How to Improve your intuitive Healing Abilities

Yes, you do have intuitive healing abilities. Everyone does! It’s just that most people haven’t learned to direct the power of their mind. Here’s how to get started:

  1. Change your attitude. A lot of your attitude – or outlook on life – flies below the radar, outside your awareness. It’s due to persistent negative beliefs. These are the same beliefs that caused the energy blockages in the first place! Notice any areas of struggle in your life: these clearly point to self-limiting beliefs you hold about yourself: for example, “I’m not good enough to be successful” or “Nobody can love someone like me.” You don’t even know these beliefs exist, yet they manifest in your life circumstances and in your health problems!
  2. Know your body. Not many of us are all that attuned to our bodies. Be aware of the physical feelings you have, every day – not just the big aches and pains, but the more subtle things like persistent but less annoying things you may have just gotten used to: dry skin, bloating, gas, fatigue, low libido, etc. These are signs from your body that something’s not right! The body does a great job of self-repair, when given a chance, but any persistent problem means the system is out of balance. Learn to sense your energy (“chi” or “prana”) by doing a systematic body scan (feet to top of head) where you visualize your chakras – each chakra corresponds to a different color – and hold your attention on each one until you sense its color and vitality. If a color seems weaker than the others, there’s a blockage.
  3. Listen to your intuition. Your inner guidance is always available to teach you and point you in the right direction. Its guidance sometimes goes counter to the intellect. You can open the doors to intuition by meditation or prayer. Your answers come in the form of hunches, visual images, sounds, gut feelings, memories or a ‘knowing’. These feelings can be strong or subtle. You may receive answers in your dreams. These can be tough to interpret because the symbols used by the mind are sometimes bizarre. Keep a dream journal and write down and interpret every dream you can remember – especially the recurring ones, which are essential to understand! The more you learn to listen to your intuition, the easier you will come to notice it and trust it.

4. Direct your energy. Focus your mental and emotional energy on healing. Visualize the body as completely healthy (not ‘being healed’ or ‘healing’ which is the process, not the end result). Also avoid giving thought to the existing condition because ‘what you think about, comes about’.Visualize the end result you want – perfect health in every aspect of the word!Use the visualization techniques described above to specifically direct the healing energy.

5. Allow. Allow the healing to work. Don’t second-guess, don’t doubt. Set your intention to heal, use visualization and emotional power of thoughts, and kick back and let your body do its thing!

Why Intuitive Healing Works

Intuitive healing works because of the mind-body connection. Interestingly, there is really no such ‘connection’ because that would imply that the mind and body are separate. They’re not! They are aspects of the same thing, just as you cannot separate a side of a piece of paper from the material it’s made of.

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15 Tips For Empaths And Highly Sensitive People

Spirituality




Empathic ability allows you to read and understand people’s energy. This ability may be genetic, passing from generation to generation. You may share this ability with a relative, so look at your family tree; does anyone else seem to fit the description? Empaths have the ability to scan another’s energy for thoughts, feelings and possibly for past, present, and future life occurrences. Most empaths are unaware of how this really works, and have accepted that they are sensitive to other people’s energy. The ability to correctly perceive and to some extent mirror the energy of another is a challenge. This gift allows us to steer ourselves through life with added perception. You need to be selective and have coping skills in place, if not you will easily be overwhelmed.


These are some excellent methods for coping:


1. Schedule time with you:


Spending time alone creates the space needed to…

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accepting the challenge—mars with jupiter/uranus/pluto—march 9th – 11th

Eleventh House Luminaries

Edward-Robert-Hughes-Painting-018Late last night, Aries Mars trined Leo Jupiter Rx and then, in the wee hours of the morning, he conjuncted Uranus. Tomorrow, the God of War will square Capricorn Pluto.

Venus recently made her way through each of these very aspects leading into last week’s Full Moon and now its her valiant paramour’s turn to do the same.

Very similar vibe but also very different.

For one thing, our physical energy for the next few days will be off the charts! Unless afflicted by something in the natal chart, it will simply seem as if our vigor knows no bounds.  Collectively, we simply want to get out and meet life head on—play as if our souls depended on it!!

