07-24-2017, 12:00 AM
The following is a chapter from a book called "Path of the Mystic" by Ai Gvhdi Waya.
Chapter 11: Thunderbeings
When I was seven years old and my two younger siblings were six and three, respectively, a horrendous thunderstorm came up early one morning around 4 a.m. It was still dark out, and the wind was howling like a woman screaming. Frightened, I ran to my parents' room, wanting to get into bed with them to be sage from the giant storm outside our house.
Of course, they sent me back to my bed, but by this time my sister and brother, Nancy and Gary, had been awakened too by the crash of thunder and the slashing of rain against the house. It sounded like a major hail storm. We all crowded into Gary's bed, an Army cot, like a bunch of baby rabbits huddled together under the quilt and blanket, grabbing onto one another, when a bolt of lightning struck the metal clothesline just outside the bedroom window.
The entire room blew up with light so blinding that it was incredible. The horrendous sound of thunder crashed down upon us, making us all shriek in unadulterated terror. Worse, just moments before the lightning hit, the hair on our bodies had stood on end. We knew we were in for it, but had no concept of just how we were in for it.
The lighting hit a pie tin that my mother had set b the clothesline for feeding the cats in each morning. We heard the pie tin being struck, heard the metallic sound as it soared upward and then banged back down on the ground several times after the strike. We were crying and so scared. We didn't even want to get out of the bed for fear another bolt would get us before we got to our parents' bedroom!
As the storm continued to howl around the house, and I huddled in the warmth and darkness with my two shaking siblings, I vividly recalled the terror I had felt because of thunder when I was five years old. I recalled being so terrified that I'd run screaming hysterically to wherever my mother was. One time, she laughed, picked me up and told me not to be afraid of the sound in the sky. All it was, she said, pointing to the roiling, dark, pregnant clouds above us, were giants kicking a tin can around between them. Each time a giant kicked the tin can, we'd hear it down on Earth as a rumble of thunder.
I have never felt so relieved, and I remember that the fear went away after I had grasped the concept that there was an invisible giant or two up in those storm clouds. My mother returned me to the ground and I remember feeling relieved and that these giants weren't going to hurt me after all; they were merely playing "kick the can" just like us kids played it with one another!
The memory surfaced as I quaked and shook beneath the covers with Gary and Nancy, but this storm was too close for comfort, too frightening and overpowering. The sound was brutal on my sensitive "dog ears."
After that particular storm I began to try to understand these giants better, probably realizing that if I understood then I would stop being afraid. Between the ages of seven and nice, I would spend hours on my way back in a field, studying the fluffy cumulus clouds that drifted lazily across the sky. My mother had told me that I could use my mind's energy to move the clouds, and I practiced this until it became an art form.
As I began to work with the Cloud People, as we called them. I was made to understand that they were smaller, less powerful spirits who worked for Father Sky, who was the big boss. However, my father told me about Thunderbeings, huge giants who were invisible but very powerful spirits who job it was to gather the clouds and create the violence so that a thunderstorm would arise. Father Sky was the chief, but the Thunderbeings were his lieutenants and the rest of the clouds were privates.
My father would tell me about these fantastically powerful beings who are invisible to the naked eye, whose sole job it was to create the storms that raged around Mother Earth. He told me that I could see them with my third eye, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't see a thing. However, my fear of thunderstorms had transformed into one of absolute awe and excitement each time one swept across the dry, desertlike region of Ontario, Oregon, where we lived at the time.
I recall one thunderstorm in particular that occurred when I was nine years old. I saw the fluffy white cumulus clouds building into thick, high towers in the distance and heard a far-off thunder, knowing that it was coming our way. Out back, near our cow barn, was a huge pile of dried manure. This manure pile stretched about 40 feet and was about 15 feet high. Because it was dry, we kids would play on and around it constantly. It was the only "mountain" on the flat Ontario terrain.
This thunderstorm brewing west of us was enormous. It was far larger than any storm I'd ever seen roll across the dry Oregon desert. An excitement filled me, one of eager anticipation. I didn't know why. I was happy to have a thunderstorm roll over now, realizing that those invisible giants, the Thunderbeings, were amassing, moving and creating storms that would give Mother Earth a drink of necessary water for her and all her relations.
The wind spirits began to whip around me, dancing, tugging at my clothes and at my long brown hair, A thrill shot through me as I intuitively raced up to the top of our manure mountain. The storm was immense, brooding dark gray on the bottom with cauliflower, bubbling cumulus formations shooting skyward to at least 50,000 feet in altitude. The wind grew stronger, no longer playful, but sharp gusts warning me of the approaching storm.
Out of some instinct, as the lightning danced closer and closer to me, the storm now moving directly over our home, I threw my small, skinny arms skyward, my hands outstretched, open. And I laughed for the sheer joy of feeling the actual invisible power of this approaching Thunderbeing.
Then a strange thing happened. I felt wild tingling begin in the tips of my fingers, and quickly, like a bolt of lightning, it raced up my arms, into my head and down through my body. I felt electrical as if I had stuck my finger into an electric outlet. It was a heady, thrilling moment. The wind roared and gusted around me. I inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of approaching rain deep into my lungs. My hair whipped around me like live snakes. My body was buffeted by invisible hands so powerful that it almost made me lose my balance. The sensations going through me were incredible, and I stood there as the electrical activity raced among me, that storm and the Earth.
As I stood there, an old memory, a déjà vu, stirred deep in my unconscious. It was a past-life memory of being a young priestess in another country, stretching her arms skyward, the lightning dancing around her, yet never touching her or harming her. The memory itself was like a lightning bolt - gone as quickly as it had come.
