You Invited Me to Dinner

A Message from the Light Within

Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash

One day you invited me to come for dinner, to share nourishment in the house where you live.

I have seen this house before because it was the house where your parents lived, and your grandparents and your great-grandparents and their parents, and now it is your house before the world. 

I arrived at your house and as you invited me to come inside, you were very proud. You showed me the beautiful paint you had put on the walls, while you complained about your neighbours. You showed me the designer furniture and the kitchen equipment while you grumbled about your job. You showed me the pictures you had carefully chosen to hang in frames, everyone smiling, handsome and young, while you told me stories of your frustration and unhappiness.

You told me how hard you had worked to make your house beautiful, and how tired and lonely you are, and I could see how carefully it was done.

Photo by D Sharon Pruitt

I knew your father, just as I know you, and I asked you, that belt with which your father used to hit you with when he was angry, the same one that your grandfather used on him, where is that belt? And you said, oh that is in the basement. 

I knew your mother too, she who could not stand up straight and tall, just like her mother could not stand up before her, and how she had spent her life bent over the stove, and then collapsed in a chair, and I said, where is that chair? And you said, oh that is in the basement. 

I remembered how your father had made you run many miles until you wept, so you could be the fastest child in your school, and I asked you where did you put those running shoes and you said, oh those are in the basement. 

And I remembered how your mother had hidden your kite so you could not fly it high during a storm, because she wanted you to be safe and sitting curled up in a chair beside her, and I asked you where is that kite now, and you said, oh that is in the basement too. 

I reminded you of how your childhood sweetheart had written you a letter that broke your heart and I asked you where was that letter and you said that also is in the basement, along with all the books you have never read, along with all the journeys you did not take, along with all the costumes of all the creatures of which you have ever been afraid; they are all in the basement. They are all in one room, and in the other rooms there are more piles of memories and boxes full of all the painful pieces of all the lives that you have ever lived, and they are heaped high upon one another, becoming heavier year by year, covered in grime, growing mould, and infested with vermin and insects which eat away at the foundation of your house.  Your home.

Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

But look you said, look at the beautiful carpet I have on my floor. You would never know that underneath it is a trap door, and you would never know that beneath that trap door lie all the things I have been unable to release in this lifetime, and in the many, many lifetimes before.

And I said, the paint and the furniture and the pictures are all very pretty, but take a deep breath and what do you feel? Inhale and what scent enters your being? 

You had not breathed deeply in a very long time, but for a moment you were brave, so very brave, and you opened your grieving lungs and said yes, I smell it too. It is the scent of my undigested past and now I recognize how it has been everywhere in my house, marking every room, every curtain, every pillow upon which I have slept. 

But I do not go down to my basement, you said. I don’t like it there and I don’t like how it makes me feel. I prefer to focus upon the beautiful things I have bought. I believe if I just think hard enough about how pretty I want my house to be, if I just pray hard enough to all my gods, it will be so. And if I ever catch that scent of a dark truth in one of my rooms, I eat something sweet or I drink something strong or I turn on a device that tells me a story so I don’t have to think about my own stories anymore.

I have found teachers, you said, who tell me to stay upstairs, and if I do so, the basement will go away.

You said, I cannot go down there. I have dreamed about what lives there, I have heard voices in the night, and a part of me remembers but I cannot go down there alone. 

Photo by I.am_nah on Unsplash

And so I took your hand and said, this is why you have invited me to come to your house. This is why you are asked to remember me, as I have remembered you.

No one is meant to do this alone. 

Then, with your permission, I called upon each one of your ancestors and guides, the deep ones, the brave ones, the ones who are true. And they came to your house, and together we rolled back that carpet and together we lifted that trap door and together we held you in loving arms as we raised up the heaps of filth and the boxes, the shame and the memories and the denial and the fear. And the anger and the guilt, the blame and the hopelessness and the helplessness rose up, the genie out of the bottle, the shadow out into the sun.

Together we brought all that was hidden out into the burning, the purifying light, the light that had lived within you all along.

Together we held you as you cried and you raged, for you must cry and you must rage, as the light dissolved the Shadow piece by piece, frequency by frequency, memory by memory until truly, finally, every corner of this house finally became yours. It was not the work of a moment. It was the unfolding of many lifetimes, the culmination of the journey of the soul.

You smudged and blessed your house, now inviting the blessings of your ancestors, all those who had been strong enough to live the pain and the shame of their woundings and share them with you as teachings. You fell down upon your knees and thanked them for the gift of the opportunity they had given to you for your freedom, a greater freedom than anyone in your lineage before you has ever known. You were grateful for every moment. You forgave yourself every experience. You made space in your house for the authentic presence of trust and love, a house now ready to join in celebration with other truthful souls. 

You were finally, truly humble, for the very first time, and this was your state of Grace.

I say to any one of you, my beloveds, if you invite me to your house I will not lie to you. I will not deny you this. I will not accept that you are defined only by the paint on your walls and the lies on your lips. 

I will acknowledge that you are the expression of your ancestors and that everything you have lived in your life has been purposeful, even your greatest suffering, especially your greatest suffering and your greatest fears. 

I will not limit you to a life in denial, bravado and pretend. I will remind you in every way that is within my power, that you deserve to know the purposeful truth, and in so doing liberate yourself from the illusions which have driven your days. 

But know that I am always and only a guest in your house. The house is yours and you are the one who must choose how you live, how you breathe and what you leave to your children’s children when you die. If your choice is to remain as you have been, to go forward in your life without the willingness to witness your whole truth, I love you, I understand you and I let you be. For each Soul must choose and each Soul must gather with others who have chosen too. 

For those souls who are willing to tell the truth to the light, who are ready to trust in the gifts given to them by their soul family, their fellow travellers, these are the ones who will lead the way as we all walk into the new world.

The days of separation and denial are done. 

Photo by Mor Shani on Unsplash

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Dear Reader, this is the story of our karmic liberation, and the possibility which awaits each one of us.

The modality I offer, The Kore Process ,and its parent modality, Master Alignment, have been my way for twenty five years to educate and expand my own heart and soul, and to serve the awakening of the light within each one of us in times of global and collective transformation.

Each year the Kore program ripens and prepares to move into new forms, ever evolving as we all must. We currently have spaces available to those who feel called to join us in this work.

Please write to me.

Time is Now.

much love,
Adi