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Within hours of sharing on Facebook that I had a breakthrough with my Creative Expression, my body decided that it was her turn to have a say. I had to have a surgical procedure that required me to go under anesthesia, which meant a short stint in the hospital.

Prior to the operation, the nurse gave me a surgical gown, asked me to remove all my clothing and put it on. I went into the bathroom to change; however, the gown was completely see-through and not designed to close at the back. I stood in front of the mirror and tried to suck my tummy in, pulling and tugging the gown into bizarre positions in hopes it would at least cover my back-side, but nope, there was no chance.

I am self-conscious and didn’t want my boobs just flopping out while I am passed out on the table (yes, I have a lively imagination). But, having had surgery once before and gotten away with wearing a sports bra, I knew what to do. In almost hero-like worship I hugged my bra, thanked it for being there and put it on. It made me feel like I had some control, some shred of power over what was happening.

I stepped out of the bathroom and, as timing would have it, one of the local lads happened to be walking past and took a good look, 1) because he could (I don’t think the hospital believes in doors); and 2) because the giant window behind me didn’t just highlight the sea view. Absolutely mortified, I scrambled to my bed, behind the fragile safety of the paper curtains. Yes, there are actual paper curtains. Those things traumatized me. Who ever heard of such nonsense?

However, I have the bladder of a two-year old and it’s not long before I have to brave the open door and venture to the bathroom again. But this time, I think I have it under control. I grab my jersey, put it over the front of my body, and walk sideways like a crab, keeping my back to the window. My business done, I crab walk back to the fragile safety of my bed behind the paper curtains.

In no time at all, the nurse comes. She informs me that it’s time for surgery and that I have to walk down the exceptionally busy public corridor to the operating theater. What? That’s worse than paper curtains!

The place looked as if half the Island had come to the ward. Did I really have to do that “walk of shame?” It was so…archaic. Ouch, one more swipe at my dignity coming up. I say to the nurse, “Are you kidding? Who do you think I am, Cercy?” (From Game of Thrones who did her own walk of shame).

The nurse was not amused, but she offered me another gown to put on backwards to cover my behind. (I asked for six gowns, but she wouldn’t have it.) I took her up on the offer and said in my best snob voice (like that’s going to change anything), “I am not walking down the hallway for half the Island to get a good look at my hoo-hoo and the crack of my arse.”

That wasn’t a joke. I meant it. So, I pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my body, trying to retain at least a tiny bit of dignity (there’s that word again). But let’s face it, there was nothing dignified about walking down a long corridor wrapped in a blanket, wearing paper shoes and a net on my head that didn’t even cover my ears! I have big ears; I like to keep them covered too! The hair net was just one more insult to add to the hundred before.

I’m led to the surgery waiting room and see three men who will assist in theater, plus an orderly, a local lad, wandering around the hallway. What the hell are men doing here? And why is the bloody orderly hanging around? I break out in a sweat. I thought it was going to be just me, the specialist lady and a nurse or two. I mean this was about my vagina, sacred women’s business, didn’t they know that?

The thing is, I knew damn well my legs were going in stirrups and that I would be unconscious with my body set up like pig on a spit! (I warned you about my imagination). Nothing was in my control. I felt completely exposed and raw. Then the panic set in.

I’m not going to deny that this took me by surprise. I never panic. I am a calm, personable individual (I am entitled to imagine myself anyway I want). A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. All of them crazy of course. Knowing that males would be present really triggered me.

I had already convinced myself that the orderly was as tall as the window, able to see into the operating room, and would be staring at the pig-on-the-spit’s bits (if you catch my meaning). Seeing him casually hanging about killed me on the inside, and tears streamed down my face. (I don’t cry publicly; I much prefer private coward crying.) I had completely lost control of this situation and, in an effort to gain it back, I decided to bolt. I would just walk the hell out of there and say no, I don’t want this (and try to convince myself that the Master was saying it not me). I was so focused on the door I barely noticed when a hand touched my shoulder. It was the nice specialist lady. Oh, the relief at seeing her! I knew then that she would be the one to do the procedure, not one of those men.

