Free Falling into Your Higher Self

Copyright © 2013 Donya Turé.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-8746-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-8747-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921508

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/27/2013

Contents

Preface

Introduction: About the Author

Chapter 1.       Definitions and Boundaries

Chapter 2.       The Art of the Soul

CHAPTER 3.       Conforming and the Collective Network

CHAPTER 4.       There is Only One Power, Only One Force

CHAPTER 5.       Joy is Your True State

CHAPTER 6.       The Ultimate Currency of Life

CHAPTER 7.       The World is the Playground for the Soul

CHAPTER 8.       Emotions are Communicators

CHAPTER 9.       Nothing is Joy, but Joy Itself

CHAPTER 10.       Courting the Beloved

CHAPTER 11.       The Only Power is in the Now

CHAPTER 12.       Falling In Love with the Inner Self

Preface

These ideas presented to you will assist you in mastering yourself through understanding who you are and helping you, if you choose, to redefine who you are. Free Falling into Your Higher Self offers you the opportunity to experience freedom and the nascent abilities to move through life’s experiences free from the need to conform to other people’s expectations. You are challenged to, if you so desire, to live a life without borders and without the confines of roles and outer expectations that are presently keeping you from experiencing your inner truth. This is Book I of the Journey Series and is written for those of you who have turned to the world for love, satisfaction and joy but have begun to suspect that what you are in search of exists within. At this stage of your journey you must, like an explorer prepared to discover the world, travel lightly, leaving as much of your baggage as possible sitting neatly in your closet.

The first step you will need to take on this journey will be seeing the world through your own eyes. Perhaps for the first time ever, you get to decide if you’d like to redefine yourself and the world at large, or if you’d prefer to, without judgment, simply have experiences without attaching more words, more definitions and more ‘stories’ to them. There are various studies that tell us how many thoughts we have per day, and the range is from 20,000 to 70,000 a day. It is not relevant which numbers are correct, but what is relevant is this: every new thought changes you. Just like every extra spice added to an apple pie changes the flavor, every new thought like the trajectory of a missile changes where the instrument lands, and likewise, changes what the objective target is. Every new thought changes you and though it is subtle and usually beyond your awareness, every new thought alters the path that you are on. Change enough thoughts and your lives leap from one path to an entirely new one that may in some instances, look nothing like the previous terrain. This is the beauty of owning your mind, one day you awaken to find yourself changed and anew and it is all because you realized you could and had the right to revolutionize and redefine your personal reality. Free Falling into your Higher Self will assist you in generating new ideas which will surface effortlessly for these ideas and thoughts are rarely discussed in the daily discourse and automatically begin the creative process of unfolding corresponding thoughts.

The objective of this book is to loosen the chains that bind you to definitions that were assigned to you by other people. Whether you choose to forever be free or return to the familiar experience known as the human existence is your choice. But like the warriors in the mythical stories, you are being offered a journey where you will meet with mythical dragons that pose like real-life threats. Many of these challenges you will learn to see through, others will take more time to defeat. But you were fashioned for love, for abundance and joy. You were created to be protected by an all encompassing benevolence and to enjoy a state of eternal vigor and health. You have every reason to be hopeful and child like in your expectance of a better life.

Introduction

I lived in an urban and rugged part of Pennsylvania in a city called Philadelphia. Growing up in a two parent household, I was the youngest amongst three brothers. The city was an unforgiving place where families worked hard and where many of my friend’s fathers drank heavily on the weekends to make up for the bleak work week that dominated most of their lives.

My family didn’t quite fit in, since living in the city was a choice that my father decided upon. My parents had traveled the world and lived in Liberia for years before I was born performing missionary work and discovering the culture in Africa to be not only deeply spiritual, but what many American’s would call magical. My parents told me stories of healings that defied what many in the West consider possible, and so I grew up with beliefs that were greater in scope than what is typically accepted. When my parents returned to America my father decided to continue his ministry to those who had need and who resided in the tough and hopeless city streets. This idea to live in the inner city was not initially the dream that my mother had when she thought of settling in. I am told she was moved to tears when she first laid eyes on the neighborhood she would call home. As for me, I was just an infant when we arrived and a few days after the family moved, a photograph of my father holding me above an exquisitely carved baptismal font in our new Gothic church was published in the local papers.

