, humans gathered to witness what occurred, to thank the land for its work, to celebrate life in its diversity, even if what they were celebrating wasn’t exactly what they wanted. (Who wants to experience a flood, either as an inconvenience or a life-changing event?)
The “Duwamish Waters” wants community to come together, celebrate this amazing system, and witness the changes that have occurred to it over time, from our human-made changes to natural changes, including the flood that diverted the river in the first place. The “Duwamish Waters” said that humans were “created” to witness what occurs in the world around them, but that we have forgotten that role. This river system will not be cleaned until we simply accept our role as witnesses, and draw the river back into community with us, and us with it.
Part of this witnessing includes reconnecting our six senses to the planet (yes, bridging paradigms at the everyday level). Whether you go there or explore it from your computer, use sight, touch, sound, smell, taste, and intuition (your gut sense) to explore what the ‘Duwamish Rivers’ would like to share with us.
Imagine that the ‘Duwamish Rivers’ is leaping in excitement that humans are finally doing this very simple thing with it. Check it out! Let me know what you discover.
Is the planet’s weather changing? If so, why? Is there something we should do about it? If so, what?
In Defense of Hurricanes
Weather is an issue I continue to explore, especially hurricanes. Humans don’t get hurricanes, and we absolutely have to. Now.
Hurricanes are massive cleansing forces. When a hurricane comes to an area, every being in its path, from human to building to plant to animal, everything gets to choose whether it will live or die. Everything. Whatever things look like afterwards, and I admit it can be terrifying and sad and disrupting, whatever it looks like is what needs to happen for the hurricanes to cleanse the land and the sea. Without them, the planet cannot survive. I know, easy to say, hard to live through, but it’s the truth.
Hurricanes are carefully planned and sent out into the world by what I call guidance forces (who laughed when I slipped one day and called them gods, because I have a lot of trouble with the god concept). Hurricanes are also fully conscious beings, like all of life, and actively choose whether to do the work they were created for, just like all of life. The problem is, like all of life, they can be manipulated, changed, so that they don’t do exactly what they were intended to do. They then go off course. This affects all the hurricanes that come after them, because if a job is left undone, everything behind it has to alter to try to do that work. This happens to all of life, but very few things have the large-scale effect of a hurricane.
So, when humans construct machines to deflect hurricanes, or actively use their intuitive abilities to deflect them from land or to mitigate their strength, or to eliminate them entirely, we screw things up. Badly. We’ve been doing this for eons, and it has to stop. The hurricanes are really trying to save the planet, just like all of us. We need to understand and help them do their work by leaving them alone to do it. And we need to stand beside them with love and purpose and refuse to let other beings, including humans, change them. Hurricanes have the right and responsibility to choose to do their work whether we like it or not. It is not our job to stop them.
Humans are not the only beings that interfere with hurricanes, but we’re the only ones that most of us can really do anything about. If nothing else, we can change our attitude towards hurricanes. Every time we get mad and want one to go somewhere else, every time we fear one, we affect its course.
The one thing that all of us can do with hurricanes is love them. We can literally thank them for their work and bless them on their way. You can do this whether you live in its path or not. All it takes is a simple thought sent its way, as you’re going to work, as you stop to get coffee, whatever. Remember, it is true, we all hold the fate of the world in our choice. We can choose to love a hurricane, which helps it do its work, or we can make everything worse by hindering it.
It’s really that simple. The ramifications are stunning. Here’s one story.
The Death of an Accidental Hurricane
In November 2006 the Pacific Northwest was flooded by torrential rains, part of a pattern of wild wintry weather that was to set records across the region that winter. The storm I focused on in November was an accidental hurricane.
At the time the rain and wind storm hitting Seattle was so unusual that I looked out beyond it, to the system itself. I met a being that briefly spoke its name, a long, confusing name I later could not reconstruct: it was a name the storm gave itself, because the normal birthing and naming sequence of a storm (yes, all beings have names) was disrupted. The name was as confused as the storm.
It was not officially called a hurricane in Seattle, but it didn’t have to be. Hurricane is the name we give to a certain kind of storm, one that rarely hits our area (and then is called a typhoon). It identified itself as a hurricane, and, because it was extremely large and unintended by the hurricane guidance forces, it had a devastating effect on the strength of storms that hit the Pacific Northwest that winter. In other words, this huge unnatural event had dramatically affected winter weather in a region of the world where the energies had not originally been created.
