Searchlight

“Tell me about the color red,” Laura, my holistic counselor asked on behalf of my guardian angels. 

“What? Red? Man, I just don’t know,” I replied. “I know it’s the color of our root chakra and I know I don’t really like it all that much.” 

Pausing, I let my mind search, and then laughed, “I have been eating a shit ton of cinnamon Jolly Ranchers and Red Hots. They’re red. Could that be it?” I asked even though I knew she wouldn’t have the answer. 

True enough, she shrugged and replied, “It’s been coming up a lot for you lately.” 

Continuing, she said, “They are asking you to ‘help someone out.’” 

Wrong thing to ask. 

“Help someone out?” I stammered and shook my head in disbelief, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. “I already do pro bono work, I put my desires on hold, I reach out to those who are going through difficulties even though I’m way deep in the shit myself. I sorta wanna give my angels the finger for that comment. I’d like to help myself out for a change.” 

She, no stranger to cryptic angelic missives, smiled and nodded, letting me know she heard and understood me, but that she was powerless to do anything.

After leaving her office, I headed for another appointment at a local plasma donation business. The idea of donating plasma had been floating around my consciousness for a few months but didn’t fully click until I had taken our daughter to an outdoor children’s event in June. It was there, after roaming freely, we found ourselves in front of their kiosk. 

Imagine that! I thought, followed by, I wanna do this. Impulsively I grabbed a business card and the next day I made an appointment. It would be several weeks until I fully understood why. 

Those weeks passed and I found that I kind of liked donating plasma, mainly because it was the one place I was forced to relax – errands or chores couldn’t be done while tethered to a blood-sucking machine. Instead, when I was sequestered in a comfortable chair, it was one hundred percent me time. I listened to the ambient conversations, read a book, daydreamed. Is it any wonder I asked if I could donate more than the maximum of twice weekly?  

Currently, I was thinking about the lucky people who would be receiving my super-duper, Reiki-infused, maximum-healing plasma when a young phlebotomist greeted me. I glanced at her ID tag and thought her name was beautiful.

“Hi, Amara.” I chirped. 

“Oh, you pronounced my name right! So many people mess that up. How are you today?”

We exchanged pleasantries while she attended to business and since I’m always curious as to why people work the professions they do, I asked her. She answered and then added, almost as an afterthought, “I can’t donate, though. I have a disease that prevents me from doing so.” 

With that seemingly random utterance, unsolicited intuitive information flooded my brain. Startled, my eyes broke contact and I stared at the wall grappling with what to do.

Dammit, Guys, I internally hissed, You know I hate doing intuitive work outside of session. You know that! 

Their response: Help someone out.

Aw shit. You’re kidding me, right? No. No, no, no, NO! Don’t ask this of me. I can’t possib–

“Okay, Melissa. You’re all set. Feeling okay?” Amara asked.

My eyes snapped back to hers and I nodded absently, thinking, Oh, sweet girl, I can feel how swollen and hot your abdomen is and how your fluctuating moods take their toll.

After she left, I whispered, “Shit!” and then once again to myself. 

Again, the Guys spoke: Help someone out. 

This presented a dilemma. Do I break my self-imposed rule of not doing Reiki or intuitive work outside of session or do I keep my yapper shut? 

I took a deep breath and began pumping my fist with more force than was necessary. For several minutes, I stared without seeing, thinking about what to do, and when my vision regained focus, I was looking at my blood making its journey through the clear tube, and into the collection bin. It was then my worlds collided. 

Red. 

(“Tell me about the color red.”)

Oh my God. RED!

(“It’s been coming up a lot for you lately.”)

Ho-leeey shit! And just like that, I knew why I had found my amazing Trailblazing Communications counselor (I couldn’t quit staring at her picture on Facebook’s “People You May Know”), and why I sensed there wouldn’t be many, if any, future plasma donations. 

With that mystery solved, a relieved smile broke out on my face, my eyes closed, and my head lolled backward. Two things became clear: I was here for Amara, and, without question, I needed to help her. I took a few minutes to think of how I could do that while still maintaining my professional standards. The answer came just as Amara was returning. 

Now or never, Guys. Help me.

“Hey,” I said after taking a deep breath. “Have you ever considered – or would you consider – taking a probiotic for your lower abdomen?” 

“I had a friend who did that and she had good results, but I’ve not thought about it. Why would you suggest that?”

Danger. Danger! “Oh, I’ve heard (I wasn’t lying!) that it might make a difference. You do have issues with your gut, right?” It wasn’t a reach, especially since I knew a little bit about her illness, still, I do love me some validation. 

“Uhhhhh yeaaaaah,” she replied hesitantly while wrapping the bandage around my arm and giving me a side-long questioning glance.

I know that look, I thought. She thinks I’m an alien. I gotta be careful or she’s gonna shut down and I’ll have lost another one to Ditech.

“Well, if it feels right, maybe google it or look into it.” Easy, breezy.

“Um, okay. I will. Thanks.”

With that, I barely contained a mega-watt smile. I felt slightly rebellious and more than a little euphoric from having pulled off the coup. It wasn’t until I was out of her sight that I fist-pumped the air and unleashed my grin. 

