JERI K. TORY

There Must Be Ancestors—Following the Path Of The Song Not Heard

For those readers who are just drawn to my blogs, I have been journaling every morning with the theme “There Must Be . . .” in my search for my future beach town/home. Sometimes, I pull the elements from my “100 Beach Devotions” book, and other times, from the words of another. This morning’s journal entry reads, “There Must Be Ancestors . . .” inspired by my longtime friend Pamelia Cannataro.

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How many of you have thought about your ancestors? How many generations back have you researched? I can go back 10 generations, and then it gets muddy. My 23 and Me DNA report says I return to Neanderthal as I carry a small percentage of Neanderthal blood. Tracking my ancestors back that far would be impossible on paper anyway. But then I was gifted by Spirit with the ability to communicate with the spirit world. We all have this gift, and only a few use it. Why is that? There are far too many reasons for me to go into here. Suffice it to say that when you believe you can, you will, too.

          Perhaps Pamelia was reminding me to listen for the song beyond Neanderthal, the voices that whisper of our true beginnings—“From Sea to shining sea . . .” words from America The Beautiful speaking of our East to West Coast shores. Maybe our birth song as well. From the sea we were created, to the sea we return to pass. Born into this lifetime – “to follow the path of the song not yet heard. Untold callings by female ancestors blowing softly in the westward bound current . . .” Is that the song of my soul? I’ve been hearing a few musical notes here and there . . . are they teasers to entice me forward on a journey of yet another discovery? What lessons do they hold and beg to be shared in my time remaining?

My ancestors have come a long way with me in this lifetime. My path has not been easy, and it has taken many twists and turns that I never saw coming. Or maybe I did see them coming and diverted quickly in a different direction, so I didn’t have to encounter them right then. At some point in these last few years, I feel as if I have walked alone. I have felt deserted by both worlds, lost in the thought of physicality and illness—days when I have fought to stand and just put two feet on the ground. And then I’ll hear a note or two of a song I have not yet heard. When I am quiet enough to hear, I remember that I am NEVER alone—while I may not see them physically standing in front of me, my gift of “sight” sees spirits hovering around me ALL THE TIME! I have threatened to get a sign made that reads “Spirit Parking” to hang outside the bathroom door. And yet, I know how blessed I am to have them with me, guiding me, encouraging me to keep going, reminding me my job in this lifetime is not finished, and supporting me when I fall.

Each time, I hear a few more notes to their song. I am reminded the ancestors walk with us every step of the way, calling us to remember – they made the way for us to continue walking West to that Ocean upon whose shores we will hear their song – for when we have arrived at the end of our journey – it will be time to pass the torch to those who come after; those who have also heard the song but don’t know why they heard it. It is now their time to carry on the lineage and legacy of finding the song of their ancestors.

Thank you, Pamelia, for reminding me to find the beach where I hear the ancestors’ song. There must be ancestors and I must be able to hear the song not heard.

 

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walking through invisible doors

Walking Through Invisible Doors

I’ve walked through many doors in this lifetime. Big doors, small doors, beautiful, architecturally built, doors . . . some have led to great experiences, some not so great. However, each “door” experience offered a lesson along the way. Tonight, the quiet reflection of my inner world led me to a powerful realization, one that resonated with a concept from Richard Bach’s timeless “Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah” (1989). Just as Donald Shimoda could seemingly walk through solid walls, I found myself facing an invisible barrier, not of brick and mortar, but one constructed within the very landscape of my mind. This intangible obstacle manifested as a door, a potent metaphor for the limitations I often and unknowingly build around myself. It stood as the threshold of my deepest limiting beliefs, those ingrained ‘can’ts’ and self-doubts that whisper insidious narratives, holding me captive just as surely as any physical restraint. To move forward, I understood I had to consciously choose to perceive this door not as an unyielding obstacle, but as a construct of my own mind, a perception I held onto through habit and fear. Stepping over its invisible threshold required a shift in belief, an active argument for my potential rather than a resignation to my perceived restrictions. It was a moment of recognizing that the solidity of the door, like the wall for Shimoda, was largely an illusion, its power residing solely in my acceptance of its impenetrability. By acknowledging this barrier’s mental and emotional nature and focusing my intention on the possibility of passage, I began to understand that the true key lay not in forcing my way through but in the conscious decision to no longer believe in its reality. And what was this door? Fear of failure. If I don’t try, I can’t fail . . . or, seriously, why would anyone want to buy my books? Or, standing up in front of a crowd and seeing myself turn into my Arcturian blue-skinned self and begin channeling for the audience—“that” kind of door. The one that questioned my worth to be an author, a healer, a life coach, one who touches lives with so many of my gifts, seeking to make a difference for others. And there it was before me, standing oh so tall, that invisible wall I had put up to protect me from being a failure. My friend Meghan, the Goddess Isis, Archangels Michael and Raphael, invited me to walk through it. I have had so many changes this past week (year). When I was challenged to pitch my upcoming book to an agent and take it the traditional publishing route, which it deserved, the fear of rejection letters popped up (the reason I have self-published all my other books) . . . but I talked myself through it and reminded myself of the many kind words I’ve heard today and in this journey tonight for my medical intuitive class. Yes, I’m stepping over the threshold of that invisible door, letting go of any fears or insecurities that linger after hearing so many encouraging and supportive words. My destiny stood before me, echoing a childhood yearning. It was the beckoning glint of the golden ring on the carousel, a prize I had spent countless rides dreaming of but could never quite reach from atop the rising and falling horses. That golden ring, a symbol of wishes fulfilled, had always felt tantalizingly out of reach. But now, facing this threshold, I understood: the years had passed, I had grown, and the time had come to finally mount the flying steed of my aspirations and grasp the dream that had once seemed impossible.        I must walk through, for it is this lifetime’s journey for which I am needed to share messages from the ancestors and all those gathered around. And just like every door before it, this invisible one held a profound lesson: the limitations we face are often self-imposed, and the courage to step through them opens us to the very destiny we are meant to embrace. I walked through the door, over the threshold of my fear, and into the arms of my past self, my guides, family, friends, and you, my readers and followers. May you, too, one day, walk through your invisible doors.

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