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What you see above is the cover of my book, 'Alchemy of the Soul' and this was all 'gifted to me' by my Guides, Angel Gabrielle, Jeshua, Mary Magdalene, and the Holy Spirit. It is part of the light I was allowed to bring back to earth after having my Last Rites. Idea, concept, and all that is contained is (copywritten by Angels (c). No part may be reproduced or shared without express permission of the author. 'Thou shalt not steal'. THANKS!
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About Arc of the Ancients
Arc of the Ancients Aromatherapy has been in been in business since 1994 supplying; hospitals, nursing homes, spa’s, massage therapists, All healing practitioners and because our products are ‘perfected and ready to use safely’, the general public.
We have searched the world over to find the very best, essential oils and ingredients, improving upon formulas over the years to their present state of perfection.
We DO NOT SUBSTITUTE.
WE PROMISE TO DELIVER THE VERY BEST. WE WANT RESULTS.
Because of our own health issues, literally having our LAST RITES, and asking to be able to return, our own search into alternative methods of healing, was A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH.
Studying with Hannah Kroger in the early 80’s, we have continued on that path, doing intensive study and / or training with among others; Raj Khanna, Jeanne Rose, Linda Green, Harvey Lisle, Marcella Galli, Ma Parker, and Doctor James Duke to mention a few.
We add many other gifts to this: Astrological timing, charging with crystals, Reiki and our highly developed intuition, psychic abilities to scan and create the necessary blend for optimal results.
Angels, Mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, Jesus Christ, Angel Gabriel all have come to help.
This is a CALLING.
We build upon a musical career and comprehension of vibration and entrainment. We are a family business.
Gloria O'Neil-Savage, our CEO, was composing and performing her own spirit inspired originals, that have touched, moved, awed, and inspired audiences throughout North America and abroad. Singing with such well-known artists as The OJays band, The Count Basie band, and even with the Saturday Night Live horn section to standing ovations at Chicago Blues in New York City. You may find her "singing the room," "toning her clients,” or performing with the hottest jazz musicians around. Sound and Music Therapy developed from this gift.
How we arrived at the world of Aromatherapy.
As stated on other pages, with links to the story as well, I died when I was 17 years old. I walked with a being I know of as Jesus the Christ after being submerged inside of the Love and Light of God. I now use either Muscle Ease or Arthritis & Fibromyalgia Cream as my body lotion daily and always have Wisewoman just in case my sciatica acts up, but it rarely does anymore, I have been pain free thanks to the amazing gifts aromatherapy has blessed my life with.
But, to go back to that time and what happend:
I was very, very sick. My appendix ruptured and my skin was green, save for the swollen red/purpled areas around my joints, elbows, knees, etc.
The whites of my eyes were greenish-yellow too.
The poison from the diseased appendix that had burst was in my system for 2 weeks, or so they seemed to estimate. I was not supposed to live through such a health crisis, but much to the doctors and everyone else’s surprise (shock really) I did.
They cut me wide open, from stem to sternum (about a 12” incision in my stomach) and then they had to reopen the sutures to use a baster trying to remove the bile that kept filling up.
I spent the better part of a month in that hospital.
Surviving, leaving and healing were all quite enough to accomplish at the time, so I was not aware that the muscles had not been properly sewn back together running up that scar.
It was not until 2 years later that I fell over from the claw that was grabbing the lower part of my spine and sending shock waves up and down the spine.
Normally, I had grown accustomed to simply working past it all; accommodating whatever pain I was having by positioning myself properly. I managed to jog and exercise too; I was not going to give in or complain, lucky to be alive.
After all, that was partially how I became so ill in the first place, only I had not put the pieces of the puzzle together yet to realize the correlation. In fact, the best that I can say is that it has been as though a seed was planted inside of me during that death experience, or at the very least, an encoding. As time has transpired, an unraveling or blooming has taken place, and one of the most amazing aspects, is just how encoded the rest of life is to meet me at every step, to properly unfold and bloom. “To all things there is a season.”
I went to the doctor, whereupon he looked at my stomach and gasped: “Who did this to you?”
He said he would have to open me back up, but he could only do one half at a time. We would start with the part that seemed to be giving me the most problem.
So, back into the hospital I went for another major surgery.
He cut open the bottom 2/3 and reattached muscles by overlapping them.
Healing through that was quite another new adventure. It used to be very hard for me to sit for very long, I had to be accomplishing something and it was usually physical.
I am not even sure I allowed a proper amount of time for the whole healing process before I went back to my very active life-style.
I was prescribed pain-relievers following that operation and on and off throughout the years for the pain, that became better and worse depending. During menses, it would become almost excruciating and I would often become bed-ridden for at least the first day, before I forced myself off to work and school, based on whatever amount of extra-strength Tylenol was needed. Sometimes, I would resort to a Percocet or Darvocet, depending on what I had been prescribed, but would try not to take either, thinking the Tylenol was the most innocuous of the options, not realizing that they would have side-effects, especially on my stomach and digestive system too.
I always prayed, and around 1985 I believe it was, I came across what I would refer to as my guru, Rajendra Khanna. I was taking a day off (something that I didn’t do very often back then) and spending the day downtown with a friend, Anita.
We decided to go downtown for lunch and went to the Old Arcade, which in and of itself is a trip anyone in the area should make. After a delectable lunch, we were walking around the arcade and I mentioned that we should check out the higher levels, since I never had. Anita responded that she hadn’t either.
We climbed the old warn marble stairs, our feet slipping and echoing into the cavernous space as we made our way up to the third floor. Underneath each step one can feel the history of many steps on the smoothed surface and you cannot help but make a mental note of those that came so many times before us.
As we walked past the glass windows, some empty some with gold stenciled names of the professional that still made this space their office; we came upon a rather unique set of panes, that framed a colourful space with statues whose shine sometimes found their way past the thin layer of dust and racks of brightly coloured sarongs, scarf’s and cloths.
On the left side of the door, were several signs and posters, one of which caught my interest of a palm turned up exposing the lines and declaring ‘Palmistry Read’ for $30.00. I looked at Anita and laughed and suggested we should go for fun and have our palms read. She said no, she wasn’t paying $30 to have her palm read, but I sweetened the deal by adding: “What if he will do it for $30 for both of us?” Anita responded with a nod, a laugh and a yes. So we opened the door and bells tinkled as we were walking up to the glass counter. Up walked a man who was struggling with his steps, small in stature, very neat thin mustache matching his grey hair, he met us both and asked how he could be of service. I laughed a bit and sheepishly said that we wondered if it would be possible if we could both get a reading for $30.00 even if it was shorter in time duration.
This man who I would come to know as ‘Raj’ replied thusly: “Oh sure, you can pay whatever you want”. This struck me a bit odd, but sweet. How anyone couldn’t feel his sweetness; at least I couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t feel this gentle beings graceful energy. So, he gestured for us to come back into a private room in the rear of the shop called “Rani’s Gift’s”.
We sat down on a red silk cloth that was on the floor, where Raj told us to sit. We were still like school girls laughing, but I was intrigued. I felt like a child looking around at all the pictures and diagrams, along with all the other unusual items one could see in that small room and through the small doorway back into the shop.
One at a time, Raj held our hands, turning them and squeezing at times under a magnifying glass and an overhead light. His insights were more than accurate and I couldn’t get enough of this man, Raj.
One of the words I saw over and over was ‘meditation’, both on posters, and books.
I asked him if he could teach us how to meditate, to which of course, the reply was ‘of course, you just have to be interested. That would require a mere $5 and I told Anita if she didn’t want to pay it, I would pay for her.
With legs crossed and our palms outstretched and facing up, we began a series of breaths with Raj’s tutelage. I immediately felt something happening in my head and heart as Raj fanned us with his palms. Anita told me afterwards she didn’t feel anything, but I sure did, it became a long relationship with the man I would come to know was born in India, had authored more than a dozen books and had taught many people in the area to meditate, and who would make me a member of the ‘Secret Consciousness Society’.
I faithfully prayed and meditated every day, I ran an average of 5 miles and 15-20 on the weekend along with my exercise routine. I became a vegetarian for the most part, save for still drinking buckets of coffee each day, I was doing pretty good.
But all of it, was mostly to ‘stay in shape’ physically (externally) and spiritually. What I wasn’t putting together, was just how much my thoughts and the food I was eating could affect the internal health of my lower back and reproductive system. Coffee was bad? I had no idea until a few years later, just how much it all related. We did not have the internet at the time, so one could only find these things out through reading and so far, nothing even prepared me to think I needed to concern myself, save for that remote comment made by the doctor before they released me from the hospital from that first death trip; ‘you might have a hard time with a pregnancy’.
Around a decade passed, when I went to the doctor to discuss getting pregnant. When I divulged the past, he took a look at my stomach, winced and asked me about any pain I might have. I told him how I had been managing and the same strange look of incredulity filters into his countenance, as he assesses me.
I don’t like the word ‘can’t’. I never thought that the word applied to me. If something needed doing, then one only had to find the way and commence doing.
In fact, it was harder for me to understand someone being stuck somehow, if you want to make a change, make one. Ahhhh, the lessons life will drive through you when you are unaware and naïve.
Anyway, Dr. Cam proceeded to tell me I might have endometriosis, just from the scar tissue alone from those previous surgeries. “What?” I respond, now incredulous myself. Well, we won’t know unless we do a laparoscopy for a better look, but just feeling around it seems very likely. So, one was scheduled and I woke up much later from the operation than I was told. It seems not only did I have endometriosis, but I had severe endometriosis, which was called ‘4th stage’. The doctor ended up removing a nest of soft-ball sized chocolate cysts out of the webbing of adhesions within my belly.
He needed to open me up with an incision to do this, after which I went through rounds of steroids.
Trying to get pregnant in the middle of all of this, and in the experiences of life that I will fill you in on the details of in my forth coming book, was just not in the cards.
I continued to meditate and pray every day, for at least ½ hour.
I asked God and my angels for guidance throughout the day and often would take to writing out affirmations.
I used the crystals I thought might help me, based on the books I found on their usage.
I read a lot of spiritual books and did the best job I could, to remain positive and share that positive message. At this point, I thought it was part of my job to ignite the passion of the living Love of God.
As far as I was concerned, some people just didn’t realize that God loved them, and this was the reason they were suffering.
Physical health was another thing entirely.
I found essential oils downtown and quickly grew to love using (what I thought at the time, was pure essential oils) always loving Frankincense. I had a passing interest in Aromatherapy, simply as a hobby.
Still, the pain in my back would not go away and got worse, wrapping all around my stomach and making me drop to the ground at times, that was if I could get up during menses. Only it started to last for a week, then a week and a half and then just any old time it wanted to show up, of course especially if I had done some heavy lifting, which I often did.
Unfortunately, it just got so bad, that I ended up back in the hospital after several more laparoscopies for a full hysterectomy and bi-lateral oophorectomy.
One more scar.
After attending a women’s retreat I met a woman during yoga that I began a friendship with, who also came to the store and did a yoga day for my customers.
She told me she was sponsoring a very good teacher on Aromatherapy and asked me if I was interested in attending. I was, but the price of over a thousand dollars at the time, was certainly more than I was willing to try and convince my husband was necessary, and so was the nearly week away from him, and my store (more on that in my NDE story online here: http://cc.bingj.com/cache.aspx?q=http%3a%2f%2fwww.north-ca-iands.org%2fNDEs_Stories.html&d=4670411904977504&mkt=en-US&setlang=en-US&w=ndu5KI1DHhtL27IzaUlVlkV6BF6bZ-BP
Scroll down to: 'The Journey' this is a cached page because I cannot find the old page that was originally posted
and in my book).
So, I decided against the class with Jeanne Rose.
A little more than a week before the class, the yoga teacher (Linda) calls me and tells me that a woman has paid for her tuition for the class, but is too ill to make it and she has looked at the list of possible students and said that I was the one who was supposed to go in her stead. All I would have to pay is for food and lodging.
I looked up and said; “Okay God, you want me to do, so please help me tell my husband, who is not always in, such a good mood and might get angry”.
So, I prayed and approached my husband and soon I was off to attend the Aromatherapy Intensive Workshop with Jeanne Rose, the woman who rediscovered aromatherapy and brought it to this country.
After some instruction and workshops; Jeannie had us line up on either side of an isle as she passed out a sheet of paper with the names of some of the essential oils written down one side, and a place for comments down the other.
She passed first one than another aroma stick with each of the essential oils listed to each of us, and asked us to fill out the comment section after we inhaled and experienced them individually.
Finally, we were told to pass them back up to her.
She began to read aloud the comments of each of us, and as she worked her way around the room to me, I became more and more nervous, thinking I didn’t follow instructions, based on the difference of my comments and the ones she was reading.
