The genesis of a name

Lindsay Crow Spirit Medicine – it’s certainly a mouthful. Not what marketers would call “snappy”. But that, I hope to make clear, is beside the point. The marketing I will leave to happy clients. (Plus smoke signals, of course.)

When a man gives up his “day job” to work as a spiritual healer, you’d think he would put more thought into naming his new activity. But that, too, would be beside the point: “thought” has little place in what I do. “Thinking up” a catch-phrase that rolls off the tongue would actually contradict the heart of my work. As far as possible, I try not to think at all when I’m with clients.

Of course, thoughts come all the time – when I’m in a session and especially when I’m not. Usually, though, these thoughts have a detrimental effect on me; they lead me to second guess my intuition when working with a client. In my free time, they undermine my confidence in the path I’ve taken.

I’ve come to think of the mind as a dragon. As in the animated kids film “How to Train a Dragon”, dragons tend to lay waste. It’s apparently in their nature. Their breath is an instrument of devastation. They leave behind scorched earth and hopelessness. When not setting villages ablaze, dragons hoard. They sit atop a pile of treasure that they have stolen from humans.

But, as any child knows, a dragon can be tamed. He can be befriended. His flame can be put to good use – lighting candles, for example – and he can be lulled to sleep when you’ve no need for his fire and flash. Then the treasure – which was originally yours to begin with – can be scooped up and taken home while the dragon puffs dream-filled smoke rings.

So much for scaly metaphors. Dragon or not, the mind is a contrary entity. For many years I took for granted that my brain was the ultimate authority in decision-making, that rationality was a mighty bulwark against the fickleness of the heart and the impetuosity of the gut. Without my mind to weigh, warn, deduce and decline, life was just too darn reckless an undertaking, even for adults.

I was wrong. Like most of my classmates at school and university, and my colleagues at the companies where I have worked, I grossly overestimated the effectiveness and the value of my rational powers. Good for spread sheets. Poor for life decisions. A boon when reading a map. The bane of our planet, which is well on its way to becoming a wasteland of scorched earth.

Then I discovered that what I had hitherto called “life” had other dimensions. Beyond what I can perceive with my senses or grasp with my mind, “life” is actually more bounteous, mystifying and wondrous than we are taught. At the very least, it should be capitalized: Life! Decisions that disregard these other dimensions – the numinous, the spiritual, the energetic – must, by definition, fall short. We have to stop making “life” decisions and start making “Life” decisions.

Which is where “Lindsay”, “Crow” and “Spirit” come in.

“Lindsay” is me, of course. But, as I’ve already explained, not primarily my mind. I can’t say where, exactly, lays the seat of my intuition. Sometimes I think it’s in my fingers! When I think too much, or aimlessly “kill” time on my laptop or mobile, the tips of my index fingers tingle, the skin dries out and the connective tissue beneath the tips hardens (I believe some cells actually die, as if bruised beyond recovery). My fingers tingle in a good way, though, when I am treating a client, or walking in the woods or conversing with a spirit entity. But more about that in a moment.

So “Lindsay” is what I bring to a session: my knowledge, of course, but more importantly my knowing. My intuitive sense of what is right, of what a client needs to do next, of what words must come out of my mouth. Often these are words that are far wiser than I consider myself to be.

Then comes “Crow”. I can’t recall exactly when he appeared. I never had any relationship to crows when I was younger. They simply existed. If anything, crows always seemed slightly menacing with their pitch black eyes that appear bottomless. And then, one day, Crow as spirit appeared and began to bring me messages. He informed me of my father’s death before the telephone call came. He led me to my new home. He followed me on the sidewalk or perched on fence posts, waiting for me to acknowledge the rightness of what he was saying (though he never actually speaks).

Crow is present in every session with clients. He goes and finds aspects of soul a client has lost; he ushers in the spirits of deceased parents and grandparents. He brings me insights and visions from a person’s past. He seems to know everybody! I have never known him to be wrong.

“Spirit” is the third component of my practice name because this is where the healing takes place. The body and the mind follow. Clients may or may not be aware of this. It doesn’t seem to matter. In fact, a client can be totally locked into a rational mind-set – Ghosts? Bah, humbug! – yet still enjoy the benefits of a soul retrieval. (Although he will probably wonder why everything in his life suddenly smells and tastes and looks and feels so much better!)

Finally, my “medicine” is my capacity to channel, focus and apply what “Lindsay”, “Crow” and “Spirit” bring to a session (sometimes my practice seems very crowded!). If I am clear in myself; if I am responsible in dealing with my own unresolved issues; if I cultivate my spiritual life and work for the benefit of Earth, then healing can and does occur. The retrieval of a soul, for example, takes mere seconds or minutes. The assimilation and integration, the adjustment to a new reality within oneself, and to a new reality within the system of family and friends, can take weeks or even months. This is where my work as a counselor begins.

So Lindsay-Crow-Spirit-Medicine, while unwieldy in marketing terms – on a business card, as the name of a website, as the title for a presentation – most accurately encompasses what I do. But most important, Crow told me to use this name. And he’s been right about everything else up till now…

 

 

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