Priestess

I saw a petite, slender woman clad in a deep emerald green velvet cloak. The hood of her cloak was large and hid her face. Tied at her waist was a golden cord with golden tassels. She walked with confidence, grace and surety. Her pace was not too fast, not too slow.

I heard she was “amassing her fiend*” by finding/collecting people, crystals, small bottles filled with healing potions/herbs/animal parts, etc. This woman had very carefully thought out her selections. I could sense she was very, very powerful and would not be harmed by man or beast as she moved about on her journey.

As I was describing this vision to my client, I saw a pair of large, ice blue eyes float into my intuitive vision. No face, just eyes. I knew they were hers. At that moment I heard, “Priestess.”  My physical eyes widened, I inhaled a startled breath and I sputtered, “Lisa! Oh my GOD! YOU! Lisa! This person is a Priestess! She was/is YOU!”

Lisa, my sweet, spiritual neophyte (bucket list word!) who is gently opening and growing her intuitive self in this lifetime, widened her beautiful hazel green eyes. She swept her arm up over her head and, using her elbow, rose slightly from the Reiki table. She excitedly said, “That’s what the gal from Canada JUST told me! She said I was a Celtic Priestess!”

As a side note, I wasn’t sure if this Priestess was Celtic or not, but later, in USBank’s drive through, I was thinking about this and the word “Druid” popped into my head. Druid? Isn’t that a phone? Since USBank’s drive through is routinely excruciatingly slow, I immediately googled it. Wouldn’t ‘cha know, there IS such a thing as Celtic/Druid Priestess. Win for Psychic Canada Girl and win for Intuitive USA Girl!

I focused my attention on the Priestess, again.  She spoke to me without physically speaking.  As she extended a flawless, well-manicured and youthful hand towards me, she said, “I will help you heal.” In my head, I looked around to see if she was talking to me. It appeared she was. I started to say, “I don’t need healing” but quickly changed my tune and said, “Uhhh. Ok. Sure. Thank you.”  Who am I to question a mega-powerful Priestess from the past who wants to help me heal.

I mentally reached out to take her hand, but it wasn’t my hand that I saw. It was the large, gnarled, big-boned hand of an ancient crone. As our hands connected, I saw the hand and the arm of the crone begin to shimmer. It was as if her skin had become a thousand flesh-colored butterflies and they were all lifting off at once. The process began at her fingers, moved to her hand, wrist and up her arm.  I could hear the audible noise of an atomic clock resetting itself after its battery had been replaced. As I watched the butterflies rise and disappear, I refocused my eyes on the arm. It had morphed into a more youthful hand and arm. It was also much more feminine in size and had no hint of being gnarled or aged.

I looked up at the face of the hand/arm and it was either a completely different woman or it was the crone in her late 50’s. The energy of this woman and that of the crone was different as was their physical bone structure. This woman had very short, coarse, thick, badly cut dark black hair. Her face was smudged with dirt or ash. Her clothes were barely rags. They were moth eaten and way too big for her emaciated frame.  The clothing was also a different style, or era, than the crones.

No sooner had I taken in this visage when the butterflies started fluttering their wings again. They lifted off and I watched as the emaciated woman with the thick black hair dissolved into a young maiden. She was wearing a blue hooded cloak, which was tied with a delicate bow at her throat. Her head was ensconced within the hood but some of her light brown hair cascaded out of the hood where it softly curled around her neck and shoulders.  Her cheeks were pink with the flush of youth; her eyes were blue and alive. Her smile was captivating and innocent and her face was unlined. She was lovely.  She, too, carried different energy than the others.

That is where the Priestess and my interaction ended. I’m still unsure if the women were me at different times during my lives or if they were someone else. It could be that she healed some past-life mumbo jumbo so that I’ll be free of it in this lifetime. Interestingly enough, I had recently asked my Guides (The Guys) to help me with just that.

As I’m explaining this to Lisa, it hits me that she doesn’t have a clue as to her simmering intuitive/healing power in this lifetime. I want to bow before her and she doesn’t have a clue as to her greatness, her immense and unending power. The energy they possess is like Niagara Falls. It is powerful, magnificent, commanding and must be respected. Niagara Falls has changed the Earth’s landscape just as the Priestess/Lisa have (will) changed the spiritual one.

(No pressure, Lisa. HAHAHAHA! Seriously. Don’t even sweat it. You’ve got this!)

* A “Fiend” per Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, 1975, is described as, “A person remarkably clever at something: Wizard.”

 

Unloveable

As a child, this petite freckle-nosed boy with unevenly cut bangs, cried at the supper table one night because he wanted to move back to his old house. He begged his mom, tears streaming down his face, to be able to do so. His mom, who had recently remarried, moved her children into a new home and now his older brother and he had separate bedrooms. This sensitive boy was crying because he wanted to be near his brother.

His mom tirelessly worked two jobs to provide food, clothing and shelter for her two growing boys. Child support wasn’t enforced back then and his dad chose not to pay the measly court ordered amount of $125 a month for both him and his brother. She was a waitress who had a quick smile and even quicker wit. Customers would come to the restaurant just for her. But each night, after working long shifts, she would go home, put her feet up and spread her tip money out on the kitchen table. She would unerringly count it as each penny was precious and needed. Sometimes the sensitive boy watched her openly and sometimes from a hiding spot.

They were all saving for a trip to Disney World. She would put a few cents in the jar as would the boys.  The sensitive child and his brother would do odd jobs so they could put money into the jar. As the vacation fund grew, so did the eight year old’s excitement.

One day, upon returning home from grade school, all the money in the jar was gone. Practicality had taken over and the money was needed for unfrivolous bills.  The sensitive boy felt emotionally crushed and burst into tears. Even though it was promised by a mother who was caught between a rock and a hard place, the trip to Disney World never materialized.

Years came and went. Step-fathers came and went and as this sensitive boy grew into adolescence, he began feeling abandoned by those he unconditionally loved. His biological dad was long out of the picture and his step-dads, some of whom disappeared without a word never to be heard from again, left this boy with unanswered questions, confusion and sadness. He learned not to get attached to them because sometimes they didn’t stick around long.

He often felt unseen, invaluable and that he wasn’t good enough, loveable enough.  He started feeling as if his jock of an older brother got the lion’s share of his mother’s love and that his older brother could do no wrong in her eyes.

As this adolescent grew into a young adult, he started acting out. He would use his fists to settle arguments…or just because he could. He would physically and verbally spar with his older brother. He would seek out women in order to soothe the deep “I’m unloveable” wound that was growing inside of him. Each time he won a fist fight, obtained a difficult award, broke an athletic record, brought more money in than his brother or conquered an otherwise unconquerable sexual conquest, he would mentally raise his middle finger towards his mom in an “Aha! I’ll show YOU I’m loveable” way.

