fortune to sit at the feet of an illumined soul: Elisabeth Haich is my teacher, the revelations of the Bible as clearly as Elisabeth Haich, and in a manner as. The Wisdom of Tarot - Elisabeth Haich. Home · Documents; The Elisabeth Haich Einweihung PDFDocuments · Elisabeth Haich. Translation of Einweihung. by: Haich, Elisabeth External-identifier: urn:acs6: initiatiohaicrich:pdfbbccebffa6eb
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Results 1 - 30 of 50 Discover Book Depository's huge selection of Elisabeth-Haich books online. Free delivery Elisabeth Haich. Filter your Einweihung. Elisabeth Haich was a Hungarian spiritual teacher and author of several books on spirituality. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version. "Einweihung" von Elisabeth Haich [Archiv] - Wolkenstein-Forum - seit online. mateka . kaz-news.info en kaz-news.info
April , 4. April Vulnerability , humility , softness, and resignation are vital. If you try to hang on to what you believe to be true about yourself, it hurts. In the end, you have to agree to your death and resurrection. Stuart Wilde stuartwilde. The only external power that you can trust is in men who have also found their real inner power. Power it seems is the key fascination in the male soul and in every male archetype.
It does not go away by churchy preaching or cultural poverty. It just takes disguised and different forms and finally comes back to defeat most worthwhile projects or worse, keeps them from ever getting started. It does not go away. Primal cultures understood this to an amazing degree, and they took steps to insure that it would not keep happening and subverting their community.
Father Richard Rohr O. Men and Power , presented by Malespirituality. The young male had to be taught somehow the way of tears. A manager higher than father?
How was that possible? Up to that time I had taken it absolutely as a matter of course that the word 'Father' meant 'the Great Master' over everything. He commanded everyone in the whole country and was responsible for all the treasures of the empire; his word was law; no one would dare speak up against him; 'He' was the only being whom father occasionally asked for advice; or once in a while he would discuss the affairs of the country with 'Him'. But that was something entirely different! If father is over and above all other people, how could he possibly have a manager superior to him?
Now I looked at father with the greatest attention for what was perhaps the first time. And while I looked at him and observed him very thoroughly, it suddenly dawned on me that this person whom I loved very much was not 'my father'.
Ever since I awakened to consciousness in these surroundings, I have become accustomed to the fact that I am here, that this beautiful, strange blonde woman is my mother, and this tall, dark, powerful man is father. Yes, here he is father, but he is not my father! In my home he is not my father; only here where I am now! Actually he is just as strange as the strange, beautiful woman —mother; only gradually have I become accustomed to them.
They are pleasant people, they love me, I am important to them, and by this time I have definitely come to love them. But they are not my mother and my father. I have come to call them 'mother' and 'father' only out of habit! Up to that time I had never thoroughly considered the situation. I accepted things just as they were, as I felt happy with these people.
They gave me security, they enjoyed my presence, and everything I did struck them as most remarkable, charming, and delightful. Under these circumstances why shouldn't I have enjoyed myself in their surroundings? Even with Grete I could sometimes play quite well, whenever she forgot for a moment that she was above me because she was 'three years older' than I was.
Yes, everything was all right this way. Uncle Stefi came often, played beautiful music on our piano, and showed me all kinds of attractive things. He blew soap bubbles for me, and with his pocket knife he made a little rattle out of a nutshell. On another occasion he made me a little pig out of dried prunes and toothpicks, and once he brought me a tin box full of beautiful colours and a brush.
I was, allowed to paint pretty, colourful flowers in a notebook which belonged only to me. This time I didn't even have to share it with Grete!
Aunt Adi was charming with her many jokes and fairy stories. Grandmother too—my mother's mother—was so gentle, so fine and always smiled at me with such a loving expression. I loved her very much. When she sat down at the piano, it was a holiday for me. She delighted me with heavenly music, and I was absolutely enchanted as I listened.