This storm coalesced shakily. When I met it it was confused and frightened. It knew it had no real purpose because it had not been created with loving intention, but was the discarded energy of several systems disrupted by humans in the eastern Pacific region over the preceding months. It was lonely, sad, uncomfortable, afraid, confused. When I first saw it, I had to stop myself from crying.
It saw me and asked me if it was a monster. It didn’t understand itself, the people around me were unhappy and rejecting it, the humans responsible for it were refusing to deal with it, and other beings were avoiding it because they didn’t know exactly what it was or what to do. I was the only one there with it (at least, the only one I could see or sense, and the one it was speaking with).
The storm didn’t know what to do about itself. It didn’t want to hurt any other being, knew it was bringing enormous problems to the region, and wanted help. It didn’t know what it was. It asked me if I knew what it was. I looked closely at it. That’s when I understood.
This storm was not a natural event; it was formed of disparate energies spun out of a series of hurricanes that were deflected that year by human weather workers in Mexico, Central America, and Hawaii. Time after time these people took the hurricanes that came towards them and forced them away, knocking them off course. Every time they did that some of the energy of the storm got ripped away from it and scattered around the Pacific. In this case, that happened so often that the energies came together and formed a hurricane that was not meant to be. Yes, humans created this hurricane. It had no place in creation. Eventually it spun around long enough that it became a single storm that swept north and west, right over the Pacific Northwest. This storm was not intended. And it was so large its remnants would affect our weather all winter.
When I realized this, I explained to the hurricane what it was, how it had come to be. We were both sober and depressed. As it looked at me, I understood that it already knew what it was, but it needed some other being to say it. It knew it shouldn’t exist, that it was bringing serious problems to a region that wasn’t prepared for it. It knew that it shouldn’t be alive but it was also afraid to die.
“Can you help me?” it asked.
It was a serious question, a plea for help, not a grab for power.
Appalled and grief stricken, I could only stare at it. The storm was asking me to help it die, and I knew if I wanted to, I could. It had been created by humans, it could be destroyed by one, and I was the only one there. At some other time or place I would have that done that, but I am not that person in this lifetime. Even knowing what it was, I could not kill it. There had to be another answer to the human contempt and disregard for other life that created this storm, another response to arrogance and lack of foresight.
The hurricane must have seen this in me, because the next question changed. “What can you do for me?” it asked, weeping.
Heartbroken, I offered it the only thing I had. “I can love you,” I said. “I can be with you while you die.”
The hurricane was surprised, emotional. “Really? You would do that?”
“Yes,” I said, and it gratefully accepted it.
We settled down together. It was late at night, and I was as exhausted as the hurricane. We wrapped ourselves around each other, like two old friends huddling on a park bench; I felt like I was cradled by a giant marshmallow. After a few minutes in a companionable silence, the hurricane turned to me.
“What can I do for you?” it asked gently.
I was surprised. Rarely had another being asked this. This being in particular had every reason to hate and rage against its fate, and yet it chose another path.
“You could love me back,” I said, smiling at it.
Startled and then pleased, the storm seriously, simply answered. “Yes, I can do that.”
I am physically handicapped, in constant pain, and for a little while that night I was comfortable, as snug as if I’d been wrapped in a warm blanket, safe and pain-free. I am glad I took a few moments to be grateful for this gift from a dying hurricane that didn’t understand what it was. We sat side by side as the night wore on, both of us content, waiting. At some point I fell asleep, and in the morning when I awoke, the hurricane had died.
I know this story is incredible, that it opens me to mockery and my work to fear, but it is true and it is time to tell it. This is what can happen when we tamper with the weather. These are the unintended and very real consequences of our failure to understand how the world really operates and what our role in it really is.
I do know that the weather workers who accidentally created this hurricane did not learn from their mistake. They, and others like them, continue to attempt to mitigate storms and to alter their course. This is one reason why hurricanes are coming in increasing force to do their work—because we won’t let them be.
Hurricanes are created to heal the planet. They have their work to do. What it looks like to us, especially those left in their wake, is not the point. The point is for us to change our mindset. We can do this. We absolutely have to.
Stories About Animals
Animals are equal to us. Like all life, they contribute equally to a conscious, self-aware, evolving planet.