God, that felt goooooood, I thought and then tears of happiness and gratitude filled my eyes. With a blink, they spilled over. I wiped them away, not caring who saw, and understood that maybe instead of trusting, as I have always done, that those who need my services will find me, it might be my turn to find them. 


Four months had passed since Amara’s cameo appearance, and just as I’d suspected, I was unable to return for more donations. I wanted to, but life had other plans. Now it was mid-November and I was at the dentist’s office where I had been told I’d cracked a tooth and needed a crown. 

I couldn’t even joke about it. In fact, my first thought was that somehow I had gotten old because only old people need crowns. My logic was faulty; it was based on seeing my own mother’s shiny gold and silver-filled mouth, not supported by facts. 

For the first of two appointments, Dr. McToothfairy’s (you like?) energy was that of a very stressed person. Again, I don’t try to do my intuitive work outside of session, but laying there, staring up at a bright light (or the ceiling), while clenching my hands into fists, bits of data floated in. 

I glanced at him and he was, as always, the epitome of comfortable professionalism; nothing about his physical appearance gave away that he was in excruciating pain. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if I could give him Reiki, but I chided myself and let it go. 

Later that night, as my ground-down, temporarily capped molar began to throb, I felt eager anticipation wondering what good would come from this. And much like Amara’s story, I didn’t have long to wait. 

At my next appointment, Dr. McToothfairy was getting ready to place my permanent crown when I’d had enough of the Should I or Shouldn’t I game. “Thomas?” I asked. “What did you do to your shoulder? It’s . . . incredibly painful.”

Poor Thomas. He pushed his stool away and looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I had all I could do to keep from laughing. He stared at me for several seconds (probably trying to decide how to play this, I thought), then blinked his eyes and responded, “Yes. Yes, it is. About five years ago I was in an accident and it’s been incredibly painful ever since. How did you . . .” 

“Because I can feel it. Oh my God, I can feel it!” 

Dr. McToothfairy knew what I did for a living, but he didn’t know. I watched as his lips parted and confusion flashed in his eyes. It was then I asked if I could do energy work on him and that meant I would lightly place my hands on the front and back of his shoulder and give him Reiki. I added that I knew he was busy, so I’d be careful not to take up too much of his time. 

Another blink followed by a pregnant pause, and then as if he was talking himself into it, “Uhhhh. Okayyyyy? Well, sure!” 

I explained what Reiki was and how he might feel during and afterward while I was administering it. After three minutes, I knew I had done all I could. 

“There you go!” I said, removing my hands and flashing a smile.

“Wow! I think that did reduce the pain. Thank you!”

I didn’t know whether to believe him or not but within minutes he said, “You know? I think I have more mobility in my neck, and I swear my pain has been reduced. That’s amazing! Thank you!” This time I knew he meant it. 

Then it hit me. That’s why I cracked my tooth so that I could help him!  Then, with a message for my angels, Did you really hafta have me break a tooth to accomplish this? Jeez! This is effing expensi– 

“I just can’t believe it!” Thomas said. “I may have to come and see you!”

Flustered, I rushed my response, “Dr. McToothfairy, noooo . . . that’s not why I did it. I’m not trying to drum up business, I swear! I could just feel your pain and felt drawn to asking you if I could try to help.”

He continued, “Well, I’ve tried massage, physical therapy, you name it, and I’ve not gotten much relief, but this . . . Wow! I haven’t felt this good in years!” 

His excitement was contagious, and I found myself smiling from ear to ear. The next day I received a voice mail from him saying, “I just have to thank you again for what you did yesterday. I slept great and feel even better today! I don’t know exactly what it was that you did, but I sure am thankful.” 

Of this, I did not doubt since I, too, was deeply thankful.


Some details and names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

Courage

“I just hit A.V.’s (dog) trolley with the tractor roll bar and the carabiner sling shotted back and knocked me out. I have a buckle in my forehead,” read my husband’s text message.

“And you’re texting me instead of calling?! Jesus Christ.”

“Trying to stop the bleeding. I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

“You’re so pretty. So very, very pretty,” was my typed response.

Knowing I couldn’t convince my stubborn husband to go to the emergency room, I didn’t even try. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders, set the phone aside, and listened to the peaceful quiet in our Fargo home. Then, with a smile, I thought, Hot damn! I’m getting a nap in today!  Hell to the yeah!  I could do this because our (then) seven-year-old was with her dad at our lake home and that allowed me another twenty-four glorious hours without hearing “Mom. Mom. Mom? MOM. MOM! MOM?!” fifty-five times in eight seconds.

When I awoke, I saw I had missed a call from hubby and that he had sent a text. “Come get me,” read the message.

Hope he’s come to his senses and is ready to go to the E.R., I thought.  With a smirk blooming on my face, I dialed his number only to have it wiped away when our little girl answered.

“Mommy!” she sobbed, and then uttered a string of unintelligible words.

“Honey, I can’t understand you,” I said calmly. “Slow down and tell me again, please.”

I heard her inhale and when she spoke again, this time in a slightly less garbled voice, all vestiges of sleep were immediately erased. “Come get me. Now! I think Dad’s dead.”

“What?!” came my shocked response, then, “Honey! Tell me what happened.”

