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In the recent Y-Women: future-past – humanity’s salvation? post at www.goodmorningkeywest.com, I reviewed former Key West resident and journalist Vicki Weeks’ must-read novel Code of Honor. Elsewhere in that post, I wrote:
“Meanwhile, I think there remains plenty heavy lifting, which shamans know how to do.”
Vicki replied yesterday:
Agreed. Speaking of shamans, did you know that I went to Ecuador in 2004 with Dream Change to work with the shamanic healers in both the Andes and the Amazon? It was a very profound experience and one that. I believe, you would have really appreciated.
Thanks again for the recognition of my work.
I wrote back:
No, I didn’t know you’d been down there; maybe Code of Honor is one of the results. I heard and read about Dream Change maybe two or three years ago – maybe Erika Biddle sent me something on it.
I started getting an inkling in maybe 1990 that the angels were taking me into shaman training, and they were the teachers, although they used plenty of people to give me insights, and plenty of this world’s grist to grind me and grind me.
As time passed, I came to see the angels had pretty well inverted my shaman training from what I was reading and hearing about shamans, aboriginal and contemporary, being trained. Instead of being apprenticed to a human shaman, I was apprenticed to the angels. Instead of going off into the other realms and doing shaman stuff there, I was engaging the human dramas on this world, which were projections out of the spirit world into this dimension, and maybe what I did here was working its way back into the spirit realms – the other-world unfoldings were seldom shown to me by the angels.
Sometimes, usually in dreams, I have seen heavy duty other-world dramas, in which I was involved. Always in dreams I am shown this world’s dramas in which I am engaged, but in a different way, which dreams steer and correct me in how I engage this world’s dramas.
I came to understand doing it that way, instead of the traditional shaman way, was what my soul was calling for; perhaps I was too detached from this world and needed to do it inverted, to ground me on this world. I think, also, doing it inverted was what my soul needed to maximize the potential for it to evolve quicker in this life time.
In today’s post, emailed out already, I described two shaman experiences my younger woman friend in north Georgia, who is in shaman training under the angels, had yesterday and today, regarding her spirit (but not human or geographic) involvement in what I covered in yesterday’s and today’s posts, which two posts are closely related.
Right now, her shaman training seems a blend of mine and traditional shaman training; maybe when I’m gone bye bye, hers will be more like mine, maybe not. She’s a complete empath, whatever is going on in people around her, she feels in herself. She can tell someone who has a headache, that he/she has a head ache, and where in the head it is centered, and, often, what is causing it, usually something psychic or emotional, related to something going on in that person’s life, typically a relationship with someone or someones else, a job, a marriage, a church, etc.
I imagine if I had gone to down to South America and done something like you did, the angels would have made a circus of it for me and the other people involved, including the shaman(s). I say that, because the angels did that every time I had dealings with a shaman, spiritual healer, spiritual master, guru, etc. in the US. I was just along for the ride, and often I paid the other people money, hoping they could help me. It became quite bothersome and I quit going to shamans, etc., because the circus kept happening, and I kept not getting relief, and paying money for it.
More lately, I did encounter a shaman, born on Key Largo, local attorney Lee Rohe’s brother, now living in New Mexico, where he runs with a number of traditional Native American shamans and their apprentices, who help me some. And there was a North African woman, mostly Anglo ancestry, who had moved to Brazil, who helped me some. But not so much in the way she was accustomed. It was more indirect, and the angels turned it into a circus, and she finally wrote to me and said I might never hear from her again.
I told her up front that she would find me different from anything she’d ever run across before, at my home on Little Torch Key. How she ended in Key West, and then finding me, was straight out of the WOO WOO BOOK. We both knew it was straight out of the WOO WOO BOOK. And, I felt from the start of our conversations that it was not going to go anywhere like she was used to things going. What ended up happening, which seemed to be the last straw, was I was told in a dream that taking ayahuasca was like taking steroids – she used ayahuasca to journey, as do most South American shamans.
I never took anything; it just happened, and nobody who knew me, who was taking stuff to journey, could believe it was just happening.
As the turned out for me, the shaman training was prelude to a much rougher training, which required me to engage the grist of this world ongoing, and that might be the reason the shaman training was inverted from how traditional shamans journey into the spirit realms.
