The prophecy of the bone is the upheaval of the mind. ~Kelley Harrell

In Part I of this Betwixt story, I shared my experience with the toll of intuitive life, and how prophecy truly manifests.  For me, it manifests in symptoms of anxiety, panic, what feels like soul loss, and the aftermath of deep trauma. As someone who has experienced each of those states as a direct reaction to personal experience, feeling them for no apparent reason at all is sanity-testing.

The build-up of tension prior to my grandmother’s death this past spring left me spent. Experiencing her deathwalk firsthand was disorienting and distressing, even once I realized it for what it was, and facilitated its conclusion. Odd events still happened in the house for a few days–items not being where I’d just left them, muffled voices, electronics turning off and on. Those kinds of disturbances are not foreign to me, though I still don’t like them. With this transition I knew they were fleeting and would soon calm.

They did; however, within a few weeks they started again. I knew it wasn’t related to my grandmother, a realization which again stirred anxiety. If it wasn’t connected to her, then to whom? Exactly a-month-to-the-day later, my great aunt died. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, though she’d been a brilliant presence throughout my childhood. She truly was one of the most dynamic and independent women I’ve ever known, and I felt blessed to have known her.

I tended my grief over her death, though it didn’t sate. Simmering as a low-burning sadness, I was overwhelmed with feelings of nostalgia, realizations of moving ever more firmly into my family as an elder, and thoughts of what my own legacy would be.

These feelings didn’t abate, though they weren’t as severe as they had been in the spring. I thought perhaps the adrenal toll of prophecy just needed to balance, and I let the low rumblings roll as they may.

Again, one month to the day later, my great aunt on the other side of my family died. January, then March, April, and May, loved ones left, and I every one of them passed through me. By this point, I was fried. I didn’t attempt to monitor how I felt, when I felt what, or what triggered anything. I just kept it between the lines, and got through each day. Without question, I wasn’t as close to these loved ones as I’d been to those that long ago summer. The etheric experience leading up to the deaths of these recent loved ones was more intense, however, and I needed to understand why.

Upon asking my guides for insight into how to cope with this clearly prophetic awareness, they reminded me of one of the very first things I’d learned from them years before–that I am a midwife for those departing, that I feel and facilitate the deathwalk before the soul fully leaves the body, and that I’m better at that role now than I was at seventeen. My spirit teachers treated this like hallowed information, though I remained unsoothed.

I asked them if there’s a way to facilitate my role in that process without bringing my everyday life and sanity to the knees. They told me that the closer someone is in my bloodline or etheric connections, the more jarring the etheric impact of death is. And it goes both ways. I may not be all that close to the person, though that person may feel very close to me. The more dependent the person is on me to facilitate the deathwalk, the greater the impact it has on me. Any emotional overlaps I have in that dynamic only complicate the process further.

With that knowledge came deep confirmation. I knew when they felt absent, they were protecting me from deep emotional and psychological intrusion–a task for which I’ve been grateful many times. I understand my end of the deal is to actively protect my wellbeing, which is a hard position to hold in the midst of grief. Spirit Teachers aren’t in our lives to be givers of comfort. Their job isn’t to feel the weight of our lives. If they did, they wouldn’t be able to hold the space for us as securely as they do. Their focus is to motivate us to grow, and sometimes that feels like really vulnerable shit.

I held that information closely, then told them that I need concrete help during such times. I’m grateful for their protection from the outside, but I need it from the inside, too. They were silent for what seemed like ages, though the tone of our meeting changed, as if they finally realized the human component of what I had gone through.

One of my guides came forward–Angrboða–and she said, “‘The Cradling’ is what you do, swaddling them off to death. We hold them at bay, so they don’t take you over on their way out. We will cradle you, Kelley.”

I’ve said many times, I have tough-love guides. They don’t offer softness or sensitivity to the emotional side of human life. They stand firm on what’s needed for my growth,  and urge me to comply.  In that light, the sincerity of her sentiment touched me, and I believed her. My job is trust that offering, because The Cradling will happen again.

There are many masters and gurus who say if you’re doing your [fill-in-the-blank-empathic-ability] correctly, it shouldn’t take a toll on your personal life. I agree there’s truth to that assertion, though it’s radically incomplete. To really “do it right,” requires a sacrifice of life perspective–and possibly relationships– that few people are willing to make. In fact, it means releasing again and again into the shifted perspective that each prophecy brings into life, sustaining faith in spiritual allies, and walking the walk that is Betwixt.

For me, that continual release is trusting my own sanity. Hell of a job, that.

How does prophecy root into your life? What does it uproot in the process, and how do you sustain compassion for yourself and All Things through that upheaval? Who do you engage to help you in that process?

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