Children of Light

The Children of Light

At an equinox ceremony many years ago I watched a little girl sitting on the edge of the stage
playing a drum bigger than her. She poured herself into the rhythms set by the adults behind her. Suddenly, everything around her dissolved. She was the only one on the stage. Transfixed in wonder I heard a voice say these words: She is your great-great-grandmother.

In the years gone by I've met other children just like her. They're regular kids, but there's a serene quality about them. Most children are afraid to stand up in front of an audience of adults, but not these kids. They exude a confidence about the world. I've tried to include these children in our sacred ceremonies and events. They step up without a moment's hesitation. This is the story of two of them and how their journeys began.

Raffaele is a normal ten year old who plays tennis and soccer, and teases his sister. The normalcy stops there. He doesn't like video games, abhors violence and stays away from kids who swear or are disrespectful. His typical day begins with meditation at the family altar. Then he studies Latin, Greek, English Literature, Rhetoric and math. He's a gifted musician and on his way to becoming a classical Flamenco dancer. His instructors call him an angel.

	Raffaele & Sister Chong

Raffaele was ten when he first stepped into our circle on the Winter Solstice of 2014. Though a bit shy he fearlessly told a story. He wrote his own personal prayer for peace in the world, spending hours before the ceremony to make it right. As he read it to the large audience the only sound was his clear voice against the waves and the wind. His sincerity and devotion were evident in his wishes for war and hatred to be dissolved. He truly wanted people to live in harmony with each other. From his voice, that future was possible.

Two years later Raffaele and his family moved to Spain. His mother told me he continued to be dedicated to his peace work. While in Valencia, Raffaele met Sister Chan Khong, the first disciple of Thich Nhat Hanh and currently in charge of the Plum Village community. Raffael asked her how he could live his life for peace. Realizing the influence this young boy would have on the world, she told him, "Raffaele, call upon the Buddha. Disassociate with anger. Go back to your in-breath and on the out-breath be calm. The bucket of water that is your mind was agitated. Now it will be calm." Then she named him "The Master of Peace." 

The second boy's name is Lincoln. At age 7 he too is not a normal kid in the usual sense. He is already a healer of some worth. When his mother learned techniques in Sound Toning and Healing, Lincoln wanted to be taught. Every day, he practiced toning with his mom, wearing her prayer shawl and sitting at her altar. He was a natural.

	Lincoln at Work

Most kids ask their parents for toys. Not Lincoln. He was given $20 to spend at a festival the family attended. The money was for rides, candy, or whatever he wanted to buy. Lincoln asked his mom to return to the Crystal Booth where he'd seen a bamboo wand with amber and quartz.
He held it in awe, tracing the chakras. The owner of the booth remarked how "unique" this young boy was. But there was a problem. The wand was $45. Promising his father he'd forgo any treats for a month, he got the wand. He placed it on the altar where he uses it daily.

When Lincoln learned that two dogs belonging to friends were desperately ill he wanted to make them well. One of the dogs was not expected to live out the night. Using the Sound Healing techniques he was taught, Lincoln began to systematically tone for each of the dogs, using the wand over their imaginary bodies. Over the course of several weeks, both dogs fully recovered and are back to their old lives. The vet of the dog who was not expected to live calls her "the miracle dog."

These are but two stories of the Children of Light. Today, I can still see the image of the little girl and easily hear the message on that equinox full moon. She was a drummer in the vanguard of The Children of Light. These children are everywhere. They are beyond special. They've chosen wise parents who encourage them by including them in spiritual ceremonies. These children to whom we've had the privilege of teaching spiritual practices will take humanity forward in consciousness. They are the ones we summoned in our prayers so very long ago. They are indeed the light-bearers for the future generations coming to earth. When we return to earth, we'll remember. For they were our great-great-grandmothers and grandfathers.

                                                                                           Jo Mooy - January 2017  

What's Love - Feb. 2015

“I love you so much, Moo Moo” he said, putting his arms around me and resting his head on top of mine. He was 15 years old when he said that - an age when most teenagers hardly utter a civil word to members of their family, much less express such a heart-felt emotion to a visiting grandmother. It was so unexpected I couldn't respond. So I just hugged him back, content in this moment of enjoying a grandson's surprise expression of love.

