Exploding Biofield Transformation

Sometimes when you do a lot of energy work, breaking old habit patterns, those energies need a place to go. E=MC² right? Energy is not destroyed, only transformed. My biofield tuning this month was exceptionally intense, involving my third session with author Eileen McKusick (Tuning the Human Biofield), followed by an amazing two-day class with others likewise devoted to learning her techniques. That’s a lot of tuning fork resonance to absorb and digest!

So when I accidentally dropped a Corelle® “break-resistant” plate on the kitchen tile this morning …

KA-BAM!

Explosions of glassy white stuff went everywhere! Into the dining area! Under the stove! Wedged into the grill at the bottom of the fridge! Out into the entryway! Beneath the china cabinet! On top of the counter and the granite-covered kitchen island! Tiny shards, and lots of powdery sparkly stuff I’ll need to mop carefully. Whew. Those old plates are indeed the kind that don’t break—they burst!

I had no trouble instantly relating this to the topic much on my mind this morning: My fear of going out into the world to be seen and heard as an author, publisher, teacher, and speaker. I needed to explode that resistance, which was brought to my awareness in a big way during my biofield tuning.

Eileen’s tuning forks revealed a large, thick, bubble-like energy construction in my biofield. She tagged it to specific times in my life—from childhood right up through the present. As she worked with me, my spirit guides up and down the spectrum made their presence known. They’d come to help dismantle this protective shield that was no longer serving me. In fact, it had become a big blockade. Even my deceased mother showed up in the room to add her two bits!

It was a powerful personal session. Near the end of it, as Eileen lifted and dropped the last of the energy bubble into my crown chakra for recycling, I saw a vision of something that resembled a deflating hot air balloon which my body sucked back in. I could almost hear the pop as it disappeared into the center of my being. Immediately I swelled with edema. My fingers were so swollen I could barely get my rings off that night. My face ballooned, my weight shot up. I felt as if that bubble were still with me, only now it lived inside me, waiting for me to dissolve it. My shield had outlived its original purpose and now, with Eileen’s help, I had an opportunity to dismantle it for good. But the process had only begun.

Over the next three days, as I sat through others’ dramatic healing sessions and tried my own hand with the tuning forks, the swelling persisted. Finally, four days later, I took the prescribed Epsom salt bath to help with the detox. A little relief. But the mental aspects of my shield/block were still revealing themselves.

My Psychic Army

Let me explain how I identified the varying levels of spiritual assistance involved in my healing. Healing is never “instant.” It’s something we prepare long and hard to achieve—perhaps lifetimes. Then, with the right catalyst, “magic” happens. My assistants have been involved in every step apparently. When Eileen sounded the first ringing tones of coherent, healing vibration on that big tuning fork—voilà. They all showed up.

First, on the morning of my scheduled session, I felt someone walk into the room where I was ironing Joseph’s work clothes—but when I turned to catch a glimpse, it wasn’t Joseph. No one there. Yet they brushed past a bouquet of jasmine on the dresser, knocking off a blossom and creating a swish of wind-shadow that curled toward the mirrored closet doors behind me and beside me. I smiled and thought, Someone came to visit. ‘Twas a very benign someone, so I went back to ironing.

Now I recall that I was thinking of how my late mother had taught me, by having me practice ironing my dad’s handkerchiefs when I was in junior high. I didn’t realize my astral visitor must have been Mom until hours later, when Eileen announced her presence. She made herself known just as Eileen’s coherent sound vibration encountered the static noise of this particular energy block, a large, thick bubble blocking me, not only from “danger,” but from connecting with the outside world. That’s big trouble for an author who needs to connect with readers!

Because of where it sat in my field, Eileen, pioneer of biofield anatomy mapping, asked how that shield might relate to my childhood. I could only think of being born years after my siblings, the one no one wanted, and taking some abuse for it. But my mother was there, talking to Eileen, telling me she loved me and urging me to resolve this, to heal, to let go of the protective shield, offering her help and advice. A little bit later, Eileen and I both swiveled our heads in startled response to a sudden a swoosh of wind that moved a canopy outside but felt as if it had come right through the room. We shuddered, then figured that was Mom again. She was always one for melodrama! As a disbeliever herself, despite being very intuitive, she probably thought we needed some kind of confirmation. Thanks, Mom!

During the session, I also saw the bright spots of Light that I associate with my Cosmic CoAuthors; heard their soothing support; felt their comfort. They told me I would no longer need that childhood energy construction, but if I needed any protection as an adult to call on them and they would provide.

Afterwards, when I arrived home after losing my way in an unplanned detour (I was pretty out of it), I strode into the kitchen to be greeted by a sleek little skink lying plunk in the middle of the white tile floor—exactly, as a matter of fact, where that dish exploded this morning. (Hmmm…) I tried to urge him or her into a bucket so I could escort the lost lizard outside, but it only sniffed at me and the bucket, finally wiggling its shiny body back under the stove (and hopefully, back to the outside world). Skinks aren’t usually out and about during the day, and definitely not in my brightly-lit kitchen!

My sister has a spirit guide, Native American, who has many times come into my awareness by sending me a lizard out of place and asking me to convey a message to her (because she’s not sure she believes in such things). Lizard totem! What does it mean? Lizards are famous for dropping their tails at the first sign of danger, or as Joseph put it, they represent letting go of something that was once essential but is no longer needed. Right. My protective bubble shield from childhood.

As soon as the skink disappeared, I went out to water the garden. My eyes were drawn to an African daisy blossom exhibiting a rare shade of pink. I moved closer for a better look, then gasped. Lying beneath it was a motionless alligator lizard, a rattlesnake lookalike with feet! This is exactly the lizard my Native American friend usually places in my path, where such a lizard would not normally be, so that I won’t fail to notice it. Like skinks, alligator lizards are shy types who prefer dark hiding places. The little alligator slowly and deliberately licked up bugs, then slid out of sight. Two in a row! I thanked the Grandfather guide for coming along to support me, now certain he was behind this, sending me a message of encouragement.

The lizards also reminded me that, the night before, I’d dreamed I bought a pet alligator, then fretted that it might be too dangerous to keep in my living room at night. A “pet” that no longer served me or proved “safe” in my current life? A shield now dangerous to my present success? More symbolism, brought to me by my Dream Artist guides.

So they’d all checked in, all my spiritual helpers, all up and down the frequency spectrum.

Ringing Connections

Joseph also pointed out what I’d completely forgotten during the tuning session: Some time between the ages of birth and four or five, where Eileen first encountered my bubble of protection, I had been molested by an uncle, apparently more than once. This is repressed memory, thankfully, revealed to me during a psychic reading I received in my forties when I was struggling to overcome a childlike speaking voice. My voice changed as a result, after the incidents were validated by my older sister, by dreams and flashbacks, and by the man himself in a weird phone call two years ago, during which he started to confess things about me and my diapers and the daughter he named after me, before I managed to get off the phone. Shudders.

How could I have forgotten this when she asked about childhood trauma? Was it because I’ve done so much healing work around it? (Including my first biofield tuning.) Or did this mean I was still protecting my childhood “secret,” conveniently forgetting all over again? This uncle was my deceased mother’s brother. Perhaps that’s why she felt so compelled to help me now, having failed to recognize what was going on when I was a child. I had deeply hidden it inside an energy shield of protection.

I finally broke silence for the first time about this childhood secret I’d kept, even from myself, in my book, Speed Your Evolution. Could this be why I haven’t been able to promote that book? Am I still hiding the secret, subconsciously? That would certainly demonstrate how this strong shield, which may have saved my sanity as a child, has still been operating to keep me “protected” from the world.

Public Humiliation

In the days after my healing session, memories of other shield-enforcing incidents started bubbling up from my subconscious.

For instance, Eileen had pointed out a time in the mid-80s where she said I seemed “ungrounded” for about three or four years, once again disconnected from the world. (The tuning forks are her “secret ink decoder devices” she jokes—they reveal anomalies in the energy field that radiates out from our bodies like tree rings to form the biofield of our present lifetime.) I told her it was a time of spiritual seeking and change, the only thing I could recall.

But a day or so later I remembered the huge public conflict I’d had with my primary income provider at the beginning of that period, The Los Angeles Times. It became an extended event so traumatic, I’d buried that memory too! The reason for our fight? I’d gone public with my belief in reincarnation on a local talk show, and then in print, and when people wanted to know who I worked for at my day job, I’d told them.

It was 1986. The religion editor in L.A. was up in arms; the legal department fumed; my San Diego Edition managing editor was urged by the higher-ups to scream at me, “Never mention our name and past lives in the same breath again!” But when the talk show host, who’d apparently been eager for this moment, asked me where I worked, what was I to say? And at my side that day on the air? My teacher and one of the most controversial public figures of the day: Ruth Norman, co-founder of the Unarius Educational Foundation.

I was a locally well-known Arts journalist. Later on, friends at rival newspapers expressed their feelings that the Times’ attempt to muzzle me was ridiculous, extreme, and unjustified, if not downright illegal. I was not a Times’ employee but a full-time freelance contributor covering a regular Arts beat exclusively for them. (A distinction the IRS appreciates.) Nevertheless, the managing editor told me I would be “suspended” for two weeks as punishment, leaving all my work that week unpublished, to the detriment of several theater companies I’d reviewed, and leaving me with no pay. I quit on the spot in a fit of self-righteous indignation, walking out of that editor’s office while his face was still red from yelling at me. Cut my financial throat to prove a point, I did. Didn’t realize that until later. Oops. I was very young.