Her wailing returned and her voice rose to a pitch making it impossible for me to understand her. I tried again, “Honey, let’s take a couple of deep breaths together, okay? Ready . . . inhale and exhale. Good. And let’s do one more . . .  Okay, do you feel like you can tell me what happened now?”

Without delay, she said, “Mommy! Daddy is bleeding all over the place and he’s jerking and making scary noises. He won’t open his eyes and he just keeps rolling around on the floor.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Okay, honey. Can you wake him?”

“No. I don’t want to be near him. I’m so scared, Mom! I took all of my blankets and hid in the closet for a while. COME GET ME!”

“Okay honey. Okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I need to call the police for a wellness check and then I’ll call you right back. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, but hurry!

She didn’t need to say it twice.

“Stubborn, stubborn German!” I muttered while Googling the number for the sheriff.  After explaining the situation and letting him know I was seventy-five miles away, the sheriff said he’d get back to me and then did what I should have done – called 911.

I called Ceta and told her help, in the form of the sheriff, was on the way and that I was coming to get her. Then I asked, “Will you sit by Daddy, honey? Can you put your hand on his arm or rub his leg? Let him know you’re there and he’s not alone?”

“No! He’s scaring me! He keeps moaning and making weird noises and he’s twitching all over the place. I’m not going near him!”

“Okay, honey. You’ve done wonderfully. I’m so proud of you for knowing to call me and having the courage to do so. I’ve got help coming. Would you like to stay on the phone with me until they arrive? I’m gonna grab a few things and I’ll be there to get you in no ti—”

As I was finishing my sentence, call waiting beeped and I told Ceta I needed to call her right back. The incoming call was an officer from the Highway Patrol.

“Ms. Schaff?” he asked, mispronouncing my name. Out of habit, I corrected him and then rolled my eyes. What does it matter?!

“This is Officer Dogooder.” (Not really, but I can’t remember his name.) “We have your husband en route to the Perham Hospital. We have procured arrangements for your daughter to be . . .”  He continued in his professional police talk voice until I cut him off.

“Look. Officer. I’m coming from Fargo as soon as I can figure out this fucking Bluetooth hands-free-technology-shit in my car.  I’m gonna ask you for an assist. Can you do that?”

“Ma’am, that’s really not warranted. Your husband’s injury isn’t critical.”

“Okay, then you should know I’m gonna be comin’ in hot and I mean, I’m gonna be speeding my ass off.”  I honestly don’t know what got into me. I was raised to respect authority figures and by that I mean if I even see a uniformed police officer, I’m kegeling and thinking Oh my GOD, did I do something wrong!?  To further my point, since age sixteen, I’ve received exactly two speeding tickets and they’ve both left me in tears; not from the ticket itself, oh no, but from the presence of Big Blue – Officer John Law. 

Growing older, finding my voice and extreme stress changes people, at least it has me.

A mere sixty-five minutes later (I guess I’m not that much of a pedal-to-the-metal rebel; the trip normally takes eighty minutes) I pulled into the hospital’s parking lot and saw that the helicopter’s rotors were starting to turn. Walking quickly into the emergency entrance, I heard her sweet voice before I saw her and when I saw her, she was in the waiting room talking with a member of the First Responders staff.

“Hey Mom,” she said casually, as if this was an ordinary Saturday where we often hung out in hospital waiting rooms.

“Hey honey,” I replied with equal calm and stooped to give her a hug. I wanted to give her a real beaut, but she wanted nothing to do with me, keeping her body turned away, so I hugged her shoulders and asked, “Are you okay?”

She nodded and the lady said Ceta had kept her entertained with stories and pictures.  That’s so my girl, I thought.

A nurse came forward and asked who I was there to see. I told her and she said the doctor wanted to visit with me but that my husband was fine and would be fine, and if I wanted to see him before the chopper took off, I needed to go outside now.

Her words, while reassuring, sparked the first flames of anger.

Oh, you bet your sweet ass I wanna see him. Yes, I do. Very much.

Taking Ceta’s hand, we walked to where his gurney was parked several yards away from the increasingly noisy copter. My eyes scanned his body and returned to the white gauze bandage wrapped around his head.  I bent and peered a little closer at his face, noticing dried blood in his ear, eyebrows and by the corner of his mouth. My hawk-like eyes missed nothing and when I was satisfied, I raised my eyes to his and when they met, he said, a bit sheepishly, “I’m fine.”

Internally snorting, I thought, You’re about to be life flighted to Fargo. You’re not fine, you stubborn ass!  But instead of voicing this, flames of anger fully replaced worry and as I shook my head, I mouthed not “I love you” or “You’re gonna be fine,” but “You stupid fucker,” and then briefly kissed his lips.

Bet that was a first for the EMT’s.

Ceta and I reentered the hospital where the doctor was waiting. He explained Trinity had received a concussion, whiplash and a skull fracture. I had a brief thought that “someone” was trying to get his attention, and that “someone” may have saved his life. Before I could explore that, the doctor continued, validating my thoughts. He told me my husband was lucky; if the projectile had been an inch lower, he (Trinity) would be dead. He also said the puncture wound was small and no bone fragments had entered his brain; a positive, for sure.

