The Hanged Man - From the Rider Waite Tarot

The Hanged Man - From the Rider Waite Tarot

There has been a LOT of energy around the Masculine in recent weeks – with the “return” of the light on the Solstice in December we have been experiencing an acceleration and activation of energies that are calling forth a reconciliation and transmutation of all the imbalances that have been held by this aspect in the collective.    As each of us carries both the masculine and feminine energies everyone is experiencing something of a shift within and without.  During my last 4 Winds class – Working with the Sacred – we had an opportunity to gather in a group and to call down the energies of the collective into our smaller arena to see what was “up” so to speak.    During the week we played out the energies that we were perceiving in subgroups – some of the themes of the week that we explored were the Dark Feminine, the Mother,  The Emerging Feminine, The Dark Masculine, Confusion and the Emerging Masculine.  As shaman and lightworkers we were transmuting in our own personal work but  the work was also being done on the collective dream too.

As the week unfolded there was a cough that went around the room – now in our work with the 4 Winds we are taught that there are four levels that we can work with – the physical, the emotional, the mental and the spiritual.  Our task as a shaman is to keep the work at the energetic – that place of Spirit where we are 99% consciousness and 1% matter – it is here that we have the greatest level of effectiveness in creating and facilitating change within our selves and with our clients.  Each level is like a nesting doll – so if a client is experiencing physical symptoms the links go all the way up through the emotional, the mental and into the Spiritual.  The reason why shamanic work is so powerful is that we intervene at the “blueprint” level.   Like dominoes when the intervention is at the blueprint or energetic level everything else (giving space for the time delay) eventually re-aligns creating greater ease, grace and harmony in the body, heart and mind.

For me, because I am so aware of the fact that we can shift at the energetic, when there is something physical going on then there are some really deeply ingrained old energies that are coming forth to be recognized, cleared, transmuted and illuminated.  So here we were in this room full of Shamanic practitioners and a cough was traveling through us.  Because we were working with the collective energies this told me that something really big was up.  I didn’t realize just how big until I returned home from my week away.  Within 24 hours I birthed forth an incredibly powerful and quite harsh (for my style of writing/channeling) prose poem which I’ve included at the bottom of this post.    It literally shredded open my heart chakra to birth this out.  Thankfully I had a “cosmic” date with two of my sound SisTARS (Bindy Johnson & Sarah-Elizabeth Whitcomb)  who came to see me about 2 days after the birth of this baby and they assisted me in re-weaving, re-energizing and re-aligning my heart at a whole new level of light and compassion. Creative expression is one of the ways that we are able to transmute energies – the reason why violent films and games are so popular is because they allow us to hold these energies at arms length, however they also trick us into believing that these energies are “out there” rather than inside us.

As we entered into this new year it was abundantly clear here in my own little corner of the Universe that the Sacred Masculine reconciliation is at hand.  There are so many beautiful aspects to the masculine that we want to honor, uphold and cultivate.    The ability to take action, the ability to create form and substance, the ability to be strong and sweet at the same time, the ability to support and to achieve goals – there are so many more and I encourage you to make your own list of wonderful masculine qualities.  At the same time the masculine has been carrying for thousands of years the blood of many on their hands – they have been (for the most part up until recent history when women joined the ranks as well) the warriors and the fighters, the soldiers and the mercenaries, the assasins and the killers.  This is a HEAVY,  HEAVY load to carry for the collective.

During our class there was a discussion about the Native American practice of one member of the tribe being the “burden strap” – the one who carried the burdens of the entire tribe throughout her life (usually she was a woman).  We must come to realize that our men  and especially those men (and now many women too) who have been in Service have been carrying this burden for the collective.  It is time to clear these energies once and for all – for peace to be acheived we must no longer bury our heads in the sand especially as light workers and conscious beings

The Sacred Heart of Compassion & Service

The Sacred Heart of Compassion & Service

and point the finger at the government, the soldiers, the men (and the women) who have been providing this “Service” for the whole.  It is time for each of us to truly LOOK at this part of our own psyche – to ‘bury the hatchet’ within so to speak and to come to peace with our own anger, rage, and killer instinct.  Mother Theresa I believe once said that she had great compassion for Hitler because she knew the Hitler in herself.   The Hanged Man in the Tarot card is the symbol of the time to break old patterns of behaviour – we have been collectively “stuck”  in this Archetype of the upsidedown Sacred Masculine and the time to UpEnd this beautiful aspect of our sacred selves has come.

So the work of this year is to transmute this energy.  I have a medicine siSTAR friend who has written a blog post about how flower essences can support our veterans and who has been guided to create a Call to Action for all lightworkers to assist in the transmutation of this energy.  In order for us  to do this effectively we MUST be willing to actually LOOK AT what it is we are transmuting – with clear eyes and an open and compassionate heart.  It is not about any one individual or group of individuals – it’s about facing down this energy and literally extracting it from the collective – opening a massive portal and sending it up to the light.    It’s also about holding the sacred space for our brothers (and sisters in light) to re-align with the new energies of peace, harmony, higher consciousness, co-creation, and unconditional love.  There is a lot of shame, guilt, rage and sadness that is now on our plates to transmute.  We have been preparing for nine years for this – we are ready – we have the tools in our tool box – we have the support of all the legions of light.  It is time.