This, my biofield recorded, was because I’d gone public with my experiences in past life awareness. I now think it was more a matter of connecting the Times with Unarius, which they themselves had labeled as a cult, although at the time it was not.

A week or so prior, that same editor had sent a reporter to write what turned out to be a libelous story about Ruth Norman and her educational foundation. Knowing I was her student (after all, I’d said so on TV), this colleague interviewed me for the story, as well as others, feigning sincere interest and empathy. But the article he wrote twisted everything, as if he’d set out with an agenda to destroy. I don’t doubt it; I was learning that there’s no such thing as “objective journalism,” no matter what they’d taught me in school. I was still angry about that article.

Months later, an old mentor of mine at the San Diego Union explained to me that the good ol’ boys at the local press club had probably been ridiculing the Times’ editors over lunch about one of their own being a kook and going on TV, making the Times look bad. He told me my troubles were because I’d innocently humiliated them among their peers.

In truth, consistent biases lie at the root every media outlet, all according to their individual agendas. I think my employers’ plan was, step one, produce an article to restore their reputation and prove their “objective” rejection of what was and is so dear to my heart, and step two, to bully me into public silence about my past life research and study. I had no doubt which was more important to me at the moment I quit!

Unfortunately, I think they were more successful at silencing me than I’ve realized, but on a subconscious level. The public commotion got worse before it was done.

The San Diego Union, my prior employer, welcomed me back as an arts and feature freelancer, but The San Diego Reader wanted to feature me in a story about this public media scandal. I was in such a state of shock, I agreed. By the time the story came out, with an accompanying photo designed to make me look as woo-woo as possible, my years of ungrounded confusion—and financial hardship—were well underway.

Exploding into Freedom

Had I done the right thing? Who knows? In today’s world, you could hit the Internet and spin the controversy into fame and fortune. But back then, my journalistic idealism from the Woodward and Bernstein years had been destroyed. Eventually I worked my way into the book publishing field that has become my livelihood. But I also added new, unconscious layers to the bubble-shield.

Instead of continuing to publicize my work with energy healing, I helped other authors write and promote their books with alternative viewpoints. I shrank into the background and gratefully took a job researching and writing college communication textbook material in order to pay bills. I learned to write with my Cosmic CoAuthors, and completed entire books, but that transceived information remained “safely” unpublished for decades. Not by conscious plan, of course! But hidden from view by my subconscious protective shield, functioning without my awareness to keep me “safe.”

Occasionally I tried to break out into the public with my ideas. I would invariably meet with responses that caused me to clam up quickly and retreat, such as the hostile bookstore owner who cancelled my classes when she learned of my history with Unarius. (I had dissolved my association after the founder died in 1993, and the organization became something other than I’d known.)  Or the move to an unfamiliar part of Michigan that turned out to be populated by an extremist form of religious fanaticism. Joseph and I braved the open hostility and taught classes in energy medicine and past life awareness anyway. But for years, we bumped up against the harshest opposition to our visionary ideas and ideals.

We’ve persevered, but it’s been like spinning on ice. And now, when the world is more open and welcoming, I’ve formed a habit of pushing my ideas forward—only to pull back into the safety of that bubble shield at the last moment.

Had I sought out these hostile experiences? Of course! Subconsciously. That seems to be the way we humans inspire our personal growth: attract the things you fear most, until you develop the strength to overcome them, or find the right tools to dislodge yourself from your weak cowering. Do I even need to say that my fears actually took root in lifetimes long ago and far away?

Well, look out world! I have found new tools! I am feeling very brave. And if I waiver, I’ve got four massive tuning forks and two hockey-puck striking pads. I’m learning how to use them, and so is Joseph. I’ve got Cosmic CoAuthors I no longer quail to reveal. I apparently also have a Native American guide, an eager Mom-spirit who loves me and happens to have been a wonderful writer, and ample lizard and alligator totems! Three of my highly revealing and excellent books are now in print (did I mention that?) and I’m becoming known as the “Past Life Ann Landers” to a slew of readers who’ve found my article about identifying past life connections and hit me with (so far) at least 45 challenging questions my CoAuthors helped me answer. I’m determined to step forward and share what I know without fear.

After all, this is the 21^st century! What was taboo in the 80s is now pretty tame, if not downright mainstream. These are survival skills we all need. I hope you’ll join me out at the frontiers of biofield science, energy healing, and past life awareness! I’m going to explode out into the ethers with everything I’ve kept hidden all these years, as exuberantly as that old plate exploding in my kitchen this morning. 🙂