Most of the preceding chapters have focused on techniques to identify and remove the filters that disconnect you from your intuition as a path for healing. Prayer is different. While it can connect you to your intuitive wisdom, that is not its ultimate goal or strength.
Prayer is a call for help and an offering of gratitude. Like many of us, I remember to pray when I am scared, and I forget to pray when I am grateful. But it seems only fair to offer up devotion in times of happiness and peace if you use invocation in times of pain and suffering.
I believe that we are all connected, and I also believe that God exists in all life and all consciousness. Because I know this, I have seen the power of prayer as it answers a request for help, and I have seen the beauty of prayer as it rises up to rejoice in gratitude. Fertility and the creation of life often call on both types of prayer for support and expression.
Prayer is an art in and of itself, and yet the simplest prayer said with intention and honesty can be as powerful as the well-articulated address or speech. A silent prayer can sometimes be the most powerful of all prayers. A song can be a prayer, and so can a poem or a dance. Some are written, passed down through the millennia, and taught to us as children, in temples, churches, and synagogues. Others exist only for a moment before they are carried away in the wind, seeking the audience they requested.
The gradual loss of a recurring day of rest in Judeo-Christianity, known as the Sabbath (which was used for worship, congregation, and prayer), reveals how full and difficult modern life has become—and how challenging it is to incorporate rest and prayer into our lives. While I understand the necessity of prayer today, I often felt embarrassed as a child when my family would pray in public before meals at restaurants. Being identified in the crowd for my spiritual beliefs and practices was scary. My intuitive nature easily picked up on the judgment of those around us who laughed and rolled their eyes. I tried to leave for the restroom or act like I was not paying attention during the prayer, but there was never any condition in which a mealtime prayer could be missed or skipped. Now more than ever, I understand why ritualistic and habitual prayer is important, especially when it comes to saying grace. I am now just fine sticking out in the crowd, especially for my beliefs and spiritual practices. What I didn’t understand as a child was that it never mattered what others thought. Internalizing their commentary was a reflection of my own internal battle between faith and doubt.
Over the years, I have learned to pray in ways that felt meaningful and specific to me. If you grew up praying, you possess a template for how to pray, but you don’t have to follow it. Prayer evolves with people’s needs and desires, and you are free to express your invocation to the universe however you want.
It’s not easy to ask for help, and even more challenging to admit that you might not know what to do next. Prayer is a powerful practice of asking for support, and yet we can be critical of our vulnerability. Self-judgment about prayer is usually residual material from broken-down old beliefs. This also applies to those who did not grow up in a religious or spiritual tradition and never learned how to pray. Just as we forget to ask for help and support from our friends and family, our guides, and our ancestors, we also forget to ask for help from God. We can form attachments to our anxiety and fear. They become friends in chaotic and confusing times, when we grasp on to anything and anyone who can help us feel secure.
Miracles are possible with only one condition: They must be requested. This request is what separates a miracle from all the other tools that you have learned in this book. A miracle is an answer to a prayer, and although God is acting in all moments of life, to catch God’s gaze and attention, we simply need ask. Prayer is the ultimate free-fall exercise of trust—the ultimate offering of what is difficult to say in words alone. Ultimately, prayer is what connects us directly to the universe, and it is also how the universe speaks through us.
What can you leave as a sacrifice at the altar? While there are many traditions of lighting candles or placing incense and fruit as offerings on religious altars, this exercise asks you to leave your anxiety, worry, and grief.
Identify the emotions that are weighing you down and blocking your connection to faith and hope. Write each of these worries and concerns on separate pieces of paper. Perhaps you find yourself unable to release anger, jealousy, or envy. One of the most important mantras in healing is to practice not taking things personally. When you do this, you find effective ways to clear attachment to these negative energies.
As you rekindle your personal relationship to the universe through prayer, ask to be given perspective and insight into specific steps to release this energy. When you are ready to give up the worries and concerns that you have written down, find a sacred space to either burn or bury the paper. As you do so, make a trade with the Divine. Request a miracle in exchange for your offering.