There are lots of creatures in the spirit realms, some nicer than others. Going out there without proper training, or without being under the wing of an adept shaman, can result in coming back with a passenger or passengers unawares, which only an adept shaman can detect and send on to some place else.
Some years before she and I met, my sixth wife went to Peru and did some journeys with several people drawn to the same native shaman. She felt really moved by it, she told me. When we met, the angels took her over and moved her very quickly toward where I was. So far, she is the only person I know who seemed compatible with me in that way. She was seriously psychic, and an empath. She blew people away with comments about what she was picking up on them. Hard to hold together, though, when we were broke, living in the street on Maui, before a couple took us in and gave us shelter and light work in exchange. Then, the angels really dropped the boom on her, using me to do it. I knew it was nuclear.
Not long after, we flew apart and, in my sleep, I was told to go to the Keys. I had no means to do it. The means just showed up. En route, I was told in a dream I was going to be getting into politics. I awoke in a terrible state, I detested politics. Like what I detest matters to the angels. Might be, the more I detest something, the faster it can be used to change me even more, if I engage it the way I was trained and am directed.
The north Georgia woman just called, said she really likes today’s post -prayer meetings with the homeless man Jesus in Key West – and she thinks this crap I’m writing about right now down here is what has caused her to yell and scream at people in her sleep the past two nights, and is not what she had first thought was causing it; and she feels maybe the angels are going to bring out all the truth in the Charles Eimers case. I said I hope so, meanwhile, I’ll believe it when I see it, that’s in the angels’ hands, not in hers or mine.
On what I wrote in yesterday’s post about the Eimers case and Naja and Arnaud Girard, Co-Publishers/Editors of Key West the Newspaper – www.thebluepaper.com – interviewing homeless people, received this from Kill ‘Em Softly Kurt Wagner:
To: firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com
Date: Thu, 29 May 2014 09:44:33 -0500
Good morning Naja and Arnaud,
First let me say ‘thank you’ for the way you have handled the Eimers story. No other paper comes close to what you have accomplished in the way of disseminating information. Having said that I have to agree with Sloan about talking to the homeless of Key West. I slept in my vehicle in Key West until it was stolen along with everything I owned in this world. When I first arrived in Key West I spent most days at Higg’s Beach. It took nearly two weeks for the homeless who hung out there for some to even talk to me. By nature (or maybe drug induced paranoia) they have learned not to trust strangers or the KWPD.
I personally have seen the KWPD abuse homeless men and women. I’ve witnessed KWPD kicking them to wake them up, I’ve witnessed KWPD dumping out drinks with no proof of alcohol being in it, I witnessed KWPD dumping a pan of scrambled eggs and a coffee pot because he was using scrap wood instead of charcoal in the grill, I’ve witnessed KWPD asking for ID simply because they were homeless, (I refused on the grounds they had no right to ask – 4th amendment), I’ve witnessed KWPD verbally abusing homeless men and women (calling them “f@#$ing bums”), I’ve witnessed them kicking over bicycles, I’ve witnessed KWPD wake up a 93 year old man at 3:00 AM and tell him to move his van. Some of the homeless provoked the officers and deserved what happened to them, but those cases were few.
The homeless are pretty much defenseless against this abuse due to the fact they don’t trust the KWPD or city officials, and I have to say for good reason. If they complained to the CRB, the abuse would only get worse. The only one I know who fought back was Shahdaroba “hatman” Rodd, and he finally gave up and left after many years.
The only way to know the plight of the homeless in Key West is to spend time with them, get them to trust you. Only then will they open up and really talk to you about the abusive crusade of the KWPD. (most will never trust enough to give officers names for fear of retribution)
How to prove the abusive policy of Key West? How to prove they killed Eimers because they thought he was homeless? How to prove the policies come from the city commission? How to prove they are covering up for each other? The only way to prove any of this is for one officer to have a “revelation” and come forward with the truth.
I’m not saying all KWPD take part in this. (I’ve met two outstanding officers) When I questioned one of them (her initials are B.S.) I was told “no comment” They ALL know what’s going on.