The whole place was filled with exotic scents, and we were located in the middle of the gorgeous mountainside of southern Ohio. This place, surrounded by gardens and misty hills, was already magical, but adding the aroma’s that enticed, filled and surrounded you, was like lifting up on a cloud. Perhaps a magic carpet ride, I believe I even made such a comment.
All of that was in jeopardy of crashing to the ground, because I was sure I did not write the correct type of comments she was asking from us.
I wanted to crawl under my seat, I began to squirm so much you would have thought I was a twisted tree sitting on that seat.
Then the dreaded time had come, Jeanne began to read my comments and there was no-where to run and no-where to hide. Only, as she did, a smile broke out on her some-times stern visage (I actually appreciate that she is a teacher that wants excellence and she wants you to learn, but she doesn’t suffer fools lightly and she is a demanding teacher with strict guidelines, and just like a Rose, she covers a very sweet interior chamber filled with exotic secrets) the words spilled out in cadence and she nodded and said aloud; “Now that is what I’m talking about”. A broad smile came upon my face as suddenly things had turned around, I had actually written in a style of prose, little stories about how I felt and what I saw when I inhaled the scents, rather than just what I thought they were and what their properties were.
I loved all of the oils save for one, I would come to know the oil was, Spikenard, or Nardostachys Jatamansi which was the Latin Bi-nomenclature for the oil. When I smelled that oil, I almost vomited right then and there, and wrote that it smelled of something deep and awful, putrid. I felt embarrassed to write anything that remotely resembled these awful reactions, but I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t cover it up and my face always exposes my true feelings for all the world to see anyway.
Frankincense on the other hand, blew my third eye and crown chakra wide open as bursts of golden light came in, as if I was meditating and the next thing I knew, I was flying down the hall of a large cathedral and right through the stained glass window over the altar and into a tunnel of golden light that took me back through time.
After that part of the class was over, we were told we were each going to be given an individual oil to work with, and this time, would have to go off on our own and write and meditate on the oil, write down its properties and applications and an elaborate story of that experience.
We stood in line, my hopes set on getting Frankincense and sure Jeannie would give me that oil as my individual exercise. As the line dwindled and I neared the table Jeannie sat at, handing out our individual samples I began to say louder and louder in a sort of whisper, “Frankincense, Frankincense, Frankincense”, hoping she would hear me, but wishing she already made up her mind, to give me that oil, since she liked my stories so much and we had obviously made a connection.
About two people before me, I hear her say to the person at the table; “you are going to have Frankincense”. My heart sunk, “what I cried aloud”, as my hopes are dashed.
Begrudgingly inhaling the scent, I became calmer. Okay, it is a calming oil, write that down. Wait, every cell in my body is starting to feel as though calm, warm water is rinsing through them and they are not just being calmed, but I am feeling somewhat sedated. I feel as though I am connecting deep into the earth, as I travel first downward the roots and dark and tangled bowels below and I no long mind that it is the spikenard that I am experiencing, I am rather enjoying the journey on whose scent is becoming sweeter as the good sweet earth surrounds me and all of a sudden, it is not something to fear, but to appreciate. I begin my ascent out of the magnificence of treasure and life in its early forms and all that helps life rise to the surface, up through the darkness I rise to the light. Each moment the scent becomes sweeter and sweeter and I am like the rest of the natural world, rising to appreciate the light out of the darkness.
So much of our natural world, waits in anticipation for the golden orb of the sun to make its way over the horizon, where they open and worship this energy that fills them with light and life, to rise and shine and spread and open into the blossoms that will scent our world and colour our lives, feeding us the nourishment we need for survival. They will follow that sun all day and start to close when he slips over the horizon, resting until the cycle repeats itself again.
Spikenard, I will come to learn, is Mary Magdalene’s oil, the oils She uses to anoint Jesus/Jeshua, and in Christ literally means, ‘anointed one.’ Jesus means ‘saviour’, so Jesus Christ, translates to ‘Anointed Saviour’.
Jeannie gave me THE ESSENTIAL OIL OF OILS TO WORK WITH!
I also learn, that spikenard is an analgesic, that it is for wounds that will not heal, physical, emotional or mental, that last line is from Mary Greer, and it is for healing past lives.
I will go on to learn many, many things, attending more classes now that I am completely seduced by aromatherapy and the entire art of healing with essential oils.
I begin to make blends that are for pain, and for the first time, I become pain free, without the use of medicine. I wonder aloud, where has this lovely art of healing been? It is over 5,000 years old and is the oldest known medicine on the planet. Pharmaceutical medicine on the other hand, is only 200 years old and actually came from the study of plant medicine!
Those plants stretch out and worship the sun all day, giving glory to God and they in turn absorb all that healing light energy, and we make essential oils out of that healing energy, literally essential oils are liquid healing light.
Bringing the aromatherapy into the shop, and having essential oil workshops among the Reiki, design, dream workshops, art therapy, yoga, etc., turns the shop into a tapestry of colour, scent, music and healing that is so lovely, it transforms me and almost everyone else that magically finds their way inside.
Soon, I am making all kinds of blends, for colds, asthma, flu, pain relief and the angels are ever busy, and I continue to pray and meditate, only now I use the essential oils and continue to find just the right blend that connects me to the Divine Mind OF God, and all that IS.
Along about the third or fourth workshop, I am at another teachers barn only with Jeannie as the main teacher again when Jeannie is distilling Geranium, or (Pelargonium Graveolens) on the table in the center of about 20 some women on the second floor of an old but well-kept, freshly painted and clean barn. We have our little rooms off the sides that are quaint and cozy.
As Jeannie distills the oil and it begins to drip into the glass container, the aroma fresh and flowery fills the air. The flame dancing, she recants the healing properties as she swills the glass just a bit and also tells us about distillation.
I am as usual mesmerized with all of it, until she starts to discuss the hormonal healing properties and how it will heal the reproductive organs and can help with things like endometriosis. I sit back in my seat bolt upright and exclaim lightly; “You can’t heal INTERNAL ORGANS THOUGH!” as several women whip their heads around to acknowledge the teaching and say, “YES YOU CAN!”…….what?
This is thousands of years old and it could have helped me heal my endometriosis?
I start shaking inside, and my eyes fill up as I excuse myself and softly walk outside.
My mind is spinning as my heart sinks. The tears are coming full force and it is all I can do to stand up, I fall to a soft spot in the ground, making sure no one is looking and begin to sob. “WHY, I thunder to God? Why didn’t I know about something that could have helped me and is thousands of years old! I could have had a baby!!! Now it is too late!” Even as I write this now, the tears flow softly down my face, recalling the experience as if it was only yesterday.
All of a sudden, a light and a warmth comes over me, as if the sun has just found me, only I know it isn’t the sun. It is the Archangel Gabrielle and He is soothing me, while he tells me; “Gloria, it might be too late for you, but it won’t be too late for you to help a lot of other women”.
Still a part of me whimpers weekly in protest, but he continues and soon I am feeling calm as I wipe my face and compose myself. “Okay God” I say out loud, “if that is what you want from me then that is what I will do, but you will have to help me.”
I return to the class of wise women. Quietly finding my way back to my seat and after sitting a while, catching up with the class; a woman who has introduced herself as Linda Honeycutt-LeGrand who was born in South Carolina and whom has befriended me at some of the other classes, walks up to me carrying a paper close to her chest. She approaches me and says: “Gloria, when you came back in, the Angel Gabriel was holding you, and so I drew this picture and wanted you to have it”. WHAT!!! She saw him too! What confirmation!
I Continue to study and after making different blends, ‘WiseWoman’ is born.
WiseWoman is a blend of 13 different essential oils, two of which are Geranium and Spikenard. It has and continues to help any pain I have, especially lower back, sciatica and it has helped truly hundreds if not thousands of people by now.
You see, not only is it helpful for endometriosis suffers and menopause hot flashes and mood swings; with all those anti-inflammatory’s and analgesics (pain relievers) among other things, it will TAKE AWAY THE PAIN. A WISE WOMAN TAKES AWAY THE PAIN.
These are just some of the stories along the way, but I will continue to share and update, so please return. Next, I hope to write about the sermon that talked to me from the pulpit, about how God doesn’t pick the obvious choice, because in my mind, I was hardly any sort of choice, nor did I ever expect to be doing what I have now been doing for almost 20 years. I love it, it has changed my life and opened doors in life and inside of me, that I never, ever would have dreamed of, but that I cannot imagine living any other way, it is so much larger a world, a vision than my own mind could possibly conjure…or is it?
That is another story for another day.
For now, please enjoy the healing blends and creams and if you have questions, please email me!
[email protected]
Bon Voyage!
Coming home to Cleveland, Ohio was not what I thought I would be doing, not to live at least. Not after being fortunate enough to sing for a living and with some of the best in the business; singing to standing ovations and thrilled at “feeling” and making others “feel”, The Count Basie Band, O’Jays, even Jon Paris and the Saturday Night Live horn section two nights in a row (I was asked back for the second night) at Chicago Blues in New York City. I was living in Portland, Oregon which is definitely God’s country; you cannot miss it even if you are sleeping soundly. Portland, Oregon is home to the Mt. Hood Jazz festival and everything progressive, beautiful, wonderful and right.
None of that matters when your oldest sister is dying of cancer back home in Cleveland, Ohio. I returned home to Cleveland to spend time with her, she eventually did pass from this world after that cancer had eaten just about every cell of her being. Looking back now, she demonstrated a poetic dignity, beauty and grace. I am so blessed to have had such an awe-some human in my life at all, and she was/is my gorgeous sister Barbara.
No musical contract or group can give you perspective like someone you love being eaten by the hideous disease of cancer.
In the meantime, my dad took ill with Emphysema. I won’t be leaving any time soon.
This is my attempt to tell the story of what transpired between now and then.
Better go back to design and furniture, something I know just to hold me over while I am here.
“You can’t just start singing like that!” Said my boss, a lovely well-kept woman who owned the furniture/design shop I worked in at the time. This may seem
simple enough a request, but not for me. You see, I do not have cognitive awareness that I am singing. How can I stop doing something I do not even know I am doing? Another piece of discomfort was the price factor; a customer could become very uncomfortable working on a better price and someone else who is just nice would have to pay more, I would inform the “nice” person they could get a better price rather than give the problem customer a better price, but that meant I was taking money from the store owner which was also uncomfortable.
Anyway that night in 1989 after I was “singing” in the store; I was sitting with my handsome Marlborough man/husband I am crazy about. The irritating traffic is whooshing by our house which is very close to the street. We live way out in the country east of Chardon and yet I have to put up with all the loud traffic and trucks!
Now I have several things creating a new dilemma for me. You see, I had managed several furniture design showrooms in the past. I could easily get rehired at any of them. Only, that won’t stop my random singing. Living in the country (last job was 1hour and a half away), and those jobs requiring 60 hour minimum weeks becomes another consideration. I want to please my husband, be the perfect “Disney wife” take care of and make him the happiest man on the planet!
I would like to have a child, and that clock is tick, tock ticking away in me.
I am also having some physical health problems flaring up and that will require time off of work too.
How can I do a good job for anyone else knowing this?
Make lemonade out of lemons. Listen to the irritation and the answer will come.
More loud traffic goes by.
The light finally goes on inside of me.
I will build my own shop. A simple barn/A-frame will do.
I go outside to see where and how when I literally “see” the barn standing in all of its etheric beauty.
I open the door (no, there really isn’t a door) and walk in and see my writing desk in one corner, cherry bookcase behind it, tapestry and damask couches and brocade chairs, maple and oak end tables, Victorian carved oak bed grouping and hammered-iron headboards.
I simply note my growing inventory list. I will need a good excavator to prepare the field that is approximately 200 feet east of my home, which sits on 27 acres.
I drive down to the local corner store to get a reference. “Dick Bosse” is my reply from the friendly store owner in response to my query. Dick comes walking into the store after the words are barely out of the store owner’s mouth.
While Dick and I go outside to work out the logistics, Dick says we will need Barry’s trucking to deliver the layers of rock we will need.
Barry himself comes driving up in a shiny red truck. Dick and Barry wave to each other and Dick introduces me “this young lady here is Mrs. Savage and she is considering building a store/barn on her property down the street here”.
Who is building the barn for her?
I reply “I haven’t found that person yet, any suggestions?”
They both reply, “how ‘bout Brower?”
Guess who comes driving up?
Yup, Brower.
Who am I to question any of this?
Several months later, the store is standing. The work, well there was plenty. I just thanked God I could do it. Whatever it was, I was glad my angels were helping me through it all. I had blisters. Sleepless nights. Anyone who has ever built anything knows you go through many, many obstacles even with the best laid plans. I cut wood and trim. I laid stones and rocks by hand in the parking lot. I hung insulation, dry wall, and wall paper.
I built landscaping boxes, and dug posts for my signs. I fought with my (ex) husband about the fact he wasn’t helping me. Worse, he would make it hard for me and anyone trying to help me, should we care to wake the sleeping bear. (This relationship and my waking up to it comes later in the story.)