She said, “It’s time” and we walked into the room.

Fast forward 11 days, when I suddenly need emergency surgery. I had begun to bleed, and my son insisted I go to emergency. I was checked in as a precaution, but things escalated pretty quickly. It wasn’t long before I knew I was in serious trouble.

I will spare you the gruesome details but on a positive note, this time I had my own room, complete with the token half a piece of paper curtain. But, luxury of luxuries, I had a door. If one is going to bleed to death, one must give themselves the luxury of a door.

A male doctor from the mainland, via teleconference with my doctor, asked me if I thought what I was experiencing might be a period (after losing 20 percent of my blood supply in two hours). I turned my head to look at my son, he saw my face, I saw his face, and we burst out laughing.

I’m like, “Please don’t send me there!” which set us off again. You see, Zach and I have a history with laughter. When we hear each other, no matter where we are or what the circumstances may be, it’s impossible to stop laughing. We both know this about ourselves, we know we need to stop, but can’t, and that makes the situation even worse, until we descend into pure hysterical laughter, begging each other to please stop. But of course, we can’t.

This was probably not the most appropriate time, but it was too late. The stupidity was hilarious. I didn’t answer, and also didn’t need to worry about being flown away to be treated by the stupid doctor. It was clear I wasn’t going to make it to the mainland hospital.

I knew what was what, fully aware of the potential that I might not see the next day. But instead of worry or panic, something else took over. I remembered who I Am.

It was late at night now, Zachy went home and I got myself comfortable and began breathing, just like Norma showed us. Thoughts tried to enter, but here in this moment, I did not give them permission to exist. There was only the breath.

I lay there breathing well into the early hours of the morning. The human wanted something to do, so I let her concentrate on relaxing my body. And I noticed things, things like how tense my body was. Intuitively I knew the tension didn’t belong. It was a physical representation of the human trying to control outcomes because she didn’t trust herself.

I guess it was scary for her, the human part of Self; she didn’t understand what was happening to her body. She has been in charge of it for so long that she thought she had to be in charge of this too, and so she tensed. It was her loving way of trying to stem the flow of blood that was pouring out of her.

I smiled, acknowledged her presence, and simply let her go.

Letting go isn’t like letting a bird out of a cage, where I command her release. No, it’s not like that. She has a right to be there and be by my side. Letting go meant changing her position, her role in my life. I let her go by paying attention to supporting my body with the breath and getting out of the way. There was only room for the breath and allowing.

I acknowledged my body and let my controls go. If my body needed to bleed, then that was her privilege. I fell completely into trust, relaxed my body and allowed her bleed without interference. Attachment to an outcome did not exist. It didn’t matter if I lived or died. All that mattered was this meeting of self.

Nurses came in and out, doing what they had to, and there were times I knew they thought I was asleep. But I wasn’t asleep; I was communing with self.

When morning came, I didn’t have a sense of time. I was deep into the space of breath and allowing. My body was still doing what she needed to do, but now I had moved into a completely different space. I had company, a lot of company, and they were talking, letting me know exactly what was happening and why. It was Shoud morning, and I am positive that fact served to amplify the experiences.

The human needed to be knocked out. Her controls were too tight. She was standing in the way of an important integration. I knew what the integration was, I knew the aspect, and had been waiting for this for a long time. Two angelic beings came in with the somewhat reluctant aspect. I got to feel them, see them, and knew I was being assisted. Then I let that go too.

“I am not needed there; my wisdom is taking care of that.”

Intuitively I knew I was in the place Adamus has been leading us to all along, and the human had no business being a part of what was taking place. What was happening was deeply personal.

I continued to breathe and stay out of the way of what was a very natural process. I knew the human would make it unnatural and distorted if given the opportunity. I understood absolutely everything in those moments. Every Shoud and Merabh swung into view. It is hard to explain but it was as if time stopped and I had the opportunity to review and listen to the voices. (Oh, I love that sentence.) If the doctors knew what was happening, it wouldn’t be my hoo-hoo they’d be worried about! The voices chatted and I visited random places, without direction or thought.