Alright, we are actually in the thick of this RIGHT NOW, so on to the particulars.

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Tuesday, March 10th, 2015

By the light of a silver moon

waning_moon

Good Morning Readers, 

The March moon is known by many names reflecting this ever changing time of the year the earth shifts from one season to another. Many of the Native American names describe this time of year by the important activities to the tribe and it’s survival. For the Arapahoe, the March moon was the time of “Buffalo dropping calves” while to the Hopi it was the ” time of the whispering moon” and to the Omaha it was the ” Little Frog Moon”. There is no doubt our ancestors saw this as a time of renewal and promised abundance as the earth reawakens from the long barren winter. Today’s Moon Phase is the Waning Gibbous Moon. Astrologically, what is the gibbous moon? It’s when the Moon is more than half full, but not quite fully illuminated, when you look at it from the perspective of Earth. the Waxing…

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The Swimsuit Edition, Where Sexism Knows No Size

The Melissaverse

Apparently we’re all supposed to celebrate the fact that an average-sized woman will appear in this year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

I’m told it’s some kind of triumph that, of the many women pointlessly objectified on the pages of a magazine that’s supposed to be about sports, one will be somewhat heavier than all the others. Sexism is so deeply woven into the fabric of sports in America that this, incredibly, is meant to represent progress.

Never mind that this year’s cover model, in addition to being exactly the size you’d expect her to be, is also waxed to within an inch of her life. Never mind that only average-sized model in the magazine appears not as part of an editorial layout but in an ad. Never mind that both women appear to have been liberally airbrushed, unless you believe neither of their bodies has a single stray hair, birthmark…

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Go Down the Rabbit Hole: A Writer’s Manifesto

Writing for Digital Media

1. You are the work. The work is you: both an articulation of the self and a possibility for self-reflection. Be honest in creation: allow yourself to bleed into the work, but also allow it to work on you. Your work can show you things: illuminate and clarify your own thoughts, motivations, actions. If you do it right, you will find the work changing you, too.

2. Thinking is process. Laying on the floor. Sitting on park benches. Getting lost on purpose. These are all working. Learn the difference between mindless distraction and mindful wandering.

3. Go down the rabbit hole. Sometimes the work isn’t about what you think it is. Allow yourself to get lost down alleyways, to follow a train of thought around a corner. Don’t feel you need to reign yourself in. Too much focus squeezes all the possibility for revelation out of the work.

4. Fear…

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How to be ok with being sad

The first time I didn’t feel sad about feeling sad was on Sept. 17, 2013. I was in my therapist’s office. More specifically, I was lying on a table, faceup, in my therapist’s office. Maybe it sounds simple, but it was a trick I’d spent years practicing and trying to learn.

I do not mean that I take sadness lightly. Four and a half years ago, after a work-related immersion in sexual violence, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Subsequently, I was diagnosed with comorbid major depressive disorder. Comorbid to all that, I was diagnosed as alcoholic and suicidal. More than $20,000 worth of treatment later, I am no longer those things, but, as an evaluating psychiatrist put it in a report last year, I have “chronic,” “recurring,” “residual psychiatric symptoms” serious enough that she ruled me permanently disabled. I’ve been an emotional gal since always — “She has a lot of feelings,” my best grad-school friend would chuckle by way of explanation when I got worked up about some topic or other in front of strangers — and my emotions now are enormous. Frustration over a failed attempt to buy a sold-out rug online ends in so much yelling and foot-stomping that my neighbors complain. The intensity of a pop song lands like a blunt punch to my chest and explodes any grief nestling there; the very day I’m writing this, Nicki Minaj made me cry in my car.

Sincerely: I do not take sadness lightly. But after a lot of retraining, I do take it wholly, life-alteringly differently than I was raised to, and than almost anyone else I know. Now, sometimes when I’m not sad and I think about sadness, that thought is accompanied by this startling one: I miss it.

Alice Mongkongllite / BuzzFeed
Pre-therapy, this is the only thing I was ever taught, implicitly and explicitly, about sadness: It is bad.

You do not want it. If you’ve got it, you should definitely try to get rid of it, fast as possible. Whatever you do, don’t subject other people to it, because they do not like that.

Sadness can be legitimately problematic, absolutely. If your sadness comes from seemingly no place or even an obvious place but keeps you from participating in life or enjoying anything and refuses to abate no matter how long you go on letting it express itself, you of course can’t keep living like that. But culturally, we aren’t allowed to be sad even for a little while. Even when it’s perfectly sensible. Even when, sometimes, we need it.

This is reflected in our entertainment. Watching Bridesmaids, I shake my head over how Melissa McCarthy slaps Kristen Wiig around and tells her to stop being sad, though she has recently lost her job, her savings, her home, and her best friend. (Miraculously, this solves Kristen Wiig’s attitude problem.) In the third episode of MasterChef Junior’s second season, judge Joe Bastianich tells a contestant who has ruined her shepherd’s pie and possibly her dream of winning, the biggest dream she’s had up to this point in her life, “When things are as bad as they can be, you gotta pull it together. Wipe your tears.”

The contestant has been crying for mere seconds. She is 8 years old.

What does it say about our relationship to sadness that Joan Didion — who we can all agree is a pretty smart, educated, and worldly cookie — had to write an entire book about trying to learn how to grieve? This ethos was fine for me when mostly nothing bad happened and if it did, the accompanying sadness didn’t linger for too long. But post-trauma, it turned out to be a massive impediment to my recovery.

I had a lot of symptoms. They all alarmed me, but equally so the most straightforward one: sadness. Sometimes I cried from uncontrollable, overwhelming, life-swallowing sadness. And all the time, the sadness and crying itself freaked me the fuck out. I would start crying, and then immediately hate myself. Why was I crying? Why couldn’t I get this sadness to go away? What was wrong with me?

Alice Mongkongllite / BuzzFeed
I got into therapy. I’d gone before, casually and occasionally, for support with some huge changes — a new city and new job and fresh divorce years earlier. Now, it was a therapy emergency. I considered myself decently good at self-care in general, but sure, I let it slip when I got too busy, when work was too demanding, when there were things I had to do that I knew I was getting too burned out to but did anyway. But taking care of myself was not optional anymore. As a matter of survival, I had to make as much room for it as it needed.

And so, I started intensive treatment — during which my therapist had to spend incalculable amounts of time trying to convince me that it was OK to be sad. The alarm I experienced over my sadness was another terrible feeling on top of my already terrible symptoms. The energy I spent panicking that I was sad could have been better spent on coping with the sadness. It was true that I — like many people, people with clinically depressed, never-ending, or life-threatening sadness — needed a lot more assistance than just a big philosophical hug, but if I could accept sadness, my therapist kept suggesting, I would be able to experience it (long and hard as that may go on) and then it could pass. The alternative — being sad, plus condemning yourself for being sad — only heightens the suffering. And, likely, the time it lasts.

“Sadness is a legitimate emotion,” my therapist would say. “There is an acceptance you can get to with it where it’s just a sensation, and without judgment, that sensation can be exquisite.”

“LIES,” I responded to this sometimes. Sometimes I called her a hippie. Nobody accepts sadness. Everybody knows that crying girls are silly and weak. Hysterical, and overdramatic.

But as much as I didn’t — I couldn’t! — really believe her, I still really wanted to learn how to do that.

Alice Mongkongllite / BuzzFeed
I can’t explain, in a tight little essay, how I finally did it. It would take an entire book for me to describe how I got even most of the way there. I can sum up that it took three years to the DAY after the events that started my symptoms, and that it cost a lot of money, and time, and time off, which cost more money, and was so painful that the very memory of how painful it was sometimes makes me need to go lie down in my bed. I can point out that most people are not given the opportunity to go through this process, even if they desperately want to. Unfortunately, healing is a luxury in our society, not a right; so many who could benefit from treatment simply can’t.