In Chapter 3, you read Lacey’s story of how she conceived after the trauma of failed IVF by creating a lullaby and connecting to her child’s spirit. The creation and practice of song has long been used to unify and connect individuals and groups to the Divine. Some traditions on Earth use song to help bring in the spirit of a child. In certain African tribes, a mother cultivates a lullaby once she feels the call to have a child. She often goes on a vision quest to listen to nature, the spirits of her ancestors, and signs from the heavens. Once she has learned the song of her child, she brings it back to her home and shares it. The song is a prayer of her own hopes to become a mother, but it is also a transmission of her child’s energy. I’ve said before that all mothers are naturally intuitive, but what I really mean is that all mothers are transmitters of universal wisdom.
It’s not easy to describe the desire and longing to have a child. It can be all-consuming. Some of this intensity might be a biological imperative, but most of it, from what I have learned, is an extension of human beings’ need for love and the desire to share this love. Once upon a time on Earth, according to most spiritual traditions, there existed a state of balance and peace. In many traditional creation myths, humans were made in the reflection of God, and given a plentitude of food and shelter. It was only after becoming more curious about the state of existence that things became difficult for us. The choice to want to know more, while not necessarily good for us, is a hallmark of being human. When I work with new patients, they are often heavily prepared with facts, data, cutting-edge research, and blood panels. They are well aware of the intellectual process of getting pregnant and typically unaware of the internal and unseen process that allows pregnancy to happen. But the desire to share love is present, and this element of the fertility treatment is not ruled by the rational mind. It’s ruled by the heart.
We know how to talk to and through the rational mind, but how do you speak to and through the heart? I often use the analogy of writing a poem to describe this. When you sit down to write a poem, you must first connect to the feeling that you are seeking to capture in words. There is a liberty in this that allows you to move beyond the typical rules of language; the grammar and structure of the sentence can be abstract, the words can rhyme (or not), and the length is negotiable. Poetry lives by different rules because poetry is descriptive of something beyond rational thought. Prayer and song, which derive from the heart, are similar.
I describe the act of connecting to the spirit of your child as calling your baby home. When I shared this with my community, my friend Donna Lewis—a successful singer and songwriter by trade—told me that she had a story and a song for me. I soon found myself in Donna’s recording studio, where she played me a song she had recorded several years earlier, “Calling In (Fill Up My Mojo).” Then she began to recount how the song came to life.
“I had a miscarriage,” she confessed. “I was living back in the U.K., and it was a particularly difficult and scary event.” She went on to describe her subsequent grief, sadness, and struggle to heal from the loss. “A healer over there helped me see that I needed to allow the spirit of that child to leave. We went to the ocean and had a ritual to let go.” Soon after, Donna moved to the U.S. full-time and began to consider getting pregnant again. She was well into her 40s at this time, and felt discouraged by doctors who just saw her age and not her overall health and being.
“I started really caring for myself. Filled up my mojo,” she said. “I found a wonderful Eastern medicine practitioner who believed in my body and ability to conceive and have a healthy pregnancy, and I continued to do the spiritual work, as well. I practiced having faith and hope. I wrote this song during that time as an expression of this faith and hope.”
The lyrics to this powerful anthem, just like a prayer, were devotional and filled with longing and desire, as well as joy and courage. As she was writing the song, Donna had scheduled an appointment at the local reproductive fertility clinic—she ended up canceling as she found out she was pregnant. A powerful verse in her song had foreshadowed this pregnancy: “Come on, sing in my dreams, I’m giving up the machines, I know I’m ready, I can really do this.” And she did.
Song shares much in common with prayer. Words and mantras can be repeated in rhythm and harmony to elicit a feeling or state of consciousness. The hymns that people sing in church and temple are often prayers set to music. Sound therapy is an ancient practice that opens and heals blocked energy and emotion in the body while excavating the unconscious. The lullaby itself is designed to assist in the transition from conscious and waking life to the unconscious and dreaming world. I love the use of poetry and song to offer up the anxiety, fear, joy, and intensity of the path to parenthood—especially for those who have difficulty digesting their skepticism about a universal consciousness or spiritual practice.