This wound grew and grew. His mom was busy working to make ends meet and to provide shelter for her boys. But the sensitive boy would inwardly cry when his mother didn’t attend his wrestling tournaments but attended his brother’s sporting events. His heart broke into a thousand pieces when she was unable or unwilling to attend his coveted Senior Parent’s Night for wrestling. He wanted her there so badly. His eyes searched the crowd for her constantly, but she was not there.

This hardened the sensitive boy’s heart. He joined the Army and did two tours overseas. He saw things, and was asked to do things – IN THE NAME OF HIS COUNTRY – that no 18 year old…no person of ANY age…should ever, EVER do.

His work ethic was strong and the Army liked his ‘can do’ attitude. He quickly rose through the military ranks which meant more responsibility and more emotional collateral damage. In the end, this Eagle Scout became an Army Ranger, the elite of the elite.

This boy, the boy who desperately wanted his mother’s approval and love, was working hard (whether he knew it or not) to prove he was loveable and worthy. What he may not have realized is that his mom had taught him the value of hard work and a penny earned. He strove to be the best of the best. He strove to learn something about everything. He was an insatiable reader and often felt he needed to prove himself again and again. Everything he touched he gave his all. If he didn’t know the answer, he’d research it. If he didn’t know how to perform a task, he’d learn with each failure. He excelled.

While he was a rock star at mastering physical tasks, he was often a failure at emotional tasks. “Avoidance” could have been his middle name. Perhaps he was never taught how to talk through conflicts. Perhaps he was taught to use passive-aggressive abuse to his advantage.  Perhaps he felt he needed to yell and draw upon anger in order to show his worth.

When it came to matters of the heart, this sweet little boy with the sun-kissed nose often failed. He was afraid to get emotionally close to the opposite sex. He sometimes used women as though they were objects. He often exploited them and once he got what he wanted, he dropped them like a hot potato. He was physically fit, devilishly handsome, had a disarming smile and had learned that flirting and nice words often got him what he wanted. He had found a surrogate way to get (his mother’s) attention and love.

With a failed marriage under his belt, he was serial dating once again. His relationship with both his mother and his brother was rocky at best. His mom said he changed once he came back from the war. His brother said he would always love him but didn’t always like him. He set out to avoid anything emotional at all costs. When things got heavy emotionally in his relationships, he tapped out. He did this until he met a woman who was different from all the rest. This woman saw his childhood pain and his beauty even if he didn’t.

She was tackling her own demons but with his help, she overcame a few of them so she could help him with his. And while she tried and tried to get him to see that he WAS loveable and WAS worthy, he never believed it. Not once. Not in his brain and not in his ravaged heart.

As his relationship grew and thrived with this woman, his relationship with his mother and brother was also back on track.  They were all talking again, albeit guardedly but the peace didn’t last long. His brother was the first to excommunicate him. This sensitive boy – now well into his adult years – took that to mean he truly WASN’T worthy. His own brother; one that he idolized and often tried to best academically and physically, the one person who was in the proverbial childhood trenches with him, had effectively passive-aggressively cast him out.  There was no talking about it, there was no closure; just a symbolical slamming of a door that left this sensitive boy feeling as if he truly was not loveable.

His on-again/off-again relationship with his mother was shaky. She often overstepped boundaries and imposed her will upon her youngest son. She was stubborn, he was stubborn. She was gregarious, he was gregarious.  He was protective, she was protective.

The woman that this sensitive boy married was unsure of her new mother-in-law. She, the mother-in-law, was larger than life, had a HUGE personality and appeared to others as the belle of the ball. But inside, inside of her, something was different; off. The wife sensed it; intuited it. Nobody else saw it, which made her question herself but the wife trusted her gut and was weary. She watched her mother-in-law through spiritually squinted eyes.  You see, she, the wife, was protective of her husband, too.

Months passed with colorful commentary and family suppers; then something abruptly changed. First it was his brother, his beloved larger-than-life brother, who had an angry exchange with the sensitive boy and then cut off all ties with him. This left the sensitive boy angry and resentful for he was learning the value of talking through misunderstandings and miscommunications. On the heels of his big brother disowning him, his mother broke off all contact with the sensitive boy and his small family.

He tried and tried to speak with her. He would invite her to his family gatherings, daughter’s birthday parties. He would leave pleading messages with her on her voice mail to call him so they could work through this. He stopped by her home but she wouldn’t answer the door. He felt confused; he didn’t understand what he had done that was so heinous that his mother would treat him, his wife and their toddler daughter this way.

Months passed and he tried to reach out to his mother again. He left her numerous voice mails, each time asking her to tell him what happened so he could work through it. Each plea for a return phone call was left unanswered. As a final ultimatum, he told her this would be his last phone call to her; he would leave her be. He told her again he didn’t know what he had done so he couldn’t fix it. He asked for her to call him so they could resolve this. He received silence.

This sensitive boy who once cried because he missed the safety of sharing a bedroom with his older brother, was learning first hand that passive-aggressive behavior IS abusive.  He started on a downward spiral. You see he, once again, believed he was unloveable and so he started to do things to push his wife away. He felt it would be easier if she called it quits, that way he wouldn’t have to emotionally deal with any of this. His wife, his Other, was tenacious and graceful and forgiving in ways she didn’t even know she possessed. He loved her more because of this and possibly hated her a little, too.

She wasn’t going to let him slide. She believed in him. She saw his beauty. She had a (spiritual) job to do and that was to help him heal and grow. She still saw him as larger than life, even when he saw himself as unworthy and unloveable. She had loved him forever; he was her brother in a past life and in that past life he was used to running away from his problems. He was a spoiled rich boy who loved the ladies but would never commit. She was the older sister who had the family’s estate and a reputation to take care of.

She would often watch him though a thick paned glass window galloping away on a beautifully manicured brown steed. He was usually in such a hurry to get to a party or his latest tryst that he would flash her a smile and wave to her as he was attempting to put on his fluttering coattails.

He was rash and impetuous. He did not have the responsibilities she did nor did he want them. She would often simultaneously envy him for his freedom from protocol and from his life station and bemoan his impulsiveness and rakishly flirtatious manner. She knew her rapscallion brother would cause yet another scandal and she, the calm, level-headed one, would be left to clean it up.

Back in the now, life moved on. Unlike the past, the sensitive boy kept a place in his heart open for both his mother and his brother. He outwardly and vocally harbored great animosity for his brother as well, they’re brothers and brothers fight but work things out, right?  His mother though, that was a much, much tougher and deeper wound.

One day, his wife intuited that his mother was again sick; the cancer had returned. She told her husband but was quick to say it was only a sense. Weeks turned into months and still he did not hear anything from his mother or about her. Then, one day, his wife happened to be posting a message on her little used personal Facebook page. A post from one of her husband’s beloved cousins popped into view and stated that her aunt had passed. She did not post a name, just that her auntie was no longer in pain.  The wife’s eyes widened as if she needed to see the words more clearly. She knew immediately this was the sensitive boy’s mom who had died.

The wife contacted the unloveable boy and told him what she felt. He reached out to his beloved cousin and she opted to lie to him. She told him it was an aunt of her husband’s that died. She later told this boy that she lied at the explicit request of her dying aunt, his mom.

Two days later, when the unloveable boy was out of town, his wife read in the newspaper what she already knew was true in her heart; his mother had died. She was now forced to deliver the news that his trusted cousin had lied to him and that his mother had indeed passed away.

Later that day, the boy’s wife was blindly struck with an intuitive hit that changed her perception of his mother and brother’s behavior. Prior to this, she had been ranting and railing. She had been shaking her fist and loudly swearing at the departed. She had been crying for the hurting child inside of her husband’s chest. But this! Oh my GAWD, THIS! This information was so magnanimous, so amazing, so perception-altering that she could barely contain her excitement and wonderment.

In a world far away but closer than you think, a pact was made. Before any of them were even thoughts on the horizon, a pact was forged where the youngest son begged his older brother to help him overcome avoidance and self-worth issues. The older brother was all game. He was thrilled his little brother had asked him to help with such a monumental task. He felt honored and humbled. Then the little brother turned to his soon-to-be mother. He said to her, “If my brother fails or if I don’t learn to deal with avoidance, I need you to step in. I need you to help me overcome. Will you do this? CAN you do this for me? Please?” The mother, knowing it was her son’s spiritual growth at stake and as her heart burst with unconditional love, unhesitatingly said, “Yes, I will. You can count on me.”  Then she questioned him, “Are you sure you want me to do this?” And the little boy quickly answered with a large smile, “YES! Oh yes!”

All the parties involved were overjoyed that the sensitive boy was going to tackle avoidance and be given a chance to believe he was loveable.  They all felt as if they’d won the lottery by being able to help him accomplish this.  True to the astral pact, brother and mother (and a few others) physically and emotionally played their parts without fault. The parts everyone played were Oscar worthy. Do not doubt that they did so because his (spiritual) life was on the line. There was no room for error and no room for failure on their part. In it to win it.

This sensitive boy who, for his entire lifetime, yearned for his mother’s acceptance, approval and love now feels betrayed by his own family. Not one of them reached out to him. Not one of them told him his mother was ill. Not one of them told him she had died. He doesn’t understand why his mom hated him so much or why she didn’t want to say goodbye. He doesn’t understand the anger coming at him from his cousins or his brother. They say he treated his mother like crap all of her life and this confuses and confounds him. He treated HER like crap?

What did he do that warranted this treatment? What could he possibly have done that has him questioning whether his family will ban him from attending his own mother’s funeral? Why does his mother’s shrinking family not see he is still the sensitive little boy who just wanted his mother’s acceptance and love? Why is HE the bad guy?

It remains to be seen if the sensitive, “unloveable” boy will realize his own beauty, that he IS loveable and worthy and face/overcome his avoidance and self-worth issues.  His intuitive wife knows, for she is wise in the ways of Spirit, that there will be more (intense pain) to come if he doesn’t. And so she prays. Hard.

Chosen

He can smell the weather, sort of like a snake can detect smells with its tongue. I intuit his intuitive abilities far outreach mine. He can speak and understand, on some level, any language, any language, human, alien or animal. He is a divining rod for deceased people. He can’t stop the frequency he emits and they flock to him by the hundreds. They look like settlers from the 1800’s and they say they are there to protect him and the land.

This man, this externally average Joe is anything but ordinary. He is, I am told, the Elite of the Elite. There are about 20 of his kind in the entire World. Let me put that into perspective; out of 7.5 BILLION people, he is one of twenty.

Each time I’ve worked with him, the Land (I capitalize it as it is a proper title to these folks) is first and foremost during his sessions. “You must purify the Land” they say. Some of his cattle and dogs have died from no apparent reason. When he asked about this, I was told for him to check the water supply.  He did so and nothing was out of the ordinary. And yet, still more cattle perished.

Lights go on and off in his home, he hears noises that don’t have any obvious sources. He replaces the smoke detector batteries more often than you can say “Put nine volts on the shopping list, will ya, hon?” Items will appear or disappear. Temperature changes are a constant. He has built his newer home on land that has been in his family for centuries.

His wife is resentful of what she doesn’t understand but both his boys are aware and accepting. He is, understandably, very protective of his family. He, truly, just wants to be left alone, to be “normal” but that is not to be. He can no more stop what has been started then we can ask the sun to rise in the West. He has been Chosen but, in truth, he signed up for this.

Day and night he sees/feels them. Day and night they come, these settlers. They are building a community there, at his home. They call it “Canyon Falls.” I’m shown a vision of people peacefully and politely strolling on the wooden planked walks of their dusty astral main street.

There are Native American spirits there, as well. They hold to the outer edges of the property and are very respectful of him as they practice the “old” ways. They, I am told, are waiting for him to grant permission to perform their Spring Rite and to help sanctify the Land. I can see their fires and he states he often sees them as well. With that image, I am no longer standing in my office. I am at his farmstead, as it is in reality and as it is with an opaque overlay.

There are two powerful Braves/Warriors standing on either side of his home’s entryway. They are in full headdress, wearing war paint; their lithe bodies are tense, coiled, and alert. Their eyes are vigilant. They both take their post seriously; there is no room for failure.

A strawberry blond little girl wearing braids and a pioneer bonnet softly takes my hand. I intuitively know she is mute. I look at her beautiful, freckled face and she smiles a smile that is years older than she appears to be. She silently turns to the West, extends her other arm/hand and points towards the setting sun. I gaze at her profile which is warmed and enhanced by the orange glow. Her gentle smile reflects complete trust. She is showing me something, giving me a message, but it’s meant for him to decipher.

I sense something from a shadowed outside corner of his house. An inky black, wrinkled, leathery hand emerges. The little bonneted miss holding my hand is gone and I am floating about five feet above the dusty ground. I am not whole, but see-through, like an apparition. I watch as a charred and blackened humanoid face materializes of out the darkness. Something akin to a snarling smile flashes revealing yellowed teeth tapered to points. His two eyes are large, larger than any human I’ve ever seen, more like Dobby from Harry Potter. The sclera is a dingy, dull yellow with a black circle for the lens and pupil.

He says something to me and I think to myself, “Should I be frightened of him?” He does frighten me but I do not fear him. I sense he can’t touch me; he can’t harm me as my energy is much, much higher than his. I tell him we all have good and bad inside of us and he gets to choose what he’d like to be.

I wonder if this is one of or the one that is killing the hapless cattle and causing other negative issues. He tells me he will wait for his time, alluding to upcoming malice. Before I can respond, I hear hundreds of voices speak as one, “The People of Canyon Falls will not allow it. We will stone him.”  With that, his visage slowly retreats into the shadows.  I had this thought that the man who lives here should buy a million floodlights and illuminate his entire farmstead from here to Kingdom Come.

In a blink of an eye, I’m standing in my office again, but the People still hold my attention. They tell me it is imperative that he purify the Land, make it clean again. I ask him about organic farming and he says that’s an option. I tell him it’s not his entire acreage they want purged, but a small portion. That portion is to grow an elite crop of what appears to be wheat. I get the sense that the wheat will feed more people than all other farms combined. It’s pure somehow.

These people are here to protect him, but he feels smothered. It’s hard for him to concentrate and finish tasks and Spring planting is upon him. He has found me (with their help, he says) and has asked that I help communicate with them, quiet his mind and validate he is not going insane.

He is the Chosen and is one of twenty.


Melissa’s Note: I had this humble farmer and big brother Corey (Kyle blog) back to back. I slept until 11:30 the day after our sessions. Those dead people really know how to parrrtayyyy.

Kyle

When Corey tried to schedule a session, I didn’t have any openings until the end of June but I had a suspicion I’d get a cancellation. Sure enough, the next day I had an opening for mid-May and then within a few more days, I had another for the following week. Evidently “someone” had pulled some powerful strings as Corey was able to see me the week after his initial phone call. That’s virtually unheard of.

Corey tells me his brother, Kyle, has been appearing in his dreams and most recently, at the foot of his bed. Kyle said, “You’ve got to call her.” Corey replied he’d do it when he was ready. Kyle, in a voice that brooked no discussion said, “Now” and so Corey did. He laughs and says when Kyle used to say “jump” he would respond, “What boots do you want me to wear?”

Corey’s younger and only brother died in a tragic auto accident over two years ago as he was just beginning his adult life. He was going to college, had a girlfriend and wanted to farm the land. He was just 20 years old when he left us.

Before Corey can verbally ask Kyle says, “There was no pain.” Corey’s eyes widen and Kyle says he was unconscious once his head hit the ground. As he begins to tell me what happened, I feel a blinding headache and then all sensation from my neck down is gone. I feel paralyzed. Kyle validates my empathic feelings by telling me he remembers a sudden bad headache and then there was no feeling after that. He said he wasn’t “there” when the weight of the vehicle crushed his spine.

Corey begins to ask more questions about the accident but Kyle has had enough. He gets a bit testy and says, “No more! I’m done answering questions about my death. Move ON!” This elicits a smile from his older brother who responds, “Typical Kyle.”

Corey was a flight paramedic but left that job for something emotionally safer after Kyle’s death. He tells me he did it because he wanted to be closer to his parents. Kyle snarls and I relay, “You fucking pussy.” And then to me he vehemently says, “Don’t let him by with his lying bullshit.”

The reality is Corey developed PTSD after Kyle’s accident and he started to doubt his own ability to help others. He also admits he feels dead inside. Kyle, in no uncertain terms, is NOT happy about Corey’s decision to hide and to stop living.

Corey asks Kyle, “What is it I’m supposed to do?!” and Kyle answers, “Follow your passion, what’s in your heart and head, man?” And then I’m shown an image of a premature, tiny baby. I ask Corey about this and he makes a grimacing face and chokingly says he’s afraid of babies.

I continue to see images of him holding wailing, distressed babies and them calming instantly because of his energy. I hear he is maternal and has an innate gift of knowing what needs to be done. He says he has no interest in working with babies. I tell him I may have uncovered a seed for him but it’s up to him to see if it will grow.

Kyle tells me a name, “Shep.” It’s the same name I’ve heard for all three of his family members. I thought it was a dog but Corey tells me there’s a doctor – a PEDIATRIC doctor – he used to work with by that name. Hummmm…

Kyle moves on and teasingly confides in me that he hasn’t forgiven his brother for pushing him off the roof. He admits to totally pranking his older brother by having books tip over, the garage door open and repeatedly knocking on walls.  Corey says with a smile, “I KNEW it!” and then good naturedly admits yelling at Kyle to “knock it the fuck off.”

This is brother stuff. Teasing, bugging, irritating and pushing buttons but the comradery and love between these two hasn’t dissipated one ounce because one of them has changed appearances. Kyle compassionately says, “Tell my brother I love him, I respect him and I’m proud of him. Tell him he was the best brother I could have hoped for. Tell him to keep going and to get in the game. Tell him to start living.”

Kyle tells me that there is no anger where he is and so for us to keep housing anger is just bullshit.  I’ve been told this by angels, but hearing Kyle say it, in the manner in which he SAID it, makes me smile. Corey admits he is still working through some anger. Kyle then says, “Forgive” and smiles while he jokingly says his name should be, “Friggin’ Kyle Forgiveness.” He then dramatically raises his arms out to his sides and up over his head while theatrically breaking into the song, “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina.”  Corey looks incredulous, cracks a smile and says he JUST watched that movie. Of course you did, Corey.  Uh huh.

Kyle, now switching gears and becoming very earnest says, “Tell him I love him. Again. Tell him again. It’s important he hears it.”

As I am finishing his brother’s session, Kyle reveals to me why he had to leave this earth. He softly and quietly whispers there was a baby who needed him. He says he always wanted children. My eyes widen and I sense that this baby was worthy of giving his own life for. What I felt was the unfailing and unquestionable love of a parent who unselfishly and unhesitatingly gives their own life for their child’s. Kyle didn’t even question it when he was Called; he just folded his cards and left.

Kyle is clearly just as alive in death as he was in life. He is funny, quick tempered and a prankster. He calls me a “cool chick” and tells me he wants to hang out with me even when his family isn’t around. His energy is big and he easily fills my head, overriding anything or anyone that wants to appear or talk. As Corey said, the party begins when Kyle arrives. Yes, as in life, as in death. Kyle is, again, proof positive that life doesn’t end just because we die.


About 2 weeks after I published this blog, Kyle started telling me to tell Corey, “You’re picking up what I’m LAYING DOWN.”  I poo-poo’d Kyle as I don’t like to do my Work outside of session.  This morning Kyle had enough of me saying no so I text Corey.  Here was Corey’s response:

“Yesterday I had an ambulance call for a baby having a seizure. When I got there, the baby was not breathing and unresponsive. I was able to get the baby back and awake.

When we got to the ER, he was snuggled up in my arms. He didn’t like the nurses and just screamed and screamed when I gave him to them. I then picked him up off the ER bed and he immediately stopped crying and laid in my arms….

Before bed last night I was thinking of that call and it came to me what you said about me calming a crying baby. I called my mom and said, ‘Holy shit! It happened!’ Just unbelievable.”

So now it makes perrrrfect sense why Kyle was being such a Kyle and wanting me to tell his brother exactly that.

 

Kyle has appeared many times in both his mother and his brother’s sessions. He most recently became very agitated towards his mom for “not moving on” and made no bones about it. He is often in my personal life and I welcome his appearances. If you’d like to read about how he helped me with a personal issue, read “Sober.

Channeled Message 4.10.17

We urge you to be patient with yourselves as you are all a work in progress. There is not one of you, NOT ONE OF YOU, who has it “all together” or thinks they are complete. Each and every one of you yearns for something, a destination maybe, perhaps a mode, ethic or belief. Either way, you are all reaching and growing, even if you feel hobbled. You are all doing most excellent.

This journey has been arduous but it is almost over. When, you ask? We cannot tell you that for each journey has its own timeline. Some of you will be past a crucial/pivotal point by the end of June, others will just start on their journey.  (Melissa’s Note: I am being shown a scene similar to this image. There is an over-all feeling of excitement and hustle/bustle. The ones leaving the train are wiser, older and are smiling because they “made it.” The ones entering the train are nervous and focused; they are ready to begin their journey and have their “game faces” on.)

We wish to remind you that we are always beside you, you are never alone. Not one step or mis-step, not one blink of an eye goes by without someone by your side. Sometimes our angels are in human form. You see them, you trust them and you know who they are. Sometimes our angels are in angelic form, they fly above you keeping a watchful eye on your future.

The old is now dead, officially. You have all felt it. Those who were unwilling or unable to make the transition have left the Earth. They wished for peace and they were granted a reprieve. This does not make them weak, never think that, it makes them powerful as they will continue their journey from above. Others have stayed even though they had serious concerns and still others don’t know what’s ahead of them. We tell you it is all good, it is all right, and it is as it should be.

Go in peace. Remember your fellow man is no different than you despite outside appearances. We all bleed, we all cry, we all feel anger and injustice and we all feel love. THAT should be the bonding factor (love), not the negative, denser emotions that are more easily had; more easily come by.

Try a different path. You might like (Melissa’s Note: I typed “light”) where you are headed. Is what you are doing working now? Try it, you may like it. “

Channeled Message 11.28.16

“Dear ones. Some of you are feeling oh so enlightened while others feel like they are floundering in the darkness. We have news for you; it is all a matter of perception. That is not to say one is better than the other for they both have their value. It IS to say it is all how you view it.

Some of you moan and tell us your life is falling down around your ears. Others exalt in being free from the Old even though their life is in shambles. Interesting how perceptions can be, wouldn’t you agree?

This One (Melissa’s Note: Oh oh. What am I doing now!!?) has had degrees of perception changes and it has nourished her soul. She has chosen to take a hard look at what isn’t working in her life (her soul) and is choosing (operative word) to do something about it.  That is not to say she is happy about it. Oh no, we can most assuredly tell you she has done her fair share of carping, but she is a warrior and pushes through none the less.  Are you doing the same or are you bemoaning your plight?

We will offer you this; it is always darkest before the storm. Ahhhhh. We see we have caught some of you off guard with our rendition of the old saying. But it is true; it IS always darkest before the storm. Now what “the storm” means is wholly up to you. It can be a super storm that douses everyone that comes within a 50 mile radius or it could be an easy-breezy spring storm that is over as quickly as it began.

There is “big energy” in the atmosphere now. It is pushing for change. We have harped at you before about change. Some of you grow bored with our perseverance but your soul’s evolution is what we are concerned with, not your tactile ego.

What are you doing differently? Are you parting your hair differently? Wearing different glasses? Taking a different route to work? Yes, even something so seemingly easy can make all the difference in the world. Change; it must happen. It needs to happen. It is destined to happen.

We ask that you take a look at what is no longer working in your life. Are you stubbornly holding on to a value, thought or emotion that no longer serves you? If so, ask yourself why. We hear you say, “Because it is comfortable” but how does the Old become uncomfortable and the New become comfortable? Practice. Practice, practice, practice.

If you are unwilling to try, we will still stand beside you but your journey will become rockier. If you are willing to try, even the most imperceptible amount, then your journey becomes easier. If you feel you are lagging behind others, then we will wait for you to catch up. We just need that first step to come from you.

You are not alone. We tell you this 100 million times and yet some of you still believe you ARE alone. We tell you never, not once, not ever. Look to your brother, your sister, your aunts, uncles, friends, enemies. No one is alone. We are all connected and we are all evolving. None of us is free from the trials and tribulations that are happening right now in an effort to let go of the past. You are ALL experiencing some upheaval whether it be mild, moderate or severe. The important thing is that you keep moving. Stagnancy is paralyzing. It uses fear against you when the opposite is true.

Get moving. Keep moving. We will walk the path with you, ALL of you. Start the movement and then keep going, even if only by minuscule amounts.  Just move. MOVE!”

Anxiety

I can’t pinpoint when my anxiety started but I can tell you when I realized something was not right. It was a day in early August when my husband and his employees moved their offices out of our house.

Now you would think that I would be thrilled about that. I mean, we had dreamed of having our house and privacy back for so long. But when I was faced with that reality, something fragile, a tiny thread that was my last connection to logic and rationale, snapped.

The day of the move, we loaded boxes into his pickup. As he backed out of the garage, I felt irrationally frightened. It was as if I was watching the one person who could save me, had been saving me, abandon me. I felt crushed.

When the external garage door closed, my smile faded and my waving hand fell to my side. My face crumpled. My breath caught in my throat and I felt the tears prick and burn my eyes. I took a huge gulp of air and started sobbing. In an effort to find comfort and to try to run away from the problem, I, in the style of my childhood, raced into our bedroom shutting the door on the fly. I threw myself on to our bed, curled up in the fetal position and cried. I was thinking that I should be happy but I clearly was not.

A few months prior to this, I was confronted with a situation that undid months and months of my emotional progress. My husband and I were having an alcohol fueled (tsk, tsk! I know better!) heated discussion about it and I remember saying, “This is too hard. Why does this have to be so fucking hard?! Oh my God! I wish I was dead.”

I want to be crystal clear, dear readers, I was not thinking of suicide as I do not believe in it for spiritual reasons. I also knew I needed to be here and stay healthy for my little girl. The truth is, I just didn’t want to be here anymore, on Earth. If I, say, happened to be in an auto accident, I wouldn’t fight to stay here. The thing is, at that moment, I was in such intense, deep emotional pain and I couldn’t see my way out of it. I just wanted the pain to stop.

Looking back, my outburst was a verbal cry for help. I’m still not sure exactly who the cry was meant to be heard by; me or him. But, in the blink of an eye, the external and internal conversations moved on. Sadly, even that admission wasn’t enough for me to understand how far I had fallen from my true self.

I told one of my besties about my admission and she, professionally trained to look for these signs, questioned me intently about it. I told her what I believed and that was I would NEVER commit suicide. I didn’t believe in it as I knew that I would have to relive every craptastic thing I had gone through in this lifetime again. No. No thank you. Not for all the high-end coffee in Costa Rica. What I didn’t know is that over the next few months my chemical imbalance and emotional health would continue to deteriorate until I barely recognized my emotional self.

1403676644_0988b697a9_m40 million adults in the United States have anxiety[i]. One-third get help. That leaves two-thirds, TWO-THIRDS, that don’t.

What I also ignored or attributed to something else was the physical symptoms. My hands would uncontrollably shake, my mouth would be dry, my heart would race. I even went to the doctor thinking I had high blood pressure. My insomnia worsened, I cried alot and I had the most illogical, neurotic thoughts. I found myself being overly impatient and quick to anger, especially with our daughter. I chalked this up to just being stressed or needing a night or two off from being a momma.

One night in late August my husband came home late, very late. It’s nothing new, in fact, it’s quite normal and it shouldn’t have affected me like it did, but that night I was a train wreck. I was neurotic and imagined all sorts of heinous activities on his part. I was convinced he was doing something nefarious or was dead. I called his phone and had my irrational suspicions confirmed when he didn’t answer. I sent a text to him saying that I was frightened. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. I thought it was going to jump out of my chest. A few minutes later he walked through the door.

I raced into his arms, viscerally sobbing in relief. I hugged him like he was my breath. I shook uncontrollably and babbled incoherently through a deluge of tears. He hugged me and said, “Honey. Honey! What is going on? This is not like you. Honey. What is going on?!”  I pulled back and relief-sobbed that I had been imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to him and because of him.  I told him I was so frightened. He continued to hug me and said this wasn’t like me.

I clung to him in our bed that night like I was his second skin. I needed to talk with him about what I was feeling but when…when?  The next morning, after only a few hours (or minutes) of sleep, I completely lost my shit in the shower. I felt completely overwhelmed and paralyzed.  My best friend, the one I confided in whole-heartedly, my forever husband, was someone I was now struggling to speak with.

I exited the shower, robotically dried myself off and burst into tears again. I was miserable. I wrapped the towel loosely around myself and walked, zombie-like, into our bedroom. My husband, just clearing the sleep from his eyes, took one look at me and said, “Oh my God. Honey! What’s wrong!?”

My tears broke free and I sobbed while saying, “I don’t know. I think I’m broken. I need help. Something’s wrong with me. I thought I was doing ok, but after last night and this morning, I know I’m not. I’m having horrible thoughts and my neuroticism is not fair to you. I think I’m suffering from PTSD or anxiety. I need help. I’m going to call my midwife about anxiety medicine and try to find a counselor today. I’m a fucking mess.”

Then I cleared the tears from my eyes, wiped the snot from face with the back of my arm and locked my swollen, blood shot, tired eyes on his. The energy surrounding us became palpable. I took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know what I’m capable of. I don’t think I would ever hurt myself but I’m NOT myself right now. I’m just….broken. Can you either hide the guns or the ammunition immediately, please?” He didn’t question me, he just did as I requested.

I scheduled an appointment with my midwife and found a counselor that morning. My midwife started me on an anti-anxiety/anti-depressant. The counselor saw me that week.

I’m a good mix of believing in Eastern and Western medicine. I believe they both have their places in my life. What I was doing with Eastern medicine wasn’t helping so I immediately sought out Western medicine. I also believe that pills are just a band aide and that I have to address the problem, hence the trained counselor.  I previously wrote a blog called “Crazy” that spoke of how powerful the mind was and how it can control your body. My physical anxiety symptoms proved that, yet again, to me.

The medication and counseling have had a vastly positive effect on me. I feel “normal” again,  like the old chemically balanced me. All thoughts of not wanting to be here have vanished. Everything isn’t oppressive and I’ve even caught myself genuinely belly laughing. The first time that happened I thought, “What was THAT?! How long has it been since I’ve laughed this way?”

Like a broken record, I consider myself one of the lucky ones.  Not only did I recognize something had changed in my brain, but I asked for and received help. Have you?


[i] https://www.adaa.org/about-adaa/press-room/facts-statistics

Between

It’s a place that’s not here and it’s not there. It’s a place of nothing and of everything. It’s a place people go when they are not dead but they are not alive. It’s a place I’ve been to only a few times.

This is something that is new to me as I’ve never been particularity comfortable with death. I feared it as a child. I always thought death was going to take my mom and there would be no one to care for me. I was so afraid of it, in fact, that I would often sneak into my mom and dad’s bedroom just to listen to her breathe. I sometimes slept on the floor next to her just to make sure I could keep death away. I won many battles but lost the war in 1999.

When my dad died, I had aged and matured not only physically but spiritually as well. My dad’s death was met with wonder instead of fear. I saw the angel who came for him. I saw my dad standing at the end of his hospital bed, even though he had just taken his last physical breath. My dad appeared before me months later to let me know he had “made it.”

So with my evolution into no longer fearing what I didn’t know, new gifts began to emerge. When I was still in my infancy stage (and I’m not sure I’m out of it), a friend of mine came to me. “Friend” doesn’t quite encapsulate what Eric is to me. He is the most upbeat, positive, quirky enigma I know. He’s difficult to define. He is scientific but has deep roots in spirituality. He was my first Reiki student to become a Reiki Master. His brain is wired to create and to seek out ways to make and do things better. By day he is a computer software geek. By night a cross between Doc. Emmett Brown and Einstein.  To say Eric carries a special place in my heart, in a lot of our hearts, is an understatement.

Eric’s body was rejecting his second liver. His body ate through his own years ago and he received a successful transplant. All was going well until his body started to cannibalize this new liver. Eric’s demeanor, even when his eyes and face were yellow with jaundice and his belly was severely distended, was upbeat and positive. He insisted on working right up to the point where he could no longer do so. Sometimes when I saw him, it made me realize my problems were just that; problems. This man was once again fighting for his life and happily doing so.

Prior to his second surgery, Erik and his wife asked something of me that made me somewhat uncomfortable. They asked that I give spiritual feedback of what I was seeing and hearing from Eric when he was no longer able to speak for himself. I said I would, I signed a legal document, but I was sure to state not to look to me if they were looking to pull the plug. I didn’t want that on my shoulders.

Eric’s condition deteriorated. He was admitted to the hospital while awaiting a new liver. He soon lost consciousness. His wife would email me and ask me very physical questions and I would let her know my gift didn’t work that way. I could tell her Eric was comfortable, not in any pain and that he loved her very much.

Hours passed and Eric slipped deeper into unconsciousness. So much so that when a new liver became available, the doctors thought of giving it to another individual as Eric’s vital signs were far from where they needed to be. His wife, not a believer in the spiritual realm but a supporter of her husband’s belief, emailed me. Again, she asked me physical questions and again I told her my gift didn’t work like that.  I then set out to tell her what I did see and this I will share with you now.

Eric was far away. Not here, not there. He was in a place much like outer space (I hadn’t seen the movie “Gravity” yet, but now that I have, these visions are very much like being in outer space) but different. More vast, if that’s possible. “Eric!” I internally cried, “Eric! You’ve got to come back. I know you are an explorer and probably loving all the places you’re traveling to, but you’ve got to come back. They’ve found a liver for you and you NEED to get back here.”

His wife emailed me the next day and said a new series of tests showed improvements. But that didn’t last long. His vitals and other test results started plummeting. Eric didn’t want to be here; he had gotten a taste of what was out there and he, ever the explorer/scientist/student, wanted more. I’d be damned if I was going to allow that to happen.

Not really knowing what I should/could do, I went in after him, spiritually speaking, with guns blazing. “ERIC!” I yelled inside my head, “ERIC! WHERE ARE YOU?! ERIC! YOU HAVE TO COME BACK!”  No response. No response inside my head or medically. I repeated, “ERIC! I’m not kidding around! There is a liver for you and you’ve GOT to get back to your body or they’ll give it to someone else. ERIC! DO YOU HEAR ME! You’ve GOT to get back here and give the doctors something they can go on. Don’t you DARE leave your wife. The last thing you said to her was that you loved her. GET BACK HERE, DAMNIT!  ERIC! Where ARE you?!”

Then I changed tactics a bit and said, “Eric. I know you want to explore. I know you are enjoying all of this, but you need to come back. Before you left, you were clear you wanted to come back. I need you to hear me. We need you to return, RIGHT NOW, Eric. The doctors will give your liver to someone else and you will not return. You will not kiss your wife or pet your dog again. ERIC!! COME. BACK. NOW!!!!! EEEEERRRRRICCCCCCCCCC!!!”

I’m not saying what I did worked, but it was shortly after that Eric’s tests showed promise and he received his new liver. Eric tells me he has memories of where he went and that I “got through” to him.

What I didn’t see for Eric, I did for Michelle and Cindy. Both of these ladies had left their physical body. One was end stage brain cancer and the other was in a medically induced coma.  I saw both of them floating in a place that looked like outer space. They both were attached to Earth with an umbilical cord of sorts which looked like a very thin strand of hair.  This told me things were not good, not good at all.

Michelle spoke to me and said she wanted her husband to kiss her on her lips once more. She wanted her three boys to tightly hold her hands and feet. She told her mother she loved her and had the utmost respect for her. She said she had no regrets.

I argued with Michelle about telling her husband this. Her husband does not know me and isn’t familiar with my Work. I told Michelle my kind was burned at the stake for this kind of stuff in the past. She was insistent and so I trusted and did as she asked.  I sent a text to her husband but I didn’t hear back from him. I wasn’t really expecting to. Part of me is glad he didn’t respond because I couldn’t have handled anything but kindness. Michelle passed away shortly after I relayed her messages.

Cindy is a friend of mine from way back who has never experienced my Work. I received a phone call from one of my besties that Cindy had gone into cardiac arrest and had been in a car accident. She was in a medically induced coma and it didn’t look good. Once my adrenaline evened out and I was able to quit crying, I spiritually looked for her.

I saw her way out in space but connected to Earth by a hair-thin cord. Her back was arched and there was no brain activity. She was just floating. I began to cry once again. I said, “Cindy. Cindy? Can you hear me?” I received no reply.

I laid down for a nap but couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Cindy. Suddenly, her voice filled my head. She told me she didn’t want to go (die) this way as she hadn’t said goodbye to anyone. In an instant, and in true Cindy form, her energy changed to determination but it was tinged with fear. She said, “Where am I?! I’m frightened.”

I loved that I could hear her. I told her what had happened and she said, “I have to get back for my grand kids.”  And get back she did. Within seconds, her energetic body became animated; she snapped into a forward facing position and grabbed the cord connecting her to Earth.  Immediately upon doing this, the cord became thicker. It looked like twisted metal cabling which was as thick as my arm.

Cindy, with teeth gritted, began pulling herself back to Earth. Her astral travels were also having effects on her physical body. Her pupils became reactive to light; her brain scan showed promise.

But this rapid return was tiring for her. I watched as the cord grew thicker still and as Cindy paused to take a nap. When she awoke, it was with a new vigor; she was eager to get back to her body. Hand over hand, eyes focused directly on Earth (she never once looked back) and with grunts of exertion, she kept methodically going.

Her physical body was showing signs of this progress, too. She was coming out of her coma before the medical world was ready to have her do so. According to them, she had another full day before they would attempt to bring her out of the deep sleep. Cindy had other ideas. She left the hospital, on her own accord, just two days later.

I hadn’t consciously been thinking about writing this blog until a few days ago. Last night my Guys were insistent that I get ‘r done and in that, I inexplicably trust. For the person or persons who needed this (ahem!), I hope it brings you comfort.

Fate (Part I)

 

There were so many teaser attempts to bring my husband and I together. We are both from the same home town, although I left at age 3. I lived in Minot, he lived in Minot. I moved to Fargo, he moved to Fargo. He was my youngest niece’s good friend all through high school and during her college years. I had heard her talk of Trinity often. Given these and other similarities, it’s odd we didn’t meet until after we were both married. My niece (Jessica) introduced us while my starter husband and I were in the process of building our home. Would you like to guess who installed the sound system in that home? Yep, Trinity.

Based on the fact that he was (and still is, I guess) six years younger than me and the fact I only knew him in a professional manner, I thought of him as ‘a very professional young man.’  And that’s that.  That’s where the story could have ended but as time marched on, we both became divorced. Jessica, through casual conversation, kept me in the loop on Trinity’s disastrous marriage and subsequent divorce.

A few years later, Jessica tells me Trinity is looking for some decorating advice and would it be OK for her to give him my phone number. Why sure! He’s a nice young man and at that time I was leaning towards taking up interior design as a profession.  Bet you didn’t know THAT about me, did ya? It’s a good thing it didn’t work out or IFR never would have come to be.

Trinity called me and while I was under the assumption he wanted my hand at picking paint colors, he was more concerned with how he could get his hands on me (can you blame him?!). We were visiting and the next thing I knew, he had morphed into a human octopus. He had his hands all over me and his tongue was half way down my throat.  EUWWW! GROSS!

In shock, I kissed back for a few seconds and then thought, “Eww. Yuck! He feels like a brother, not a boyfriend and WHERE did this all come from?! EWWWWWWW!”  I pushed him away and demanded to be brought home. I sat as far away from him and his tentacles as I could. I literally was hugging the passenger door.  Needless to say, there was no kiss goodbye. In some ways, he already had his kiss goodbye, if you know what I mean. I took my color swatches and marched my arse straight up to my apartment where I sat with my jaw hanging open in disbelief.

Mr. Kissy Face Octopus Gropey Hands called me when he got home and asked what had happened. Really?! Was I giving off signals that I wanted you to see if I had a tonsillectomy?! WITH YOUR TONGUE?! He said he took it as a good sign when I kissed back. Oh good Lord. He later (much later) admitted he thought I was smokin’ hot the first time he met me. Double oh good Lord.

I wasn’t sure I could get past feeling like his big sister and the false pretenses of him getting me to come over. He later admitted the whole interior decorating thing was a ruse. (eyeroll) Well LeDUH!

