Invisible Roots

Have you ever wondered why have are afraid of certain things such as bridges or heights –or in my case – snakes? Especially if you’ve never had a bad experience in that area?
Have you ever thought about why you might instantly dislike someone that you just met? Or adored someone you just met?
Do you ever have unexpected and unexplained physical symptoms that doctors can’t diagnose?

I went to hear a speaker recently at our public library. I wasn’t sure what to expect. A friend of mine who works at the library mentioned to me that she thought I would enjoy the speaker.
Dr. Barbara Stone was truly one of the  most fascinating speakers I have heard for a long while. I also purchased her newest book, Invisible Roots, which I devoured in a few days.  Dr. Stone is a psychotherapist who studied at the C. G. Jung Institute in Zurich, Switzerland. She also holds a PhD in clinical psychology. 

The book shares examples of how Dr. Stone has aided many of her clients who could not shake phobias, addictions, depression, pain and other physical symptoms no matter what they tried.  As she explains in her talks and in her book, she began to discover deeper realms that were causing the symptoms her clients were experiencing.  This was not something she was interested in pursuing, but as it kept surfacing, she felt compelled to explore further. She discovered that through various methods of energy psychology, she was able to uncover and release the effects of  traumatic past lives and earthbound spirits affecting her clients.

At her talk, she shared many of the concepts detailed in her book, and I felt that I have finally found out why my life is the way it is.  I feel fortunate to have discovered her and the kind of energy psychology work she is doing. My own degree is in psychology and I now feel drawn to look into energy psychology.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

 To find out more about Dr. Barbara Stone check out her book, Invisible Roots, or go to her website at http://www.souldetective.net.

Why Would Anyone Want to go to Guatemala?

Before leaving on my trip, I tried to assure my friends and myself that Guatemala was safe. But now, as I spied the loaded revolver stashed in a pot of geraniums in the courtyard of my Guatemalan hotel, I wasn’t so sure.

 

And then there was the comment I overheard at the airport before I boarded my plane. As a young man passed by my gate he asked his companion, “Why would anyone want to go the Guatemala?”

 

As I stared at the gun, anxiety overtook me.”What am I doing here?” I thought.

 

I tried to calm these panicky thoughts by filling my mind with all the peaceful and genuinely friendly local people I had met so far in this beautiful country. 

 

First, I remembered Pedro, a man in the village market of Solola who said, “It makes my heart happy that you are coming here to Guatemala to visit. It is good for the people.”

 

Then there was Sara Noemi who was selling weavings. As I showed her photos of my children, we bonded even without being able to speak the same language. While we talked, a little girl who said her name was Jandi came up to show me an intricate lace weaving. I told her my name was similar to hers and that made her laugh.

 

In that same market in Solola, I met Jeremy, a delightful 12-year-old salesman. I bought a necklace and a toy chicken bus from him and he flashed a huge grin complete with dimples. I ran into Jeremy once more in the Chichicastenango market where he smiled again as he sold me a couple of multi colored woven headbands.

 

Another Mayan village on the shores of Lake Atitlan, Santa Catalia, revealed more amigos. At the primary

School Girl in a small Lake Atitlan Village

school there I met a classroom full of six-year-olds.
 
Rosa, Claudia, Rosenda, Juana, Carlos, Mayra and Norma, eagerly gathered around me laughing as I showed them the photos I had taken of them on my digital camera.

 

On up the street in that same village was the small home of a weaver named Sylvia. She was weaving on a backstrap loom. I pointed to the glittery, purple woven liston she wore on her head. I asked her how much. “125 quetzales,” she said. We bartered a bit to settle on a price and then she removed it from her head and wove it around mine.

As I looked around at her simple one room home, I noticed a bed, a wooden dresser, a table and a soap opera on the television. Sylvia seemed happy with her life. She smiled as I left and thanked me. As I walked through that village, several local heads turned and laughed to see a blond gringo with a liston on her head.

 

I thought of the sisters who road on our tourist boat for a whole day on Lake Atitlan.  Dalila, 14, and Selena, 12, were peddling

the weavings of their mother, Sionas.  I noticed Dalila’s worn purple toenail polish matched the horizontal purple stripes in her long black skirt. The girls shared with me that they have nine brothers and sisters and they all work on the small family farm raising corn and chickens.  Dalila and Selena grinned broadly as I showed them pictures of my family, especially my 13-year-old son, Maxx.

Dalila and Selena

I also met eight-year-old Anna Candaladia, who happily showed me a copy of a tourist map for her village of Santiago Atitla’n. Her picture was on the cover of this map and she grinned as she held it up next to her face for me to take a photo.