“Why Life Flight, then?” I asked.

“Because you don’t fool around with head injuries and you certainly don’t want a small hospital like ours treating this.  Right now, he’s stable but his brain could bleed at any moment and he needs to be at a hospital where they are experts at this kind of stuff.  We are sending him to Sanford.”

“Oh no you’re not!” I protested. “He’s a veteran and needs to go to the VA.”

“Nope. Sanford. The VA is not equipped for this. Sanford is the only option.”

After a quick stop at the lake home to get the dog (and the I-pad, can’t forget that modern-day babysitter at a time like this), I saw a portion of what Ceta had witnessed. In addition to the bloody floors, rugs, towels, counter tops and furniture, Trinity’s t-shirt had been scissored off by the EMT’s and lay discarded among the carnage.

I walked to Ceta’s bedroom, looked inside her closet and saw the blankets and I-pad stuffed into a corner.  I understood what she was trying to do because I had employed this technique as a child too. My shoulders sank, my head fell forward, and my hands went to my eyes, covering them in an attempt to blot all of this out. It didn’t work.

In addition, the adrenaline was starting to wear off and tremors began, real teeth-clackers. I thought my knees were going to give out and if that happened, I knew I was an emotional goner. Silently, I prayed, Not yet God, I gotta get us home first. With that, my game-face returned, and after giving Ceta another sideways hug, I shoo’d her and A.V. out of the house and into the car and then drove to Fargo at a much more leisurely pace.

Ceta and I talked about how, just two weeks before, the Fire Department had come to her class and talked about what to do in case of an emergency. She and I roll played some scenarios before I tucked her into bed. I had no idea her “training” would be put to use – or so soon.

After dropping our goldie off at home, Ceta and I headed for the hospital.  It was there I thought to contact a neighbor, and after explaining the situation, I asked if Ceta could spend the night. Without hesitation, she agreed, and not only that, but she offered to pick Ceta up at the hospital.

Trinity awoke in the E.R. after several hours of fitful sleep. He didn’t have a clear memory of the last eight hours. His pain was manageable, he said, but when tests showed his kidneys were shutting down, something common with severe head trauma, that guaranteed him an extended stay at Hotel Sanford.

During this time, I received a text from the Fire Chief who had attended my husband. “Wanted to let you both know how amazing your daughter was yesterday. Not only did she have the presence of mind to call you when she knew there was something wrong with her dad, but she was the calmest, coolest kid I’ve ever seen on a call.  . . .Hats off to her for being such a trooper.”

Unable to sleep in the hospital’s hide-away bed, my mind again turned to Ceta. I wondered how this would affect her. I tried to make this less scary for her by turning it into a positive; I had also opened the lines of communication, so much so that she would eventually say, “Can we just quit talking about this? Please!”  I decided I would ask her if she’d like to speak with her school counselor and when I did, she said yes.

The next night, alone, and in the confines of my own bedroom, I cried hard, letting out all the fear, worry, and anger over not only this event, but also for what I had experienced as a child. As the sobbing let up, I thought it was crazy that Trinity’s accident had triggered a still painful memory from my youth and that by facing it as an adult, I was now able to heal it.

A few weeks after Trinity left the hospital in mid-October, everything was settling back to normal when I received a text from one of the First Responders. She said that the entire staff was so impressed with our little girl that they’d like to do something for her. I replied I wasn’t sure if Ceta wanted any more attention; she was trying to put the event behind her after sharing her story at school and getting a badge at Girl Scouts. After speaking to Ceta about it, she reluctantly agreed that they could do something for her as long as it didn’t involve her being on a stage or having a spotlight on her. I relayed her wishes.

Six weeks later, Ceta and I were sitting on the couch talking about Christmas when she announced, “You know how I know I won’t get coal from Santa?”

“How?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and thinking this oughta be good.

“Because I saved my dad’s life, that’s why.”

That knocked the wind out of me. Both Trinity and I had been careful not to put that weight on her shoulders, but somehow, she knew. After what felt like several seconds, I responded, “Yes, you did, honey. How do you feel about that?”

“It’s okay, Mom. I did. I did save Dad’s life but I just wanna put it behind me.”

Spoken like a true sage.

On New Year’s Eve, an envelope arrived addressed to Ceta. I suspected it was the “something” the First Responder had spoken about. Ceta, with a smile on her face, ripped open the envelope (what child doesn’t love getting mail?), removed the card and out floated her very own life-sized Fire and Rescue patch.

The perfectly timed item was the best “something” she could have received. Not only did the simple patch honor her heroism but it reminded her that she made a positive difference, not just for her dad, but for others as well.

Out of something bad, good will come.


Melissa’s Note: Trinity is doing well – he’s still having concussion issues, which frustrate him, but he is also loosely following doctor’s orders. Does that surprise you? Not me. He is also very aware that his life was spared and humbled by it. Apparently,  he has more to do on this earth – something which both Ceta and I are grateful.   

