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Uruz, the Auroch

Uruz…Aurochs, primal strength, health and the raw power of creative forces. Aurochs were the wild ancestors of modern day cattle…extinct by the 17th century. This is the second painting in my quest to gain a deeper understanding of the runes. My inspiration was one of the Lascaux paintings.

I am a descendant of colonizers

I am a descendant of colonizers. Land thieves, murderers, policy makers and enslavers

I am a descendant of settlers, people who walked hundreds of miles through wilderness to find a new home

I am a descendant of Puritans, master oppressors…of themselves and of others

I am not the granddaughter of the witches you couldn’t burn. My ancestor was hung on a tree at Salem, not because he was a witch but because he did not conform.

I am also a descendant of the wild ones, Celts and people of the north who danced with the Fey and walked with the Gods.

I have a home now and I know who I am. I slough the labels like a snake sheds its skin and with clear eyes I see my ancestors.

Journal: Dream about the horses

I dreamed last night that the area around the barn had grown over with moss and turkey’s foot because no one had been there in so long but when I went inside the horses were there. I knew they had passed on but they were there anyway. Prince was grumpy because he hadn’t had a treat in so long. I patted him on the rump and said, yes, yes of course, I’ll get some grain. 

Ancestry: George Burroughs

George Burroughs is my first cousin, 11 times removed on my mother’s side and he was executed as a witch at the Salem Witch Trials. He was hung until dead in 1692 then buried beneath the gallows. George Burroughs survived a Wabanaki raid in August of 1676. He was a Harvard graduate, a Puritan minister and many considered him to be a very secretive person. There were rumors that he abused and possibly killed his wives, but there were also rumors that he was the “Black Man” and the leader of all the witches at Salem. It was also said that he had the ability to read minds. He was believed to have inhuman strength, this was what they tried him for during the trials. A description of Burroughs in a reading by Frances Hill: “George Burroughs was confident, strong-willed, and decisive, a man of action as well as a preacher, unusually athletic and clever enough to do well in Harvard. Short of stature, muscular, dark-complexioned, he was highly attractive to women, as is shown by his winning the hand of a rich widow as his second wife when he was a mere village minister.”

Cotton Mather was particularly vehement that Burroughs was executed and was at the hanging personally. It is possible that Cotton Mather took a special interest in his case because he had “peculiar” religious beliefs, which may have been that he was an Anabaptist.

Salem Witch Trials Documentary Archive and Transcription Project.

Inside the Salem Witch Trials

George Burroughs, Salem’s Perfect Witch

I have always known intuitively that I had an ancestor involved in the Salem Witch Trials but I never expected for it to be confirmed. My own personal connection spiritually was through an ancestor named Nathaniel. George’s father was named Nathaniel but also there are many Nathaniels a generation later as well. Every time I try to research George to compile his information in a more orderly and thorough way, my eyes go funny and strained as though I stared into the sun for too long. In fact when I first discovered my connection to him, I had trouble with my sight all day. So, this will have to do for now.

A painting in which George Burroughs is believed to be the man in the middle who is praying. George was able to recite the entirety of the Lord’s Prayer before he was hanged. It was believed that no witch could do this, but Cotton Mather insisted that he be executed anyway.

Ancestry Part 1

I got interested in my geneology when I was in my thirties because of my mother. She was a diligent researcher and found so much great information. I came back to it recently once I discovered that I have 41% Scottish DNA. So far, I haven’t been able to find this Scottish ancestry in my family tree. My father’s tree only goes back so far, but there are many lines from Northern Ireland.

My mother’s line goes back extensively and almost every line that I have been able to follow, which have been many, goes straight back to first colonists and the puritans of New England. Some notable names in this lineage include Richard Lyman, founder of Hartford, Samuel Gardener, Miles, Morgan from Wales, John Annis and the Burroughs family, but there are more.

Mourning

This week has gone by in a fog, punctuated by grief and lingering heartbreak. Last Friday night, Prince, my dear bay gelding succumbed to Cushings disease. He did not go easy. He fought and I was there with him, following him through the mud, singing to him in the dark. He was euthanized in front of his companion, Rosie an elderly mare. We tried to get him farther up the barn, but he couldn’t move. She neighed for him as he died and I think all of our hearts broke in unison at this sound. She had already lived through the deaths of her herd mates, she was the last one alive. Prince came to live with her, as her companion in her dotage but she outlived him too. We made the hard decision to have her put down as well. When she lost her companion before him, she escaped the fence and ran wild for days in the countryside before we were able to track her down.

I will never forget her neighing for him, I will never forget trying to pull him through the mud to get him into the barn, I will never forget singing to him in the dark of night and I will never forget breathing into his nose, one last time, a last goodbye, a last I love you. For one last time, we made our connection.

Something that I used to do with Prince and another horse who I was close to, Henry was to share a breath. I would put my face up to his muzzle and puff gently into his nostril. He would tilt his head towards mine and huff back out at me. We would take turns breathing and blowing back and forth, a gentle steady rhythm for just a few moments. It was meditative, kind and we would make a connection this way.