If you are searching for support to transmute any old stuck energies that you are encountering within your own navigation of this part of the journey I encourage you to seek assistance from a trained energy healing practitioner – Sound, Light, Color, Herbal, Flower Essence, Shamanic Healing, Reiki, Spiritual Psychotherapy, Bodywork and more can support this transmutation process.  If you are interested in any of my own services please feel free to contact me for an appointment – this works just as effectively over the phone as in person.  If you prefer to work with someone in person and you are not in my area of the planet then please feel free to contact me and I will do my best to hook you up with someone local to you or at least point you in the direction of where you can find some help.


"Charge" by Sue Dickinson used with permission contact Sue for Print availability at

The Elephant In The Corner @2008 By Amethyst Wyldfyre ( please note the contents/imagery of this prose poem is quite harsh)

The Elephant in the Corner of your pretty stage – I sit – waiting for you to recognize my presence – the
size of me too un-bearable to grasp in your small plays at healing the grip I have upon your Heart.
For I AM the madness of man, the torturer and terrorist, the raper of small children, the one who gladly
thrusts his sword in to the belly of a mother and watches with glee as the new life is ripped from her
womb to lie in a puddle of blood at her feet as she screams and tears at her face and hair ripping her
own breast open with the pain of my name.
Suffering, the slow and steady drip of life force eeking out of her body slowly – ever so slowly she is
eaten, eaten, the blood of her belly sucked, the oily lymph of the GreatMother sucked by my vampirish
mouth brought up by my drills, the oil flowing in the streets, poisoning the land, slick upon the ocean,
consumed in the bellies of your TRANS portation filling the air with the stench of your consumption until
your breathing is labored and you struggle for even a modicum of oxygen to sustain you after I have
taken down the great forests and laid to waste the lungs of the Mother whose trees breathe you as you
breathe them.
I am the noxious fumes, the gas and the slow drip of poison filling your veins as the cancers eat you as
your food supply becomes empty of nutrition and filled with the saturated fats of my corporate minions
who have enslaved you with the salty taste of French fries that never decompose because they are not
real food.
I AM the man who stands with a loaded gun, my phallic projectile wanting nothing more than to pierce
your flesh, to tear the gentle fabric of your vaginal openings, to rip open the soft belly that then oozes
pus & blood and the organs that can no longer be held in place. I delight in slow and agonizing torture
and misery. Death is TOO GOOD – too easy for you. Death is the joke, for you think that through Death
you can escape from me and yet time and time again you return to be eaten by me as I slowly steal
every drop of your soul’s essence from you.
Shattering you into a hundred billion broken bits of flesh and crushed up bones. I fill the sack held by
the Burden Strap with an endless supply of violated, starved, burned, diseased and damaged children. I
AM the piercing, poking, prodding endless question that drives you through this life and the next, that
eats away at your brain cells, rotting you to the core, putrid flesh hanging from the broken bones of
babies, molested by children, raped by men whose rage is so deep and wide and endless that mass
suicide and annihilation seem to be the only answer.
I sit in labs in coats of white devising poison pills and bombs, fusion and fission rolled into the giant
mushroom clouds of devastation that is the big bang that celebrates MY party. I AM the putrid stench of
the diseased dragon’s breath that is stuck in your throat and the cough that travels around the room
because I WILL be expressed through you whether you like it or not.
I AM every unhealed wound.
I revel in showering myself in the infinite tears of a billion Heart’s Sorrows. I laugh and scream with
delight as Psyche grovels at my feet asking in her puny voice for forgiveness that I will NEVER grant. I
AM Judgment that says it is time once again for another ethnic cleansing so that I may feast on the sons
and daughters, the mothers and the fathers, the sisters and the brothers who try to pretend with their
silly plays and shamanic ways that they might illuminate the depths of my DARKNESS. HONOR ME or
you can NEVER BE FREE.
I demand to be HONORED, NOW, with a ceremony that celebrates the crushing blow of the booted foot
that stomps the skull of another woman’s child. Take me into your heart and find the gift in the
disembowelment of the servant boy who dares to look his Master in the face. Find the blessing, the
lesson in the rape of babies and the cries of their broken mothers who could not save them from this
fate of falling intoMY hands. Do you like my triangle? Which role will you play today? Victim,
Perpetrator, Rescuer? Aren’t they all the same?
Taste my putrid, stinking rotted flesh and consume it. BringMY Body and blood in to your own mouth
and swallow it down, for I am the bed upon which that Joke of a Fisher King lies waiting for a stupid
question from a foolish man who has no idea what he is doing and is terrified to his very core to
recognize that all of his “acts of chivalry” have merely been ways to feed my insatiable appetite, my
greed for the life force of the human soul. Each seeming victory ringing hollow in his heart which knows
the truth of the bad seed planted and gone afoul. Grown out of proportion and stoked by the talking
heads who wish to fire up the frenzy of fear upon which I am Nourished.
Honor ME – HOLD ME – HEAR ME!!
For until you do, no mother’s child will ever be spared from the rampage of my endless rage at all that
professes beauty and light. I stomp on the flowers in your necklace and spit on your dreams of peace
for I AM The waking nightmare that says over and over in your limbic brain that you MUST destroy each
other in order to survive – AHA! The GREAT COSMIC JOKE- for who are you killing? Only Your SELF… .
And I laugh and willingly turn the Wheel of Days for one more round of the endless drama that plays
over and over and over again in the minds of puny men who only wish to wield the power that I hold to
devastate and desecrate, to rape the land, to steal and cheat and lie as I paint a pretty picture of a lovely
young and fertile maiden who will endlessly entice you to buy and buy and buy some more as she sends
your babies off to war – feeding the machine that I have become.