Battle

Once there were eight soldiers, all strangers and recent high school graduates who left their parents, siblings, jobs and homeland to fight in a war.  Putting aside the last of their waning youth, they focused their still-developing brains on learning how to kill and, perhaps more importantly, how to stay alive in Uncle Sam’s Army. Forming unbreakable bonds, they each became the other’s ride-or-die. Extreme trauma and battlefield duress became their normal and like most of their own families, this arrived with its own type of dysfunctional baggage.

As the war and these soldiers matured, so did the undertow of these alliances. Once the conflict ended, reunions were erratically scheduled. At first, they wouldn’t talk about what happened during their time in Iraq. Instead, they tried to numb the memories with addictive agents such as alcohol and/or narcotics.

Then, as time marched on and they grew older still, they started to open up and discuss what had happened in the streets, trenches and bunkers. This brought with it the knowledge that they were all self-medicating but instead of helping as they hoped, they were succumbing to the unrelenting and debilitating nerve pain brought on by the enemy’s chemical weapons.

Most sought help through the VA system, something that was designed just for them, but most walked away feeling as if it was broken and that they had been unheard, dismissed or had become…expendable.

Some were repeatedly rejected when they tried to have their disability rating increased. Others were unfairly judged to be pain pill seekers, even though it was well documented what Army soldiers had been subjected to.  Those who were prescribed narcotics found it to be a temporary fix and they needed higher and higher dosages to take the edge off, something the doctors were unwilling to do. And still others continued to go unmedicated while the doctors put them through a battery of needless tests and then, unable to find anything physically responsible for their pain, referred them to numerous “specialists.”

Meanwhile, these Gulf War veterans continued to experience nightmares, anxiety, PTSD, depression, and full-body joint pain. Some continued to find temporary solace in illegal drugs or, like my husband, alcohol. Others, having had enough of the physical and emotional agony or fighting for their own well-being, ended their lives, leaving those who had once protected them guilt-ridden and questioning their own fate.

After the death of their squad’s fifth member, my own husband then almost eighteen months sober and in PTSD counseling, felt his constant pain ratchet up from a six to an eight. He wondered absently if the pain was being passed on to those still alive.

I asked him if he wanted me to (intuitively) look into that and he said he did.  My response was immediate.

“No, the pain is not being passed from one of you to the next.”

“It sure feels that way,” he said.

I shook my head, emphasizing the point, “The disease is progressing.”  

Throughout our twelve years together, there was rarely a day when I didn’t give him Reiki, but even that has its limits. I kept telling him he’d find the answer. He’d look under every rock and he’d find something that would help. That day finally arrived in the form of a gift certificate to a local salt bath business.

After his first float in a large, non-claustrophobic tub, his pain was reduced to the level of five or six. Subsequent weekly floats brought it down to a three, something he was very grateful for. Most recently, I felt his body’s energy and said, “It’s changing. Your joints don’t feel so heavy or thick anymore. I can feel a reduction in the energetic swelling.  Whatever you’re doing – or not doing – it’s helping.”

Then, knowing another reunion was on the horizon, I asked if I could do minimal intuitive work about the surviving battle buddies.

“One of them is from Tennessee,” I said with knowing. Trinity validated my knowledge.

“He’s in a lot of pain,” I said. “Like in a bad, bad way. He’s really far gone, Trinity.”

“Yeah, I think he’ll be the next to go. I think the other one is doing alright, at least he’s in a little bit better space, but Gary is a complete alcoholic mess.”

Continuing, I said, “He feels worthless and lonely. I could help him. Have him call me. Or maybe you could tell him that his life matters and that you have found some relief from the pain with salt baths.”

A shoulder shrug was his response.

The night before his trip, Trinity confided, “I have this weird feeling that Gary and Andy are gonna do a murder-suicide thing. I’ve already told them I won’t come to their hotel room. We’ll meet in a public place or we won’t meet at all. I also told Gary not to bring any guns and he said he could just buy one at a pawn shop if he wanted to. His response was so quick that it tells me he’s thought about this.”

“Smart,” I told him. “You’ve got good instincts. Listen to them.”

Gary and Andy (not their real names) were each other’s wingmen. They had formed a deeper friendship in Iraq and that tie held for twenty-eight years. Trinity considered himself an outsider to this connection, but the memories of combat still bound the three together.  As it was, after several hours of talking about the past and present, they parted ways.

The next time Trinity saw them, Gary was pass-out drunk, clearly on a bender. Andy’s addiction was pain pills, prescription or illegal, so he appeared less intoxicated. Saying their goodbyes, Trinity left for the airport. The two war buddies stayed behind because their flights were scheduled for the next day.

They would not make them. Or any flights. Ever again.

            “I’m one-hundred percent sure it’s the last time I’ll see them alive,” read Trinity’s text to me that night.

The next day he called the hotel and asked them to do a welfare check. The hotel staff indicated money, ID’s, clothing and all personal effects were in the room, but the guests were not, nor had they checked out at the required time. Trinity notified police, filled out two missing person reports, gave a description of the clothes they might be wearing and offered his opinion on a murder-suicide pact.

After that, thoughts filled my husband’s head and sleep would not come. Had he missed the signs? Had he been bamboozled? Could he have done more? One thing he didn’t have to question was why they did it. Having lived with the annihilating and killing (literally) pain for the majority of his life, he knew the answer.