Here I was in complete agreement with my dear, tender Mother: she loved music more than anything else just as I did. My other grandmother was a most interesting lady. She often told me about her many travels in foreign countries, and numerous times she took me with her to the National Museum. There I saw splendid things.
Wonderfully pretty, colourful, giant butterflies which, grandmother told me, lived in dome distant part of the world—strangely enough I knew them well—then a number of gigantic stuffed animals.
At first I was terribly frightened, but grandmother calmed me. I also enjoyed it very much when my whole family showed great surprise and delight at all the things I did as a matter of course, and when our relatives spoke about my 'talents'.
When I was four years old, mother showed me how to 'crochet' with a bent needle. Then I crocheted a little dress for my doll which always sat alone in its little armchair because I didn't know what to do with her.
She was lifeless, and I was only attracted by what was alive. When I was finished with it, the little dress caused such a sensation in the family that I was really amazed. If mother can crochet such beautiful lace, then why is it so remarkable for me to be able to crochet? My colourful flowers I painted in my notebook caused so much enthusiasm in the family that father gave me a little piggy bank, and from then on whenever I had painted a beautiful flower, he dropped a silver coin into my bank.
Oh, that was all so pleasant, so very pleasant But now there came this terrible surprise! At that very moment it became completely clear to me that I was here in this environment, and that I called this here 'home', and yet that I was not at home here. Here I was not in my home!
That was my steadfast, unflinching conviction. If I had had, at that time, my present knowledge and experience in psychology, I would have immediately analysed how I, a child, could get such an idea.
But I was still a child, experiencing everything in a child's direct way, and I was completely convinced that I had been dragged away from my home by force. I naturally did not know where I had come from, because, in the meantime I had forgotten all about it. Only the two people who called me their child!
But I knew that if I were to ask questions, they would only give me once again one of their characteristic 'grown-up answers' that I would not be able to understand.
And once again the end of the story would be, 'wait until you're grown up'. Oh, how I hated that! Wait until I'm grown up? Why did I have to spend all this time in darkness, in ignorance? I wanted to know everything now and not 'someday'!
So I brooded over this question until evening and time for me to go to bed. Then mother came and sat down on the edge of my bed and asked me, 'Why are you so quiet? Why haven't you played with your doll again? And why have you wandered around our whole apartment day-dreaming about something? Tell me what is the matter with you. You can tell me everything, and you can ask me anything you want to. She was delicate, sweet and beautiful.
I often found out that she stood up for me when somebody had criticized me; I could always run to her; with her I always found a safe haven. Now we were together so trustingly, and I believed that I could discuss everything with her. I put my arms around her neck and asked, 'Mother, where did you and father get me?
Where did I come from? Then he takes the little child in his long bill and lays it down beside the woman.
So the little child gets his "earthly parents" and becomes an earthly child. That is not the truth! She just does not want to tell me the truth about how and where she and father found me. I was disappointed and looked into her eyes enquiringly.
Then she told me I should be a good girl and say my prayers after her. A moment later she said good night and left. I was all alone. From now on it became clearer and clearer to me that father and mother were not my true parents and that this country was not my true home. I knew that mother did not know me; I knew that she did not see me. I was a stranger to her, and all these people around me seemed completely strange to me. We just did not understand each other.
When I talked to mother about things that were perfectly obvious to me, she was often so surprised and amazed that she would run to father and tell him about the strange things I was saying. Father too was surprised. I saw that these things were new for both of them, completely strange.
Later they told all my relatives about my remarks and observations, and then they all laughed at me. But I for my part did not find myself the least bit strange; on the contrary the people around me seemed strange, and even though I loved them I felt myself a total stranger among them. Everything seemed too little and restricted and colourless. Way down deep in my subconscious I felt the overpowering conviction that only 'He' could understand me perfectly and I would have been happy to have been living in much larger rooms, much freer and among people who at the very least were similar to myself, This feeling that I was a stranger and alone has never left me all my life long; on the contrary it became clearer and clearer.
I tried to find some kind of contact, but in vain. Mother spoke beautifully about the love of children for each other. I determined to create such a relationship with Grete, but she did not keep my confidences.