Many years after the West Texas drive that I described in the beginning of this book, and soon after trying to conceive, I felt the spirit of my daughter enter my body while sitting in one of the most sacred places on Earth. There are a few places, most of which are in nature, that I refer to as my spiritual homes. We all have them, but sometimes we forget to name and recognize their power. They are spaces where we feel most connected to our spirit, to our guides, and to God. It’s easy to pray here because every word and every step feels sacred. Sacré-Coeur is one such place for me.
The cathedral of Sacré-Coeur was built in the late 19th century and is perched atop a long-occupied hill overlooking Paris. It is a place where I travel when I am in need of guidance. Painted on the roof of the cathedral is a large mural dedicated to the sacred heart of Jesus, as well as the saints that protect France, including Mary and Joan of Arc. At the time, this interpretation of Christ was influenced by a new idea of Jesus as a compassionate and all-forgiving force. But this landmark to Christianity was built on a site that had a long history in France. Before becoming a home to bohemians and artists, the French Resistance of World War II was headquartered in the surrounding neighborhood; and long before that, it had been occupied by the Romans. For me, the metaphor of the sacred perched in the center of rebellion and art resonates deeply. And the conscious orchestration of environment and timing contributed to setting the stage to welcome my daughter to the planet.
The sacred space of the body can be prepared for pregnancy through the physical and the spiritual realms. Spending time in sacred spaces, such as temples, churches, forests, or beaches, encourages the body to mirror the energy by which it is surrounded. Spaces that encourage prayer are sacred spaces. One’s birthplace influences many factors of a person’s constitution, as do season and year.
As an example, I was born at West Point Military Academy. My father was finishing his career in the military, and it was one of the last places he was stationed. Although I only lived there the first years of my life, my earliest memories are of walking along stone fences against the backdrop of the Hudson River. West Point is a place that has historically trained warriors and military leaders in American history. The place resonates with who I am, with certain qualities of my spirit, as the past-life therapist described in a previous chapter. Ironically, decades later, after a move from central Texas to New York City, I find myself living very close, as the crow flies, to my West Point. Like a migratory animal, I made my way back home. As I have witnessed my daughter’s personality and spirit bloom, I see the rich tapestry of Sacré-Coeur and Montmartre in her character. She is rebellious, artistic, and expressive while being simultaneously kind and openhearted.
Likewise, in Hawaii there is a tradition of women traveling to specific sites in nature, watched over by ancestor spirits and gods, to give birth. These Hawaiian birth sites are located in several power spots on each island, and they archived generation upon generation of past births before the current hospital model took hold.
My dear friend Lucia Horan, an energetic alchemist and spiritual teacher, gave birth on Maui. “I had to fight fiercely for a natural birth,” she recollected. The birth of her daughter was empowered by Lucia’s lineage of connection and trust in the body and the spirit. “What’s crazy,” Lucia noted, “is that Hawaii has one of the highest C-section rates in the U.S.” How could a culture with such a rich history of birth rites and practices trade it all so quickly for a medicalized birth in a sterile environment? “It reflects the injury to the people’s spirit that happened through colonization,” she continued. “But there is a movement to change this. Sadly, one of the local birthing sites, which was in a luscious valley, was literally turned into a dump. But people are beginning to clean it up and repair it.”
The metaphor is crystal clear. Trauma impacts our physical environment, as well as our mental and psychological environment. But nothing of the spirit can ever truly be lost, just buried and hidden. It waits to be activated and rekindled when the time is right.
We often stack the odds against ourselves, creating reasons why something cannot occur instead of focusing on our powers to manifest and create. We can change this by beginning to look around at our environment, home, and city. Do you live in or frequently visit a place that helps your spirit thrive, or is your environment a reflection of a sadness and melancholy that you embody?
Find a space that you consider holy and sacred, and spend as much time there as possible. If you have been drawn to a sacred space that is in another town, state, or country but are unsure how to get there, I recommend having a conversation with your future self. Envision residing in the place you seek to live. Ask your future self very specific questions as to what you need to do right now to get there, and start to implement these steps. This is also a powerful tool for visualizing your future children and the timeline of their arrival.