Within a day of Trinity’s return, the call came, confirming what he had suspected.

Two bodies had been found matching Trinity’s earlier description.  After a day and night of heavy drinking and possible drug use, both decided it was time. Stumbling into an alleyway, they wrapped an American flag around their heads, a final “fuck you” to the government or, perhaps, in remembrance that they were veterans who had given their all for the US of A.

Then, using a large caliber gun, they confirmed Trinity’s foreboding feeling.

The notifying police officer asked if Trinity knew their next of kin. My husband said that he was probably the closest thing to it. The officer said the hotel was asking that the bar tab be paid.

“How much was it?” Trinity asked, thinking he would do so out of respect for his fallen brothers.

“Thirty-one-hundred dollars.”

Christ!

“Uh. How about you get the US government to pay that.”

It’s the least they can do, I thought, after all, these men had just finished what the government started almost thirty years ago.

With that, the tears that had been welling spilled over and sobs ripped from my throat.  

“What do you need, honey? How can I help you?” I asked.

“I need to be alone and don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid.” Meaning he wouldn’t kill himself. “I’ve already been in touch with my psychologist and I just need to process this. I want to close the door on this chapter in my life. I want to move forward. I, I want it to be done.”

As I was trying to sleep, an unsolicited vision of Trinity filled my mind. He was resting on his back, eyes closed. I placed two fingers on either side of his neck and when I did, a clear, watery, gel-like substance began bubbling, and then streaming, from his mouth. It ended almost as soon as it began, and I saw Trinity’s chest rhythmically rise and fall as if he was in a deep, peaceful sleep.

A “thought” came to me that now he could breathe easier and would sleep without feeling like he was drowning.

And then there was one.


Statistics report Army suicides are at fifty-two percent; the highest of any armed forces.

Believe

Before I left on sabbatical, a few clients had asked if I worked with couples. They felt my unique spiritual perspective could really benefit their marriages. I told them I hadn’t considered this, but I certainly would.

Throughout my leave, I kept thinking about this and realized my intuitive gifts, combined with straight-forward talk, could really help those who were wanting – or needing – something different. I kept the idea warm, returning to it every now and then, trusting that if it was meant to be it would be.

About three weeks ago a friend who is dealing with some marital issues reached out. I had this “thought” that I could help her and her husband and I should ask if she’d be open for me to do so, but I pushed it down because one of her besties is a powerful spiritual warrior and I didn’t want to step on her toes.

I appeased myself with the thought that I’d let it be and see what happened. You’d think I’d know better by now, wouldn’t ‘cha?  Within minutes, her husband’s voice filled my head.

Let Sarah do it, he said snidely and with bitterness. Then, in the manner of Jan Brady: Sarah, Sarah, SARAH!

Having a zero “poor me” tolerance, I softly said, “Oooooh Dave, noooo…You do it. You are an adult and you need to learn from your mistakes, just as we all do. Nobody can do it for you and life doesn’t come with a manual. Get used to it, dude.”

I’m not good enough, came his dejected reply.

“Sorry you think that, but how is that working for you? Good? No? Then change it!”

I’m scared.

“We all are, bucko. We all are.”

Will you help me?

“Welllll, I’m kinda in my own hell right now but I’ll never say no to a soul in need. Let’s start right away.”  My thought was I could spiritually work with him while I slept.

DEAL!  he said with enthusiasm and I was shown an image of him clapping his hands and jumping up and down.

“Dave,” I asked, “is it okay for me to share our talks with Sarah?”

NO!  Wait! Tell her a little. I want her to be proud of me.

That night I began working with him.  In what appeared to be a school room, he arrived looking like a seven-year-old version of his adult self. He was dressed in his best first-day-of-school clothes: a button-up short-sleeve shirt and blue dress pants. Completing his look was a fresh haircut. His blond hair had been gelled to create spikes. He carried a sharpened number two pencil and an unused, ruled notebook.

As he anxiously squirmed in his desk chair, he licked the tip of the pencil indicating he was ready to get down to business. He asked what our first lesson would be and without really knowing the answer, I said, “I want you to write ‘I believe in me.’”

His face fell and his shoulders slumped. That’s it?  he asked with incredulity. That’s what you want me to write?! 

Inwardly I smiled at his crestfallen look. “No,” I said. “I want you to believe it.”

With an open mouth, he stared at me as if I had just asked him to do something abhorrent.

And I had.

The next day, I told Sarah what had occurred and that I thought the Guys were urging me forward with Empowerment Counseling (a nice way of saying “couples therapy”) and that she was free to say no but would she and Dave consider coming to see me for a spiritual “counseling” session? Her response came within minutes; they were both on board.

Well, whaddya know?

A joint session was scheduled and that night, during another of Dave’s astral lessons, I asked him to use “I believe in me” in a sentence. Once again, his mouth fell open and he stared at me like I had sprouted horns and a spiked tail.

“This is where we must start, Dave,” I said. “The fact that you are genuinely struggling should be all the validation you need that this is important.”

His eyes rolled upward and then slammed shut. He pursed his lips and clenched his fist.  Like a petulant child, he moaned, Awwww maaaaan!   

“Dave, you’re ready or you wouldn’t have found me.”

