What to Do When Your Starseeds Bloom
Terry Andrews, www.terryandrews.org
When I first read the word starseed, I think the hair on my head stood on end. Someone had given it a name. And by “it,” I mean a whole compendium of experiences that I had tried for a long time to make sense of. Since 1987, the pieces have been falling into place. And in the last couple of years, the missing pieces are coming more quickly.
When you read a mystery, you get the clue that you need in the first few pages, but then it takes you 200 more pages to hear the whole story. Then at the very end, everything is quickly resolved. That’s what I’m talking about.
When I was three, my starseed family told me they were leaving. There were three of them, and this is one of my earliest memories, looking at them, seeing their light, and watching them go.
My mother found me crying inconsolably for no reason that she could understand. I remember the feeling: you can’t leave me here. But they did. It took me a long time to deal with what I felt was abandonment.
A year ago, I was asked to do a reading for a two-year-old boy who had been diagnosed as borderline autistic. His family wanted input. When I arrived I noticed the boy had a “cloud” of energy above him—it was his own star family, who were staying with him for another year.
This young boy, by the way, wasn’t speaking but he was communicating telepathically like crazy. He wanted juice. He wanted to hear his dad play some music. He wanted less chaos in the house. He wanted people to just be who they were supposed to be—forget the crazy rules. When I saw his star family “cloud,” I suspected that’s how my own must have looked.
After they left, I began to forget. As I grew up I tried to make sense of the rules I couldn’t relate to. At age seven, three star beings came back. They didn’t look the same, and I didn’t know who they were. In fact, I was afraid of them and I told my mother to get them out of my room. She said, “There’s no one in your room.” They came at night and began to share their knowing with me. I started to have ideas that didn’t fit in with everything else I was learning.
One of the things the star beings cautioned me about was talking too much. In other words, I was told to pay attention, to observe, to witness, but not to share what I was learning. The report cards from that time say that I need to talk more. But I honored the guidance I was given.
At this time I began to see people in a new way—as both their whole, true self, and their false persona. I became aware of the fact that many people did not know who they really were. My abilities in school became amplified—but at the same time, my knowing was misunderstood. It didn’t “fit,” so to speak.
One teacher told my mother I was “strange.” Another teacher worked hard to get me to conform, but at the end of the year, I had just one gold star on my “conforming” chart. I had been connected to my inner knowing, and it shone like a beacon.
You can google starseed characteristics and find lists of traits, but the lists are less important than the acceptance of the refined sensitivity and the ability to see and know. There’s a sensitivity that doesn’t tolerate harshness. There’s an awareness that sees more than it shares.
And of late there’s an urgency that wants to say, “wake up everybody, we have work to do and places to go.” The young me was told I had an active imagination. The word comes from the same root as mage. The magi were the ancient magicians. “Imagination,” as it’s called, is one of our inherent starseed tools, capable of interpreting the cosmos that we are a part of.
There was lots of guidance that came in my early twenties, but I chose a path that led me away from this, like many of us have done. It was only in my forties that I opened once again to the guidance. I think I asked something like: How do I get back on track? How do I find out who I really am?
This is what led me back to my galactic roots. I like to talk about divine orchestration. When we get out of the way, we allow our truth to rise up. It rises up and we settle into its familiar contours. We wear this mantel of our truth into the world, like a really great pair of shoes. Then other people say, “I like that, where did you get it?”
My three-year-old self felt abandoned. But I now see not only the necessity of this but the perfection.
In the last few years I have learned a lot. But one of the most important things is this: that while my earth family has evaporated in one way or another, my star family has stayed the course. And I can finally as an adult see the framework that I was given when I was young is providing me with a blueprint for understanding the process we are going through now.
My starseeds are blooming. I am tending the garden. It is not easy to say in a public forum that this is happening. For many years I was a journalist, taught to relay the truth in a succinct and interesting way. Part of me always felt weighted down by the facts. But I see now, the facts were a part of the limited belief system I lived within.
Releasing that limited belief system has opened a whole new world, one in which validation and mutual experience paints the picture of our new and expanding lives.
If your own starseeds are blooming, tune in and listen. Ask for guidance. Follow the intuitive direction. Open to the possibilities. Believe.
I know some are afraid of what they don’t know and what could happen. What could happen, what is happening in every nook and cranny of our world, is what brings me to life and fuels my purpose.