The components of consciously entering into parenthood are unique to each individual and couple. Preparation of the body, mind, and spirit looks different for everyone. Paying attention to time, place, season, and environment is a really good start. The process of choosing a name for your baby is also an act of setting sacred space and sending your prayers out to the universe.
When we choose a name for a child, we can look at the past and the ancestors who came before us. We can look at the influence of the season and month, such as summer or the month of April. And we can acknowledge the place, such as Paris, a spot next to a river, a mountain, or the ocean.
The act of choosing a child’s name is an expression of consciousness. A name has to feel right for a person. Just like poetry and prayer, the word has to capture the descriptive feeling that is that person and be an offering between Earth and heaven. To capture the spirit of my daughter, my husband and I chose the name Anna Libertine. Anna means “of God,” and Libertine, “free of morality and law.” She is certainly both.
Acknowledging with words is a form of naming. The use of language to express that which is sacred can be seen in the practice of naming an individual or in describing the places on Earth where we feel most in alignment, at peace and unified with spirit. Some people’s names are received by their parents or a family member through the nonrational mind, sometimes in a dream or a vision. Prayer is similar to both of these practices. Prayer can be simple or complex. It can be a call for help or a deep request when in need. Any time we pray, we enter into a sacred space of connection—not only with the universe but with our own spirits, as well.
Rose had suffered through a long road of unsuccessful fertility treatments. After many rounds of IVF and miscarriage, her medical team made the decision to start looking at the option of a donor egg. Premature ovarian failure can happen at any time, but for Rose, its early onset by age 29 was particularly saddening.
Rose, although complex, is my favorite type of client to assist. Within her story were layers of trauma from the emotional, physical, and spiritual planes. And while she could identify each of these traumas, no one in particular stood out as the root cause of her infertility.
Intense and unexplainable phenomena that occur to us in life can be soul-crushing. In many spiritual traditions, there is an outlet to understand this “randomness” by placing faith in God. While the suffering will continue, the mind can, at the minimum, stop incessantly trying to understand why such events occurred if it accepts this faith in God’s ultimate plan.
Rose was unsure about how to proceed. “I just don’t know what God wants for me,” she said. While a donor egg was a potential path (and, Rose reasoned, “at least it would be my husband’s child”), she was unsure if she was ready to take that step. Rose had grown up in a home in which her father repeatedly cheated on her mother, and each time her mother took him back and forgave him, it was at the expense of her own self-esteem. “My father even had a secret child that I didn’t find out about until I was 17,” she shared. In Rose’s mind, having her own family was supposed to help her heal from the trauma of her own childhood. She was afraid that if she carried another woman’s egg, anger and jealousy would ruin the pregnancy and her relationship. Rose worried using someone else’s genetic material would make her feel inferior, and questioned if she was repeating patterns of the past instead of healing that hurt.
The choice to use a donor egg or sperm is not necessarily an easy one. Many of my clients have had difficulty with the decision and come to me for intuitive counsel. They are almost always surprised when they hear that I am supportive of the use of another person’s genetic material, with certain stipulations. The more involved science is in the conception, the more you need to counterbalance the rational with the spiritual. The story of your child’s conception and the preparation around it must be led by the practice of consciousness and a practice of spirit. After all, any place can serve as a space to practice the sacred, as long as the conditions are correct. The most sacred text can be carried in a brown paper bag, a backpack, or a fine leather suitcase. It’s how you handle the material inside that matters most.
I asked Rose to pray, specifically for guidance on the events of her life and for clarity on how to proceed. I often say that the first God you know is always the God you know best. I knew she had grown up Catholic, and although she was no longer practicing, she still walked along a strong path of faith.
After several months, Rose returned with God’s response: “We are adopting!”
“You are?” I responded with enthusiasm.
She explained, “After I left our last session, I went across the street to the church to pray. I lit a candle and asked God for guidance and promised to listen to what I heard with faith. On the way out, I saw a flyer about volunteer work in Guatemala, and I took a picture and looked up more details when I got home. Honestly, I was so lost, I wanted a break from my own life and drama. So I signed up to volunteer.”