The day of their session, I was filled with excitement. This felt right and even though I didn’t exactly know what this was going to look like, or how it would flow, I trusted it would be fine.  

Dave was understandably nervous, and I couldn’t blame him. After all, Sarah was very familiar with Reiki, intuitive work and even the Guys, but he wasn’t.  After a brief synopsis of what Reiki was, how my intuition worked and stating that I had asked for information which would serve both of them, I asked Dave to volunteer.

Being a good sport, he did. Once settled on the Reiki table, my validating intuitive gifts started to bubble forth. It felt so good to be back in the saddle again. After rambling off a series of knowing’s, Dave asked me how I was doing this.

“Have you talked to Sarah about this stuff?” he asked.

“Uh no.”

“Then how do you know this stuff?”

“’Cause I’m a Rockstar.”

As his time on the table was ending, Sarah left the room and I told Dave he had to believe in himself. I had earlier wondered if that information would bleed over into this session and it had. I also shared that he and I were working on spiritual lessons during the evening hours.

When Sarah returned, I was showing Dave the jade Reiki stone carrying a portion of the symbol that resembled what I had seen on his own spiritual heart. When I said the image’s name, the room grew quit.

“What did you say?” Sarah asked.  I repeated the name.

To Sarah, Dave said, “Isn’t that what Thomas (their son) says about the angel he sees? Showcoo? Isn’t that the name he uses?”

I glanced at Sarah and saw her eyes were wide. She nodded and I broke out in goosebumps.

Next, it was Sarah’s turn. With her, I used different terminology and was even more direct in what I saw and knew.  At one point, I heard Dave mumble that he was trying not to cry.

“You’re sensitive, Dave.” I said. “That’s a really good thing. This is a safe place to cry. Crying is the start of healing. Don’t hold back.”  But he did, at least externally.

Then, in a voice that was full of honesty and emotion, he said, “I love you, Sarah.”

“Dave!” I said. “Bless your heart! I love that you freely tell your wife that in front of someone you’ve just met. Most men wouldn’t do that; they would be too intimidated or embarrassed.” Then I started crying, partly because of something that was going on in my life but mainly because the energy surrounding his admission was breathtakingly beautiful.

As Sarah’s portion finished, she took her seat next to Dave and he reached for – and then held – her hand. He told her again he loved her, and that this session was the best and coolest thing he had ever done. Then he said something that caused my breath to catch, “Sarah used to be the securest person I knew and now she’s insecure because of me.”  

I was confused and alarmed by his statement. Having made it very clear during the session’s preamble that my “job” here wasn’t to place blame or point fingers, I quickly reviewed what I remembered from Sarah’s reading and couldn’t find anything that did so. I indicated, among other things, that her neck was pushed to one side, her spiritual heart was somewhat closed, her hips were out of alignment, and that the balls of her feet were swollen from being reactive.  Truly, nothing out of the normal.

Seeking to clear this up, I asked, “What did I say that caused you to feel like this, Dave?”

“She’s reactive from dealing with me.”

Knowing a response was not needed, I lowered my eyes.

He repeated, “I love you, Sarah.”

As they were leaving, I noticed a difference in Dave’s energy. My earlier telepathic communication with him was accurate; he was ready. Once in the parking lot, I saw him pull Sarah into his arms.  This caused tears to prick my eyes again but this time, instead of pain, I felt happiness knowing my Work was part of the reason for their embrace.

Jazzed and knowing this was all divinely inspired, I thought, Okay, I get it! I’m totally gonna offer this Empowerment Counseling thingy. This shit is my jam

(Even though permission was granted, aliases were used.)

Sabbatical

signs-of-spiritual-transformation

18 months ago, I let my students and potential students know that I would be finished teaching classes by June 2019. I had been feeling restless for about six months prior to that. I sat with it, trying to understand it until I finally knew it was time to act. It just felt right to “retire” from teaching and let my Reiki Master students take up the reins.

Several of you expressed concern that I would no longer be doing Intuitive Reiki. At the time I had no intention of stopping, however I couldn’t predict what the future would hold. Another piece of that future has fallen into place and it’s time to tell you about it.

My favorite soul-without-a-body, Kyle, came to a gifted Medium friend of mine almost a year ago. Kyle said I would soon need to decide which world I wanted to walk in or I would be ripped apart. My Medium friend said it looked like I had one foot on a dock and one foot on a boat. At the time I had begun my first novel so I suspected it had something to do with that.

Not long after that my husband came home from an AA meeting and told me, names withheld, about some of the attendees. I would intuitively pick up on their energy and know why they chose to drink or use drugs. I would relate this to him and he would validate my information. It was then that I started yearning for something bigger. I wanted to reach more people. I wanted to do my Work differently. I felt drawn to working with recovering alcoholic and addicts. I thought, “What a beautiful gift. I could help them understand their fears or insecurities and maybe why they drank/used.”

I pursued this through my (limited) channels, but nothing panned out. Instead of being frustrated, I chose to believe it wasn’t the right time. That quest opened an internal door that left me feeling like I was meant to do more and I started to yearn for whatever that was.

quotes-story-heal-iyanla-vanzant-480x480As my book progressed and I was editing chapter after chapter after chapter, I decided I didn’t want to write on Wednesday evenings only anymore. I knew the content of book number two still had a painful effect on me and switching between writing and clients was not possible. I needed to take some time away from work.