Anyway, I was grateful to be able to do any of it, and that God was helping me the whole time, how else could I have done all those things I never did before. (I must admit and give thanks to my sisters Bev and Janet, my brothers Bob and David, and my friend Lorraine who also came out on several occasions and gave me a hand too.)
Anyway, I know that gratitude in times of difficulty and strain is a miracle worker.
It is a great tool and gift for us at any time, but when you are thankful in difficult times, it moves mountains.
The store opened following my daily prayers and meditations in the morning. People came with different stories of how they were drawn to the store. They told me more often than not; the song I was playing (whatever it was at the time) meant something very special to them and how it was “weird” that I should be playing it at that time. I knew better. I know the power of the Holy Spirit. That which is infused in the all.
We would end up working together on their house, selecting furniture, colours, arrangement, etc. What happened in the journey was so far past my knowing world. In the process of designing homes, one must listen to women’s stories: their pain, their big love, their deep world. How stretched their beings had become in every direction to be; good girls, good wives, good mothers, good teachers, good friends, good-no- great lovers, and remain nice and certainly not become “bitches” and of course the other dilemma-whores, the can’t win for loosing scenario. Too good in the bedroom and some men can’t wrap their brain around that.
Not their “good girl wife”~ the Madonna complex. Now many of these wounded women were on different forms of psycho tropics and felt bad about that too.
They didn’t know why they were so depressed and how dare they be- with everything so good. So in the process of listening to women’s stories, a blooming took place, the river widened in my being and I began the process of birthing what women needed to make themselves whole. What I did not expect was that I would be birthed anew too and start my own process in the discovery of the Divine Feminine. Yes, this little Catholic girl would become shattered and have to put herself back together again. I would learn to infuse vibrations of sound into the home in a return to my musical being and background. But the stories….
“If one woman told her story ~
The whole earth would crack wide open” - Rainier Marie Wilke.
I started asking what other forms of natural therapy they had tried while concurrently they were asking me what forms I had tried. My response was; yoga,
aromatherapy, meditation, Reiki, etc. They would reply with a dazed look in their faces and more often than not, say something like; “Ra- what did you say?”
They also started picking up the books (mine) that I was using for display purposes and asking if they could borrow them. Hmmmm. Not what I had planned, but ok we can do this. Sure you can borrow the book. Soon I didn’t have any books left, they were all being borrowed. What are those things on and around your desk? They would ask. (My affirmations, crystals, rocks, etc.) I prayed and meditated on it all and asked for guidance.
I wondered why? Why were so many women depressed and asking me how I dared to live my life. Surely I was not the only person whose attention this was
getting, was I? I Looked up into the “Heavens” and pleaded for answers. Truly this would be frightening for the universe asking me to notice something that other trained professionals should be taking note of and working on. Not me. I am too wild and un-tethered. I just put colours and fabrics together and hold peoples hands during the process. Guide them through the weaving of their desires and their family’s. Oh yes, and the home that most certainly had visions of its own to be listened to. My heart just swelled in this sea of pain these women were in and well, at least if I could make their home “feel” better for them, maybe that would help.
Things were growing more and more restless inside of me when one Sunday I decided to attend a new church I had designed a meeting room for.
The Sermon was “Did you ever notice how God never picks the obvious person to do His work?”
Come on! My body was buzzing. This buzzing started at an early age and though I won’t share all of the experiences now, I will share some just to give you a
flavor of my life.
Many of the psychic experiences I had growing up were “painful” to put it mildly. This is not a complaint because I know now why; they were forever etched in my being that way so I would have a much harder time dismissing them. I am grateful for the rich tapestry that is the weaving of my life!
We will begin with High School and the story of Diane. I started having really distressing feelings about her dying somehow knowing she would die from drugs while in her car. So I went into the principal’s office and tried to convince him of the need to have classes on drugs before it happened to save her. His response was “who are these kids taking drugs?” Oh yah, let me just give you a list of the names of kids in pain around me so you can inflict more pain in their life and I can be a snitch in High school! The only thing he would agree to was a “my little class” sometime after school. Right, you can barely keep these kids in school during school hours but they will come after school to hear why they shouldn’t take drugs? I wanted an accredited class during school, never mind.
So drugs did take Diane’s life. I do know that she is in a wonderful place now from my own experience with death. That story will come later.
It didn’t help to psychically “know” my parents house was robbed either. The police wanted to know how I could know. I should just tell them so they could solve the case, since I had to be in on it or how else would I know?
Was I on drugs? Several days after it happened I was standing at my school locker; talking to my friend whose locker was next to mine and a friend of hers came walking up to say hello to her and said hello to me too. My whole body started screaming inside. I went to my study hall and all I could hear screaming somewhere inside my body was “She robbed your house!” It just got louder and louder inside me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I went to the class she was in and called her outside to the hall. I tersely said; “you robbed my house!” She looked at me in this strange way and denied it. The next thing I knew I was shaking this much larger girl than me and banging her into the lockers. The whole class came running out exclaiming fight! We were taken down to the offices. I was reprimanded and told that the police were handling it and I was given detentions.
One week later my family found out that she was one of the thieves.
Going back to when I was a small child I remember wondering why no one ever talked about the “Big” people watching us/me growing up either. What did I have to do to get grownups to discuss them instead of acting like they weren’t even there? I just kept entertaining them, dancing, singing, acting, laughing and talking for them. Maybe since I had such a hard time being “good”, no-one could talk about it with me yet, this secret of the large beings. Somehow I felt as if at some point, we were all going to just acknowledge all this and the whole “invisible/visible” world we were all in. That just hadn’t happened. Sometime during the process of going to school and growing up the invisible people became just that, invisible.
Now in high school I was getting really depressed feeling how “bad’ I was. Not getting all straight A’s anymore which were so easy for me. Why was I so “bad” in such a “good” family?
I actually got myself sick and welcomed it and the days started to drift in and out as I lay in bed and waited for death to please take me. After about two weeks of this, a friend of mine came to see what was going on. She about fell on the floor a gasp when she saw me. My skin had started to turn yellow and my eyes were yellow/green too, my joints were red, painful and swollen. She demanded that I tell my mother how sick I was. (I had been hiding under the covers; my parents owned a store and worked long hours so it was easy to stay unnoticed). All the better for my plan to lay there and die.
But my friend Denise Z was adamant. So I told my mother how sick I was and maybe I should call the doctor. Now I also had to tell my mother maybe I was
pregnant or “something”. God help me I am such a problem. The doctor in the emergency room gave me three shots of adrenalin within an hour an a half. (I was having trouble staying awake at this point). Finally I just said, “Yes I think I feel better now.” This way my mother wouldn’t have to wait anymore and I just wanted to go home and sleep anyway.
When we got home, my mother said she wanted to draw a bath for me that would make me feel better. Ok, I said. When she came in to see me in the bath, she dropped her jaw too and exclaimed: “Oh my God did that doctor take a look at you?” “I think so” I said.
“Jesus Christ I’m calling right now and taking you back to the hospital!”
Back we went, but I remember nothing until the scream coming out of me and a doctor’s hand pushing on my stomach.
They did tests, scans, but I was sleeping through it all. I was gone. I fell asleep soon after waking up to my own scream.
That’s when it happened for the first time.
I woke up in a different place; a coliseum, Romanesque, and very large. It was the murmurs of all the people in shrouds around me that made me come to,
including my own. I don’t know what language I was speaking; it seemed similar to the Latin I took, but not that either. Everyone spoke it though. The murmur was almost deafening. I was praying though and I know what I was saying, it was just in a different tongue. I was going over my life/lives. In the center of this vast sea of people was light and light beings. A large chair (like stone?) held “the One-ness of light” and on either side was another slightly smaller Chair with two other beings of light. Around them in a circle were more glowing-adoring beings.
All this I did not see with my naked eyes. No, I saw it more like I used to see the “Big People” as a child. You just did not look up and see. I could not. Until all of a sudden it was as if it were my turn or something and the central figure connected to me and filled me and every cell of my body with this wondrous feeling I can not explain. It was as if my body was singing with love in every cell, filled with this glorious light from the Being in the center of the coliseum.
After some time, I awoke in another world, a garden. It was here that Jesus walked beside me. We talked and walked without our usual talking and walking and everything around us was lit up on the inside. I then remember being on a street with Him and seeing this long line of people entering a large building. I wondered what they were all going to do there and noticed that I knew the people. This thought brought us “sort of float walking” over closer and into the building. As we entered the line turned into people I knew better and better, relatives and finally brothers and sisters. My nephew whom I adored at the time was asking my sister (his mother) Barb to explain something to him. She just shook her head and had no answer. What! I thought my oldest sister had all the answers. What could possibly have her so sullen and silent. Then I saw my mother, in even worse shape.
that brought my eyes towards a long coffin farther down the room. My body now felt another shift of knowing as I float- walked near the ceiling over to see who was inside. Yep, you guessed it, me. I quickly said I must return because they cannot handle this.
I woke inside the hospital room with my mother holding my arm, head down on it. I said: “Mom you don’t have to worry I was just with Jesus and I am going to be ok.” She shook her head with big tears in her eyes and said “Oh for God’s sake, even now you are trying to make me feel better.” I noticed Happy Days was on TV and fell back asleep.
A Jaguar was chasing me through the jungle and I was barefoot. I was sweating and sweating, panting while I ran for my life. I don’t know how long it was
before I became conscious in the Intensive Care room. I knew there were tubes coming out my nose/mouth/arms/stomach and things were beeping everywhere.
My parents and sister were at the foot of the bed with the doctor. A priest and two nuns came and gave me my last rights. The doctor was telling my parents they would have to make funeral arrangements. No one lives after the poison from the ruptured appendix is in the system for two weeks. Once again I was screaming
inside my body, but could not make it come out of my mouth. “I am here I wanted to scream out loud!” Nothing. I tried in vain to move anything, my eyes, my
fingers, toes-anything but could not. Out of body, I tried to shake my mom and say I am here, but she felt nothing.
Finally, I got my eyes to open! I just pushed and pushed and pushed and willed them open. I was back!
The ordeal that followed and all the poison/bile coming out of every orifice we normally have and ones they made caused me to start vomiting. My stomach open and pouring out this green stuff too as I wretched was painfully comforting. I could “feel” again.
How I want to “serve” this Loving, wondrous Being who Loves me so much. It is quite something Knowing heaven exists, but I experienced it and somehow I am still in this body. No plane, train, or rocket took me to some place in the sky.
For now I return to the first store I opened on the East side of Cleveland.
So God doesn’t pick the obvious person heh? That is an understatement if ever there was one.
OK God, I will do whatever you want me to, just show me, teach me, give me the teachers and I will have classes in the store if people will just sign up.
Teachers came into my life. I started “dreaming” homes before I even went to them. Colours and energy moved around in that “other vision center in my head”.
My clients signed up for the classes alright. My clients/friends started glowing with that light themselves.
By the time my friend Trish asked my to join her on a women’s retreat called “Sacred Space” on Kelly’s Island, things were really taking an interesting course. But that trip with Trish, where I thought I was helping her, turned out to be the real shift.
On the ferry over to the island, Trish and I started to go up the narrow staircase to the second floor. It was then that a dream I had with my sister Barb flashed into my head. This is how I wrote the story in a Newsletter in 2001:
When I first looked upon the shores of Kelly‘s Island, it was in a dream. My sister Barbara, who passed from this world in 1990, was guiding me on a journey that would forever change my life. In this dream, shades of Indigo, Royal Purple, Parrish Blues and Emerald beckoned to me from beneath a Honey Golden mist. This futuristic scene rose from the water like the emerald City from Oz.
When I actually went there in 1993, waves of energy rocked my being. Stepping on her grounds, she captured my soul, and we easily merged. I had come to Kelleys Island for a Sacred Space women’s retreat with my friend, Trish.
Normally, my days were spent helping other people heal themselves and their home, through my “Interior Design” shop. Every other spare minute was spent working on my own home, which I was rebuilding from a fire, and my marriage, which by then had hopelessly disintegrated. It was time to get a little rest, and hopefully some healing myself.
One “coincidence” and Déjà vu after another had my whole being soon feeling as if 10,000 volts were running through it. I was directly plugged into the source.
Meeting so many, wonderful “glowing” people, I wish I had the space to tell you about each and every one of them. What I’m about to tell you now, though, is when it really gets good…..
