Almost $500 in vet and med costs later, and three months into the process, I finally look at the truth of what is going on with Wallace, and began using my healing skills, psychic abilities, to help the sweet little weasel get well.
I was lying in bed a couple of weeks ago, crying about Wallace and my total f*cking inability to do anything for him. I'd asked one of my fellow psychics at the holistic center if she had any insight into his condition and she said: he'll lose the eye, and it looks like he doesn't have more than a couple months to live. And although I've been feeling these very facts for many weeks now, hearing them out of someone else's mouth was devastating to me. So devastating, that in spite of the fact that I very much needed the money, I packed up my things, and went home.
But as I lay in bed that night, crying, it hit me. I asked myself: why don't you use your healing skills, the skills you've been training and practicing and using wholeheartedly for others for the better part of two decades? The quick answer was that I'd tried and he pushed at me until I let him go, then he got up and ran away, much like the Hoon did. But I pushed myself for a deeper answer and asked: well, they don't like the western meds being put in their eyes, shunted in via a needle and a hole in their skin, but you do that to them, and they fight it, but then grudgingly allow it, so why not energy medicine? And I saw that mostly, what kept me from doing it, was that I was afraid it wouldn't work. Maybe it was the mainstream graduate degree that gutted what used to be a rock solid knowledge of its validity, but the bottom line was I felt afraid, that in spite of spending the last decade of my life using it for my own health, using it in professional practice for my clients, I feared that it really was as fraudulent as popular scientific medicine says it was.
I had to sit with that realization for a while before I could muster the courage to face the truth of that, that I was withholding healing because of my own fear of failure. Then it took more time, to get past the rage and ridicule I felt for myself, for this pitiful excuse. Then memories came flooding back. Of friends and lovers rejecting me, rejecting what I do. Of my own family laughing continuously at the holistic work I do, at never missing an opportunity to make a disparaging remark, or to ask for my advice, and then pointedly doing the opposite because well, I'm just flaky, aren't I?
I thought of all the clients I've helped over the years, of the good information I've given them, the things I've helped them heal inside their bodies and minds. Of the friends that were able to listen to what I was telling them, what I was seeing, how they were able to take the truth of it and use it to mend the breaks, detox themselves, make changes.
And I saw that over the years, I've gotten very, very good at keeping my psychic abilities and healing skills to myself. How I've disciplined myself to never ever speak about what I see unless invited to. How I've learned not to spontaneously share insight, info with my family, no matter how sick they got, no matter how damaged they were becoming from the western med treatments they kept using, because they were very clear that they seriously, vehemently, weren't interested.
I also saw that in terms of healing work, I've kept my personal and professional worlds separate for a long time. And I saw why.
I saw that doing a session with a client is straightforward. They come into my session space, and I can tell right from the beginning how successful the treatment will most likely be, how obvious it is in how they behave with me. Maybe a doctor feels this way, sees in a patient's speaking that they aren't taking responsibility for their health, that they won't take the meds as prescribed, won't follow the regimen of keeping a wound clean or quitting smoking or refraining from hoovering up a gallon of vodka a week. Regardless, I do my best. I take a deep breath, smile into the sun inside, and turn that sun outward, use it to look inside of the person, to look for breaks, problems with their electrical system, their organs, the chemical levels in their brain, the issues effecting their chakras. And I've been doing it for so long, that it's like stepping into the ocean on a gorgeous sunny day, letting the waves move us gently back and forth, bobbing up and down in the sea, the sun so luscious, so Yes.
And I saw how trying to do this very same type of session with a friend or lover hadn't been possible, how they didn't want to expose themselves like that to me, be that vulnerable, that seen. And how there is a very good, very real reason that physicians don't treat their own family members, except for really basic issues, how a surgeon would never operate on her husband, her child, her best friend.
Then I saw the stark truth of it: Wallace was dying, and I was out of money for more vet care, which even as useless as it's been still held hope. I got that unless I was at least willing to try, that he'd most likely lose the eye in the next month, and be dead by spring. And so I tried.