The barn is empty now, quiet and for the first since I was seven years old, I don’t have horses in my life. My dear Prince was one of the most gorgeous horses I’ve ever known. In the summer his coat was mahogany with light dapples on his rump. His mane and tail were black as night. He was grumpy, stubborn and pushy. He was loving with the sweetest, deepest eyes and he would lick me when he wanted treats.

There is nothing like the sweet dusty warmth of a horse against your shoulder, his breath close in your ear, the smell of him like dirt tinged spice. There is nothing else in the world close to the softness of his muzzle, the look in his eye when he notices that you have a treat. He can be demanding, he can be stubborn, he can be completely oblivious to the fact that you exist. But at other times, his gaze is a light in the darkness, shining right into your heart. 

My Friend’s Mother

I am blessed to have a friend who has been a shining light in my life since I was young. Her mother passed away, leaving earth too early. I offered to spirit walk with her and ask for any messages she might have for her daughter, my beloved friend.

I connected with her Mother today in the spirit world. She is a ribbon of colorful energy. She helped me to remember her messages from before and she showed me how beautiful she is now, how happy.

In my first visit with her mother, we flowed together in a stream of energy, it was compassionate, all loving, embracing and she told me that her main reason for being was to bring her daughter into the world. She was so incredibly grateful to have been able to do this and to have been able to be a part of her life. She was grateful to experience this kind of love. When we parted ways, I saw her clearly as a young rebellious, happy teenager walking down a quiet road lined with pine trees. I think she was wearing cutoff jean shorts. She turned around, smiling and shot us a bird then continued jauntily down her path.

Now she is waves and waves of pure color energy, ecstatic in the energy of the Universe.

She is a ribbon of colorful energy, she is like the wind, she is changing colors, the feeling you get when you lean out of the car window and the wind rushes against your face, watching the world go by, content and ecstatic at the same time. She can be tiny, I saw her from far away, spirally upwards in a tall peak and she can be larger than the universe, energy flowing and she is always the colors. She is happy in this form, this is her natural form, this is her. She let me know that she may not be human again for a long time. It was hard to be a human and she is so beautiful, so creative now that she is back in her true form.

Her daughter’s prayers and words to her are like the colorwaves and the wind that she rides, that she is. She hears them, feels them, understands that they are words, but to her they are like colors on the wind, they join in with her energy and fly around with her in ecstasy.

She came into her human form to accomplish one thing and that was to bring her daughter into the world. She sees her daughter now and she feels proud. She sees that her daughter has stepped into her true self and is living a life that is meaningful and authentic. She sees how much her daughter has grown and how much she has brightened the world and she feels that it was all worth it.

  • She has strong Angel energy. I think she was drawn to Angels while she lived and I remember an Angel showing up for her in the first vision I had. I played Angel music while visiting with her then remembered this about her later.
  • This art by MystikAngel on Deviant Art is similar to the colors I saw but her energy was arranged in more of a solid wave pattern.

Journal: Spirit Guide quick message

During meditation, I asked to speak with my Spirit Guide. I asked for messages and information about Mediumship for me and my role regarding it. I heard a man’s voice, never saw him, say “For the women”. I was standing next to him and he was reaching down, opening a wooden box. That’s all there was. I came out of the vision, asked for more but didn’t receive anything else.

Mediumship

I have done some Medium work with friends for beloved pets who have passed on and I did a beautiful one for a close friend whose Mother had passed away. When I heard about the troubles a friend of mine was going through (we were not close, had only hung out here and there but she was special) with the devastating loss of her dogs, I offered to see if anything came through for her and her beloved dogs that had passed.

I had a beautiful vision of her running with her pack…it was golden, it was ecstatic, it was as though they had never even left her, flying through the woods as one, always together. It still makes me smile even today. But before I saw and felt that, I saw her bent over her knees, vibrating so fast and chaotically, it seemed like she might tear apart. Her mother was there, her hand hovering over her back and it all felt wrong somehow.

I told her my vision, the resplendent one of her running with her pack, golden sunlight on her shoulders but I also told her about her mother and the chaotic vibration. I didn’t want to scare her, so I was gentle but I did feel that she should know.

A week or two later she died by her own hand. I am not close to the family or her circle of friends but it was devastating for them.

I’ve not known how to process this, what I saw and felt. It scared me to see her like that in my vision.

I have continued to work with the cards and connect to Spirit through meditation, visions and dreams but I have let this connection with the dead fade. I tried a few times after this experience to connect but was never able to and would usually just fall asleep.

Tonight, I am thinking of her and my calling to Spirit work.

I have been watching the documentary Surviving Death and it brought up all these feelings, confusion and pain over that experience, a calling to do healing work for others through Spirit. I watched the episode about Signs from the dead tonight and there was a moving part where the deceased son sent a message through a penny with his birth year on it. I finished the episode and started to write this post in hopes of working through some of these big emotions. I got most of it done before Agnes, my dear elderly kitty started walking across me to tell me that she was ready for dinner. When I came back there were little wet kitty paw prints leading right to a penny half under the sheet. I saw it and ruefully decided to look at the date. 1980, the year she was born.

Thank you dear friend, for your lovely sense of humor in showing me that penny and for your great kindness in thinking of me and making such an effort to bring me closure and comfort in this experience.