It was at an Art Therapy workshop, that I chose to attend, where I first met her. The instructor read us a beautiful myth and we were all painting and creating from the heart. I couldn’t seem to paint a certain colour I had seen in my vision. Not satisfied with my work, the instructor called us back to circle. Each of us looked at each other’s work, describing what we saw and shared our feelings. One silver-haired woman seemed to zone right in on everyone’s work, her wise analysis having visible effects on those her azure eyes dissected. Some were moved to tears, including my friend, Trish, who had gone before me. I did not escape her deep insights either. Then, she raised her own painting. There before me were the exact colours and scene from my own vision, which I had tried so hard to create. A voice within me said, “Buy the painting”. I tried to dismiss the voice, not wanting to seem out of place. After all, no one else was buying or selling these paintings. The voice persisted and only grew louder, “Buy the painting”. I was swimming with emotion; this voice had guided me through many decisions by now, and was never wrong. This woman, whoever she was, was very intriguing – but surely they would all think I was crazy. The words practically leapt from my mouth, “I’ll buy the painting how much do you want?” Soon we were driving to a house on the lake she called “Himmelblau”. This wise woman would become a great friend, teacher and mentor. Her name was Dagmar Celeste.
Two years later, after almost eight years of marriage, I was going through a divorce. Broken, barely surviving the sea of pain and feelings of failure that enveloped me, the barn at Himmelblau became my sanctuary. In this simple and natural environment, I would heal and be re-born. Some of my first adjustments/lessons:
Raccoons make quite a ruckus at night. They lived above me. Mice will generally keep to the area you ask them to. You can not get rid of spiders in a barn. Of course, they were all there to teach me animal medicine, but I also learned to be careful what you ask for.
One day, while crying, praying for spiritual guidance and the strength to tread these uncharted waters of battling someone I loved and cared for so much, and a life I had worked so hard at, someone knocked on the door. It was Indian Bob; he said “Spirit had sent him”. I responded “I’m not really in a good place”. He thanked me for being honest and handed me a stone called a “Wotei”. He told me to wear it for protection and strength. I told him about the stones, rocks, and feathers I
had been collecting since my first visit. I shared some of the visions and stories they had given me. He shared some Native American teachings. I looked around for something to give him, but all I had were cigarettes. I offered him one, he thanked me. It was then I learned that tobacco was the Native American gift of thanks. Once again my inner voice had guided me correctly. This was the first of many lessons. Bob said, “Tomorrow I will take you to meet the spirit of ClamDigger woman, keeper of the stones. We will visit her burial mound; you are a member of her tribe. Tonight we are having a sweat lodge, you should come.” to be continued..... G.S.
During the course of all this, my own interests were continuing to grow as was my educational pursuits. One of those expansions was Aromatherapy. Linda
Green, another woman I met at the Sacred Space retreat at Kelly’s had invited me to come to a Jeannie Rose intensive weekend. At first I declined because it was rather expensive and I really didn’t fell I had the time. However, one of the women that was going to attend and had already paid the tuition couldn’t make it. She told Linda she wanted me to attend in her place. Again the universe makes up my mind for me. With just a few nominal expenses involved I couldn’t decline this generous offer.
To say that it changed my life is an understatement. I thought I knew about “oils”. What I learned the first day was how much I didn’t know. Jeannie was
spellbinding as she passionately described first one then another oil holding them “jewel like” in vials up to the light. As she enumerated endless therapeutic applications for each, she would have us waft the scent and describe them ourselves.
At one point, I was truly angry at what I felt was a theft of information, stolen from wise-women long ago. The chorus of women streaming through my life now parading before my eyes: as the benefits and healing properties awoke visions of assistance to each and everyone, I at some point was included too. Handing a vial of what was introduced to me as “Spikenard” the oil Mary Magdalene used in the anointing of Jesus, Jeannie had selected that particular oil for me to work with for several hours of experience and writing. She also told me I would need to keep working with that oil. Nardostachys Jatamansi, common name Spikenard and nicknamed “False Valerian Root” or Nard oil would become a dear friend of mine that I would pass along to many women and “I would do this in memory of her.”
It was among many things for wounds that would not heal, mental, spiritual, physical and emotional. She was also known as the Grand Balancer. I did not like this oil at all upon my first experience. I would come to love this oil above all others.
The day after my spikenard encounter, my head reeling with all the information on so many levels downloading into my being; a woman named Linda Honeycutt-LaGrande came up to me and just started laughing. She said “You enjoying all this information Miss Gloria?” I replied that indeed I was, “but how was all this applying to me and why was it all happening to me?” After all, I was only supposed to be an Interior Designer. She just laughed again and lifted her hand, finger pointing at her being as she guided it from top to bottom and stated “Well I guess you really are doing Interior Design now aren’t you honey?”
My buddy was buzzing so hard inside I could barely remain standing. Aromatherapy was a deep and profound value that I continue to share to this day.
Over and over I started turning in all the pain, mine and all the other women’s into the soil of my being. How can I make a positive growth with this pain? So I began to till the soil of pain. That was what we all were doing. Turning it in and surviving. We were standing, loving, sharing and walking forward in the midst of it all and trying to look sexy and pretty to boot. (This of course also requires not eating.) I knew that if we were to recover and survive, we would have to create out of our pain. So creating we were. We were turning the soil and gestating our seeds of despair and hope for a brighter future. I incorporated one healing tool after another into my business model that did not exist. It all really came down to one thing though.
The problem was we had no root to a feminine sacred model that was whole and reachable. Oh yes, we have the Virgin Mother and I was taught but has since been revised, the whore Mary Magdalene.
Just a patriarchy and a long line of blame and shame starting with that disobedient Eve the temptress and her debauchery with Adam tricking him into eating the apple too. So much for listening to snakes! We were banned from the Garden with the Cherubim and flaming sword guarding the gates. We must go back to where it all began and pick up the tools stolen from us long ago. We are medicine women but the campaign to discredit women and disempowering us and the tools we used from nature only got us labeled as “witches”. We must go back to the tools of our ancestry, the Arc of the Ancients….
Flash to 1997, living in Lakewood writing an Aromatherapy article for the Cleveland Bar Journal (OK I am cramming at the last minute with books and notes everywhere because the article is due the next day…) when the phone rings. On the other end a voice is telling me that Raj told her she should call me about working together. Rajendra Khanna is one of the loveliest humans I have ever had the pleasure and good fortune of meeting. Born in India, he is humble, brilliant and sincere and among many things taught me how to meditate around 1984 I believe. He has never had anyone call me.
“What is your name?” I ask her to repeat. “Vanessa”she replies and I want to know if you are interested in selling Aromatherapy products?” The buzzing begins.
OK, you have my attention. I asked for her birth information and drew up a chart. I can see her through the phone and describe her to herself. She starts laughing and tells me I am “dead on” even to the clothes she is wearing. I ask her~ “When can you come over?” Ten minutes later Vanessa is at my door. The connection is unmistakable. The charge in the air was so palpable we could have run the entire city on the energy.
I shared my vision of the new store I wanted to open with healing rooms, interior design /Feng Shui, books, music, aromatherapy oils and blends and the wellness classes I would like to have there too. About seven hours later Vanessa left.
Two months later we began our work together and started teaching and selling aromatherapy products and the “Total-Sensory-Healing Class that was born in that barn on Kelly’s Island.
We finally opened our first shop (my second) on Rocky River Drive near Kamm’s Corner together in 2002. We co-founded Cleveland Polarity with my friend, MaryJo whom I met while living on Kelly’s Island. We had one healing room and all the above mentioned Total-Sensory-Living and Wellness.
Again the same response from people as my first shop, “I just had to come in here but I didn’t know why, I love this place….”
The stores name: ArcAncient Aromatherapy came to me after days of trying to come up with just the right moniker. The word Arc, in Barbara Walker’s “Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets” briefly stated read: “A female vessel bearing fruit or seeds to give birth to a new world out of the destruction and chaos of the old.” Thus you have: Ark of the Covenant, Joan de Arc, Arc of the rainbow, etc. OK, arc works for me, and since everything we were doing was not new but practiced thousands of years ago it just sang in my body.
So ArcAncient, Aromatherapy & Interiors was born. The two A’s could be written as: “As above so below” and they also looked like two MM’s when written a certain way and since Mary Magdalene was our Patron Saint of Aromatherapy & healing it all seemed to fit just right.
I saw two extremely large angels holding back the veil (they could hold the earth in their hands) as the words ‘Arc of the Ancients’ and then ‘ArcAncient’ came drifting through. As they slid into my consciousness, a huge wave of energy rocked my body. I knew that was the name, and I also knew that I had carried it many lifetimes. It was sacredly given to me as a vessel to anchor the energy and connect through time to the sacred truth. The truth that has been buried occulted and hijacked for many many years. Parallel realities have been implanted on the earth plane through rituals that have obscured the sacredness of the lives we have all been given. We must connect and anchor the light of the soul consciously in this earthly dimension.
I closed the store in September of 2008, being an astrologer, I saw the economic crash coming and did not want to fight the tides. I ended up paying for prosecuting the landlord/attorney who hit my then business partner. Many people who said they were 'spiritual' and spouted a lot of 'supposed spiritual terms' abandoned me, robbed me and believed the lies of someone who I helped start a school up here with.
I see a lot of things being taught, that are not spiritual at all.
Remember this: Anytime, someone is connecting 'spiritual laws' with 'abundance, money, or stuff', they are not teaching HOLY SPIRITUAL LAWS AT ALL.
This is my version of fun.Gloria O’Neil-Savage’s StoryArcAncient Aromatherapy
Cleveland, Ohio 44135
www.arcancient.com
216-458-1444
Postscript
In 2006, I started noticing how badly things were 'feeling' in the economy and doing astrology charts for many people, I could see the change that was coming. In some charts of prominent bankers, I saw money shifting and buy outs, which really started me thinking.
In running charts for what was coming, I saw the economic downturn and the collapse that would surely hit before the end of 2008.
I closed the doors to the store the last day of September of 2008.
It was an agonizing decision, because I felt people needed me, needed that place to go where so many people made connections to their new friends, and new lives.
I also don't give up easy, if at all.
Finally, a good friend asked me one day how I could afford to spend so much time counseling people and educating them after watching me spend several hours discussing aromatherapy options to assist them in their challenge.
They purchased $15.00 worth of products. (They told me they didn't have much money, this happened more and more often).
I thought long and hard about what she said. She was right, I couldn't afford it.
So I closed the doors.
The weekend after I closed the doors, I was sitting outside basking in the sun (something that was rare if ever in the past 10 years, since I was always working). The angel Gabriel came to me, that flash of light, and told me ‘I was finished with that part of my work’. Huge aching sobs wrecked through my body, it had been a long haul. “I have a new mission now” Gabriel continued. “It is time for you to write about your experiences in a much deeper way”.
I haven’t gone into what really happened with the landlord on Rocky River Drive, but I will soon. It was a devastating and unbelievable experience that ended in a 10 day court trial, which we did win, but which I am still paying for. I would have to sue him civilly to recuperate all the financial losses of trying to get back what I invested into fixing up the building/space and the subsequent move/storage/move debacle.
So I am working on that book now, it is about all my mystical experiences and they are not all good. But I walk between worlds. I always have. I will continue to update all of you.
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Labels: alignment., coincidences, dream interpretations, dreams, feng shui, interior design, music, NDE's, Near Death Experience, path, premonitions, psychic, singing, visionsWe are the Arc of the Covenant, we are the promised land
Recently I read a forward regarding the care of our being/earth. 12/09/2008
We are in fact one and the same. Perhaps we all need a gentle reminder of what we already know.
We are the “Arc/Ark of the Covenant”. We are the Holy Grail.
Moses climbed to the top of Mt. Sinai whereupon he encounters “The Word”. Now I use this story alone, though there are many others like it, but for the sake of space, this will address most of the people receiving this information.
...The bush, burning but unconsumed, from which G-d spoke to Moses (Exod. 3:1-4), is used by the Fathers as a figure of our Lady; an antiphon at Lauds of the Circumcision (q.v.) and in the Little Office B.V.M. Says: “The bush which Moses saw unburnt we recognize as your glorious virginity: Mother of God, intercede for us.” Taken from: Attwater, A Dictionary of Mary, 1956.
Mount Sinai means: Temple of the Moon, or Moon Mountain. See: “The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects”, Barbara G. Walker
The “Arc or Ark” itself, is a female vessel, bearing seeds or fruit to give birth to a new paradigm out of the destruction and chaos of another.
Do we feel the destruction of the world as we know it happening all around us?
What more must happen for us to wake up to ourselves?
The winged Cherubim who stand guard over the “Arc” are our own winged beings.
The moon boat is the sliver of the moon, created from the earth's shadow upon her in the waxing cycle.
We are the earth/heart of it all, this is all created for us. (Please note the anagram of earth and heart for those who need reminding of the last being first).
Moses brings down the Arc of the Covenant, from whom? “I am that I am”.
Is is, or Isis.
We are told not to break God's commandments, of which there are X.
X marks the spot.
AS ABOVE>< href="http://www.arcancient.com/">http://www.arcancient.com/
As a side note: Several months back, I was wondering why “on earth” would she have us here at all as humans when we are so disrespectful and destructive of her? I asked her that question.
Her response was this: “Gloria, I want to be loved and appreciated too, I need you to do that, to reflect back to me, love as a mirror.” I cried in joy for a long time after that.........