One minute I was in the Denver Airport. I had a fleeting thought that this was pretty random, but I went with it. I could hear the noises, smell the smells, and feel the energy of where I was. I enjoyed the energy bath, so different to being here.

In the next breath, I was looking at myself in a tomb in Egypt as my body was being prepared for burial. She was beautiful and the cloth she was wrapped in held such reverence. Someone placed a scarab beetle on her/my third eye. And I knew I/she was deeply loved.

I just went with whatever showed up and didn’t question anything. Adamus told me at a Threshold event that the demon would come to my door in regards to my body. And that it did. As a result, I remember my true lineage.

The first operation was set up to bring the wound to the surface. It was to show me the level of control I had on my energy, the lack of trust, and the level of fear I had in letting go. Of course, I didn’t know that then; I was just a human having a horrible time.

The second surgery was set up so that I could let it all go. And let it go I did. Things got so bad the second time I didn’t care who saw my bits or what flopped out. I was ready to walk down that hallway butt-naked and bleeding if I had too. I didn’t have to; I was looked after exceptionally well this time. I didn’t even bother with my protective sports-bra for surgery. Go me!

My son, bless his little cotton socks, undressed and dressed his mother in preparation for surgery while she stood there, in a padded nappy, hooked up to a ton of tubes, unable to help herself. I didn’t give a shit.

It seems trivial, those tiny details in light of the huge energetic experience, but they are not. Those tiny details were sign-posts of control. The bra, walking like a crab, putting the jersey in front of me, constantly covering up in the guise of dignity, even the paper curtains – all sign posts telling a story of my control. And, while my integration (that I am having nothing to do with) is important, so is the clarity I received.

I mentioned earlier that Merabhs swung into my view whilst I was breathing. Merabhs, put quite simply, are ingenious. They are a tool that get us accustomed to what it feels like to not have the human in control. They are designed to show us what it feels like to be operating from the space of allowing. Allowing by the way, is not a thing to achieve. It’s just a word that the human can relate to. The word allowing contains a subtle message, signaling to the human that it does not need to be in control.

Everything that holds us back is about how much control we have on our energy. I know this because I was this.

When I meet a wild animal, I am gentle and slow with my movements, otherwise trust will be broken. This technique is tried and tested, it’s the same technique used on us by the likes of our angelic friends, and it is the same for a Merabh. This is not to imply that Shaumbra are wild animals, but hey…if the shoe fits. Once trust is established with the wild animal, then the true bonding can begin.

Moving from the human into Mastery is just like that. It is establishing trust with self. It’s about getting used to and being familiar with self. And Merabhs are the doorway to that very natural evolution. ‘Master’ may be a bit overused at times, but I see now it is yet another description, a word that encourages us to move forward, to be brave, to know that it is safe to let go of control. (I think Shaumbra must need verbs or something of the like to relate too.)

Merabhs were created by us, in preparation for what is to come. It is our own personal energetic day spa and we can go there whenever we want. It is not just nice music and a pleasant voice that we listen to; we literally enter the doorway into another realm. The energetic day spa has been created for us, by us. It is real and exists in another place, but here also. It is where we press the reset button. And the more times we reset and get used to the feeling, the less we will have to do it by more drastic means. It’s so very, very, clever. And yes, my dear Adamus, it is brilliant.

For my experience personally, my Merabh, the place to which I went to ‘reset’ during my hospital stay, is not so different from Tien. The walls were beautiful and high, the room large with natural rock-like formations, but not cavernous. A place where we commune with self.

I didn’t have to go home, I am home.

The journey still continues. I lay here still and quiet, giving my body a chance to heal. She may or may not, it’s up to her now, not the human. And that is more than okay. None of this commanding business from me, that’s a false God.

As Adamus predicted, I did indeed meet my demon and her name was God.

Leigh is a teacher and facilitator of the Creative Expression Energy Experience. Inspired by her most beloved angel on earth, Tobias, it is the birthing of a promise made many years ago. The Creative Expression Energy Experience is an invitation to transcend the human condition of forgetting and is dedicated to the memory of who you really are. If you would like more information you may contact Leigh via email.

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