Thursday, June 10, 2010

Straight in the Green

I've had one of those kinds of headaches that feel like a vise is tightening up just like a band around my eyes for, oh, probably a month. I know it has been because of stress. It is in my Indigo Third Eye. I am not listening to my intuition. I am not communicating with Spirit. It is an ache I can do without. The exact moment I realized it, I was out in the greenhouse at work watering plants and I said to myself, " Third Eye is aching. What is it trying to say?" I listened to myself and the ache went away. Like a dam creating a build up of pressure on one side, and finally letting it go...
When I get a stomach ache and I feel nervous or worried, I know my worry is making my Yellow chakra hurt. I listen to my chakras. When I ail in some part of my body, I remember those parts of what make Katie, Katie and I can help myself. I call my yellow chakra, my Confidence Spot. If I lack it, I hurt there.
When I get really scared, or worried for the mortal safety of someone I love, I literally have a pain in my butt. I don't know why except that I believe that the Root Chakra, the Red Chakra, which is said to reside right at the base of the spine, corresponds to my Tribal instinctual connection to my Tribe/Belonging/Loved Ones. You get the picture now.

So today, I went to see a house that was for sale. It had the usual things we've been looking for: acreage, views, barns, irrigation, quaintness, closeness to my family, closeness to work...but when we stepped inside the kitchen of this sweet little 1901 home, I felt it right in my chest. A gentle twisting of my heart, straight in the Green Chakra. Green is my love area. That is the spot at which my love comes and goes. The place at which my complicated connections to people I love are centered. I saw the old cupboard with a scrolly cutout over the sink and I turned to my mom, opened my mouth to say something to her and she looked at me at that exact moment and said, "Does this kitchen remind you of something?" I smiled. My mom hears me and we both hear "the other things" and we GET IT. My Grandma was THERE, telling us both, reminding us both, saying, "THIS is the place you want. Take it."
From that moment, everything was falling into place. The old make-do latch on the peeling greeny-white door to the PERFECT chicken coop. The old barn windows with painty latches. The tall as my armpits yellow mustard. The hemlock in full fuschia pink blooms. The low rafters in the old barn. The sloped ceilings in the bedroom. The crazy steep stairs to the bedroom. The view. The land. The stories it holds. The white lilac in the front yard. The old poplar in the front yard. The funny little laundry room. The clawfoot tub. The pedestal sink. The walk around the property. The rushing canal with yellow flags growing along it's bank. The ancient willow. The giant black barn cat I saw prowling. The promise of what it could be, and the truth of what it had been. I've never quite felt that way before about a property,
when I was


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