I must have been one brick short of a load as I agreed to go have supper with him. Maybe I was thinking it was a public place and he couldn’t get all handsy with me. I’d seen his type before. He was a total playah. He’d already told me he’d dated a lot (understatement) of women since his divorce and I had absolutely no intention of being a notch on his bedpost.  I knew, from uhhh experience, about men ‘like him’ and I knew I didn’t want anything to do with that. I wasn’t a player and I’d had my crazy what-was-I-thinking-oh-my-GAWD-why-did-I-do-that episodes after my own divorce.

That supper turned into another and another and pretty soon we had been dating for  almost two months. Somehow he had talked me into painting several rooms inside of his house.  At the time I was working for a professional painter/wallpaper hanger and he had taught me well.  Yes, another hat I was wearing before IFR came into light.  

When I was finishing painting the last room, he had opened a bottle of wine, checked his voice mail and said, “Huh. I just got a message from a girl I used to date. That’s weird. I wonder what she wants.”  Uh oh, boys and girls. Trouble ahead!

I had a fleeting feeling this was going to be trouble but by then I knew, I KNEW I loved this man and I suspected he loved me. I knew he was the One. I just knew it. Years and years ago I had gone to a psychic who said, “You’re not ready for him yet and he’s not ready for you. But he’s had a lot of women and he’s very…ummm…spicy.”  Yep, that would describe Trinity. But it went beyond what a psychic said. It was a feeling that I can’t explain but those of you who’ve experienced it understand what I’m yammering about.

After that phone call, he became distant. I saw him less and less. He didn’t call as much and I was trying my best not to call him as I was trying to do the “George.” I knew something was terribly wrong when I was unable to drive myself to a doctor appointment and he told me he couldn’t help me. Bad show, old boy. Bad show!

A few days later I was still in severe pain from a recently diagnosed kidney infection. Trinity came over to help with my computer and he was acting weird. He wouldn’t touch me, he wouldn’t look at me and he didn’t kiss me. What the what?!  I didn’t have the strength to talk with him about it but I knew. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew.  In fact, if memory serves, I think Jessica might have even said, “Do you think he has another girlfriend?”  Hummmm….

A day later he called and said, “I have to break up with you. I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing, but I can’t see you anymore. I don’t know if this is right but I just have to break up with you.”  Blink. Blink. Blink. Whaaa?  True to form, when I’m under extreme duress, I become very calm and I morph into a plan of action type of girl.  I remember calmly saying, “Ok. Go do what you need to do.”  I had to stop myself from finishing that sentence with, “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He hung up. I stared at the phone. My very dry mouth hung open to my chest. What the hell just happened? I was in shock. I didn’t cry or freak out and I think it’s because I didn’t have any blood left in my upper body.

I called Susie and said, “He broke up with me. Trinity just broke up with me.” And then I burst into tears.

Click here for more: Fate (part ii)

Miracle

You crazy cats! I’ve gotten two emails today stating you are waiting in suspense for the next installment of yesterday’s blog! Whatta hooot! I love it! Thank you. Wait no more……..

(NOTE: This blog is a continuation of yesterday’s “Vasectomy” blog.)

We used birth control until well after we were married. I kept saying, “Honey. I really want to give birth to your little girl” and he kept mumbling something about, oh I don’t know, not being ready or something silly.  I, being 6 (or is it 7?) years older than him (he jokingly calls me ‘cougar.’ I do NOT find humor in it), didn’t have a huge window of time to wait. I mean, HELLO!

Even as we still practiced safe sex (giggle), Susie kept saying, “You’re going to be pregnant in xxx.” Then “xxx” would come and I wouldn’t be pregnant. I didn’t give up hope though, as I know how these spiritual timelines can be juked.  My husband still wasn’t on board with us having a baby. Ahhh, kind of crucial, don’t ‘cha think?!

Then one night as we were having dinner out, he looked up at me and in little more than a whisper said, “I think we should try.”  GULP!  Whaaa??! Now it was my turn to get my freak out on.  Here, all my dreams were coming true and I was scared beyond scared. I think I chewed off all my fingernails in about 2.2 seconds. If we weren’t in public and in a restaurant, I may have taken off my shoes/socks and started on my toenails!! Not kidding!

Those five little words, “I think we should try” wrecked me.  I think I was 44 at the time he said this. I had been so independent my entire life that now that having a baby was a real possibility, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get pregnant.  How’s that for a shocker?!  I mean, for a lifetime, I knew how many pregnancies/children I would have and I had wanted our baby girl for so, SO long, that now, when I was presented with the remote chance we’d have her, I was not sure I wanted to try!  Sigh.

Susie had been telling me I’d get pregnant with an egg released from my right side.  Me, knowing my body pretty well, knew exactly when I was ovulating and what side I was ovulating on.  It had been a joke for months between my husband and I that I couldn’t get pregnant as I was ovulating on the left side. Well, guess what? Left side ovulation? Pregnant.

Now you should know when people do intuitive work, there is ALWAYS room for us humans to change what we are being told.  I trust and respect Susie. She has saved my life in more ways than one. She is spot on with her intuitive information. She is a beautiful and gifted Healer. She married my husband and I. I love her. I would not be who or where I am today without her gentle mentorship and fierce friendship.

So I’m wondering why she heard, time after time after time, that I would become pregnant from an egg released from my right side.  You know what I came up with? I think I was subconsciously stopping the pregnancy from happening each time I ovulated on the right side.  Yeah, I do.  Looking back, my energy was just different in the months where I didn’t think I could get pregnant (i.e. left side ovulation) versus the months I thought I could. I know there are no coincidences and I believe our Guys told her that information because They saw the bigger picture.

Now let me add some more color to this story.  If I had conceived on my right side, my body would have aborted our baby. I’ll say it again, if I would have had our baby implant on my right side, she would not be here today.   None of us knew this until our little stinker decided to go breach the night before I gave birth.  It turned out that during my emergency C-section, it was discovered I had a ‘deviated uterus’ meaning, my uterus is split in two, uneven halves. The right side was the smaller side and would not have been able to sustain growing life.

Even the fact that baby girl went from being in the correct birthing position to breach all within 8 hours of the start of my labor, is not without significance. Her umbilical cord had been wrapped around her neck and I was told she may not have made it through the ‘normal’ birthing process alive.

Are you starting to see that there truly are no coincidences? That everything DOES happen for a reason?  You may not be aware of that reason for 50 years, but there IS a reason.

Our little girl coming to join us is nothing short of a miracle. Just look at all the dynamics that went into bringing her here. Look at everything that needed to happen.  “The Miracle of Life” has a whole new meaning for us.

I wrote this story for those of you who desperately want a baby. DON’T. GIVE. UP! Look at all the groundwork that needed to be laid in order for our baby to happen. Do what you need to do for you, whether it’s balancing your hormones, taking fertility tests or maybe just taking some pressure off of yourself.  When the time is right, IF it’s right, it’ll happen for you, too.