And I can tell you about the moment, that September. It was sunny and in the 60s. I was in my therapist’s office in San Francisco, which had fairly bare walls, industrial carpet, and windows that let the light in. I was lying on a massage therapist’s table, because that was normal in my somatic therapy; the treatment addressed the physicality of one’s symptoms, the places and ways trauma lived in one’s body (last year, a hero of my therapist’s, the very brilliant Bessel van der Kolk, released a book about this called The Body Keeps the Score), which was often explored with eyes closed, lying down. The first umpteen number of times I got on the table and was prompted to breathe, to feel into where my tensions and disconnections were, I resisted the falling apart this awareness and reconnecting could lead to. I feared starting to cry and never stopping. I feared never being able to put myself back together, ever, sometimes metaphorically but sometimes literally writhing and kicking and screaming with my resistance to just relaxing. Feeling. To be clear: Sadness was far from my only issue. But by Sept. 17, 2013 (around which point my insurance tallied it had so far given my therapist $18,000), I was taking feeling it in much better stride.

“How do you feel?” my therapist asked.

“Sad,” I said. I was extra sad that day because I was in the middle of a no-fault eviction, and it was turning out not to be practical or affordable to stay in the Bay Area, where I’d lived for a long time. “I feel sad because we have to move.” I cried as I talked about this. I loved California. “I have to grieve a state.”

I cried harder. “It’s a bummer.”

My therapist was very calm. “That is a bummer,” she agreed in soothing tones. She told me to open my eyes and when I did, asked me what sensation I noticed. Instantly, I pictured a kid lying in a yard.

That’s me right now, I thought. A kid lying in a yard, feeling sad — but not feeling sad about feeling sad. It was what it was. It was fine. It was a peace. Me, or a kid, being just what she was: alive.

Alice Mongkongllite / BuzzFeed
“I’m not bummed out about feeling bummed out,” I said.

The significance of this moment was clear to us both. My therapist was speechless for a second. Then she smiled — we were often smiling, because we joked through even the hardest and ugliest moments together — and said, “People pay a lot of money for that, Mac.”

“They should!”

They shouldn’t have to. I hadn’t panicked over being sad every time it had happened in my life, say over a breakup, but I had never had that level of acceptance of it, peace-spreading, unrushed, cell-deep, certainly not as an adult. And as a person with PTSD, I had completely lost any trust in my own emotions, fearing them constantly, sadness included — or perhaps especially, as it was the most persistent. Now, I was finally embracing it.

Which is how I could come to be in a position to miss it. The interestingness of it. The difference of it from other emotions. I remembered the sensations of it: the weight. The way it slowed things down and took the space of everything else up. It was exquisite, objectively but also as evidence that I could feel, that I was open and not shut down, capable of having a whole gamut of emotions rush in, and maybe overwhelm, but move through and move me. Not everyone can. Or does. I am occasionally jealous of people whose emotions come more softly, or quietly, or less often. I assume they have more time and energy, with those not being taken up by sensitivity that makes even the widely considered “good” emotions like joy feel like they’re making their heart explode. But for the most part, I’m not. Some people are born, and then they live, and then they die, one of my doctors told me once, in an effort to comfort. You, you die and are reborn sometimes 10 times in one day. Lucky.

The next time I felt sadness after I missed it, I was reminded why it was so hard to feel it all the time. Oh yeah, I remembered. It hurt. It was difficult to work. To cook, to eat, to play. To take care of others. Exquisite it may have been, but painful, and not invigorating, and quite tiring. Still I trusted that I needed it at that time, that it was expressing something necessary. I didn’t hate or judge it. I did not feel silly or weak. They say it takes a big man to cry, and I think — unfortunately, given our collective feelings about sadness — that’s true. But it takes a bigger woman still, to feel the strength of a sob, without apology or shame. With pride. I’m the biggest I’ve ever been, the way I let my emotions run, sadness included: the way it cleanses me, tears washing my face, resolving me to continue to feel with abandon.

***

Mac McClelland is the author of Irritable Hearts: A PTSD Love Story (out this Tuesday, February 24th) and For Us Surrender Is Out of the Question. She has written for Reuters, Rolling Stone, Mother Jones, the New York Times Magazine, and the New York Times Book Review, among other publications, and has won awards from the Society of Professional Journalists, the Sidney Hillman Foundation, the Online News Association, the Society of Environmental Journalists, and the Association for Women in Communications. Her work has also been nominated for two National Magazine Awards for Feature Writing and has been anthologized in the Best American Magazine Writing 2011, Best American Nonrequired Reading 2011, and Best Business Writing 2013.