Birth Of An Indigo
WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL I had a wonderful imagination and lived in a magical, beautiful world all my own. In this world I was safe, beautiful, loved, precious beyond explanation. In this world my name was Katalina. I was the queen of the angels and every night my angel sisters would fly past my bedroom window; moonlight flashing on their wings. I would hear their song as they came closer, a song of such beauty and grace that my heart would swell with joy and I would fly right out into the starry song and join them. We would fly together, singing our song of indescribable beauty, gathering up all the other angels in the world. When we were all reunited after a long day as children, we would fly to our home in the sky. We lived in the stars and were filled with joy at being able to return Home each night while our bodies slept.
We never spoke as humans do, only sang in gentle, resplendent harmonies. The pure, glorious expressions of tone and melody said so much more to angel souls than words could ever hope to convey. I wish I could sing like that for you now.
You see, I was an angel pretending to be a little girl because the world didn't believe in angels. Not really. The world still doesn't believe in real angels or real miracles. Not really.
And the little girl I pretended to be, Kathy, was so sad and hurt and alone in her life on earth. Sometimes it seemed that the sadness would never stop. But it did stop. Every night, when I emerged into the transcendent joy of angel song, moonlit flight, starry embrace.
The little girl I pretended to be knew that there was a reason for her sad, hurtful life. Knew that there was a good purpose behind it all. But somehow, just knowing didn't seem to help much. Eventually, I began to forget that I could fly free and holy on the golden wings of angel song. I forgot who I was. I forgot I was just pretending and came to forget that I had ever been an angel. I even forgot that I had ever believed in angels at all. I forgot my song.
Stars became nothing more than far away, burning chunks of debris. And songs became merely things that could help my cry the tears that filled me. Hot, wet, and smothering into my pillow at night I would cry out the shame and the pain and the despair that was too much for one so young. There was no comfort in tears, but at least there was release. I remember the song I loved most of all, "Softly As I Leave You." I wanted to die to that song.
I had no home anymore. Oh, I had a house and a family. But there was so much suffering in that place and time that I could never think of it as home. There was no moment I could have called joyful.
Life was sorrowful and without meaning.
I longed for depth and purpose.
Life was a prison of despair.
I longed for the joy of freedom.
Life was an endless plodding of one weary foot after the other.
I longed for the boundless exuberance of a child.
Life was silent and alone.
I longed for the forgotten voices of angels.
By and by I even forgot my longings, but I still could not forget the pain I felt. I could see so clearly that I was different in some way. I didn't understand why I couldn't be happy like the people around me. Why would my heart never stop weeping? I knew...knew...knew...something. I just didn't know WHAT it was that I knew.
I grew up, graduated, married, divorced and married again. All the while, I tried so hard to grasp that elusive sense of knowing. I just couldn't quite get close enough to the misty edges of that ephemeral sense of... something.
I conceived a child. OH! The joy of this! Yes! Real joy in every thought of the life within me. It was as if I myself was coming slowly to life. Each soft, fluttering of the babe filled me with a tingling urge to run and jump, to laugh out loud and sing the thrill in my heart.
As the baby grew within, I grew also. Stronger, more sure of myself, proud in the way a warrior is proud - certain of my power.
And then in a gentle washing of my own inner waves and a shattering earthquake of my own convulsing belly came birth. Birth for the woman inside and birth for the child. Strength, resilience, courage, endurance and a heart strong enough to be a vessel for the greatest of all Love were born that night.
So, too, was born my child; a fragile, mewing, little being, bathed in my blood and sweat and gratitude. The babe lay peacefully against my swelling breasts, rocked by each breath I drew.
Then, in only a moment, all of my existence was transformed. As I touched my newborn child with trembling fingers, caressed his silky skin with butterfly strokes, my child, only a few moments old, changed me forever. The babe raised his head from my milky breast and, still damp from birth, he gazed into my eyes. His gaze captured me and froze that moment for all memory. In his eyes I found the love and purpose and freedom and joy that I had long ago lost and forgotten. I found my Self.
Later that night, the child nestled serenely in my arms, I lay down to rest. But so profoundly was I moved by this little miracle now breathing warmly beside me that sleep would not come, could not come. With an instinct as old and undeniable as any mother has ever felt, I began to sing, softly and sweetly, as tears of great joy brimmed my eyes. I sang no words, just vague, lilting melodies of love and wonder and awe.
As I sang, I faintly heard other voices joining mine in harmony; sweet, perfect, delicate harmonies. The single tears became great waves, tumbling, foaming waves of knowing. Remembering.
And I knew. I finally knew and could never again forget who I am. I remembered that I had only been pretending. And just as surely, I knew the time for pretending was over. I was no longer just a girl anymore. I was filled with the most wondrous, radiant, love, pure and holy and profound beyond words. The love of a mother for her child illuminated my very soul and restored my song.
Did the mother birth her babe? Or did the babe bring the mother to life?
really matter after all, which way it happened. You see, together, heart
to heart, life to life, spirit to spirit, it was Love that we birthed
and Love, eternal and divine, that brought us, mother and child, to
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