If that’s all you take from thinking about animals from a new earth paradigm (and that’s huge), it is an enormous boost to your families, communities, and our planet, and well worth the effort to tweak how you relate to them (and the rest of life). After all, because most of us see animals almost daily, and note their interactions with us, it’s often the easiest way for us to acknowledge and examine a world in which nonhuman ways of being are valid and meaningful.
Many times my conversations with animals involve practical issues, especially when I’m chatting with people’s animal companions (or race horses). All beings have quirks and quibbles—we just don’t always stop to figure out what they are. Our multi-species families can deepen their bond by working through issues, what I call family harmony time, whether that’s working with an intuitive like me, a trainer, or on your own. Your animals arelistening to you, so talk to them even if you’re sure you can’t hear them. Really, they’ll feel better, and, eventually, so will you.
While I’ve studied privately with animal communicators, taken animal communication classes and recommend classes, you can easily learn to speak to animals yourself and verify it. It’s easier to practice with animals who aren’t family members, which removes the emotional element. Just be sure to explain to your own animal family that you aren’t ignoring them, so their feelings aren’t hurt.
Your animals are usually eager to speak with you, and do so in many ways. Just quit thinking so hard and do it. Carry on a conversation out loud, just like you would with a human. Ask your animal’s soul to sing to you, open your mouth, and let the song come out (my dog, Murphy, sang soft lullabies underscored with a marching beat, while her rambunctious brother, Alki, was all funky jazz). Ask them to do things, like go to the door if they’re ready for a walk. Be open to whatever method they might seek to speak with you. Surprise yourself. You’ll surprise them—guaranteed.
Often intuitive communication sessions with animals simply help people and their animals get along better. These can be fun chats: I like to call them family harmony sessions.
Sammy the Cat: Mighty Bird Hunter Faces Family Disapproval
A local Seattle businessman politely asked me what intuitive communication was and how it would work with his cat (later identified as Sammy). Apparently Sammy perched on the deck rail and nabbed, ate, and barfed birds visiting their bird feeder. As many as 3 birds in 15 minutes. Sammy’s family was understandably disturbed.
I suggested they simply ask the cat to quit killing birds (the communication approach) and to move the bird feeder farther away (a practical approach). I didn’t think more about it until I was getting my own family to bed that night, and decided to talk with the cat while I brushed my teeth.
“You don’t even know my name,” the cat objected, after I introduced myself.
“True.” I apologized, then told him where he lived and who he lived with. That mollified him. I explained that his people were upset because he killed birds and they wanted him to stop.
Sammy cringed, clearly aware of their discomfort and his own stubbornness. Then he looked right at me and said, “I’m a hunter, cats hunt, and there are plenty of birds in the world, too many.” He was quite smug, sure he’d won the point.
“Good point,” I said. “So what if all the birds in the world thought there were too many cats and decided to hunt them?”
Sammy was appalled. “What, what,” he sputtered. “That could never happen!”
I waited while he squirmed nervously, his alibi in shreds, embarrassed.
“Well, well,” he said in a rush. “I…I have nutritional deficiencies.”
Nutritional deficiencies that would be solved by eating bird on the wing.
I had to give him credit. He had a good excuse and he was clearly trying to save face. I couldn’t laugh or tease him. I needed a solution that would support him and his family.
“I’ll tell them that,” I said, assuring him his family would be concerned about nutritional deficiencies. I told him that feeding my cat raw meat had helped her diet (he loved that idea) and that his family might consult his vet about it (he was rueful, just like anyone who’d accidentally backed themselves into a corner).
I reminded him that killing birds greatly upset his family. Sammy was both chagrined and remorseful, but still pretty impressed by his hunting skills. As we talked I saw flashbacks of Sammy nabbing birds at the bird feeder while another cat lurked in the background. The cat appeared to be grading Sammy’s performance, egging him on, and giving him pointers. Sammy was being coached on his hunting skills!
I didn’t know if it was a female cat Sammy was trying to impress or a male rival. My strongest sense was that the cat was deceased and I was seeing a ghostly mentor!
The next day I called the man and told him about my conversation with Sammy. He was quite amused that Sammy claimed nutritional deficiencies, but agreed to consider them. He did not recognize the cat mentor, until I mentioned that the cat appeared to be deceased. The description reminded him of a family cat that had died four years before and had actually acted as a mentor to Sammy. Later the family noticed another cat in the neighborhood with a similar appearance. We still don’t know which cat was Sammy’s mentor: I didn’t check it with him, because it seemed a nice mystery he could keep to himself.
Follow-up: Weeks later the man recounted his experience with animal communication at our business network. Sammy had been ‘quite subdued’ for a day after my conversation with him, enough that his family noticed it. He soon recovered to his cheerful self, but he also quit hunting. Sammy hasn’t killed a bird in months: at least not in front of his family.
Practical applications: Sammy demonstrated that, like humans, animals can care enough about their family to be upset when their behavior causes problems, and to even attempt to change it. His family reacted properly by agreeing to consider possible nutritional problems, whether it was a real issue or Sammy was simply looking for an excuse. Nevertheless, Sammy promptly curtailed his hunting, at least in front of his family. Will one conversation with a communicator permanently cure a problem? Sometimes. More often animals, like people, need occasional reminders as well as individual attention, and families can work through these situations on their own, as the powers of love, responsibility, and free choice move them. That’s what family harmony is all about.
ANIMAL HEALTH AND INTUITION
It is possible to look at animals and see health issues. When I do this I explain to the people involved exactly what I see and what the animals say and insist they take their animal to a trusted vet to investigate.
I think intuition is the hardest intuitive skill to work with. Clairvoyance helps you see, clairaudience helps you hear, clairsentience helps you feel. With intuition you often just know something. It takes time to develop this skill, to separate what you see from your imagination; eventually you can feel the difference while asking for guidance to trust it. No one is always right, but it is a start.
There are vets out there who will listen to you and to intuitive communicators. The whole point is pooling resources: vets who believe in the power of the human-animal bond will listen and investigate your concerns, whether it comes from you through direct observation or from someone like me. Vets who are hung up on being the boss and won’t listen aren’t worth going to in the first place.
Smokey: An Aging, Sick Cat
Smokey was an aging cat with a dental problem who needed surgery; a powerful healer himself, he lived with a friend who is a wonderful, dedicated teacher and healer. That day I wasn’t looking at Smokey: I was working on my computer when he came to me. A quick look and intuition showed that he had a cancerous mass between his eyes that had spread to his jaw: it was advanced, and he had at most a month to live. I told my friend, urging her to insist the vet do an X-ray to confirm the cancer before doing the dental surgery, so she would have all their options before them. An X-ray confirmed the cancer, and the vet operated, removing some of the mass along with the teeth; it gave this wonderful family a few more months together. It was time they used to say goodbye with grace and love.
I was driving my friend and Smokey home from the vet after the surgery when she asked me if I’d ever considered working as a professional animal communicator. “You’re really good,” she said. Over a year later I decided I was ready.
Looking for lost animals is agonizing, high-pressure, exhausting work.
Sometimes they come home on their own, after they’ve had their fun, had some alone time, or negotiated a family change. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they move on to another family or situation. Sometimes they’re ill or injured or just taken in: one cat I found was under such heavy protection that I decided it was best to back off and told the family to advertise; she was promptly returned, after being stolen, nearly drowned, rescued, and cared for. A dog in California got away from the dog walker, and was pulled off the street and adopted by someone. All I can do when someone else has your animal is tell you general circumstances; tracking a lost animal through multiple households is pretty much impossible. Sometimes we don’t know what happens; in these cases either the animal usually refuses to talk or there’s no contact. It happens.
Because of the stress and time urgency I sometimes bring in other animal communicators to help me refine the search process. We have always found the animal (and, of course, some day we won’t, nobody’s 100% accurate about anything). This does not mean the family always gets the animal back. I can’t promise that you’ll be happy with the answer, but you will usually have one.
Before contacting me, note that I refuse to force an animal to come home. Neither do I agree with methods that lasso or otherwise forcibly connect you with your animal, so you can “pull” them back to you. My work is about mutual choice, and this removes choice and free will. If you don’t like this go somewhere else.
