Awakening to the Divinity of Trauma S. Kelley Harrell

Gift of the Dreamtime: Awakening to the Divinity of Trauma S. Kelley Harrell

I’m above my upper world, across the rainbow bridge, waiting in the clouds. I’ve been taken by a messenger, some guy in a crisp brown business suit, to meet my Higher Power and find out why I chose to be mortal again, why my Creator needed me to return. I intend to learn the purpose we decided I would fulfill by living. It’s a logical progression for where I am now, it seems. My spirit guides and teachers are here. Cailleach walks with me. Simon and Allusius are always near. The tribe always has a book or two for me to gather. And I know bits of what I’m to do here—enough to know I don’t know enough. So, today’s the day. I’m going to meet God.

A great marble stairway rises out of the clouds and floats on nothing. Humanoid figures wait at its base, standing guard, I guess. Another form is on the bottom step, an animal, though not one I recognize. Just because, I keep my distance, standing a few feet away on a landing.

Maybe I’m doing something wrong or I’m in the wrong place, wrong frame of mind, because my Higher Power isn’t here. I hear no trumpets, see no light streaming down...no procession or cherubic choir. I’ve gone through a lot to be ready to learn my life purpose. Just getting here was a big production—climbing above my upper world, crossing the Rainbow Bridge, traversing more clouds to keep up with the suit, and God’s not even here when I get here. The messenger led me to this place, so it must be right. Pacing, I look for something to happen in God’s reception area.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see it’s now a dog. The animal on the steps has shifted into a dog. As I watch, it becomes a young Hindu girl dressed in a sari. A gold chain loops her crown, dipping almost to her bindi. She smiles at me, then becomes an old man of sixty, maybe a bit younger, wearing layers of robes and dusty sandals.

That feeling comes, the one that starts on the back of my neck and crawls up my scalp as I realize that this shifting form is God, and He’s been here the whole time I’ve fretted His coming.

It can’t be! But it can...it is. He is really old and rumpled around the edges but sort of glowing and exactly like everything says He is—commanding and serene. Although I never read that He shapeshifts, specifically, or that His ambassadors are men in well-pressed brown suits...and everything I thought I knew...is...wrong. Those old tapes playing in the back of my mind about repentance and falling on my knees...punishment and rewards. To even think those things in the presence of this odd changeling standing before me is ludicrous. His hands are folded in supposition at His waist, patiently waiting for me to do something besides stare with my mouth hanging open.... I don’t feel any pressure to do anything, though.... I can just study Him, and it’s ok.

This is my God.

I was more afraid to meet Cailleach.

I’m not afraid of Him at all... now that I know who He is.

Watching Him watch me, He has no expression on His face. How do they do that? Allusius, Simon, Cailleach.... Their expressions can appear so perfectly still, blank even, yet they project so much. With Him, with God, I feel perfect love...not a lover or a parent, not a teacher or guide...but all of those and more, at once. He loves me infinitely, and because of that love, I wanted to come back, to live and do something useful with the life He gave me.

I step toward Him, finding my voice. “I’ve come to learn my life purpose, why You sent me back.”

He speaks clearly and without inflection. “You are an example of one who lives with Grace.”

Well, that was easy. And I’m flattered. I take a deep breath, pondering His words. I do live with Grace. I like to think I do...in my way...honoring All That I Am, my connection to All That Is, the Universe, God...keeping myself in balance and healthy...the knowledge of all being well no matter the circumstance. I think that’s living in Grace...I think.

No sooner have I begun to unravel my own state of existence when He says, “But you don’t just live with it. You’re willing to die for it, to suffer any consequence of being true to yourself. That is Grace.”

Because if I don’t, I’ll die. Don’t know where that thought comes from, but it follows His words like a promise, a vow. He stares at me, and I know that there’s more to this, so much more than me learning my purpose.

Being “true to myself” I’ve never equated with Grace or God. They’re both such charged concepts, and my beliefs about both have changed so much. I equate being true to myself with survival and healing, not my spirituality. So then why do I hear myself saying, “But they’ll kill me!”? Why do I rush to Him and throw my arms around His waist, sobbing? I’m thoroughly embarrassed by my display, not embarrassed enough to stop.

I should be grateful to have my purpose all spelled out, but I’m too frightened to let go of Him to be thankful. All I know is I never want to go back to waking or walk on Earth again. I don’t want to leave Him, and I don’t know why. I don’t care why.

Everything is silent except for my strained sobs. He strokes my hair, and nothing in waking has ever made me feel so safe. Ah, but He was ready for this outburst. He saw me coming because He says calmly, “You are to teach the people how to find their own Grace...to be true to themselves.”

He can’t be serious. Yes, He can be. I’ve known I’m supposed to work in some healing capacity with people my whole life...a counselor, a therapist...and more recently a spiritual teacher. Why am I rejecting that notion now that it’s confirmed? Why am I suddenly so afraid of knowing my own purpose? What is it going to require of me? I stand and back away from Him, not feeling very safe anymore. I’ve had my fill of compassionate protectors with tough love comfort. Angry, I look Him straight in the eye, and as callous as it sounds, I say it anyway. “I’m not Jesus.”

Again, with no inflection, no emotion, He says, “Yes, you are... You all are.”

Excerpt from Gift of the Dreamtime: Awakening to the Divinity of Traumaby S. Kelley Harrell

S. Kelley Harrell is an author, intuitive insight columnist, and shamanic practitioner in North Carolina. She is a founder and Co-President for The Saferoom Project, a non-profit support network for sexual assault survivors, and their partners, family and friends. She is a Reiki Master and Teacher, as well as a certified hypnotherapist. Her shamanic practice is Soul Intent Arts, and she is vigorously involved with the worlds in and around her. Contact Kelley for her teaching schedule and services through her website www.soulintentarts.com.

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