Rose’s husband supported the idea, and they decided they would meet in Costa Rica after her week volunteering. “We never made it to Costa Rica,” she said. “I hadn’t realized that I had signed up to work in an orphanage. We were just meant to help the local diocese with whatever they needed and God sent me to an orphanage—and more importantly, God sent me to my daughter.”
Although Rose had never considered adoption, when she held an orphaned newborn baby girl in the orphanage, she immediately connected and recognized the baby’s story as her own. She called her husband that day and told him to get on the next flight to Guatemala. She told me, “I might still pursue fertility treatments later, but for now, I have found the child God intended us to have. I have no doubt in my heart that everything in my life led up to the moment I walked into that orphanage and met her.”
Until the mid-1960s, when you asked a woman how many children she wanted to have, her answer would most likely be, “God knows.” Ask the same question now, and most people will have very specific numbers, with sex and timing planned far in advance. While all of this can be helpful, as soon as these desires cross into the material world, they can become mere objectives to achieve with a great deal of effort as opposed to possible outcomes we can shepherd in with ease.
Many of my patients, while very spiritual, express feeling alienated by the religious systems they have left behind. It can sometimes be hard for them to rekindle a faith-based practice. In my own life, although my parents are very supportive of my choices and philosophy, there remains a judgment about the way my actions have broken with their religious beliefs. I have felt the pain of not being able to share with my parents my spiritual studies or the miraculous systems of intuitive medicine that I have learned and practiced. It has been difficult for me to understand how people who have such faith and belief in God are incapable or even afraid of systems of healing that deviate from the Western allopathic model. But as my mother recently said, “When we were growing up, the mind was split from the body, and both were split from the spirit.”
To me, compartmentalizing these three aspects of consciousness simply doesn’t work. And so I responded, “How do you show your faith in God when the first place you run when suffering is not the church but the doctor’s office?” That said, I do believe organized religion has been a very powerful tool for teaching the world how to recognize and participate in the sacred. Without it, while we are free to choose and create independently, we run the risk of forgetting to pray.
Part of emotional maturity is learning how to bracket the strong beliefs of others and to see how those beliefs are a part of their projections, and not yours. In fact, I think learning not to take things personally is essential for spiritual liberation, a jewel of wisdom that I learned in the first few years of my daughter’s life. And yet, no matter what, certain relatives and close friends will always have the ability to trigger shame and guilt, especially if they can back up these judgments with religious or social law.
Is there a way to return to a deeper trust in the universe, without blindly and unquestioningly accepting religious mandates?
There are opportunities in each of our life paths, especially in the fertility process, to examine our lives, our actions, and our spirit. The window into self-knowledge and reconnection to faith, hope, and love is essential. During the vulnerable times of our life, when our armor is weakened, when we are forlorn, sick, and in despair, we are often the most honest. The access this honesty provides is a chance to pray and offer up the weight that is too much for one person to carry.
I believe that we will, together, “get back to the garden.” Our children will remember the path there, not by looking at maps and GPS coordinates, but by living a life that reflects the principles of the garden: namely, love for others, compassion, care for the Earth, and appreciation for art and beauty. Their ability to actualize this is directly related to the work you do in your lifetime, both before they are born and after. The tone you set, the song and prayer that resonates through your life, is a part of the harmonization of all life on Earth.
This chapter described the processes of prayer, which is one of the most powerful fertility tools available to you. It reflects the interconnectedness that unifies all of us here on Earth and the heavens. Prayer can deliver magic into your life, but you must ask for help to receive it. This may seem like an obvious practice; however, it is one of the hardest to implement consistently in our lives. When you incorporate prayer into your life, either through routine or ritual, you gain access to a sacred space where you are able to shed some of the weight that you are carrying with you. Most of the time, this excess stress is a byproduct from your rational mind and overthinking, but prayer can powerfully remove this from your heart and mind. Prayer likewise prepares the sacred space of your body for pregnancy. Spending time in cathedrals, temples, and the church of nature will facilitate the practice of prayer, however you wish to engage in it.