My father’s decision and choice to live in the city wasn’t the only thing that set us apart from our neighbors; it was our home that was just as unique. On a street lined with century old sandstone properties, ours was a spacious eight bedroom, three bathroom stone home. The master bedroom led to an intricate stoned patio that stretched out and overlooked a deceivingly quiet neighborhood. The third floor, which had been used as servants quarters years ago were now my older brother’s private apartments. To my friends our home was a sign that my parents were wealthy, which by no means they were. As for me it was merely a magical place that would, as I grew older, excite my imagination. There were many nooks and crannies to hide in, long hallways to run down and strange doors that led to places I never dared to explore. Then there was the winding rear stairwell that led into a foreboding basement where as I child, I mistook the oil heater for remnants of a strange metallic dinosaur.

For the first few years of my life my mother was a homemaker who would sit on the edge of my bed at night and ask me questions about my day or anything that seemed interesting for a child to share. Once done she would turn off my lights and soon the house would be quietly filled with the sound of her playing the guitar or my favorite, Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude, on the piano. I too was creative, but at five years of age things changed, and my mother founded a nonprofit housing corporation to accommodate the poor who could only afford the old dilapidated sandstones that were common in the area. As the youngest and only girl, I was not close with my brothers and I soon found myself alone much of the time. Fortunately my parents provided me with paints and drawing pads and I learned to spend my time well as I lost myself in long hours of drawing and writing stories that were conjured from my vivid imagination. In retrospect, I suppose I learned to cultivate a rich interior life, a place inside of me that was a refuge and that eased the discomfort of feeling alone. By the time I reached my twenties I had lost touch with this part of myself, or maybe I simply failed to nurture it, but there were times when in my twenties I would have done almost anything and nearly did do almost anything to capture that peace of mind that I took for granted as a child.

I was not an athletic youth though I attended dance classes and took part in recitals until my adolescent years. I was petite and had nothing in common with those considered the typical adrenalin seekers. I believe because I had spent so much time being creative and feeling the joy of that creativity that I had become drawn to emotional experiences. Like an adrenalin seeker, I sought experiences that would take my emotions to heights that were beyond the ordinary. Perhaps the stories my parents told me about their time in Africa spurred a desire to transcend mediocrity, but I yearned for the extraordinary though at the time I had no idea how to go about it.

Unfortunately, my first exploration into the uncommon was the journey into a life of drugs. It was no doubt poor judgment conjuring up this escapade, but I did have a plan. Vague as it was; my intentions were to only indulge in a modest intake on the weekends. My youth and lack of monitoring however, allowed my weekend dabbling to silently sneak into my daily life just as my mother’s music had long ago, softly crept into my dreams. Soon the drugs filled me with a thirst so insidious that if my daily stash ran out before bed time, our home was large enough that I could quietly escape out into the dead of the night and search for my quenching without anyone being the wiser. After a few years of this experience and an introduction into harder drugs, I became so miserable and so privately out of control that I began praying for a new emotional state. I merely wanted another extraordinary experience and it just so happens that being free of the drug induced stupor that had become my daily consciousness caused sobriety to become the unusual. It took three years of praying that God give me a chance to see the world with clear unadulterated eyes for my plea to be answered. Yet by the time my appeal came to fruition, I was in such a fog, it took another two weeks to even notice! And seeing with unadulterated eyes- little did I know that clarity was still years away from that first step of attaining sobriety.

Armed with the healing of abstinence and new and sober friends, I was now in search of a new path, and this one would take me on a journey into the heart. The path that I choose was one that dared me to love totally unabashedly with a heart that was full of fire and life. I gave my lover all of me and let him see all of me too! I offered every ounce of tenderness, the depths of my insecurity, the heat of my anger and the fire of my passion. I offered it all without any thought as to where the brake pads were, too. Naturally I broke hearts, shattered egos and found my heart and ego shattered as well. My lovers may have never before experienced the depths of love that I offered, nor the contradictory betrayal that was a result of my scorn. Even I suffered as I saw the promise of such tenderness turn into such devastating contention. My scorn was tamed however, when finally meeting my match, I, at the other end of another’s scorn was at times so emotionally bruised that several times I contemplated death, wondering if life was really worth that amount of pain.

When I picked myself up from that last experience I found myself on yet another journey. This one was vastly different than the previous ones which were emotionally overindulgent. Like a scientist conducting research, I adjusted the parameters and pointed them into the direction of detachment. Still choosing to love big and wanting to keep my heart opened, I decided to add a caveat, and that caveat was to keep my passion, but learn to pull back as soon as the dice rolled snake eyes. This was a pretty tall order from someone who had a heart as deep as mine, but as you will read later on, if you envision a different self