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Treasure Hunting with the Heebie-Jeebies

I learned about playing Jane’s Treasure Hunt with my personal God squad, dubbed Heavenly Team Jane, in Scotland, in February 2002. The next six years of traveling to this fabulous Celtic country acquainted me with the purpose, guidelines, and players. I could be expected to experience the uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and unknown—aka Jane outside her comfort zones. I accepted the rules of engagement and adapted the “go with the flow” attitude to learn more. I wasn’t disappointed.

Extraordinary things happened. I was dazzled, perplexed, and spooked with the heebie-jeebies (the willies). My analytical mind was stumped at times. I did what many of us do when experiencing the woo-woo (supernatural, unexplained)—I kept my lips sealed. Until now. I’ve decided to share the mystical journey I started 20 years ago when I jumped into unchartered territories to reclaim my health.

I love medieval history. You could find my car in the parking lot of any Scottish castle open to visitors that February. Dunvegan Castle, located on the Isle of Skye, was one of the few that was. This 800-year-old stronghold is the ancestral home of the MacLeod clan. I was impressed with the friendly people, the well-kept structure, and the beautiful gardens. I was captivated by their famous fairy flag, a sacred clan banner believed to have magical properties and to be responsible for clan miracles.

There was a sign pointing to a staircase leading to the dungeon. As I put my foot on the first step, I froze. The hairs on my arms stood up (hello, heebie-jeebies). No way was I going down there. I wouldn’t say I ran out of the castle. I will admit to power walking. I don’t know what was down there. Something in my body said “no.” Not “go with caution.” A flat-out no.

Sitting in my car, I was puzzled. My body had my attention. But why? Avoid dungeons? That didn’t feel right. If it could give me loud and clear messages like “here be dragons,” (a medieval term for dangerous, unexplored territory), could it send me other communications—such as how to heal myself of 24/7 headaches and other aches and pains? Maybe my body was not the torturer I believed it to be.

I had a flashback to a 2003 experience in Killin, Scotland. Feeling physical sensations as I held Saint Fillan’s seventh-century healing stones, I pondered if my body was sending me messages (see Chapter 5, “Listening to my Body,” in You Heal You). An immobile Jane, the heebie-jeebies, and a medieval message confirmed my suspicions. Time to learn the language of my body.

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