No longer interested in the video games they'd been playing for hours downstairs, he and his younger brother sat with me as others cleared the table from Thanksgiving dinner. They asked me questions about my childhood and where I'd grown up, laughing at some of the stories. I remembered for them each of their births, recalling how I'd raced two and a half hours across several states to see them when they were but hours old. It was no struggle to remember the dark haired infant that was now six feet tall standing next to me.

When just the three of us were alone, he asked me a question that revealed not just how much he'd grown but also portrayed the depth and maturity of who he was becoming. He asked me, “Moo Moo, is there anything that I did that you would not forgive me for?” I just looked at him, stunned by the question. I was not yet ready to answer him. My mind raced in countless directions, wondering why he asked that question of all questions. He returned my gaze quite easily so I asked him let me think about that a moment. He continued to stand there patiently waiting for my answer. His younger brother slid over to a chair closer to us, also intent on my answer. Because both brothers were very close I knew whatever I said would be later dissected and discussed in private.

After a moment of silent centering and an invocation for guidance, I told him that love and forgiveness were interchangeable pieces of the same emotion. I told him that I would always love him and his brother. That they might do things in life that could hurt many people, some of which might be judged unforgivable, but love would always be constant. “Like what?” he asked. Realizing I was letting a “teaching moment” get away, I took the plunge.

Here's a short list of some things that could badly hurt you along with the most important people in your life. These things damage your character or your body and would be hard to forgive because you have control over them. They moved closer. I held up my closed hand, listing each of four things with an outstretched finger. “Doing drugs. Misusing alcohol. Intentionally hurting others. Not sticking up for the underdog.” In unison they both said “We don't do drugs.” With one item cleared off the list I knew they'd be thinking about the other three for a while.

Both of them were quiet for a few minutes. Then the oldest one again put his arms around me and said, “So you would always love me?” Yes said I, but remember, the older you get, the longer the list gets. They hugged me and headed off to the next round of video games while I sat by the fire thinking about “What's Love?”

I went through a litany of things that I know Love is. Love is a chemical reaction. Love is compassion. Love is emotional commitment. Love is a magnetic binding. Love is service. Love is kindness. Love is a spiritual experience. Love is God. But on that Thanksgiving afternoon, Love was my 15 year old grandson wrapping me in his arms and telling me he loved me and asking about forgiveness.

Grandmother Protectors

The Grandmother Protectors 

     

We'd just returned from a lengthy hike. Sitting down to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, our ears picked up a soft moaning wail. It was a sound that felt strangely misplaced in a California State Park filled with families laughing and happily enjoying summer vacations. We looked around for the source of the sound. Then we saw him.

A little boy with light colored hair stood with the front of his body pressed against a giant Ponderosa pine. The tree dwarfed him. He rubbed his teary eyes through his sobs. My first thought, (rather, it was the one I wanted to believe) was that he was somehow communicating with the tree. We had done the same thing by hugging one of the towering trees earlier on our hike.  But that notion was quickly dispelled. The little boy was being punished. The events that happened over the next thirty minutes not only confirmed it but has left an indelible imprint on my psyche.

His family, a collection of variously aged generations, was eating a well spread out lunch at a picnic table near the tall tree. All of them ignored the child. But we couldn't. After a while his sobs subsided and he began to look around though he never left the tree. Then his mother got up. At last, I thought, she's going to bring him to the picnic table with the rest of the family. But that wasn't her plan. She went to the little boy, slapped him hard across the back, twisted his arm, shoved his face into the tree, and pushed him to his knees. His sobs began again louder than before.