St. Thomas, USVI
On the horrible Matthew Murphy case reported in last week’s issue of Key West the Newspaper – www.thebluepaper – their teaser to this week’s disturbing sequel, followed by the comment I submitted:
* FEATURED STORY *
Three years after being tased on Duval Street by a Key West Police officer, Matthew Shaun Murphy is still lying in a hospital bed. It was around 3:30 am on April 16th, 2011, Murphy and his fiancé Marie Annulysse were on their way back home from a night on the town when they heard a raspy woman’s voice yelling, “Hey nigger lover!” At this point you need to know that Matthew, 27 at the time, is a white man from West Virginia and Marie, then 23, is a black woman from Key West.
Sitting on the steps in front of the “Flirt” store in the 300 block were Beverly Anderson, Jason Moffet, and their pit bull. According to Annulysse, while she was pushing Murphy away, across Eaton Street, the insults and threats kept pouring out of Anderson’s mouth, “I’m gonna kick your nigger girlfriend’s ass!” and “that’s how you make monkey babies!”
The Blue Paper has now obtained the 911 audio files. You can hear Anderson spewing an endless sewer of racial slurs at Murphy and his girlfriend. According to Annulysse, Murphy went back and began arguing with Moffet and Anderson. Police Officer Mark Siracuse arrived on scene at precisely the moment when Murphy punched Moffet in the jaw. Siracuse, who had already pulled out his Taser, zapped Murphy on his right shoulder. [...full article]
SLOAN BASHINSKY MAY 30, 2014 AT 7:42 AM
A truly disturbing follow up to last week’s article breaking this horrible story.
Truly disturbing, because there still are white people who would say something like this to, or about, a black person.
Truly disturbing, because of the allegations that Murphy was ambushed (shot in the back) by Officer Siracuse, without warning from Siracuse.
Truly disturbing, because KWPD did not ask FDLE to investigate.
Truly disturbing, because KWPD did not do its own IA investigation.
Truly disturbing, because it is alleged KWPD was using a proven lethal brand of taser.
Truly disturbing, because the city’s police review board (CRB) apparently did not launch its own investigation, which it is empowered to do.
Truly disturbing, because this article supports citizens taking matters into their own hands and hitting people who say racist things to them or their friends or loved ones, instead of simply walking away or calling the police. Next step up from hitting someone for making racists remarks, is pulling out a gun and shooting.
Would Dr. Martin Luther King have encouraged hitting someone who made racists remarks against a black person? Not the Dr. King I read and heard so much about.
Maybe because of the raging shitstorms the angels have me in, they tossed in an opportunity for me to have some fun yesterday, aka comic relief, offered up by a perhaps innocent bystander, although it’s hard to imagine anyone involved in politics as innocent:
Date: Thu, 29 May 2014 09:02:16 -0700
Subject: How this politician won his election with marketing
I see you’re running for office. I think I may be able to help you. My company does marketing campaigns for politicians.
Here’s what one of our clients said after we helped with his campaign:
“I not only blew out two incumbents, but got more votes than any other school candidate in the last three elections thanks to our postcards!” — Stewart Gary for School Board
We may be able to help with your campaign. We have over 13 years of marketing experience — and we know how to use it.
Are you handling the marketing for your campaign or is it someone else on your team?
I decided to reply, having no clue where it was going; it was like something just took me over me, sprouted wings, and flew.
Subject: RE: How this politician won his election with marketing
Date: Thu, 29 May 2014 17:15:54 -0400
Hi, Aubrey, thanks for writing and inquiring.
Actually, a band of angels coming after me, not in the way church people hope for, I’m not kidding here, told me to run for mayor this year, if I knew what was good for me not expressly stated but graphically understood by me, having had plenty of downside time with the band’s heavy metal and spider venom when I didn’t toe their drumbeats. Said band, historically, has been my campaign manager, and my manager in all other ways; it ain’t just me running for public office down here in “paradise”, let’s see, eight times now, that the band orchestrates me into and through and out of; they seem to want to hold my hand in just about everything short of eating and pooping, and sometimes they hold my hand then, too.
I figured you were entitled to far warning, before I asked you to suggest how you might drag me kicking and screaming into a thankless hell job only an insane person would actually want to hold, unless he/she was a crook or, well, let’s face it head-on, an ego maniac, as in megalomania in the big leagues sense of the having the whole world in his hands while the band keeps playing “Tequila” over and over again, because the needle got stuck but nobody hears the needle got stuck because they are the needle and the stuck record, or CD, but don’t know that’s what they are; brainwashed might fit in there, too, and somewhere the Devil must have a hand in it – there’s really no other way to describe politics accurately.
