Dakota: “Ally” A: God Dakota: An ally with God
I grew up not knowing I had the skin of an Irish girl. I was certain that I was Native American. My young brother once cracked a Native American joke at the dinner table and I was so very offended. I looked at what I thought was my dark skin and almost burst into tears. I thought, “how can he say such things about his sister?”
Much of my life has just been emotional memories of previous existences. I remembered and dreamed about my past lives constantly, but had no idea what they were. They were just a part of this reality.
And of course there were the hundreds, if not thousands, of Native American spirits running around my house and land day and night. I liked them. I connected to them. I understood them. They had a passion for Mother Earth. They listened to the spirit of the land and I felt they were right for doing so.
And there, within me, was this underbelly of anger towards white people and a deep sense of betrayal that I feared from white people. I later recalled being shot in the back as a Lakota by a white man whom I believed that I befriended. I fell off a cliff and was alive until I hit the bottom of the canyon. I could not believe he could betray an open heart.
I died feeling betrayed. Betrayal became a theme in this life. Falling, loosing my grasp and standing near a ledge has always been a secondary theme.
Then there is another reason I connect so strongly with Native America. Here is an excerpt from my book Elephants Never Lie:
“Native Americans often stood by my bed as a child. Once, around the age of 9, as I lay awake in bed with my common insomnia, a Chief and his apprentice appeared in my room. The Chief, with sharply angled cheek bones and unyielding dark eyes, raised his staff and struck it to the ground saying, “You will. Michelle, you will.” After a moment of staring at me, ensuring that I got the message, they just evaporated. The spoken word was power. The power was in the message. I knew without explanation that one day I would take on a spiritual cause. And, without doubt, it would be done. I would not die without this task being completed.
The chief has stayed with me over the years. I’ve seen him several times. His name is Wochea.”
WO-CHI-A To be-Life Force-With God
I now understand that he is an ancient master from a time of possible Lemuria and has ‘genetics’ that exist today as Japanese and Hopi.
The moral to this story is that we carry emotional memories in our cells from previous lifetimes. This is because the wounded soul sparks this memory in the body so that we will heal it once and for all.
When reoccurring circumstances occur in our lives, even though it is different characters, the story is the same. This pain or sadness is our healing. It is our calling to retrieve our souls from traumas of distant times. My deep love for who I felt I really was, a Native American, did make me run away from friends who made me feel different than this. It’s made me always run from this world. I walked away when the slightest scent of betrayal wafted into my air.
Yet, my memories also inspired me to name my children after the people of my tribe, Dakota and Cheyenne.
You can read about soul healing in our blog at Sedonasoulhealers.com
Michelle Faith Lucas