We were stunned by her behavior. But my partner sprang to life, announcing "this is child abuse" and went to get the park ranger. As she strode into the office area the mother went to the restroom near where I was sitting. I decided to confront her when she came out. As I stood in front of her, I noticed her face was splotchy and angry, her hair disheveled, and she seemed tormented. I told her I'd seen how she treated the little boy and surely there must be another way. She replied that she would not tolerate his misbehavior. I asked her what memories she wanted this child to carry into his life - one enjoying a family vacation or the abuse he was suffering at her hands. She stared at me defiantly, assessing how she'd answer. I said "there will come a time when you'll wish to hold this child in your arms instead of smashing him into a tree."

Perhaps realizing there might be trouble brewing, she hurriedly moved away from me. Then I saw the entire family had gathered up their half-eaten lunches and were moving away from the area. Especially now that my partner had arrived with the Park Ranger in tow. Wondering about the little boy, (and secretly hoping they'd left him behind) I noticed his grandmother had retrieved him from the tree and was carrying him away in her arms.

In domestic situations like this something must be done. We confronted the issue by finding the Park Ranger who might be able to help. But there was something more to consider. The mother must have learned that behavior somewhere in her life in order to rain down such punishment on a defenseless child. And sadly, he was going back into that environment no matter what the Park Ranger did.

So we did what we knew to do. Going into the forest, we (two grandmothers) bowed our heads and appealed to the Goddess of the Forest and the Mother Earth Guardian of us all to protect that little boy. We prayed for peacefulness to surround his mother and we asked that his future days be blessed with harmony instead of hatred. We prayed that his own grandmother be there as a safety net while he was growing up.

It's been several months since witnessing that event in the state park. But not a day goes by that I don't think of the little boy crying into the tree. The image stays in my memory as a reminder to continue offering prayers not only for him but for all the children who suffer in this heinous way. And during this month of Thanksgiving I am keenly grateful for all the grandmothers who protect their grandchildren somehow, someway, from all who would harm their innocent souls.

Jo Mooy - November 2013

Where the Water Meets the Sky

Where The Water Meets The Sky

   

While in a business meeting fourteen years ago a call came in telling me he was born. Breaking speed limits across three states, the two-hour drive took me to the hospital where I saw him in person for the first time. When his mother was a few months pregnant with him, I'd seen him as a spark of light on my bedroom wall quite a few times. I would hear a delightful humming sound in the wee hours of the night, open my eyes, and see this spark of light dancing on the walls. I knew who he was even before she knew it was a him.  At the hospital, he was wrapped up in a blue and white flannel blanket. I checked his tiny hands, no bigger than my thumb, and wondered what this 'crystal boy,' born in the last year of the 20th century, would create with those hands. What type of person would he become?

Hand in hand in his toddler years, he delighted in telling me stories about butterflies and where they came from. No pupa and larvae science for him. Butterflies came from a forest far away that up in the sky where tiny fairy people lived. In the sweet way he said it I was sure he'd visited that place not that long ago. It was the start of our many unconventional conversations together.

When he was six I watched him standing on the beach. As the waves broke around his ankles his outstretched arms made gentle flying and turning gestures. After fifteen minutes of watching, I came up behind him and said, "It's magic isn't it?" With great solemnity he asked me, "Do you think everything goes away where the water meets the sky?" Knowing he'd probably come from there before his birth I answered, "I think it's where our souls go!" Still standing in place but allowing his hands to fly he said, "Yeah, they do!" I sensed he remembered so I hugged him. Always remember, you're my 'best boy' I told him. "I know." he said.

As he grew older his gentle nature played out. He was always protective of his younger brother. If cookies were being handed out, he always took one for his brother. If a game was planned he made sure both of them were included. The protectiveness extended to his entire family. I played 'Nerf' touch football with him and his brother in the front yard. The younger brother was a competitive natural athlete in many sports so addressed this light game like he would a championship match. That is until he was told "Don't hurt the grannies!"

He's sensitive, caring, and empathic. He's an artist, a writer, and a singer. When he looks at you there's a deep wisdom in one so young. He works quietly by himself or with measured involvement in groups. He talks with few words, but when he has something to say, one listens. He creates magical virtual cities on his laptop, demonstrating concern that water and the air remain pure while describing how neighbors and countries can work easily with one another.

