Indigo Children Quotes

Empaths did not come into this world to be victims, we came to be warriors. Be brave. Stay strong. We need all hands on deck.

We all have the ability to heal ourselves; I know, I have done so... In the morning, know that you are Loved, You Are Love and You Love

You are the hybrids of golden worlds and ages splendidly conceived.

Empaths who feel like old souls that have lived for many lifetimes are known as Indigo Children.

We meant well, she thought, looking up at a sky piled with cumulus clouds turning amethyst and indigo above the clearing. No one was deliberately evil. We all did the best we could. Even so, what a mess we made of everything …

In your life, if you're lucky enough, you are born during a moment in time when the world is ready for the change you're bringing.

I am the Constellation of my own

Come summer rain and winter snow, My love is there wherever you go; Over mountains high and oceans deep, My love will guide you awake or asleep.

That’s the way adults often talk to children. You know they’re not going to listen, but you want to tell them anyway just so you know that you have.

Being born as an Indigo, the most difficult mission is to be strong enough to retain your true "self" while living in human stereotype society. Having to pretend, to act "the same as others," can only make you so deeply unhappy and hurt—feeling as though your "wings" have been cut off.

I just didn’t ever fit to match the crowd, no matter how hard I tried.

I am an alien in my own family; the society where I live considers me as a “nerd” and “strange.

Indigo People pierce the shadowy border between reality and the paranormal…

Have no fear, most of the Indigo children that are struggling are the children that have had a very difficult time trying to live up to societies Indigo myth that developed around them

Once again I realized: the aura of Indigo does not save and does not protect. It can become a magic carpet, turn into seven-league boots or a heavy cross – but it’s not a guardian angel to deflect troubles with its thin hand.

Among typical Indigos, you can find exceptionally open-minded individuals who develop the world to greater levels. Some are respected authorities. Others, sadly, are less successful; unable to withstand the huge responsibility and pressure that come with the precious gift of being special.

The authors we classified as villains, detractors, and bad role models for our children are part of the educational curriculum. Freethinkers and the gutsy ones who pursued love and went against what society preordained are those we admire. The talented that wrote about these adventurous escapades and secret interludes are part of our literary tradition.

No children are so divine that they do not need responsible parenting and be taught proper manners.

The Universe is my real mother; and the Universal Wisdom is my dad.

With so many book projects filling mind and heart, it feels similar to pregnancy. Your own books are like your children—you have to give birth to them, raise them, and do your best to make sure they live happily. You know, you just HAVE TO put into writing all of those thoughts, words and ideas appearing and growing in your head. Otherwise, life will make no sense without it.

She raised her eyes to the heavens and asked God for a miracle to happen to help her escape the troubles at home. Actually, Emily wasn’t sure whom exactly she was talking to, whoever or whatever was there in the sky, and yet she, for some reason, couldn’t remember for sure when and how she discovered this magic way to change the reality, but intuitively, she felt some unexplainable and very strong soul-to-soul connection to whatever warmhearted senior forces she was talking to.

The “idea generators” were normally Emma and Billy, who were full of inspiration for organizing something cool, starting from becoming the local naturalists, and to creating the variety of explicit plans on what they can do on saving the surrounding and the world, performing as much logic as their age allowed them. Such special characteristics often got them into different types of circumstances and troubles… still, same time turning their great time spent together into an unforgettable time.

Another feature distinguishing Emily from the multitude was a kind of special sensitivity that couldn’t be explained from a stereotypical point of view. It was natural for her to make decisions based on so-called sixth feeling instead of logic. Sometimes, she simply felt and knew that it was right to act in a certain way, or that something particular was going to happen in the closest future. It’s interesting that, when she tested decisions made up by intellect and the ones when followed intuition, the latter always won. But how could she explain it to an average person, like those surrounding her in everyday life?

Terry Allen and a larger portion of his 1st Division descended on Oran from the sandstone hills above St. Cloud, a key crossroads east of the city, and the salt lakes farther south. Children in dirty kaftans shouted “Hi yo, Silver!” or flung stiff-arm Fascist salutes to liberators they presumed to be German. Veiled Berber women with indigo tattoos peered through casement shutters, and in cafés men wearing fezzes looked up from their tea glasses long enough to applaud the passing troops, African-style: arms extended, clapping hands hinged at the wrists, no pretense of sincerity. A war correspondent seeking adjectives to describe the locals settled on “scrofulous, unpicturesque, ophthalmic, lamentable.” Exhausted

But everywhere dark shapes were already melting into the night, seeking asylum in the undergrowth and the jungle. Those not caught in the first haul headed for the mountains, stealing canoes and boats to make their way upstream; they were unarmed, almost naked, but determined to return to the way of life of their ancestors, somewhere the whites would not be able reach them. As they passed the outlying plantations, they spread the news amongst their own people, and ten, twenty, more men would abandon their work, deserting the fields of indigo and clover, to swell the numbers of the runaways. And in parties of one hundred, two hundred at a time, followed by their wives carrying children, they moved off into the interior, through thickets and crags, in search of a place they could build a palisade. As they fled they scattered mullein seeds in the streams and rivulets, so that fish would be poisoned and infect the water with their miasma as they putrefied. Beyond this torrent, beyond that mountain clothed in waterfalls, Africa would begin again; they would go back to forgotten tongues, to the rites of circumcision, to the worship of the earlier gods, who had preceded the recent gods of Christianity. The undergrowth closed behind men who were retracing the course of history, to regain an age when Creation had been ruled by the fertile Venus, with her huge breasts and her ample belly, who was worshipped in deep caves where a hand was haltingly tracing its first configurations of the activities of the chase, and of ceremonies dedicated to the stars.

Of course the children’s eyes turned to follow the lion; but the sight they saw was so wonderful that they soon forgot about him. Everywhere the statues were coming to life. The courtyard looked no longer like a museum; it looked more like a zoo. Creatures were running after Aslan and dancing round him till he was almost hidden in the crowd. Instead of all that deadly white the courtyard was now a blaze of colours; glossy chestnut sides of centaurs, indigo horns of unicorns, dazzling plumage of birds, reddy-brown of foxes, dogs and satyrs, yellow stockings and crimson hoods of dwarfs; and the birch-girls in silver, and the beech-girls in fresh, transparent green, and the larch-girls in green so bright that it was almost yellow. And instead of the deadly silence the whole place rang with the sound of happy roarings, brayings, yelpings, barkings, squealings, cooings, neighings, stampings, shouts, hurrahs, songs and laughter.

What are we, people, living for? You know, what I can observe in our life is that all adults are mostly living for the reason to earn funds for being able to feed themselves and raise their kids; and then those kids grow up and living for the goal to feed themselves and their children… So this feels like an everlasting circle, isn’t it? I mean, shouldn’t each of us, humans, have some kinds of more interesting and important sense of life, except for just living for eating and feeding? Isn’t it sensless and way too primitive to live that way? I believe… I feel I am living for some greater reason, than just eating to grow up to feed the kids to grow up… How could it be right or “normal” that Lord, or the Universe, gave a human the precious gift of life for most of us just to live to eat and to raise kids, for them to only eat and grow their children, and nothing more than that? Could that way really be our gift back to God, in appreciation for what we got? Doesn’t such an existence seem useless and worthless without having some missions and goals of a higher level? Whether living like a “normal” appear to be not the most unworthy way to invest the time of your being?

Ever since the 1960s, upon the urging of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton and the all-knowing Dr. Spock,* mothers have been encouraged to read to their children at a very early age. For toddlers and preschoolers who relish this early diet of literacy, libraries become a second home, story hour is never long enough, and parents can’t finish a book without hearing a little voice beg, “Again… again.” For most literary geek girls, it’s at this age that they discover their passion for reading. Whether it’s Harold and the Purple Crayon or Strega Nona, books provide the budding literary she-geek with a glimpse into an all-new world of magic and make-believe—and once she visits, she immediately wants to apply for full-time citizenship. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” —author Joan Didion, in The White Album While some children spend their summers sweating on community sports teams or learning Indigo Girls songs at sleep-away camp, our beloved bookworms are more interested in joining their local library’s summer reading program, completing twenty-five books during vacation, and earning a certificate of recognition signed by their city’s mayor. (Plus, that Sony Bloggie Touch the library is giving away to the person who logs the most hours reading isn’t the worst incentive, either. It’ll come in handy for that book review YouTube channel she’s been thinking about starting!) When school starts back up again, her friends will inevitably show off their tan lines and pony bead friendship bracelets, and our geek girl will politely oblige by oohing and aahing accordingly. But secretly she’s bursting with pride over her summer’s battle scars—the numerous paper cuts she got while feverishly turning the pages of all seven Harry Potter books.

I go to a children’s store in my neighborhood, pink, chirpy, cheerful, and buy the baby a book, The Giving Tree, a dire story about a selfish child sucking the life out of an enabling tree. (That tree has no agency, is what I’ve always thought.) But that is the book you buy a baby. I’m certain Indigo has five copies of it already. I’m too late to be the first at anything. I also buy a stuffed rabbit, its floppy ears draping softly in a sea of pastel tissue paper inside the gift bag. This, too, I know she has multiple versions of, more or less. There is nothing original I can offer this child. I am obligated to make an offering, however, a virgin to the gods, a stuffed animal to a new baby. If I lay this gift on the altar, will you promise me I’ll never get pregnant? I make sure to get gift receipts for both.

ONCE, WE WERE CHILDREN LYING IN BED WITH OUR EYES CLOSED. The overhead lamp still on, turning the insides of our eyelids crimson. We waited to hear them enter our rooms. For the pressure at the foot of our beds, the squeal of the bedsprings as they leaned to brush the hair from our foreheads. When our parents’ footsteps led away, we felt the remainder of their kiss on our faces as the room around us darkened, and our eyelids changed to indigo, the color of sleep. It’s a feeling we’ll have when finally we leave this world. We hope. Gnuse, A. J.. Girl in the Walls (p. 312). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

McCarthy’s movie career wasn’t limited to The Stupids. In 1998, she had a small role in BASEketball and the following year in Diamonds , directed by John Asher, whom she married in September 1999. A few years later, on May 18, 2002, their only child, Evan, was born in Los Angeles. But all was not well. Following a chance encounter with a stranger, McCarthy knew that something was different about her son. “One night I reached over and grabbed my Archangel Oracle tarot cards and shuffled them and pulled out a card,” she wrote. “It was the same card I had picked over and over again the past few months. It was starting to drive me crazy. It said that I was to help teach the Indigo and Crystal children. [Later,] a woman approached Evan and me on the street and said, ‘Your son is a Crystal child,’ and then walked away. I remember thinking, ‘Okay, crazy lady,’ and then I stopped in my tracks. Holy shit, she just said ‘Crystal child,’ like on the tarot card.” McCarthy realized that she was an Indigo adult and Evan a Crystal child. Although Evan would soon be diagnosed with autism, McCarthy took heart in the fact that Crystal children were often mislabeled as autistic. According to Doreen Virtue, author of The Care and Feeding of Indigo Children, “Crystal Children don’t warrant a label of autism! They aren’t autistic, they’re AWE-tistic.

Evening brings the people to their windows, balconies, and doorways. Evening fills the streets with strolling crowds. Evening is an indigo tent for the circus of the city, and families bring children to the entertainments that inspire every corner and crossroad. And evening is a chaperone for young lovers: the last hour of light before the night comes to steal the innocence from their slow promenades. There’s no time, in the day or night, when there are more people on the streets of Bombay than there are in the evening, and no light loves the human face quite so much as the evening light in my Mumbai.

Pike said, “What’s wrong?” “His name isn’t Haines. It’s Hewitt, and he isn’t just your ordinary junkie. He’s on the run from the Russian mob, he used to be in the federal witness protection program, and he doesn’t have a clue that he or those children are in danger.” Pike nodded. “So where’s the surprise?” You never know if he means it.