My Lost Grace: Defining Home
In August 2005 I took my dogs and cat on a walk at a friend’s farm on Vashon Island. My beloved Grace the Cat slipped her harness and disappeared into the woods. For a week the dogs and I camped out near her and tramped the woods night and day until we were exhausted, bruised, limping, shredded by blackberries, and blistered by nettles. The only way I finally got Grace to come home was to make it her choice. I called all my community, present and future, to step forth and help my family, and asked the land we were on and the animals and plants nearby to protect Grace while she decided what to do. I also gave up trying to trick her or force her and gave her the means to choose for herself: food, water, and dog hair to curl up in both inside and outside a cat trap. And I gave her a deadline, because I was too beat up to continue much longer: she had until morning. At 6 a.m. the next morning we found Grace curled up on the dog hair in the trap. Letting Grace decide her version of family life was one of the hardest things I ever did, and the only way she came home. Think about it while you’re looking for your lost animal.
Sparky: A Lost Dog Gets the Last Word
A rescue dog in foster care was on his way home with his new family when he accidentally got out of the car and ran off. The foster family searched the shopping mall and nearby woods and had a friend call me the next day. I’d helped with a previous rescue, and the caller was also my close friend. I promptly told her they didn’t need to search any more: Sparky was dead.
“I know that,” she said. “We want to know what happened.”
I looked at the situation and saw the dog hesitate alongside the road, rush straight into traffic, and get hit by a car. I didn’t know whether it was suicide or an accident, but it was deliberate. We agreed to simply tell the family what I knew for sure: that he’d been hit by a car.
Now, the day before I had stupidly let my dogs, Murphy and Alki, run loose to a friend’s house in a local neighborhood, where they promptly dashed into the greenbelt along the street. I quickly corralled Murphy, but Alki saw a van coming, decided it was a bison, and charged. (No, we don’t have bison on Seattle streets, but the dogs’ heads were full of images from my recent visit to Yellowstone, Alki dearly loves to bark, and he had convinced himself that catching a bison was his destiny, at least for that week). The van slowed and stopped, but Alki kept charging and barking, twirling in circles, hesitating, and then ran right into it. He bounced off the tire, unhurt but embarrassed.
So, the day after I saw Sparky get hit by a car Sparky came to me, surrounded by other deceased dogs. They were all sagely shaking their heads while stifling grins and giggles. I looked closer: they were all wearing monk’s robes. I had to bite my lip to not laugh at these adorable little angel dogs having so much fun trying to be serious.
Little dead Sparky said, “You got it wrong, I didn’t kill myself.” He and his pals nodded solemnly at me. I caught a few winks.
“Okay,” I said slowly. I was both shocked and pleased that he cared enough about what I had said to come back and correct me—with reinforcements! I figured no one was too upset with me, or they wouldn’t be having so much fun. “I’m glad to hear that. So what happened?”
He showed me a picture of Alki bouncing off the stopped van while chasing his imaginary bison. I felt my eyebrows shoot to the top of my head. Dead dogs were spying on me goofing up with my dogs!
“I pulled an Alki,” Sparky said. The other dogs nodded, wincing a bit as they glanced at Sparky to gauge his reaction. Then Sparky guffawed, and his friends burst out laughing, nudging each other. Like Alki, Sparky had made a big clumsy mistake, but if he was ready to laugh about it, his friends were, too.
Yes, as it turned out, Sparky accidentally killed himself. He’d always been timid, but, lost and anxious, he bucked up to overcome his fear long enough to dash across the road, trying to return to the last place he had known he was safe. He just didn’t think it through, and ended up running straight into a car he saw but couldn’t beat. Just like Alki chasing his metallic bison.
No one was too upset that Sparky had died, including him. He brought his new pack along to make sure I got the story right, and to show that he was fine. I was glad I had told his family only that he had been hit by a car and nothing else: only what I knew for sure, and not what it looked like.
For a long time Alki was mortified that deceased dogs are now referring to accidental deaths by car as “pulling an Alki.” I remind him that he’s not the only one dead beings occasionally laugh at.
Follow-up: We told Sparky’s foster family what really happened. The mom was relieved; she also wanted to put the incident behind her and talk with Sparky herself. I suggested taking a bath with sea salt, to relax in the warmth and clear her head, then rinse off and put on clean clothes. I assured her she could talk to Sparky when she was in that calm state. Sure enough, Sparky came to her to say goodbye.
Practical applications: I call them the ‘oops’ moments of life. We’re always going to make mistakes. The key is to do the best you can in protecting yourself and your family. Forgive yourself: Sparky clearly forgave himself and the humans involved, and went off to a happy, new life. At the very end Sparky found something he never had in his physical life: courage. There’s a lesson in that for all of us.
That’s All for Now!
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© 2012 - 2013 Robyn M Fritz