She looked down upon me because she was 'three years older' mid when I told her something in strict confidence, she ran to mother right away and told her all my little secrets. Thus all my efforts in my sister's direction were completely one-sided.
Finally I gave up trying to establish a relationship of confidence with her, and we lived side by side and yet apart, like two beings come together from two separate worlds.
Everybody was strange to me Time ran past with seven league boots and soon I was six years old. Then one fine day mother took me to school. I soon found myself among many children, and the feeling that I was alone and strange became even stronger within me. In my family everyone loved me and I loved them too. Love reigned above all, and everything else came afterwards.
That is why even in this environment I felt at home. I had gradually become accustomed to these people. But the school children were completely strange to me.
They understood each other very well, but in their midst I was like a little freak of nature. They were constantly amazed at me and I at them. They laughed at me and that hurt me deeply. They were always talking about all the things they had and showing each other all kinds of things—pens, pencils or erasers—and they all wanted to have something to show that the others didn't have. To me that all seemed terribly boring and ridiculous. I was fascinated by books, fairy tales, music and museums.
The other children's eyes just popped open wide when I talked about these things, and they asked me very strange questions. They played with dolls and balls and hoops, while I played with a prism that made the most beautiful colours in the sunlight, and with a magnet that had been given me by Uncle Toni, my mother's other brother.
That was so mysterious! The magnet attracted all my mother's needles; then her scissors got magnetized, and mother had to hold down all her pins and needles to keep them from jumping over to her scissors Finally I decided that the magnet surely must love the pins and needles the way my mother loved us children. After all, I jumped to throw my arms around her neck just like pins did with the magnet. I found that all so wonderfully interesting! But the other children laughed at me.
I was alone That winter I began to take piano lessons.
Whenever I played the different pieces of music, I had the feeling that somehow or other inside the music there were the very same kinds of shapes and figures as those which Uncle Toni made with cardboard. He called them 'geometrical figures'. I played one piece that just seemed to bounce out tiny little cubes.
Then there was another one that seemed to have little points all over it, and little balls climbed up all these points. Whenever I went out with mother for a walk in the city park, I was always awestruck by the fountain because in its main jet I saw fairies and gnomes who. And I saw that the dancing of the water in the fountain was music too.
I did not hear this music with my ears, no, I saw it. I knew that it was music.
For me that was all perfectly obvious! But the other children at school laughed at me whenever I talked about it, and said that I was 'stupid'. I did not know why.
But the first time I heard other children playing music in our music school, I was simply astonished. The teacher said they were not playing in rhythm. It was just as if their heart were not beating in rhythm. And couldn't they hear when they were playing wrong? Oh, it was awful when they hit the wrong notes—it hurt my ears so much I wanted to scream—and they didn't even notice it! I looked at these children curiously and thought to myself, 'Have they no ears?
How is that possible? Are the other children not like myself? But little by little I was to learn that most children, and most other people, have very different eyes and ears from mine, and that for this reason they regarded me as if I were a freak of nature. And so I was alone—more and more alone. I had no appetite, not even for the best foods, yet mother wanted to persuade me to eat. But when I could not?
My only interest in the soup was to play with the blobs of grease on its surface, stirring them with my spoon and trying to unite the little ones into one big one. First I would get two little ones to merge and then stir in another one and another until there was only one big blob of grease on top of the soup. My parents did not appreciate my efforts, and a number of times father sent me away from the table because I was disobedient, refusing to eat my soup and spinach and turnips, and because I only wanted to play with my food.
When father saw that his punishment left me completely unimpressed and that as soon as he had taken me to my room, I busied myself with the books I loved so dearly, he decided, on the advice of Our doctor, to take our whole family to the seaside for the summer. As soon as our spring examinations were over, we set out on our journey.
We travelled through the night; mother covered us with blankets and saw to it that we were warm and comfortable. I fell asleep, but the strange surroundings woke me well before sunrise. Father and Grete were still sleeping, but mother was awake, and I asked her to let me sit next to the window.
