Healing Story

 

A Healing Story

Introduction

My healing stories began themselves in the summer of 2008.  There were several shamanic practice clients in relatively close succession for whom I heard, as I was working with them, “This person needs to find his own healing story.”

Over time, I have come to believe that the willingness of a client to engage in the search for a personal healing story is an important indicator of how quickly and effectively he or she will undertake the healing journey and possibly overcome the illness or condition that has brought us together.

The story need not be mystical, magical, spiritual.  It doesn’t even need to be made up.  For some people, a strong, clear story about the ordinary reality-based medical intervention successfully implemented by their own physician with other medical professionals is full, powerful and complete.

For others, a story that involves the engagement of their long-time spiritual guardians as personal healing helpers is just right.

And for some, it will be necessary for them to truly engage in a hero’s journey where the goal, their personal healing, is clear from the beginning.  But like the heroes and heroines of deep myth, the journeyer will have to take his or her own, halting steps and create the story by seeking the goal and living the process, finding and engaging wise, faithful, powerful, practical and magical helpers, tools and guides.

Here is a healing story I found with a client recently.

Blissings!

                                   

Two Warriors of Healing

 

I awoke to find myself sitting before the great hearth of a rustic tavern called from out of time to wherever I was.  The room itself was dim despite the warm glow of a huge, embering log within the fireplace.

I sensed it was late, near closing time, perhaps even past, so quiet was the space around me.  No tavern keeper in sight.

Two others sat nearby.  One, a young Chinese man in silky robes decorated with amazing, beautiful dragons in rich and marvelous colors.  One a slender middle-aged Caucasian fellow dressed in black velvets, part Renaissance, part 60s SoHo. 

They turned to me at the same moment and each nodded a greeting, the younger with a look of curiosity, the older with a thin but comfortable smile.

“You have come for healing,” the dragon warrior said, a statement, not a question.

 “It’s good you have found us,” said the other with a soft voice, deep as rivers.

“Sometimes healing is warrior’s work,” I heard two voices say inside my head.  “Like now.”

Simultaneously they rose and came toward me.  I found myself standing to face them, calm, arms loose at my sides, neck relaxed, eyes open but calm.

The dragon master stood before me, gazed into my eyes.  I felt his vibration shift.  He became here and other-wheres.  He began the movements of a fighting form, beautiful, flowing, powerful, invincible.  The dragons came alive, looking, guiding his movements, flowing with him. 

His motions flowed through my body as though I was insubstantial air, his hands and feet flaring healing fire in many colors as they met and burned away illness from my being. 

He was as tall as I, but then suddenly there were also dozens, hundreds of him, tiny dragon healers working through my body cell by cell by cell, the incredibly bright flames cleansing and healing.  From time to time he would grab up small tufts of gray… stuff − like dust bunnies – in his right hand, and burn them to less than cinders with flame from his left. 

Then the other master joined the fray.  He pulled from a scabbard a long, unnaturally bright silver dagger with a blade just over eighteen inches long.  As the dragon healer did his work, whirling in and around and through me as though he were a million ghosts, the other circled me slowly, shifting his vibration and scanning me very, very carefully, homing in on some thing or things only he perceived. 

 

Then, like lightning, he pierced the something within me with a now brilliantly glowing blade.  As he did, there became a dozen of him, making a large black velvet wheel centered by bright, sharp silver spokes which skewered something of wrongness within.  Skewered it and held it immobile and ineffective until, in a searing silver flash, the thing vanished from the world.

 

 And so this continued, the one master healing with flowing movement, explosive cries and fighting and the dragon flames of life, the other with quiet, cold, magical precision, piercing and destroying.  All through the night.

 

This morning, I awoke ready for more and more and more life.

 

May you, too find a healing story this day!

© 2009 Stephen Neal Szpatura

A Healing Story

Five Magic Seeds

 

This morning I awoke and knew without question it is right and good to seek the help of our village healer.  At last! 

I walked the long, winding road to her cottage out in the country.  As I passed through the gateway in the huge old hedge that separated her land from the road I smelled a livening, potent scent of countless herbs and flowers.  I slowly strode across the long, long garden to her porch, stepped up and knocked on the door.

She came out and we sat in the cool, airy shade of an arbor, chatting comfortably about the beauty of the summer soon to come.  I sensed her scanning me, body, mind and soul and opened myself to her examination.  After a time, she stood and walked back into the house, returning a few minutes later with a glass of cool scented herbal tea in one hand and two little cloth packets tied with purple ribbons in the other.

She handed me the glass and one tiny bundle.  I opened it and saw five seeds of varying size and shape, each different than the other.

“Swallow them down, one at a time, each with a separate sip of tea,” she said.  “Taste them.  Sense them.  Let them become a part of your being.”

And so I did, taking the first onto my tongue.  I let it sit there, savoring the taste, scent and weight of it. I became aware of its life force moving into my own, propping up, strengthening, healing.  And so with each in turn until I had swallowed all five.

 “The first is for wisdom and clarity,” she said, “the second for courage.  One is for deep, true and growing connection to Life Force, that which brings all actions and beings and things together as one.  One is for peace of mind.  And the last imbues hope for the future, a key to every healing.”

She closed her eyes, smiled and gently held the other bundle in both her hands, as though hugging a dear friend and saying, “Farewll.”

“These are exactly the same as the others.  Take them and plant them around your home, that you may not only feel their power within but moment by moment see and smell, touch and taste their beauty, their power and their presence in your life and in your mending.”

She smiled at me much as she had at the seeds, touched my hand and walked me out through the garden to the hedge.  I returned home and created my garden of healing within and without.  It will take me into the future.