Have You Been Called An Old Soul? Here’s What That Really Means by Sarah Regan

Is it a good thing to be an old soul?

It’s usually a compliment to be referred to as an old soul, as it implies grace and wisdom. But there can be downsides to being mature beyond your years. As Merzon explains, “No one enjoys being a newbie, but in fact, the benefit of being a new soul is that they carry around a lot less karma.”

She adds that old souls come into this life with an agenda to experience and complete karma, while new souls “want to make form out of light,” and “experience what it’s like to be a being in a body.” As such, the new souls’ experience is a bit more lighthearted, where being an old soul can feel heavy. But in addition to that, because the old soul comes to this life with more experience and understanding, they’re able to handle obstacles and challenges with greater clarity.

And going back to Brailsford’s point, it comes down to what the new versus old soul is experiencing in this life. A new soul “wants to be fresh and new and maybe have a more hedonistic lifestyle,” while an old soul “wants to go into the depths and learn.” Old souls may also feel somewhat isolated, as they can see through much of the illusion and separation in modern culture.

11 characteristics of old souls:

1. You have an inquisitive, curious mind.

Old souls very much prioritize truth and wisdom. As such, they often have curious minds about what’s happening in the world and internally “but not in a superficial way,” Brailsford notes. “Whether it’s world events or your relationship with a family member or friend, it’s the idea of being curious about what’s emerging and what one might learn or cultivate through the experience,” she explains.

2. You can see the big picture.

If you’re an old soul, you’re likely able to see beyond appearances, Brailsford says. You’re probably able to let things roll off your back easier, and you’re less likely to be triggered by certain things. “I’m not saying on a day-to-day basis you’re not human and don’t get angry,” she adds, “but overall, you’re able to step back and see the bigger picture, whether immediately or a little later, and have a sense of what it was all about.”

3. You may feel like a bit of an outsider.

According to Merzon, being an old soul can make it difficult to form meaningful connections, at least when you’re young. “If you’re an old soul and are still chronologically young, it might take a while to find your tribe,” she says. And as Brailsford adds, “They might feel like an outlier, and they may initially feel that they’re alone in this.”

4. …but you know your fellow old souls when you meet them.

While it can be difficult to get along with everyone when you’re an old soul, Brailsford is quick to note that in the long run, old souls are actually good at finding their fellow kindred spirits. “A true old soul realizes they can’t be the only one. Old souls are looking out for one another, they’re trying to find one another, so they’re trying to make that connection because they realize there’s a connection to be had.” This is where you see those instantaneous soul connections that run very deep.

5. You feel deeply connected to everything.

Not only do old souls feel deeply connected to God, spirit, the universe—whatever it is they call it—but they also feel that with nature, the people in their lives, and even strangers. “An old soul has a sense of connection to the universe and therefore to other souls,” Brailsford says, adding, “We probably have that connection to everyone, but maybe it doesn’t show up in this lifetime.”

6. You go against the status quo.

Because old souls can see the big picture and beyond many of the basic structures that govern our reality, they like to do things their own way. “Old souls are rebellious,” Brailsford notes. “They don’t just think outside of the box—they intuit that the boxes don’t even exist […] There’s a skepticism, a sense of understanding that everything they’ve been shown isn’t necessarily the case, and they’re going to seek to find their own truth.”

7. You’re wise beyond your years.

From an early age, you may have been told you’re wise beyond your years. Perhaps you’ve always felt you were more mature or understanding than your peers, especially when you were young. As Merzon explains it, “There is a knowing that they have been around the block before. You may recognize an ‘old soul’ even in a newborn. Their spirit’s wisdom is written over their entire body.”

8. You’re not materialistic.

One of those basic structures that we touched on previously would be materialism. Simply put, old souls are not concerned with it. They have a sense that “we’re living in this material world but there’s something more important, and perhaps the things we’ve been taught in school, or by our parents, or society, aren’t necessarily true,” Brailsford says.

9. Your inner world is more important than the outer.

Not to say you don’t care about the outer world, but for old souls, their inner growth, journey, and relationship to themselves and spirit are often of utmost importance. “The soul is inside, and it’s about going within,” Brailsford notes. You probably spend good amounts of time in reflection, deeply pondering your experiences and life lessons.

10. You have a particular gift from the past.

Were you always inclined to the violin for seemingly no reason? Or maybe you have a proclivity for baking, even though you never baked with anyone in your family. “Having a particular gift, in a particular field out of the blue, whether it’s an instrument or career or even place,” Brailsford says, is a sign of an old soul. “There’s this sense of having a knowing about that thing, that you’ve done this before.”

11. You often need to recharge.

And lastly, these deeply contemplative folks often need to “reset their batteries,” so to speak. “They’re probably drawn to meditation and solitude,” Brailsford notes. “It’s not that they don’t enjoy people’s company, but they know there are certain times they have to go within. They’re not living just an external life.”

Read Full Article at: MindBodyGreen.com

Near the end of life, my hospice patient had a ghostly visitor who altered his view of the world by Scott Janssen

For months, as I’ve visited Evan as his hospice social worker, he has been praying to die. In his early 90s, he has been dealing with colorectal cancer for more than four years, and he is flat tired out. As he sees it, the long days of illness have turned his life into a tedious, meaningless dirge with nothing to look forward to other than its end. He’s done, finished. He often talks about killing himself.

On this visit, though, his depression seems to have lifted. He’s engaged and upbeat — and this sudden about-face arouses my suspicions: Has he decided to do it? Is he planning a way out?

“You seem to feel differently today than on other visits,” I say casually. “What’s going on?”

He looks at me cryptically.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks.

It’s not the first time a patient has asked me this. People can have unusual experiences when they reach the end of life: near-death or out-of-body experiences, visitations from spiritual beings, messages delivered in dreams, synchronicities or strange behaviors by animals, birds, even insects.

“There are all kinds of ghosts,” I respond seriously. “What kind are you talking about?”

“You remember me telling you about the war?” he asks.

How could I forget? He’d traced his long-standing depression to his time as a supply officer for a World War II combat hospital. The war, he’d said, had soured him on the idea that anything good could come from humans and left him feeling unsafe and alone.

“I remember.”

“There’s something I left out,” he says. “Something I can’t explain.” He goes on to describe one horrific, ice-cold autumn day: Casualties were coming in nonstop. He and others scrambled to transport blood-soaked men on stretchers from rail cars to triage, where those with a chance were separated from those who were goners.

“I’d been hustling all day. By the time the last train arrived, my back felt broken, and my hands were numb from the cold.”

He grimaces and swallows hard.

“What happened when the last train got there?” I ask softly.

“We were hauling one guy, and my grip on the stretcher slipped.” Tears roll down his face. “When he hit the ground, his intestines oozed out. Steam rose up from them as he died.”

Evan rubs his hands as though they were still cold.

“Later that night I was on my cot crying. Couldn’t stop crying about that poor guy, and all the others I’d seen die. My cot was creaking, I was shaking so hard. I even started getting scared that I was going insane with the pain.”

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“Then I looked up,” he says. “Saw a guy sitting on the end of my cot. He was wearing a World War I uniform, with one of those funny helmets. He was covered in light, like he was glowing in the dark.”

“What was he doing?” I ask.

Evan starts crying and laughing at the same time. “He was looking at me with love. I could feel it. I’d never felt that kind of love before.”

“What was it like to feel that kind of love?”

“I can’t put it in words.” He pauses. “I guess I just felt like I was worth something, like all the pain and cruelty wasn’t what was real.”

“What was real?”

“Knowing that no matter how screwed-up and cruel the world looks, on some level, somehow, we are all loved. We are all connected.”

This turned out to be the first of several paranormal visits. Each time the specter arrived, he’d wordlessly express love and leave Evan with a sense of peace and calm.

“After the war, the visits stopped,” he says. “Years later, I was cleaning out Mom’s stuff after she died, and I found an old photograph. It was the same guy. I looked on the back, and Mom had written the words ‘Uncle Calvin, killed during World War I, 1918.’ ”

We talk some more, then I ask, “What does this have to do with your being in a better mood?”

“He’s back,” he whispers, staring out the window. “Saw him last night on the foot of my bed. He spoke this time.”

“What’d he say?”

“He told me he was here with me. He’s going to help me over the hill when it’s time to go.”

As I’m formulating more questions, Evan surprises me by asking one of his own.

“You ever have something strange happen? Something that tells you that no matter how bad it looks, you’re connected with something bigger, and it’s going to be okay?”

A memory flashes into my mind. It was 35 years ago. It was after midnight, and I was asleep in a graduate-student apartment at Syracuse University. A siren’s blare woke me, so loud it sounded like it was inside the room. Adrenaline pumping, heart pounding like a hammer, I sat up and wondered what had happened. Was it a dream?

From outside, I distinctly heard what sounded like a two-man stretcher crew talking.

“Bring it here quick,” one guy told the other. I heard a gurney being rolled across asphalt.

I went to the window and pulled back the curtain, certain there was trouble outside.

The night was silent. Nothing was stirring in the parking lot. No one was there.

Just before daybreak, Dad called to tell me that just a few hours earlier, my uncle Eddie had been killed in an automobile collision.

That was a tough day. As night fell once more, questions filled my head: Why did this happen? What was he experiencing when it ended? Was he scared?

On the kitchen table sat a beat-up radio; some kind of malfunction occasionally caused it to turn off or on for no apparent reason. As my questions swirled, the radio turned on, and I heard the opening chords of the Beatles’ song “Let It Be.”

Not being a fan, I’d never listened closely to the song before — but this time, I did. The music and words filled me with an almost otherworldly sense of peace and comfort. The song ended. Shortly after, the radio cut off.

For years, I tried to explain away those events. It must have been a dream, I told myself. Or some kind of fabricated “memory” to fool myself into thinking that uncle Eddie and I were connected in that moment. As for the radio, it was nothing but a random coincidence. Any other conclusion is just wishful thinking.

Inside, though, a part of me knew it was real.

After nearly 30 years as a hospice social worker, I’m certain of it. And I have patients like Evan to thank: dying patients who have convinced me that the world we inhabit is lovingly mysterious and eager to support us, especially during times of disorientation and crisis. It even sends messages of love and reassurance now and then when we’re in pain.

I return to the present. Evan is looking at me, waiting for an answer. I feel grateful that he’s pulled up these memories. Outside, a flock of crows takes off in unison from the branches of an ancient oak.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I guess I have.”

Scott Janssen is a clinical social worker with University of North Carolina Healthcare Hospice. This article originally appeared on Pulse — Voices From the Heart of Medicine, which publishes personal accounts of illness and healing.

Article Source – WashingtonPost.com

How Energetic Imbalance Manifest in the Body by Calleen Wilder

I found this so interesting, and so pertinent. I think the corrections are equally simple.

If you sense you have an:

Air Imbalance – Breathe deeply, in through the nose, hold a minute, release slowly through slightly parted lips. Repeat a few times. Honestly, you’ll feel yourself begin to relax and feel lighter. Also, you could simply go outside and take deep breaths there.

Also notice if you’re shallow breathing (chest breathing with no movement from the stomach) or maybe even holding your breath. We hold our breath so often. It’s a defense, nerve, worry posture. If so, deep breaths will do wonders.

Water Imbalance – Go soak in a warm tub with Epsom Salts and Lavender Oil. Or, go to the beach or pool when weather permits.

Also, “feel” your feelings. I do this by getting quiet, as I lay down, and then turn my focus towards solar plexus (where your ribs meet). I keep the focus there so the energy can begin to accumulate. It won’t be long before you’ll begin to “feel” something… could be sad, mad, frustrated, inhibited, whatever… but whatever it is, feel it all the way through. Often this is best followed up by expressing it somehow… you can cry, scream, punch a pillow, whatever… but express it in order to get the blockage out of you. In doing so you allow the emotional stream to open up in order it can begin flowing again.

Fire Imbalance – Go take charge somewhere in your life. Make a stand (provided, of course, it doesn’t cost you your job, your relationship (unnecessarily), or your life… definitely not that (lol). But say what you mean.

You could also take the lead on a project. Maybe you could simple just hold a boundary. Then, state what’s bugging you without backing down. You don’t have to yell and scream it out (unless you really want to), but definitely state it and hold to your statement until someone decides to help you, apologize, or just plain shut up. In the end, “do you” openly, unabashedly, and unashamedly. It’s probably long overdue if the Fire has gone out (so to speak).

Earth Imbalance – When I’m super stressed nothing works better for me than placing my hands in some soil. Sometimes, I even prefer the mud. I imagine that’s a water and earth imbalance. Then I picture the stress leaving out through my hands while the Earth absorbs and transforms it. I also can often “feel” the Earth recharging me with new, powerful, and potent energy. Almost like sending it into me through my hands. This is my “go to”.

BUT you could also plant a tree, a flower, or even an intention (write something down and bury it, particularly something you want to overcome or put behind you).

Even easier, you may elect to simply stomp your feet to “ground”.

OR… visualize a long chord coming out of your body (for me it’s usually near the tailbone) and I see it going down into the Earth and wrapping around a pole (in my mind) in the center of the Earth. This is super simple and brings that grounded Earth energy, along with the accompanying revitalization, we all need from time-to-time from Mother Earth.

Anyway, hope this helps. Calleen