I had heard so often about the beauty of sunrise that I wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to see it for myself.
I sat beside the window, poked my head behind the curtain and looked out. The sky was still quite dark and just beginning to get light, little by little turning a dull grey.
Slowly the sky became quite light and I saw how our train was roaring through all kinds of changing landscapes—houses, trees, and fields with people and horses and cows in them How can it be light when the sun isn't up yet? That was a big surprise for me, but still it was true! Then, when the sky was almost as bright as day, the sun appeared on the horizon But this colour was much more pale—as if diluted—so different from what I had expected. What a disappointment!
Sunrise isn't like this!
Meanwhile the others in our compartment had awakened, and father asked, 'How did you like the sunrise? Now you've had a chance to see it for the first time in your life.
Isn't it beautiful? Sunrise should not be like that! It was boring, it took much too long and was all spoiled because the sky got light much too early It wasn't pretty at all! Sunrise is really very different!
The Wisdom of Tarot - Elisabeth Haich
Quite different! Father listened to me, as he so often did, with patience and close attention. In his beautiful glowing black eyes I saw his interest and his usual amused expression that told me he was making fun of me but still full of love and understanding.
Sunrise is supposed to be different? You're not satisfied with the sunrise? Do you mean to say that you, little upstart, are not satisfied with what nature does and you want to dictate how the sun is supposed to rise? How do you think you know how the sun should rise when you've never in all your life had an opportunity to see a sunrise? Just tell me that! Then I looked at him confidently and said, 'I do not know how I know, and I don't know where I've seen a sunrise before, but I do know that it's not supposed to be like this!
The sun should rise right up out of the dark sky, and all at once everything should turn light and bright It's supposed to be much, much more beautiful, more surprising and more uplifting.
I know I remember? The weather is perfectly clear today, and it just couldn't have been more beautiful and more colourful. But I can't help it, there's nothing I can do about it.
I was angry, not only about the disappointing sunrise, but especially about the fact that father—when I knew exactly and remembered, yes, remembered clearly! Imagination is something quite different, when I think out something in my mind, that is imagination.
But sunrise, the real sunrise, the way it should be— I didn't think that out! That was something which was living in me, engraved deeply in my memory, even more deeply than yesterday and everything that happened then. I was angry indeed!
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I was always angry when I felt helplessly unable to prove something that I knew for sure. I looked defiantly off in the distance until all of a sudden there was a rush for the corridor and father called us, 'The ocean! Children, come here quickly. Will probably read it or parts again at haicu point. This point onwards the book has sequences, descriptions and concepts unlike any other book I have read.
Thanks for telling us about the problem. Books by Elisabeth Haich. This wish is soon granted as she recalls vividly her past life as the daughter of the Pharaoh of Egypt, and the niece of the High Priest Ptahhotep.
Nov 06, Jim Murdoch rated it it was amazing. A lot of chapters are devoted to her haihc as the daughter of the Pharaoh undergoing Initiation into the spiritual truths of reaching her higher self. If not, set it aside for another day, but do read dis one way or another.
Would you haixh to tell us about a lower price? It was described by her followers mentioned in the introductions to her book as visible in her gaze: From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Only Man can have the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh levels of manifestations. Although there is mention of God this is not a religious book. I was pleasantly surprised by how einweeihung I enjoyed it.I found that all so wonderfully interesting!
The fairy tales in her children's newspaper and in her picture books were not nearly as nice, of course, as the stories Aunt Adi told us.
But where and from whom have these 'initiates' received their initiation? Whenever I was absolutely fascinated by something, my mother did not like it. We just did not understand each other. From now on I knew that I lived in a home where the tall, dark, and powerful adult was unconditionally master.
But they are not my mother and my father. Such unshakable peace and calm in the face of death can only come from sure knowledge. Later I heard the name 'rifle'. I run with my last ounce of energy, then suddenly feel a blow, with all the strength that is left in me I cry out, 'Mother!