We can add further notation on entering Two by two....each of every kind (futher look up the word “kind” and its origins, such as kin.) Everything in pairs of opposites.
Working on this site, until then, go to: www.arcancient.com
(You will see why we need a new website, lol)
You can also visit our blog:
http://arcoftheancients.blogspot.com/
We have searched the world over to find the very best, essential oils and ingredients, improving upon formulas over the years to their present state of perfection.
We DO NOT SUBSTITUTE.
WE PROMISE TO DELIVER THE VERY BEST. WE WANT RESULTS.
Because of our own health issues, literally having our LAST RITES, and asking to be able to return, our own search into alternative methods of healing, was A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH.
Studying with Hannah Kroger in the early 80’s, we have continued on that path, doing intensive study and / or training with among others; Raj Khanna, Jeanne Rose, Linda Green, Harvey Lisle, Marcella Galli, Ma Parker, and Doctor James Duke to mention a few.
We add many other gifts to this: Astrological timing, charging with crystals, Reiki and our highly developed intuition, psychic abilities to scan and create the necessary blend for optimal results.
Angels, Mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, Jesus Christ, Angel Gabriel all have come to help.
This is a CALLING.
We build upon a musical career and comprehension of vibration and entrainment. We are a family business.
Gloria O'Neil-Savage, our CEO, was composing and performing her own spirit inspired originals, that have touched, moved, awed, and inspired audiences throughout North America and abroad. Singing with such well-known artists as The OJays band, The Count Basie band, and even with the Saturday Night Live horn section to standing ovations at Chicago Blues in New York City. You may find her "singing the room," "toning her clients,” or performing with the hottest jazz musicians around. Sound and Music Therapy developed from this gift.
How we arrived at the world of Aromatherapy.
As stated on other pages, with links to the story as well, I died when I was 17 years old. I walked with a being I know of as Jesus the Christ after being submerged inside of the Love and Light of God. I now use either Muscle Ease or Arthritis & Fibromyalgia Cream as my body lotion daily and always have Wisewoman just in case my sciatica acts up, but it rarely does anymore, I have been pain free thanks to the amazing gifts aromatherapy has blessed my life with.
But, to go back to that time and what happend:
I was very, very sick. My appendix ruptured and my skin was green, save for the swollen red/purpled areas around my joints, elbows, knees, etc.
The whites of my eyes were greenish-yellow too.
The poison from the diseased appendix that had burst was in my system for 2 weeks, or so they seemed to estimate. I was not supposed to live through such a health crisis, but much to the doctors and everyone else’s surprise (shock really) I did.
They cut me wide open, from stem to sternum (about a 12” incision in my stomach) and then they had to reopen the sutures to use a baster trying to remove the bile that kept filling up.
I spent the better part of a month in that hospital.
Surviving, leaving and healing were all quite enough to accomplish at the time, so I was not aware that the muscles had not been properly sewn back together running up that scar.
It was not until 2 years later that I fell over from the claw that was grabbing the lower part of my spine and sending shock waves up and down the spine.
Normally, I had grown accustomed to simply working past it all; accommodating whatever pain I was having by positioning myself properly. I managed to jog and exercise too; I was not going to give in or complain, lucky to be alive.
After all, that was partially how I became so ill in the first place, only I had not put the pieces of the puzzle together yet to realize the correlation. In fact, the best that I can say is that it has been as though a seed was planted inside of me during that death experience, or at the very least, an encoding. As time has transpired, an unraveling or blooming has taken place, and one of the most amazing aspects, is just how encoded the rest of life is to meet me at every step, to properly unfold and bloom. “To all things there is a season.”
I went to the doctor, whereupon he looked at my stomach and gasped: “Who did this to you?”
He said he would have to open me back up, but he could only do one half at a time. We would start with the part that seemed to be giving me the most problem.
So, back into the hospital I went for another major surgery.
He cut open the bottom 2/3 and reattached muscles by overlapping them.
Healing through that was quite another new adventure. It used to be very hard for me to sit for very long, I had to be accomplishing something and it was usually physical.
I am not even sure I allowed a proper amount of time for the whole healing process before I went back to my very active life-style.
I was prescribed pain-relievers following that operation and on and off throughout the years for the pain, that became better and worse depending. During menses, it would become almost excruciating and I would often become bed-ridden for at least the first day, before I forced myself off to work and school, based on whatever amount of extra-strength Tylenol was needed. Sometimes, I would resort to a Percocet or Darvocet, depending on what I had been prescribed, but would try not to take either, thinking the Tylenol was the most innocuous of the options, not realizing that they would have side-effects, especially on my stomach and digestive system too.
I always prayed, and around 1985 I believe it was, I came across what I would refer to as my guru, Rajendra Khanna. I was taking a day off (something that I didn’t do very often back then) and spending the day downtown with a friend, Anita.
We decided to go downtown for lunch and went to the Old Arcade, which in and of itself is a trip anyone in the area should make. After a delectable lunch, we were walking around the arcade and I mentioned that we should check out the higher levels, since I never had. Anita responded that she hadn’t either.
We climbed the old warn marble stairs, our feet slipping and echoing into the cavernous space as we made our way up to the third floor. Underneath each step one can feel the history of many steps on the smoothed surface and you cannot help but make a mental note of those that came so many times before us.
As we walked past the glass windows, some empty some with gold stenciled names of the professional that still made this space their office; we came upon a rather unique set of panes, that framed a colourful space with statues whose shine sometimes found their way past the thin layer of dust and racks of brightly coloured sarongs, scarf’s and cloths.
On the left side of the door, were several signs and posters, one of which caught my interest of a palm turned up exposing the lines and declaring ‘Palmistry Read’ for $30.00. I looked at Anita and laughed and suggested we should go for fun and have our palms read. She said no, she wasn’t paying $30 to have her palm read, but I sweetened the deal by adding: “What if he will do it for $30 for both of us?” Anita responded with a nod, a laugh and a yes. So we opened the door and bells tinkled as we were walking up to the glass counter. Up walked a man who was struggling with his steps, small in stature, very neat thin mustache matching his grey hair, he met us both and asked how he could be of service. I laughed a bit and sheepishly said that we wondered if it would be possible if we could both get a reading for $30.00 even if it was shorter in time duration.
This man who I would come to know as ‘Raj’ replied thusly: “Oh sure, you can pay whatever you want”. This struck me a bit odd, but sweet. How anyone couldn’t feel his sweetness; at least I couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t feel this gentle beings graceful energy. So, he gestured for us to come back into a private room in the rear of the shop called “Rani’s Gift’s”.
We sat down on a red silk cloth that was on the floor, where Raj told us to sit. We were still like school girls laughing, but I was intrigued. I felt like a child looking around at all the pictures and diagrams, along with all the other unusual items one could see in that small room and through the small doorway back into the shop.
One at a time, Raj held our hands, turning them and squeezing at times under a magnifying glass and an overhead light. His insights were more than accurate and I couldn’t get enough of this man, Raj.
One of the words I saw over and over was ‘meditation’, both on posters, and books.
I asked him if he could teach us how to meditate, to which of course, the reply was ‘of course, you just have to be interested. That would require a mere $5 and I told Anita if she didn’t want to pay it, I would pay for her.
With legs crossed and our palms outstretched and facing up, we began a series of breaths with Raj’s tutelage. I immediately felt something happening in my head and heart as Raj fanned us with his palms. Anita told me afterwards she didn’t feel anything, but I sure did, it became a long relationship with the man I would come to know was born in India, had authored more than a dozen books and had taught many people in the area to meditate, and who would make me a member of the ‘Secret Consciousness Society’.
I faithfully prayed and meditated every day, I ran an average of 5 miles and 15-20 on the weekend along with my exercise routine. I became a vegetarian for the most part, save for still drinking buckets of coffee each day, I was doing pretty good.
But all of it, was mostly to ‘stay in shape’ physically (externally) and spiritually. What I wasn’t putting together, was just how much my thoughts and the food I was eating could affect the internal health of my lower back and reproductive system. Coffee was bad? I had no idea until a few years later, just how much it all related. We did not have the internet at the time, so one could only find these things out through reading and so far, nothing even prepared me to think I needed to concern myself, save for that remote comment made by the doctor before they released me from the hospital from that first death trip; ‘you might have a hard time with a pregnancy’.
Around a decade passed, when I went to the doctor to discuss getting pregnant. When I divulged the past, he took a look at my stomach, winced and asked me about any pain I might have. I told him how I had been managing and the same strange look of incredulity filters into his countenance, as he assesses me.
I don’t like the word ‘can’t’. I never thought that the word applied to me. If something needed doing, then one only had to find the way and commence doing.
In fact, it was harder for me to understand someone being stuck somehow, if you want to make a change, make one. Ahhhh, the lessons life will drive through you when you are unaware and naïve.
Anyway, Dr. Cam proceeded to tell me I might have endometriosis, just from the scar tissue alone from those previous surgeries. “What?” I respond, now incredulous myself. Well, we won’t know unless we do a laparoscopy for a better look, but just feeling around it seems very likely. So, one was scheduled and I woke up much later from the operation than I was told. It seems not only did I have endometriosis, but I had severe endometriosis, which was called ‘4th stage’. The doctor ended up removing a nest of soft-ball sized chocolate cysts out of the webbing of adhesions within my belly.
He needed to open me up with an incision to do this, after which I went through rounds of steroids.
Trying to get pregnant in the middle of all of this, and in the experiences of life that I will fill you in on the details of in my forth coming book, was just not in the cards.
I continued to meditate and pray every day, for at least ½ hour.
I asked God and my angels for guidance throughout the day and often would take to writing out affirmations.
I used the crystals I thought might help me, based on the books I found on their usage.
I read a lot of spiritual books and did the best job I could, to remain positive and share that positive message. At this point, I thought it was part of my job to ignite the passion of the living Love of God.
As far as I was concerned, some people just didn’t realize that God loved them, and this was the reason they were suffering.
Physical health was another thing entirely.
I found essential oils downtown and quickly grew to love using (what I thought at the time, was pure essential oils) always loving Frankincense. I had a passing interest in Aromatherapy, simply as a hobby.
Still, the pain in my back would not go away and got worse, wrapping all around my stomach and making me drop to the ground at times, that was if I could get up during menses. Only it started to last for a week, then a week and a half and then just any old time it wanted to show up, of course especially if I had done some heavy lifting, which I often did.
Unfortunately, it just got so bad, that I ended up back in the hospital after several more laparoscopies for a full hysterectomy and bi-lateral oophorectomy.
One more scar.
After attending a women’s retreat I met a woman during yoga that I began a friendship with, who also came to the store and did a yoga day for my customers.
She told me she was sponsoring a very good teacher on Aromatherapy and asked me if I was interested in attending. I was, but the price of over a thousand dollars at the time, was certainly more than I was willing to try and convince my husband was necessary, and so was the nearly week away from him, and my store (more on that in my NDE story online here: http://cc.bingj.com/cache.aspx?q=http%3a%2f%2fwww.north-ca-iands.org%2fNDEs_Stories.html&d=4670411904977504&mkt=en-US&setlang=en-US&w=ndu5KI1DHhtL27IzaUlVlkV6BF6bZ-BP
Scroll down to: 'The Journey' this is a cached page because I cannot find the old page that was originally posted
and in my book).
So, I decided against the class with Jeanne Rose.
A little more than a week before the class, the yoga teacher (Linda) calls me and tells me that a woman has paid for her tuition for the class, but is too ill to make it and she has looked at the list of possible students and said that I was the one who was supposed to go in her stead. All I would have to pay is for food and lodging.
I looked up and said; “Okay God, you want me to do, so please help me tell my husband, who is not always in, such a good mood and might get angry”.
So, I prayed and approached my husband and soon I was off to attend the Aromatherapy Intensive Workshop with Jeanne Rose, the woman who rediscovered aromatherapy and brought it to this country.
After some instruction and workshops; Jeannie had us line up on either side of an isle as she passed out a sheet of paper with the names of some of the essential oils written down one side, and a place for comments down the other.
She passed first one than another aroma stick with each of the essential oils listed to each of us, and asked us to fill out the comment section after we inhaled and experienced them individually.
Finally, we were told to pass them back up to her.
She began to read aloud the comments of each of us, and as she worked her way around the room to me, I became more and more nervous, thinking I didn’t follow instructions, based on the difference of my comments and the ones she was reading.
The whole place was filled with exotic scents, and we were located in the middle of the gorgeous mountainside of southern Ohio. This place, surrounded by gardens and misty hills, was already magical, but adding the aroma’s that enticed, filled and surrounded you, was like lifting up on a cloud. Perhaps a magic carpet ride, I believe I even made such a comment.
All of that was in jeopardy of crashing to the ground, because I was sure I did not write the correct type of comments she was asking from us.
I wanted to crawl under my seat, I began to squirm so much you would have thought I was a twisted tree sitting on that seat.
Then the dreaded time had come, Jeanne began to read my comments and there was no-where to run and no-where to hide. Only, as she did, a smile broke out on her some-times stern visage (I actually appreciate that she is a teacher that wants excellence and she wants you to learn, but she doesn’t suffer fools lightly and she is a demanding teacher with strict guidelines, and just like a Rose, she covers a very sweet interior chamber filled with exotic secrets) the words spilled out in cadence and she nodded and said aloud; “Now that is what I’m talking about”. A broad smile came upon my face as suddenly things had turned around, I had actually written in a style of prose, little stories about how I felt and what I saw when I inhaled the scents, rather than just what I thought they were and what their properties were.
I loved all of the oils save for one, I would come to know the oil was, Spikenard, or Nardostachys Jatamansi which was the Latin Bi-nomenclature for the oil. When I smelled that oil, I almost vomited right then and there, and wrote that it smelled of something deep and awful, putrid. I felt embarrassed to write anything that remotely resembled these awful reactions, but I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t cover it up and my face always exposes my true feelings for all the world to see anyway.
Frankincense on the other hand, blew my third eye and crown chakra wide open as bursts of golden light came in, as if I was meditating and the next thing I knew, I was flying down the hall of a large cathedral and right through the stained glass window over the altar and into a tunnel of golden light that took me back through time.
After that part of the class was over, we were told we were each going to be given an individual oil to work with, and this time, would have to go off on our own and write and meditate on the oil, write down its properties and applications and an elaborate story of that experience.
We stood in line, my hopes set on getting Frankincense and sure Jeannie would give me that oil as my individual exercise. As the line dwindled and I neared the table Jeannie sat at, handing out our individual samples I began to say louder and louder in a sort of whisper, “Frankincense, Frankincense, Frankincense”, hoping she would hear me, but wishing she already made up her mind, to give me that oil, since she liked my stories so much and we had obviously made a connection.
About two people before me, I hear her say to the person at the table; “you are going to have Frankincense”. My heart sunk, “what I cried aloud”, as my hopes are dashed.
Begrudgingly inhaling the scent, I became calmer. Okay, it is a calming oil, write that down. Wait, every cell in my body is starting to feel as though calm, warm water is rinsing through them and they are not just being calmed, but I am feeling somewhat sedated. I feel as though I am connecting deep into the earth, as I travel first downward the roots and dark and tangled bowels below and I no long mind that it is the spikenard that I am experiencing, I am rather enjoying the journey on whose scent is becoming sweeter as the good sweet earth surrounds me and all of a sudden, it is not something to fear, but to appreciate. I begin my ascent out of the magnificence of treasure and life in its early forms and all that helps life rise to the surface, up through the darkness I rise to the light. Each moment the scent becomes sweeter and sweeter and I am like the rest of the natural world, rising to appreciate the light out of the darkness.
So much of our natural world, waits in anticipation for the golden orb of the sun to make its way over the horizon, where they open and worship this energy that fills them with light and life, to rise and shine and spread and open into the blossoms that will scent our world and colour our lives, feeding us the nourishment we need for survival. They will follow that sun all day and start to close when he slips over the horizon, resting until the cycle repeats itself again.
Spikenard, I will come to learn, is Mary Magdalene’s oil, the oils She uses to anoint Jesus/Jeshua, and in Christ literally means, ‘anointed one.’ Jesus means ‘saviour’, so Jesus Christ, translates to ‘Anointed Saviour’.
Jeannie gave me THE ESSENTIAL OIL OF OILS TO WORK WITH!
I also learn, that spikenard is an analgesic, that it is for wounds that will not heal, physical, emotional or mental, that last line is from Mary Greer, and it is for healing past lives.
I will go on to learn many, many things, attending more classes now that I am completely seduced by aromatherapy and the entire art of healing with essential oils.
I begin to make blends that are for pain, and for the first time, I become pain free, without the use of medicine. I wonder aloud, where has this lovely art of healing been? It is over 5,000 years old and is the oldest known medicine on the planet. Pharmaceutical medicine on the other hand, is only 200 years old and actually came from the study of plant medicine!
Those plants stretch out and worship the sun all day, giving glory to God and they in turn absorb all that healing light energy, and we make essential oils out of that healing energy, literally essential oils are liquid healing light.
Bringing the aromatherapy into the shop, and having essential oil workshops among the Reiki, design, dream workshops, art therapy, yoga, etc., turns the shop into a tapestry of colour, scent, music and healing that is so lovely, it transforms me and almost everyone else that magically finds their way inside.
Soon, I am making all kinds of blends, for colds, asthma, flu, pain relief and the angels are ever busy, and I continue to pray and meditate, only now I use the essential oils and continue to find just the right blend that connects me to the Divine Mind OF God, and all that IS.
Along about the third or fourth workshop, I am at another teachers barn only with Jeannie as the main teacher again when Jeannie is distilling Geranium, or (Pelargonium Graveolens) on the table in the center of about 20 some women on the second floor of an old but well-kept, freshly painted and clean barn. We have our little rooms off the sides that are quaint and cozy.
As Jeannie distills the oil and it begins to drip into the glass container, the aroma fresh and flowery fills the air. The flame dancing, she recants the healing properties as she swills the glass just a bit and also tells us about distillation.
I am as usual mesmerized with all of it, until she starts to discuss the hormonal healing properties and how it will heal the reproductive organs and can help with things like endometriosis. I sit back in my seat bolt upright and exclaim lightly; “You can’t heal INTERNAL ORGANS THOUGH!” as several women whip their heads around to acknowledge the teaching and say, “YES YOU CAN!”…….what?
This is thousands of years old and it could have helped me heal my endometriosis?
I start shaking inside, and my eyes fill up as I excuse myself and softly walk outside.
My mind is spinning as my heart sinks. The tears are coming full force and it is all I can do to stand up, I fall to a soft spot in the ground, making sure no one is looking and begin to sob. “WHY, I thunder to God? Why didn’t I know about something that could have helped me and is thousands of years old! I could have had a baby!!! Now it is too late!” Even as I write this now, the tears flow softly down my face, recalling the experience as if it was only yesterday.
All of a sudden, a light and a warmth comes over me, as if the sun has just found me, only I know it isn’t the sun. It is the Archangel Gabrielle and He is soothing me, while he tells me; “Gloria, it might be too late for you, but it won’t be too late for you to help a lot of other women”.
Still a part of me whimpers weekly in protest, but he continues and soon I am feeling calm as I wipe my face and compose myself. “Okay God” I say out loud, “if that is what you want from me then that is what I will do, but you will have to help me.”
I return to the class of wise women. Quietly finding my way back to my seat and after sitting a while, catching up with the class; a woman who has introduced herself as Linda Honeycutt-LeGrand who was born in South Carolina and whom has befriended me at some of the other classes, walks up to me carrying a paper close to her chest. She approaches me and says: “Gloria, when you came back in, the Angel Gabriel was holding you, and so I drew this picture and wanted you to have it”. WHAT!!! She saw him too! What confirmation!
I Continue to study and after making different blends, ‘WiseWoman’ is born.
WiseWoman is a blend of 13 different essential oils, two of which are Geranium and Spikenard. It has and continues to help any pain I have, especially lower back, sciatica and it has helped truly hundreds if not thousands of people by now.
You see, not only is it helpful for endometriosis suffers and menopause hot flashes and mood swings; with all those anti-inflammatory’s and analgesics (pain relievers) among other things, it will TAKE AWAY THE PAIN. A WISE WOMAN TAKES AWAY THE PAIN.
These are just some of the stories along the way, but I will continue to share and update, so please return. Next, I hope to write about the sermon that talked to me from the pulpit, about how God doesn’t pick the obvious choice, because in my mind, I was hardly any sort of choice, nor did I ever expect to be doing what I have now been doing for almost 20 years. I love it, it has changed my life and opened doors in life and inside of me, that I never, ever would have dreamed of, but that I cannot imagine living any other way, it is so much larger a world, a vision than my own mind could possibly conjure…or is it?
That is another story for another day.
For now, please enjoy the healing blends and creams and if you have questions, please email me!
[email protected]
Bon Voyage!
Coming home to Cleveland, Ohio was not what I thought I would be doing, not to live at least. Not after being fortunate enough to sing for a living and with some of the best in the business; singing to standing ovations and thrilled at “feeling” and making others “feel”, The Count Basie Band, O’Jays, even Jon Paris and the Saturday Night Live horn section two nights in a row (I was asked back for the second night) at Chicago Blues in New York City. I was living in Portland, Oregon which is definitely God’s country; you cannot miss it even if you are sleeping soundly. Portland, Oregon is home to the Mt. Hood Jazz festival and everything progressive, beautiful, wonderful and right.
None of that matters when your oldest sister is dying of cancer back home in Cleveland, Ohio. I returned home to Cleveland to spend time with her, she eventually did pass from this world after that cancer had eaten just about every cell of her being. Looking back now, she demonstrated a poetic dignity, beauty and grace. I am so blessed to have had such an awe-some human in my life at all, and she was/is my gorgeous sister Barbara.
No musical contract or group can give you perspective like someone you love being eaten by the hideous disease of cancer.
In the meantime, my dad took ill with Emphysema. I won’t be leaving any time soon.
This is my attempt to tell the story of what transpired between now and then.
Better go back to design and furniture, something I know just to hold me over while I am here.
“You can’t just start singing like that!” Said my boss, a lovely well-kept woman who owned the furniture/design shop I worked in at the time. This may seem
simple enough a request, but not for me. You see, I do not have cognitive awareness that I am singing. How can I stop doing something I do not even know I am doing? Another piece of discomfort was the price factor; a customer could become very uncomfortable working on a better price and someone else who is just nice would have to pay more, I would inform the “nice” person they could get a better price rather than give the problem customer a better price, but that meant I was taking money from the store owner which was also uncomfortable.
Anyway that night in 1989 after I was “singing” in the store; I was sitting with my handsome Marlborough man/husband I am crazy about. The irritating traffic is whooshing by our house which is very close to the street. We live way out in the country east of Chardon and yet I have to put up with all the loud traffic and trucks!
Now I have several things creating a new dilemma for me. You see, I had managed several furniture design showrooms in the past. I could easily get rehired at any of them. Only, that won’t stop my random singing. Living in the country (last job was 1hour and a half away), and those jobs requiring 60 hour minimum weeks becomes another consideration. I want to please my husband, be the perfect “Disney wife” take care of and make him the happiest man on the planet!
I would like to have a child, and that clock is tick, tock ticking away in me.
I am also having some physical health problems flaring up and that will require time off of work too.
How can I do a good job for anyone else knowing this?
Make lemonade out of lemons. Listen to the irritation and the answer will come.
More loud traffic goes by.
The light finally goes on inside of me.
I will build my own shop. A simple barn/A-frame will do.
I go outside to see where and how when I literally “see” the barn standing in all of its etheric beauty.
I open the door (no, there really isn’t a door) and walk in and see my writing desk in one corner, cherry bookcase behind it, tapestry and damask couches and brocade chairs, maple and oak end tables, Victorian carved oak bed grouping and hammered-iron headboards.
I simply note my growing inventory list. I will need a good excavator to prepare the field that is approximately 200 feet east of my home, which sits on 27 acres.
I drive down to the local corner store to get a reference. “Dick Bosse” is my reply from the friendly store owner in response to my query. Dick comes walking into the store after the words are barely out of the store owner’s mouth.
While Dick and I go outside to work out the logistics, Dick says we will need Barry’s trucking to deliver the layers of rock we will need.
Barry himself comes driving up in a shiny red truck. Dick and Barry wave to each other and Dick introduces me “this young lady here is Mrs. Savage and she is considering building a store/barn on her property down the street here”.
Who is building the barn for her?
I reply “I haven’t found that person yet, any suggestions?”
They both reply, “how ‘bout Brower?”
Guess who comes driving up?
Yup, Brower.
Who am I to question any of this?
Several months later, the store is standing. The work, well there was plenty. I just thanked God I could do it. Whatever it was, I was glad my angels were helping me through it all. I had blisters. Sleepless nights. Anyone who has ever built anything knows you go through many, many obstacles even with the best laid plans. I cut wood and trim. I laid stones and rocks by hand in the parking lot. I hung insulation, dry wall, and wall paper.
I built landscaping boxes, and dug posts for my signs. I fought with my (ex) husband about the fact he wasn’t helping me. Worse, he would make it hard for me and anyone trying to help me, should we care to wake the sleeping bear. (This relationship and my waking up to it comes later in the story.)
Anyway, I was grateful to be able to do any of it, and that God was helping me the whole time, how else could I have done all those things I never did before. (I must admit and give thanks to my sisters Bev and Janet, my brothers Bob and David, and my friend Lorraine who also came out on several occasions and gave me a hand too.)
Anyway, I know that gratitude in times of difficulty and strain is a miracle worker.
It is a great tool and gift for us at any time, but when you are thankful in difficult times, it moves mountains.
The store opened following my daily prayers and meditations in the morning. People came with different stories of how they were drawn to the store. They told me more often than not; the song I was playing (whatever it was at the time) meant something very special to them and how it was “weird” that I should be playing it at that time. I knew better. I know the power of the Holy Spirit. That which is infused in the all.
We would end up working together on their house, selecting furniture, colours, arrangement, etc. What happened in the journey was so far past my knowing world. In the process of designing homes, one must listen to women’s stories: their pain, their big love, their deep world. How stretched their beings had become in every direction to be; good girls, good wives, good mothers, good teachers, good friends, good-no- great lovers, and remain nice and certainly not become “bitches” and of course the other dilemma-whores, the can’t win for loosing scenario. Too good in the bedroom and some men can’t wrap their brain around that.
Not their “good girl wife”~ the Madonna complex. Now many of these wounded women were on different forms of psycho tropics and felt bad about that too.
They didn’t know why they were so depressed and how dare they be- with everything so good. So in the process of listening to women’s stories, a blooming took place, the river widened in my being and I began the process of birthing what women needed to make themselves whole. What I did not expect was that I would be birthed anew too and start my own process in the discovery of the Divine Feminine. Yes, this little Catholic girl would become shattered and have to put herself back together again. I would learn to infuse vibrations of sound into the home in a return to my musical being and background. But the stories….
“If one woman told her story ~
The whole earth would crack wide open” - Rainier Marie Wilke.
I started asking what other forms of natural therapy they had tried while concurrently they were asking me what forms I had tried. My response was; yoga,
aromatherapy, meditation, Reiki, etc. They would reply with a dazed look in their faces and more often than not, say something like; “Ra- what did you say?”
They also started picking up the books (mine) that I was using for display purposes and asking if they could borrow them. Hmmmm. Not what I had planned, but ok we can do this. Sure you can borrow the book. Soon I didn’t have any books left, they were all being borrowed. What are those things on and around your desk? They would ask. (My affirmations, crystals, rocks, etc.) I prayed and meditated on it all and asked for guidance.
I wondered why? Why were so many women depressed and asking me how I dared to live my life. Surely I was not the only person whose attention this was
getting, was I? I Looked up into the “Heavens” and pleaded for answers. Truly this would be frightening for the universe asking me to notice something that other trained professionals should be taking note of and working on. Not me. I am too wild and un-tethered. I just put colours and fabrics together and hold peoples hands during the process. Guide them through the weaving of their desires and their family’s. Oh yes, and the home that most certainly had visions of its own to be listened to. My heart just swelled in this sea of pain these women were in and well, at least if I could make their home “feel” better for them, maybe that would help.
Things were growing more and more restless inside of me when one Sunday I decided to attend a new church I had designed a meeting room for.
The Sermon was “Did you ever notice how God never picks the obvious person to do His work?”
Come on! My body was buzzing. This buzzing started at an early age and though I won’t share all of the experiences now, I will share some just to give you a
flavor of my life.
Many of the psychic experiences I had growing up were “painful” to put it mildly. This is not a complaint because I know now why; they were forever etched in my being that way so I would have a much harder time dismissing them. I am grateful for the rich tapestry that is the weaving of my life!
We will begin with High School and the story of Diane. I started having really distressing feelings about her dying somehow knowing she would die from drugs while in her car. So I went into the principal’s office and tried to convince him of the need to have classes on drugs before it happened to save her. His response was “who are these kids taking drugs?” Oh yah, let me just give you a list of the names of kids in pain around me so you can inflict more pain in their life and I can be a snitch in High school! The only thing he would agree to was a “my little class” sometime after school. Right, you can barely keep these kids in school during school hours but they will come after school to hear why they shouldn’t take drugs? I wanted an accredited class during school, never mind.
So drugs did take Diane’s life. I do know that she is in a wonderful place now from my own experience with death. That story will come later.
It didn’t help to psychically “know” my parents house was robbed either. The police wanted to know how I could know. I should just tell them so they could solve the case, since I had to be in on it or how else would I know?
Was I on drugs? Several days after it happened I was standing at my school locker; talking to my friend whose locker was next to mine and a friend of hers came walking up to say hello to her and said hello to me too. My whole body started screaming inside. I went to my study hall and all I could hear screaming somewhere inside my body was “She robbed your house!” It just got louder and louder inside me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I went to the class she was in and called her outside to the hall. I tersely said; “you robbed my house!” She looked at me in this strange way and denied it. The next thing I knew I was shaking this much larger girl than me and banging her into the lockers. The whole class came running out exclaiming fight! We were taken down to the offices. I was reprimanded and told that the police were handling it and I was given detentions.
One week later my family found out that she was one of the thieves.
Going back to when I was a small child I remember wondering why no one ever talked about the “Big” people watching us/me growing up either. What did I have to do to get grownups to discuss them instead of acting like they weren’t even there? I just kept entertaining them, dancing, singing, acting, laughing and talking for them. Maybe since I had such a hard time being “good”, no-one could talk about it with me yet, this secret of the large beings. Somehow I felt as if at some point, we were all going to just acknowledge all this and the whole “invisible/visible” world we were all in. That just hadn’t happened. Sometime during the process of going to school and growing up the invisible people became just that, invisible.
Now in high school I was getting really depressed feeling how “bad’ I was. Not getting all straight A’s anymore which were so easy for me. Why was I so “bad” in such a “good” family?
I actually got myself sick and welcomed it and the days started to drift in and out as I lay in bed and waited for death to please take me. After about two weeks of this, a friend of mine came to see what was going on. She about fell on the floor a gasp when she saw me. My skin had started to turn yellow and my eyes were yellow/green too, my joints were red, painful and swollen. She demanded that I tell my mother how sick I was. (I had been hiding under the covers; my parents owned a store and worked long hours so it was easy to stay unnoticed). All the better for my plan to lay there and die.
But my friend Denise Z was adamant. So I told my mother how sick I was and maybe I should call the doctor. Now I also had to tell my mother maybe I was
pregnant or “something”. God help me I am such a problem. The doctor in the emergency room gave me three shots of adrenalin within an hour an a half. (I was having trouble staying awake at this point). Finally I just said, “Yes I think I feel better now.” This way my mother wouldn’t have to wait anymore and I just wanted to go home and sleep anyway.
When we got home, my mother said she wanted to draw a bath for me that would make me feel better. Ok, I said. When she came in to see me in the bath, she dropped her jaw too and exclaimed: “Oh my God did that doctor take a look at you?” “I think so” I said.
“Jesus Christ I’m calling right now and taking you back to the hospital!”
Back we went, but I remember nothing until the scream coming out of me and a doctor’s hand pushing on my stomach.
They did tests, scans, but I was sleeping through it all. I was gone. I fell asleep soon after waking up to my own scream.
That’s when it happened for the first time.
I woke up in a different place; a coliseum, Romanesque, and very large. It was the murmurs of all the people in shrouds around me that made me come to,
including my own. I don’t know what language I was speaking; it seemed similar to the Latin I took, but not that either. Everyone spoke it though. The murmur was almost deafening. I was praying though and I know what I was saying, it was just in a different tongue. I was going over my life/lives. In the center of this vast sea of people was light and light beings. A large chair (like stone?) held “the One-ness of light” and on either side was another slightly smaller Chair with two other beings of light. Around them in a circle were more glowing-adoring beings.
All this I did not see with my naked eyes. No, I saw it more like I used to see the “Big People” as a child. You just did not look up and see. I could not. Until all of a sudden it was as if it were my turn or something and the central figure connected to me and filled me and every cell of my body with this wondrous feeling I can not explain. It was as if my body was singing with love in every cell, filled with this glorious light from the Being in the center of the coliseum.
After some time, I awoke in another world, a garden. It was here that Jesus walked beside me. We talked and walked without our usual talking and walking and everything around us was lit up on the inside. I then remember being on a street with Him and seeing this long line of people entering a large building. I wondered what they were all going to do there and noticed that I knew the people. This thought brought us “sort of float walking” over closer and into the building. As we entered the line turned into people I knew better and better, relatives and finally brothers and sisters. My nephew whom I adored at the time was asking my sister (his mother) Barb to explain something to him. She just shook her head and had no answer. What! I thought my oldest sister had all the answers. What could possibly have her so sullen and silent. Then I saw my mother, in even worse shape.
that brought my eyes towards a long coffin farther down the room. My body now felt another shift of knowing as I float- walked near the ceiling over to see who was inside. Yep, you guessed it, me. I quickly said I must return because they cannot handle this.
I woke inside the hospital room with my mother holding my arm, head down on it. I said: “Mom you don’t have to worry I was just with Jesus and I am going to be ok.” She shook her head with big tears in her eyes and said “Oh for God’s sake, even now you are trying to make me feel better.” I noticed Happy Days was on TV and fell back asleep.
A Jaguar was chasing me through the jungle and I was barefoot. I was sweating and sweating, panting while I ran for my life. I don’t know how long it was
before I became conscious in the Intensive Care room. I knew there were tubes coming out my nose/mouth/arms/stomach and things were beeping everywhere.
My parents and sister were at the foot of the bed with the doctor. A priest and two nuns came and gave me my last rights. The doctor was telling my parents they would have to make funeral arrangements. No one lives after the poison from the ruptured appendix is in the system for two weeks. Once again I was screaming
inside my body, but could not make it come out of my mouth. “I am here I wanted to scream out loud!” Nothing. I tried in vain to move anything, my eyes, my
fingers, toes-anything but could not. Out of body, I tried to shake my mom and say I am here, but she felt nothing.
Finally, I got my eyes to open! I just pushed and pushed and pushed and willed them open. I was back!
The ordeal that followed and all the poison/bile coming out of every orifice we normally have and ones they made caused me to start vomiting. My stomach open and pouring out this green stuff too as I wretched was painfully comforting. I could “feel” again.
How I want to “serve” this Loving, wondrous Being who Loves me so much. It is quite something Knowing heaven exists, but I experienced it and somehow I am still in this body. No plane, train, or rocket took me to some place in the sky.
For now I return to the first store I opened on the East side of Cleveland.
So God doesn’t pick the obvious person heh? That is an understatement if ever there was one.
OK God, I will do whatever you want me to, just show me, teach me, give me the teachers and I will have classes in the store if people will just sign up.
Teachers came into my life. I started “dreaming” homes before I even went to them. Colours and energy moved around in that “other vision center in my head”.
My clients signed up for the classes alright. My clients/friends started glowing with that light themselves.
By the time my friend Trish asked my to join her on a women’s retreat called “Sacred Space” on Kelly’s Island, things were really taking an interesting course. But that trip with Trish, where I thought I was helping her, turned out to be the real shift.
On the ferry over to the island, Trish and I started to go up the narrow staircase to the second floor. It was then that a dream I had with my sister Barb flashed into my head. This is how I wrote the story in a Newsletter in 2001:
When I first looked upon the shores of Kelly‘s Island, it was in a dream. My sister Barbara, who passed from this world in 1990, was guiding me on a journey that would forever change my life. In this dream, shades of Indigo, Royal Purple, Parrish Blues and Emerald beckoned to me from beneath a Honey Golden mist. This futuristic scene rose from the water like the emerald City from Oz.
When I actually went there in 1993, waves of energy rocked my being. Stepping on her grounds, she captured my soul, and we easily merged. I had come to Kelleys Island for a Sacred Space women’s retreat with my friend, Trish.
Normally, my days were spent helping other people heal themselves and their home, through my “Interior Design” shop. Every other spare minute was spent working on my own home, which I was rebuilding from a fire, and my marriage, which by then had hopelessly disintegrated. It was time to get a little rest, and hopefully some healing myself.
One “coincidence” and Déjà vu after another had my whole being soon feeling as if 10,000 volts were running through it. I was directly plugged into the source.
Meeting so many, wonderful “glowing” people, I wish I had the space to tell you about each and every one of them. What I’m about to tell you now, though, is when it really gets good…..
It was at an Art Therapy workshop, that I chose to attend, where I first met her. The instructor read us a beautiful myth and we were all painting and creating from the heart. I couldn’t seem to paint a certain colour I had seen in my vision. Not satisfied with my work, the instructor called us back to circle. Each of us looked at each other’s work, describing what we saw and shared our feelings. One silver-haired woman seemed to zone right in on everyone’s work, her wise analysis having visible effects on those her azure eyes dissected. Some were moved to tears, including my friend, Trish, who had gone before me. I did not escape her deep insights either. Then, she raised her own painting. There before me were the exact colours and scene from my own vision, which I had tried so hard to create. A voice within me said, “Buy the painting”. I tried to dismiss the voice, not wanting to seem out of place. After all, no one else was buying or selling these paintings. The voice persisted and only grew louder, “Buy the painting”. I was swimming with emotion; this voice had guided me through many decisions by now, and was never wrong. This woman, whoever she was, was very intriguing – but surely they would all think I was crazy. The words practically leapt from my mouth, “I’ll buy the painting how much do you want?” Soon we were driving to a house on the lake she called “Himmelblau”. This wise woman would become a great friend, teacher and mentor. Her name was Dagmar Celeste.
Two years later, after almost eight years of marriage, I was going through a divorce. Broken, barely surviving the sea of pain and feelings of failure that enveloped me, the barn at Himmelblau became my sanctuary. In this simple and natural environment, I would heal and be re-born. Some of my first adjustments/lessons:
Raccoons make quite a ruckus at night. They lived above me. Mice will generally keep to the area you ask them to. You can not get rid of spiders in a barn. Of course, they were all there to teach me animal medicine, but I also learned to be careful what you ask for.
One day, while crying, praying for spiritual guidance and the strength to tread these uncharted waters of battling someone I loved and cared for so much, and a life I had worked so hard at, someone knocked on the door. It was Indian Bob; he said “Spirit had sent him”. I responded “I’m not really in a good place”. He thanked me for being honest and handed me a stone called a “Wotei”. He told me to wear it for protection and strength. I told him about the stones, rocks, and feathers I
had been collecting since my first visit. I shared some of the visions and stories they had given me. He shared some Native American teachings. I looked around for something to give him, but all I had were cigarettes. I offered him one, he thanked me. It was then I learned that tobacco was the Native American gift of thanks. Once again my inner voice had guided me correctly. This was the first of many lessons. Bob said, “Tomorrow I will take you to meet the spirit of ClamDigger woman, keeper of the stones. We will visit her burial mound; you are a member of her tribe. Tonight we are having a sweat lodge, you should come.” to be continued..... G.S.
During the course of all this, my own interests were continuing to grow as was my educational pursuits. One of those expansions was Aromatherapy. Linda
Green, another woman I met at the Sacred Space retreat at Kelly’s had invited me to come to a Jeannie Rose intensive weekend. At first I declined because it was rather expensive and I really didn’t fell I had the time. However, one of the women that was going to attend and had already paid the tuition couldn’t make it. She told Linda she wanted me to attend in her place. Again the universe makes up my mind for me. With just a few nominal expenses involved I couldn’t decline this generous offer.
To say that it changed my life is an understatement. I thought I knew about “oils”. What I learned the first day was how much I didn’t know. Jeannie was
spellbinding as she passionately described first one then another oil holding them “jewel like” in vials up to the light. As she enumerated endless therapeutic applications for each, she would have us waft the scent and describe them ourselves.
At one point, I was truly angry at what I felt was a theft of information, stolen from wise-women long ago. The chorus of women streaming through my life now parading before my eyes: as the benefits and healing properties awoke visions of assistance to each and everyone, I at some point was included too. Handing a vial of what was introduced to me as “Spikenard” the oil Mary Magdalene used in the anointing of Jesus, Jeannie had selected that particular oil for me to work with for several hours of experience and writing. She also told me I would need to keep working with that oil. Nardostachys Jatamansi, common name Spikenard and nicknamed “False Valerian Root” or Nard oil would become a dear friend of mine that I would pass along to many women and “I would do this in memory of her.”
It was among many things for wounds that would not heal, mental, spiritual, physical and emotional. She was also known as the Grand Balancer. I did not like this oil at all upon my first experience. I would come to love this oil above all others.
The day after my spikenard encounter, my head reeling with all the information on so many levels downloading into my being; a woman named Linda Honeycutt-LaGrande came up to me and just started laughing. She said “You enjoying all this information Miss Gloria?” I replied that indeed I was, “but how was all this applying to me and why was it all happening to me?” After all, I was only supposed to be an Interior Designer. She just laughed again and lifted her hand, finger pointing at her being as she guided it from top to bottom and stated “Well I guess you really are doing Interior Design now aren’t you honey?”
My buddy was buzzing so hard inside I could barely remain standing. Aromatherapy was a deep and profound value that I continue to share to this day.
Over and over I started turning in all the pain, mine and all the other women’s into the soil of my being. How can I make a positive growth with this pain? So I began to till the soil of pain. That was what we all were doing. Turning it in and surviving. We were standing, loving, sharing and walking forward in the midst of it all and trying to look sexy and pretty to boot. (This of course also requires not eating.) I knew that if we were to recover and survive, we would have to create out of our pain. So creating we were. We were turning the soil and gestating our seeds of despair and hope for a brighter future. I incorporated one healing tool after another into my business model that did not exist. It all really came down to one thing though.
The problem was we had no root to a feminine sacred model that was whole and reachable. Oh yes, we have the Virgin Mother and I was taught but has since been revised, the whore Mary Magdalene.
Just a patriarchy and a long line of blame and shame starting with that disobedient Eve the temptress and her debauchery with Adam tricking him into eating the apple too. So much for listening to snakes! We were banned from the Garden with the Cherubim and flaming sword guarding the gates. We must go back to where it all began and pick up the tools stolen from us long ago. We are medicine women but the campaign to discredit women and disempowering us and the tools we used from nature only got us labeled as “witches”. We must go back to the tools of our ancestry, the Arc of the Ancients….
Flash to 1997, living in Lakewood writing an Aromatherapy article for the Cleveland Bar Journal (OK I am cramming at the last minute with books and notes everywhere because the article is due the next day…) when the phone rings. On the other end a voice is telling me that Raj told her she should call me about working together. Rajendra Khanna is one of the loveliest humans I have ever had the pleasure and good fortune of meeting. Born in India, he is humble, brilliant and sincere and among many things taught me how to meditate around 1984 I believe. He has never had anyone call me.
“What is your name?” I ask her to repeat. “Vanessa”she replies and I want to know if you are interested in selling Aromatherapy products?” The buzzing begins.
OK, you have my attention. I asked for her birth information and drew up a chart. I can see her through the phone and describe her to herself. She starts laughing and tells me I am “dead on” even to the clothes she is wearing. I ask her~ “When can you come over?” Ten minutes later Vanessa is at my door. The connection is unmistakable. The charge in the air was so palpable we could have run the entire city on the energy.
I shared my vision of the new store I wanted to open with healing rooms, interior design /Feng Shui, books, music, aromatherapy oils and blends and the wellness classes I would like to have there too. About seven hours later Vanessa left.
Two months later we began our work together and started teaching and selling aromatherapy products and the “Total-Sensory-Healing Class that was born in that barn on Kelly’s Island.
We finally opened our first shop (my second) on Rocky River Drive near Kamm’s Corner together in 2002. We co-founded Cleveland Polarity with my friend, MaryJo whom I met while living on Kelly’s Island. We had one healing room and all the above mentioned Total-Sensory-Living and Wellness.
Again the same response from people as my first shop, “I just had to come in here but I didn’t know why, I love this place….”
The stores name: ArcAncient Aromatherapy came to me after days of trying to come up with just the right moniker. The word Arc, in Barbara Walker’s “Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets” briefly stated read: “A female vessel bearing fruit or seeds to give birth to a new world out of the destruction and chaos of the old.” Thus you have: Ark of the Covenant, Joan de Arc, Arc of the rainbow, etc. OK, arc works for me, and since everything we were doing was not new but practiced thousands of years ago it just sang in my body.
So ArcAncient, Aromatherapy & Interiors was born. The two A’s could be written as: “As above so below” and they also looked like two MM’s when written a certain way and since Mary Magdalene was our Patron Saint of Aromatherapy & healing it all seemed to fit just right.
I saw two extremely large angels holding back the veil (they could hold the earth in their hands) as the words ‘Arc of the Ancients’ and then ‘ArcAncient’ came drifting through. As they slid into my consciousness, a huge wave of energy rocked my body. I knew that was the name, and I also knew that I had carried it many lifetimes. It was sacredly given to me as a vessel to anchor the energy and connect through time to the sacred truth. The truth that has been buried occulted and hijacked for many many years. Parallel realities have been implanted on the earth plane through rituals that have obscured the sacredness of the lives we have all been given. We must connect and anchor the light of the soul consciously in this earthly dimension.
I closed the store in September of 2008, being an astrologer, I saw the economic crash coming and did not want to fight the tides. I ended up paying for prosecuting the landlord/attorney who hit my then business partner. Many people who said they were 'spiritual' and spouted a lot of 'supposed spiritual terms' abandoned me, robbed me and believed the lies of someone who I helped start a school up here with.
I see a lot of things being taught, that are not spiritual at all.
Remember this: Anytime, someone is connecting 'spiritual laws' with 'abundance, money, or stuff', they are not teaching HOLY SPIRITUAL LAWS AT ALL.
This is my version of fun.Gloria O’Neil-Savage’s StoryArcAncient Aromatherapy
Cleveland, Ohio 44135
www.arcancient.com
216-458-1444
Postscript
In 2006, I started noticing how badly things were 'feeling' in the economy and doing astrology charts for many people, I could see the change that was coming. In some charts of prominent bankers, I saw money shifting and buy outs, which really started me thinking.
In running charts for what was coming, I saw the economic downturn and the collapse that would surely hit before the end of 2008.
I closed the doors to the store the last day of September of 2008.
It was an agonizing decision, because I felt people needed me, needed that place to go where so many people made connections to their new friends, and new lives.
I also don't give up easy, if at all.
Finally, a good friend asked me one day how I could afford to spend so much time counseling people and educating them after watching me spend several hours discussing aromatherapy options to assist them in their challenge.
They purchased $15.00 worth of products. (They told me they didn't have much money, this happened more and more often).
I thought long and hard about what she said. She was right, I couldn't afford it.
So I closed the doors.
The weekend after I closed the doors, I was sitting outside basking in the sun (something that was rare if ever in the past 10 years, since I was always working). The angel Gabriel came to me, that flash of light, and told me ‘I was finished with that part of my work’. Huge aching sobs wrecked through my body, it had been a long haul. “I have a new mission now” Gabriel continued. “It is time for you to write about your experiences in a much deeper way”.
I haven’t gone into what really happened with the landlord on Rocky River Drive, but I will soon. It was a devastating and unbelievable experience that ended in a 10 day court trial, which we did win, but which I am still paying for. I would have to sue him civilly to recuperate all the financial losses of trying to get back what I invested into fixing up the building/space and the subsequent move/storage/move debacle.
So I am working on that book now, it is about all my mystical experiences and they are not all good. But I walk between worlds. I always have. I will continue to update all of you.
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Labels: alignment., coincidences, dream interpretations, dreams, feng shui, interior design, music, NDE's, Near Death Experience, path, premonitions, psychic, singing, visionsWe are the Arc of the Covenant, we are the promised land
Recently I read a forward regarding the care of our being/earth. 12/09/2008
We are in fact one and the same. Perhaps we all need a gentle reminder of what we already know.
We are the “Arc/Ark of the Covenant”. We are the Holy Grail.
Moses climbed to the top of Mt. Sinai whereupon he encounters “The Word”. Now I use this story alone, though there are many others like it, but for the sake of space, this will address most of the people receiving this information.
...The bush, burning but unconsumed, from which G-d spoke to Moses (Exod. 3:1-4), is used by the Fathers as a figure of our Lady; an antiphon at Lauds of the Circumcision (q.v.) and in the Little Office B.V.M. Says: “The bush which Moses saw unburnt we recognize as your glorious virginity: Mother of God, intercede for us.” Taken from: Attwater, A Dictionary of Mary, 1956.
Mount Sinai means: Temple of the Moon, or Moon Mountain. See: “The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects”, Barbara G. Walker
The “Arc or Ark” itself, is a female vessel, bearing seeds or fruit to give birth to a new paradigm out of the destruction and chaos of another.
Do we feel the destruction of the world as we know it happening all around us?
What more must happen for us to wake up to ourselves?
The winged Cherubim who stand guard over the “Arc” are our own winged beings.
The moon boat is the sliver of the moon, created from the earth's shadow upon her in the waxing cycle.
We are the earth/heart of it all, this is all created for us. (Please note the anagram of earth and heart for those who need reminding of the last being first).
Moses brings down the Arc of the Covenant, from whom? “I am that I am”.
Is is, or Isis.
We are told not to break God's commandments, of which there are X.
X marks the spot.
AS ABOVE>< href="http://www.arcancient.com/">http://www.arcancient.com/
As a side note: Several months back, I was wondering why “on earth” would she have us here at all as humans when we are so disrespectful and destructive of her? I asked her that question.
Her response was this: “Gloria, I want to be loved and appreciated too, I need you to do that, to reflect back to me, love as a mirror.” I cried in joy for a long time after that.........
We can add further notation on entering Two by two....each of every kind (futher look up the word “kind” and its origins, such as kin.) Everything in pairs of opposites.
Working on this site, until then, go to: www.arcancient.com
(You will see why we need a new website, lol)
You can also visit our blog:
http://arcoftheancients.blogspot.com/