One of the most interesting laws of planet earth is called the law of mirroring. I'm one of the 144 thousand chosen ones to ascend to paradise and I keep meeting people that are not but arrogantly believe they are. Now, how can I know which one is the reflection and which one is the illusion? They need religion to feel safe while I was born with the knowledge of a thousand galactic civilizations inside of me. They think I accept their religion, whatever it is, not realizing that it's their religion that matches me. I have already surpassed planet Earth. I came here to give these humans a second chance. And yet, the ones closer to get it, think they're the ones offering me a second chance. Isn't this interesting? I think this is fascinating. This planet is truly fascinating. I could say utterly stupid, but I don't want to depress myself about it. I rather call it fascinating. I just wonder if their dogs often think they own humans too, while humans believe they own dogs, as the law of mirroring is present in everything seen down here.

You took him out of school. But you didn't give him something better than school.

The more we open our hearts, the lighter we become and the more we Remember Who We Are. Tristan, S. Boardway; co-author It is time to allow the New Beings to express their true and full potential in order for us to ReAwaken and together we can co-create a world that cares for, nurtures and honors every living thing. Janiece L. Boardway, M.A. co-author No! I will not stand for the illusions of the 3D world any longer. I am a free and independent being. I am empowered and now acting independently, without outside interference. Michael P. Boardway, R.A., co-author

...returning to Russia, where he met his first wife, Ekaterina. She thought Heinrich [Schliemann] was richer than he was, and when she discovered her mistake, she withheld conjugal rights. This had the desired effect, and he cornered the market in indigo, to such effect that Ekaterina bore him three children.

Starseeds are understood to be individuals who are spiritually evolved, intuitive, psychic, and sensitive to the transpiring energies on Earth.

Being a Starseed is a state of being an energetic imprint that is carried from life to life. It is the gift of experiencing spiritual evolution and transcendence while living in physical form.

At this moment in history, humanity is being pushed out of its comfort zones and forced to go through an intense and painful ascension process that will forever shift the planet's consciousness. This means seeing reality in a completely new light and releasing old habits, thought forms, belief systems, paradigms, and conditioned thinking patterns that have kept us locked in bondage for generations. It will also bring about a sense of unity with all of humanity because we will begin to see and know each other in a way that has never been possible.

One of the biggest challenges Starseeds face is living in a physical body that doesn’t vibrate on the same frequency as their soul.

Some worthy mentions are Brad Steiger’s God of Aquarius, Corey Goode and David Wilcock’s The Synchronicity Key, and Jacques Vallee’s Messengers of Deception.

Starseeds tend to be highly sensitive to sound, light, chemicals in food, and other substances. They often also have sensitivities regarding certain types of music or places they don’t feel comfortable being in. Some will have sensitivities regarding food, and others may not be able to handle common allergens like wheat, grains, dairy, or even most meats. Some Starseeds can’t even bear to eat anything from a can or a processed box.

Understanding Your Life through Color, alleges that children born between 1977 and 1994 are the Indigo Children, the latest stage in human evolution. These children were supposedly born with strong survival skills but also possessed advanced communication abilities, demonstrated emotional maturity beyond their years, had profound compassion for other beings, and carried a desire to help others. Often misdiagnosed with ADD or ADHD, these children’s overactive minds often made them misfits in their local schools, and because of their keen ability to be aware of the world around them (which she referred to as psychic sensitivity) and the fact that they went against the norm, they often found it difficult to integrate with society.

The Andromedans are believed to be the offspring of the soul race known as the Lyrans, who fled to Andromeda from Lyra. This migration was a direct result of the Draco-Lyran war, which saw the Lyrans driven from their homeland by the Draconian desire for greed, dominance, and power.

Andromedan Starseeds have a deep sense of freedom, and this is one of their greatest desires. They are confident and secure in who they are and what they do. As a result, they are often happy to express themselves and try new things. They believe in equality of spirit and are highly intolerant of those who abuse their power or seek to dominate others.