At his middle school graduation in June, the boy I'd last seen at Thanksgiving was now a full head taller than me. His voice had become deeper. But his sweet gentleness was still evident. Instead of running into my arms as he'd done as a little one, he strode towards me with a big welcoming smile and a magical hug. He had become a young man. More so when he kicked off the ceremony by welcoming the parents, visitors and dignitaries on behalf of his graduating class.

From what I've witnessed during his 14 years, he's part of a new generation of gifted souls now on the planet. They're called the Crystal Children. They are highly creative, empathetic, genuinely loving, trusting, and intuitive enough to understand the unconscious motives of others. They stand independently, yet operate in groups towards a goal. They have chosen a difficult yet exciting time to be here. During their cycle on earth they'll set the tone of moderation by neutralizing harsh or radically opposing factions played out in the public arena. And, they will plant the seeds of tolerance in all of humanity. It's what they came to do.

So what will he become or what will he do with his life? It's not yet clear. But this I know. Of all the traits of a Crystal Child he displays that of a 'peacemaker' the most. That quality was brought from the place where the water meets the sky. It's evident in his gentle dealings with others. It's in his presence that takes in his surroundings, without being overbearing. He's gracious and never resorts to anger - all traits that will serve him in this new emerging epoch.

In the sixties the baby boomers sent out a stirring call for peace and universal love. It was heard where the water meets the sky. Then fifty years later these Crystal Children souls began to incarnate with those ideals. They are here now as the grandchildren of the Baby Boomers. Born of our aspirations, they became the ones we wished we had become. And they will set the stage for our return as their great grandchildren, based on the work they do during their time on earth. Stating with us and now them, the cycles continue moving us towards our spiritual destiny.

 

 

Jo Mooy - September 2013

How Many Marbles

How Many Marbles?

   

Thirty-five years ago I spent three years with an inspiring teacher. She  taught me about life and valuing the time we've been given on earth. She put it into perspective with a remarkable lesson. She said each person was specifically chosen to come to earth during times of great change with a mission to accomplish. The mission could be discovered by turning to a psychic reader, or a course of study might stir the fires of past-life skills needed now.

She advised "doing the work yourself" by seeking answers through meditation, dreams or journaling. She said be mindful of the time you have on earth and know you've been given a limited amount of it. She said each of us had been given a secret number when we departed the spirit world. It was the number of years we have on earth and it related to our destiny and our mission. She said use the time wisely and with purpose. So I asked her "How do we measure our time left and how do we accomplish our mission?"

She'd heard the question from many students before me so had a prepared answer. She asked me a series of questions: "At the beginning of each day do you set an intention to be better than the day before? How do you spend your time and in what pursuits? Do you respond with kindness and compassion to others? What talents or skills do you generously share with others?  Are you frivolous or thoughtful with the hours of each day? Do you treasure each moment that you've been gifted to be here? At the end of each day are you grateful to Spirit?"

Taking a jar filled with marbles from her altar she said each marble represented a year left in her life. When she was younger, the jar was practically full but in the latter part of her seventh decade, there were only 15 marbles in the jar. Rolling them into her hands the visual made a lasting impression. She explained that when she was a young girl in South America her grandmother taught her the magic and medicine of the earth and how to relate to all species. Her grandmother also taught her about the finite number of years given to each person on earth.

To help her remember the teachings, her mission and her lineage, the grandmother placed 85 stones in a pouch. She said each stone represented her grand-daughter's life expectancy.  On each birthday she was to take a stone out of the pouch and deeply reflect on the year just past. What had she done with the year? How did she spend her time? Was it a year making the world a better place? Or was it squandered? She said at first the bag appeared filled with endless stones. But over time, as the stones began to diminish she realized the value of time and how it was being spent.

The questions always cause sober introspection. But the visual of the glass jar of marbles, diminishing with each passing year, is much more indelible. My teacher is gone now, but the lesson of the jar of marbles remains. Her lesson is use the time wisely! You never know how many marbles you really have left! 

Jo Mooy - March 2013