I don't know how long I stood there, probably until the rains came. And then I was down off the pile of manure to the safety of the house because I hated getting wet!
Chapter 11: Thunderbeings
When I was seven years old and my two younger siblings were six and three, respectively, a horrendous thunderstorm came up early one morning around 4 a.m. It was still dark out, and the wind was howling like a woman screaming. Frightened, I ran to my parents' room, wanting to get into bed with them to be sage from the giant storm outside our house.
Of course, they sent me back to my bed, but by this time my sister and brother, Nancy and Gary, had been awakened too by the crash of thunder and the slashing of rain against the house. It sounded like a major hail storm. We all crowded into Gary's bed, an Army cot, like a bunch of baby rabbits huddled together under the quilt and blanket, grabbing onto one another, when a bolt of lightning struck the metal clothesline just outside the bedroom window.
The entire room blew up with light so blinding that it was incredible. The horrendous sound of thunder crashed down upon us, making us all shriek in unadulterated terror. Worse, just moments before the lightning hit, the hair on our bodies had stood on end. We knew we were in for it, but had no concept of just how we were in for it.
The lighting hit a pie tin that my mother had set b the clothesline for feeding the cats in each morning. We heard the pie tin being struck, heard the metallic sound as it soared upward and then banged back down on the ground several times after the strike. We were crying and so scared. We didn't even want to get out of the bed for fear another bolt would get us before we got to our parents' bedroom!
As the storm continued to howl around the house, and I huddled in the warmth and darkness with my two shaking siblings, I vividly recalled the terror I had felt because of thunder when I was five years old. I recalled being so terrified that I'd run screaming hysterically to wherever my mother was. One time, she laughed, picked me up and told me not to be afraid of the sound in the sky. All it was, she said, pointing to the roiling, dark, pregnant clouds above us, were giants kicking a tin can around between them. Each time a giant kicked the tin can, we'd hear it down on Earth as a rumble of thunder.
I have never felt so relieved, and I remember that the fear went away after I had grasped the concept that there was an invisible giant or two up in those storm clouds. My mother returned me to the ground and I remember feeling relieved and that these giants weren't going to hurt me after all; they were merely playing "kick the can" just like us kids played it with one another!
The memory surfaced as I quaked and shook beneath the covers with Gary and Nancy, but this storm was too close for comfort, too frightening and overpowering. The sound was brutal on my sensitive "dog ears."
After that particular storm I began to try to understand these giants better, probably realizing that if I understood then I would stop being afraid. Between the ages of seven and nice, I would spend hours on my way back in a field, studying the fluffy cumulus clouds that drifted lazily across the sky. My mother had told me that I could use my mind's energy to move the clouds, and I practiced this until it became an art form.
As I began to work with the Cloud People, as we called them. I was made to understand that they were smaller, less powerful spirits who worked for Father Sky, who was the big boss. However, my father told me about Thunderbeings, huge giants who were invisible but very powerful spirits who job it was to gather the clouds and create the violence so that a thunderstorm would arise. Father Sky was the chief, but the Thunderbeings were his lieutenants and the rest of the clouds were privates.
My father would tell me about these fantastically powerful beings who are invisible to the naked eye, whose sole job it was to create the storms that raged around Mother Earth. He told me that I could see them with my third eye, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't see a thing. However, my fear of thunderstorms had transformed into one of absolute awe and excitement each time one swept across the dry, desertlike region of Ontario, Oregon, where we lived at the time.
I recall one thunderstorm in particular that occurred when I was nine years old. I saw the fluffy white cumulus clouds building into thick, high towers in the distance and heard a far-off thunder, knowing that it was coming our way. Out back, near our cow barn, was a huge pile of dried manure. This manure pile stretched about 40 feet and was about 15 feet high. Because it was dry, we kids would play on and around it constantly. It was the only "mountain" on the flat Ontario terrain.
This thunderstorm brewing west of us was enormous. It was far larger than any storm I'd ever seen roll across the dry Oregon desert. An excitement filled me, one of eager anticipation. I didn't know why. I was happy to have a thunderstorm roll over now, realizing that those invisible giants, the Thunderbeings, were amassing, moving and creating storms that would give Mother Earth a drink of necessary water for her and all her relations.
The wind spirits began to whip around me, dancing, tugging at my clothes and at my long brown hair, A thrill shot through me as I intuitively raced up to the top of our manure mountain. The storm was immense, brooding dark gray on the bottom with cauliflower, bubbling cumulus formations shooting skyward to at least 50,000 feet in altitude. The wind grew stronger, no longer playful, but sharp gusts warning me of the approaching storm.
Out of some instinct, as the lightning danced closer and closer to me, the storm now moving directly over our home, I threw my small, skinny arms skyward, my hands outstretched, open. And I laughed for the sheer joy of feeling the actual invisible power of this approaching Thunderbeing.
Then a strange thing happened. I felt wild tingling begin in the tips of my fingers, and quickly, like a bolt of lightning, it raced up my arms, into my head and down through my body. I felt electrical as if I had stuck my finger into an electric outlet. It was a heady, thrilling moment. The wind roared and gusted around me. I inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of approaching rain deep into my lungs. My hair whipped around me like live snakes. My body was buffeted by invisible hands so powerful that it almost made me lose my balance. The sensations going through me were incredible, and I stood there as the electrical activity raced among me, that storm and the Earth.
As I stood there, an old memory, a déjà vu, stirred deep in my unconscious. It was a past-life memory of being a young priestess in another country, stretching her arms skyward, the lightning dancing around her, yet never touching her or harming her. The memory itself was like a lightning bolt - gone as quickly as it had come.
I don't know how long I stood there, probably until the rains came. And then I was down off the pile of manure to the safety of the house because I hated getting wet!