The absolutely diabolical thought now comes to me that, just for a change of beat, you and your candidate enhancement outfit, I suppose what we’re talking about here is akin to men taking Viagra because they can’t get it up on their own anymore, simply jump off the tilt-a-whirl and hop on the giant double ferris wheel and throw reckless abandon to the wind and use, throw, massage, jimmy all your wiles learned in the schools of whatever hard and soft knocks you have attended and left behind, graduated or not, and drum up votes for the “off the wall candidate”, that is me in this particular three ring circus, two other suspects also want the job, one, the he, has had it three terms now, the other, the she, has coveted it for some time, and see if you can pull off the miracle you want me to pay you to pull off. You do believe in miracles, don’t you?
Now before you split your sides laughing and trying to bash my irreverent, or wishing to do so, I fully admit to it, consider the impact on your political plastic surgery enhancement careers, the bejillion$$$ in as yet unimagined trea$$$ure awaiting you folks, if you indeed did have a hand in pulling off the miracle you have indicated is within your powers, and word of that gets out on, say, hmmm, the national and international news sets, imagine the viral You Tube explosion, dang, it would shut down servers as far away as Saturn’s moon Titan, imagine the hordes of ETs flocking to this pebble in the heavens to verify that such a tiny molecule, nay, a mere electron in the vast sea of electrons, which is just this small molecule in the CREATION, could produce so much static electricity as to even shut the servers down in the Pleiades, perhaps to the “greatful” (as in almost but not quite electronically-bashed dead) seven sisters, who are for a long time now, eons, simply dying to to just hear the music of the spheres again, and nothing else.
Oh, I spaced out mentioning the really snazzy part of the miracle you would get intergalactic credit for bringing off: the first person in One Nation Under God, ever, who had lived on the street, for real, not for sport, who ever got elected head lunatic of the city in which he had lived on the street, or any city on said electron, as far as he has been able to determine, although perhaps you know different, perhaps you have already achieved that miracle some place else, perhaps on the planet Klingon, or on a planet inside a black hole somewhere, and that’s why word of it has yet to reach this electron.
Meanwhile, may the Force be with you and all your dreams come true, although sometimes getting what you ask for kinda don’t turn out being the cherry pie, apple also will do, as well as peach, and key lime, especially key lime, that you had yet imagined – that line out of Alice’s Restaurant now comes to mind – “There was yet another possibility I had not yet considered”- but from your photo, those Woodstock good old Hippie Vietnam war lament protest days might be a bit before your arrival time on this electron; or maybe that’s about when you arrived here, my youngest daughter is 44, and her older sister 46, and I imagine they both would crack up splitting their sides if their crazy daddy with so many wives, past, present, future (attached, also possibly considered majorettes, cheerleaders, pranksters, tricksters) got elected head lunatic of Key Far West of Weird for the next two years.
Ya’ll come own down, now, you heah!!!
Attached were a whole heap of soul (shaman) drawings in the feminine persuasion, which get featured from time to time in my ravings, a posse of them are included at the end of this post.
the angels weren’t entirely finished with my getting in some comic relief yesterday, which came during my watching the howler magnus “A Million Ways to Die in the West” last night at Regal Cinema. Somewhere during it, I said pretty loud, “Why didn’t they have western movies like this when I was a kid?” A bunch of people sitting nearby laughed.
For me, the highlight is when Chief Cochise and his tribe befriend the Apache-speaking hero (holding the sheep, bad guy left, good gal right, married to bad guy, but only temporarily), and give hero something to drink out of a gourd, maybe peyote tea, and he drinks it all and they fall out in shock before saying it is for the whole tribe and he is going to go crazy and probably die!
People who complete shaman training die a heap of times. Horrible as shaman training was for me, it was a piece of key lime pie compared to the next training, during which I prayed to die, and prayed to die, and prayed to die – before I reached Key West in late 2000, and thereafter.
It still puzzles me why Key West people pay shamans, and such, from far away places to come to Key West to “initiate” them into shamanism, when all they have to do is ask the angels to do it, and, if their request is granted, they will be “initiated” without having to pay a penny for it, although they will pay with their lives, as any person does during that transition.