I gathered him up, and began experimenting. He fought against it pretty hard to start with, but I stayed with him, firmly but gently, not forcing, but not letting go either. When doing things like giving him meds by mouth, or putting salve in his eye, in his open wounds, cleaning the inside of eyes with warm saline, pulling gunky discharge out of the swollen sensitive eye tissue with a clean cloth, I'd found that I could talk to him, send love to him. Though he obviously didn't like it, and didn't want it, he'd trust me enough, surrender enough, to at least let me do what needed to be done.
One of the first things that became obvious is that he wouldn't let me do the same hand motions, of scanning, of pulling things out of the energy field. The quick movements scared him, the constant contact and fiddling on his body irritated him. So I began working above the body, slowing things down, using more of my internal eye, less of what I could manipulate with the energy of my hands, and more of what I could do with the energy inside of me that reached out to mingle with his.
One of the most marked things I realized was when working with a stranger how objective I was. I might feel compassion, or even their pain, but I didn't much feel pain of my own in response to what I saw in them. With Wallace, when I saw how corrupted, how twisted, how shut down and stunted his first chakra was, the anguish I experienced nearly shut me down. In twenty over years of working with chakras, I'd never seen one so damaged, and I didn't even know where to start.
First chakra is usually a bright vibrant pulsing red. It looks like a cone, a vortex, and a strong first is sucking up energy from the earth, funneling, transmuting earth energy into a form that flows up the energy body, enabling the organic being to be alive. Think of the food you eat, how it is a form of dense material energy, and your mouth is the initial opening that receives it, breaks it down with teeth and saliva and tongue, then moves the food into the next stage for absorption, the next phase in the digestive process. The first chakra is the mouth for the energy system, your electrical system, how you take in electrical energy from the earth, and how through your chakra system, channel the energy up, connecting it to the energy coming in from the universe, the cosmos, or whatever it is that you want to call that place Out There.
Wallace's first chakra looked like a black flower, or sea anemone, turned in on itself, only the faintest traces of dark red moving through it. I had to make a few passes over it to be able to handle the reality of what I was seeing. Then I got to work, doing what I always do when I work, first looking deeply, then going with what I intuited needed to be done. I worked with him about an hour that first night. And then we snuggled up and slept.
He woke me up around 4am like he usually does, this small ghostly apparition that stands on my chest, staring at me in the dark until I open my eyes. I smell him before I see him, his peppery scent pulling me gently out of my sleep. And when I opened my eyes that morning, the moonlight beaming through the window, what I immediately saw was that instead of one dark eye staring at me, I saw two. And when I began to stroke his fur, both eyes blinked in that Love Look way that kitties do, and he began to purr.
Over the past two weeks, I've been doing energywork on him several times a day. I even do it long distance during breaks at my cubicleland job. I've discovered how to mix the petting and light massage he loves with energywork techniques, spinal flushes, even as I continue applying herbal salve to the wounds that have rapidly healed, the lysine to keep the virus from multiplying, the western med steroids to the eye to clear up the last bit of inflammation that as of this morning, after three months, is almost totally gone. He purrs like crazy now when we do it, lying on my chest like a blissful sphinx, soaking up the luscious rays of adulation flowing from my hands and mind and heart, a simple conduit for Life and Love and The Universal Energy that is all of our birthrights, fuzzy, less fuzzy, animal, vegetable, and mineral.
He still sneezes, and while his gums have stopped bleeding, they're still a little swollen. The ulcer that had formed over the entire front of his eye is now just a little patch. His first chakra is still not in great shape, but the black is gone, and rather than a folded in flower, it looks like a pool of bright red. Every day, we work on strengthening the boundaries, on keeping the spirals moving like the sparkly little lemniscates they are, filling every cell in his body with Yes, Yes, Yes.
This all just may be temporary. It might be that finally, finally, the western meds kicked in, his immune system finally matured enough to begin the healing process. It's most likely a combo of all of it. And/or he still might be shuffling off his mortal coil in the next few months. Who knows?
And see for yourself, he looks dang good, and is one handsome little weasel: