Guest Blog by Hiro Boga
Were you the kind of kid who daydreamed a lot? I was. Both my kids were too. It’s one of those things we do naturally, as children, because we’re still so connected to ourselves, our souls, and our Source. We haven’t yet lost touch with our true stories.
When I was a child, my daytime life felt like a dream. I did the things that kids do—woke early, climbed trees, played with my friends, read constantly, went to school; did my homework, reluctantly. But all of these felt like a prelude to my real life, which began at night, once I was in bed and drifting into sleep.
My Real Self woke up then. She stretched, and grew to her true size. Her head was in the stars, her arms were wrapped around the galaxies; her feet were planted deep in the belly of the earth.
She knew things my Daytime Self was not supposed to know. She knew the secret names of everything. She knew how to create and play in many different worlds. She knew how to enter them, and where the exits were. She knew the stories behind the stories, and how to make things happen by calling the stories that spoke to her heart.
She knew the natural world too. She knew each blade of grass and unfolding leaf by the pattern it made on her skin.
My Real Self sailed the skies on shining wings, visiting the stars, exploring the many lives she had already created in other dimensions. Every constellation was a map imprinted behind her eyes, on her tongue, in her bones. A map to destinations that were already hers, although they hadn’t appeared in the daytime world as yet.
My Night-time Self knew the galaxies more intimately than I knew the neighbourhood in which I played with my friends after school.
She knew the best places to plant the seeds of future selves; she knew which life was happening in which dimension, and how to summon what she needed.
She knew which seeds would sprout and how their flowers would look, smell, sound and taste.
She knew which paths would lead her to where she wanted to go. She knew who her friends were. She knew the secret places where light turned and turned again in great spirals to spin heaven down to earth.
She was wise, fearless, magical, creative and free.
She was me, and she was you too.
Each of us is born knowing who we are and where we come from. We are born with the knowledge of our true home.
It’s why some children have such a hard time at first, adjusting to life here on earth. They know they’re big, wise, powerful, and whole. And yet, few of the adults around them recognize the truth of their inner being.
In time, we forget the stories we know. We enter the path of incarnation, and we forget that we are linked to a vast wholeness—that we are not, and never have been, alone; small, isolated beings in a great, big Other of a world.
We learn new stories, ones that sing of loss, lack, and limitation. We learn stories about Maybe and Possibly, and Someday and Try. We get patted on the back for working hard, for colouring inside the lines, for sitting still and doing what we’re told.
We lose ourselves in those stories. We lose the ease, flow and freedom that are ours. We lose the knowledge that every story lives somewhere in its secret home. We forget that we know where the stories live, and how to find them.
We forget that the stories need us too, to come alive, to come out and play, to land here on earth.
Until something—a dream; a visit from soul, spirit, Source; a feather dropped at our feet—reminds us that this is not the only story. There are other stories that are just as true. We remember that we can choose the stories that are ours. We can say goodbye to the stories that don’t belong to us.
We can choose which stories to enter, and which ones to exit.
We can shape our stories with our own choices, vision, imagination, heart, skill and love.
Then, we begin, once again, the journey home. We make friends with our stories, the ones that we’ve forgotten. We make friends with ourselves, our world—with our great, shining souls.
The stories that belong to us send out tendrils of light and fragrance to remind us of their presence. Dreams become the path under our feet, and the moon that lights our way. They lead us home—back to that place where we sing our stories into being.
We find ourselves dreaming in the dark. Making friends with our larger selves, making friends with our souls, and the souls of our businesses. Calling forth our stories. The ones we have already lived and the ones that beckon us into our unfolding future.
We enter our stories to discover our own rich and delicious wholeness. To discover who we are, and how we want to live. To choose from the many lives and the infinite possibilities that already exist in other dimensions, and to bring them down to earth.
Business is a playground for those stories. It’s a place where our creative spirits can flourish, nurturing all that is whole within ourselves.
With the souls of our businesses, we help to shape a world of love and wholeness, kindness and generosity. We become the source of the world in which we want to live.
Hiro Boga is a writer, teacher and intuitive business strategist who blends transformative energy technologies, the magic of story, and grounded spiritual wisdom with pragmatic entrepreneurial practices.
Clients have called her “a gifted healer,” “a sacred witness,” and “a blessing,” praising her “illuminating, grounded and specific intuitive insights.”
Hiro’s digital program, How To Rule Your World From The Inside Out: The Art Of Inner Leadership is available at www.hiroboga.com. You can also find her on Twitter @HiroBoga