I floated the idea of a short sabbatical by my husband. Without hesitation he said, “Go for it.” That gave me the green light I had been needing but I was not physically able to take the next step.

Around this time, my hubby sold his building and moved his business into a larger space complete with two unused offices. He offhandedly said, “You could use one of these offices for Reiki.”  I felt a stirring somewhere inside of me. It was as if another cog had turned bringing me closer to my next purpose.  When he was proudly showing off his new digs, I was drawn to an office. I felt its energy and with excitement I knew that would be my new work space once my lease had expired.

Susie (my mentor and bestie) and I trade Reiki monthly. When I was working on her in August, her deceased dad’s voice came through with a message for me. He said, “Remember, you come first.”  I was startled and said, “Susie? Your dad is here but he’s talking directly to me. He says, “I come first.” She nodded her head and grabbed my hand and said, “You do!”  He asked me to repeat it so inside my head I intoned, “I come first.”

I knew what he was doing. I was emotionally struggling with letting my clients down. I am very maternal and protective of them. I feel vested in their forward progress. I felt like I had to find a home for them or I needed to make sure they would be safe. Susie’s dad was reminding me that I needed to put my needs first.

I talked with my Guys (guardian angels). “What am I going to do with all those who still need me? I just can’t abandon them.” They, so damn wise, said, “Perhaps you have taken them as far as they can go and now you will empower them to find others that can help in different ways.” (eyebrow raise) Uhhh…oooOOOOhhhh.

When I first moved into Inner Focus Reiki’s office space, I signed a three-year lease. When that expired, I intuitively knew I could only commit to two more years. I didn’t know the reason but I trusted in that knowing. Now my Guys had just given me what I needed to move forward. I posted on Facebook that I was looking to get out of my lease and within two days, a new renter appeared. Her approval process took over six weeks (not the norm, but perhaps it was needed?). I continued to trust all was falling into place. No easy feat, let me tell you!

Body artAfter the new renter appeared, things started spiritually happening to me which solidified my earlier decision. In addition to Troy giving me a taste of heaven, I saw a client’s soul body float up and out of her physical body. She was fully tattooed in deeply saturated marbleized colors that swirled and curled. She was supremely beautiful. Her face was also tattooed and radiated calmness. Her eyes were large, all black and held great wisdom. She looked at me and through her eyes, I felt unconditional love and acceptance. As my client’s session was ending, the soul body sank back into her physical body.

LavaAnother client had been sexually abused by her father. Before I even intuited that, I saw him, now deceased, as a burning red blob of magma that was oozing putrid yellow rivers of what looked like pus. I was transported to his lineage and knew that his great, great, great grandfather was southern and treated his women like livestock. He treated his slaves better than he did his wife as he viewed her as scum, only there to breed and he felt she deserved the abuse.

I saw another lifetime where her dad’s lineage was involved in the KKK. And still another that operated covertly to do maximum damage. Her dad had opted to have girls only in this lifetime so he could break the long history of male supremacy. Unfortunately, he didn’t overcome the cycle of abusing women.

Angle with Crown and WingsYet another client had an angel with white opalescent wings appear. This angel was there to reconnect us as we were previously sisters. She was also there to give us both an energy upgrade. When she finished with me, she said, “I have just given you the gift of sight.”  I said, “I already have that.” She calmly replied, “Not like this.” and then she vanished.

Most recently, a client had a Native American Chief come into her session. This Chief told me he was here to help her but was also here to help me heal my heart. As I sat at her head, I was told that I have “boundless, limitless energy” and that “I will now walk the earth in my true form.”

White angel wings appeared on my back. They spread out from my shoulders and spanned about five feet on either side of me. Not going to kid you readers, I was wide eyed and internally saying, “HOLY SHIT! Hooooleeeee SHIT!” As this client’s session ended, I was told, “Our karmic pact has been fulfilled.” I knew we both had learned what we needed from each other and it would be time for us to move forward.

Most of these clients had been on my books for months. One had even rescheduled her session from June until October. This allowed me to believe they all wanted to be a part of helping me grow and if things wouldn’t have fallen into place for me, none of these events would have occurred. This validated the movement I was taking was the right one.

sceptre 1Saturday I held what I think is my last Innately Intuitive class. While I was leading my students through an angel-inspired guided meditation, a heavy white silken opalescent cape draped around my shoulders. I was told this was a “Cloak of Purity.” An ornate golden staff with an clear oval crystal was placed upon my lap. A delicate gold crown was placed upon my head. I heard, “Priestess” and was told I am a “work of art” and not in the sarcastic way, either. Finally, “The next stage will begin immediately.”

sabbaticalday001

Which brings us to this blog, dear reader, client and/or student. I have decided to take a three or four month sabbatical starting December 1, 2018 in order to work on myself and book number two. I don’t know what my life will look like after that. This is as much information as I have right now.

I am drawn to empowerment and inspirational speaking. This is a great way for me to continue informal teaching and allows me to reach more people. Again, I don’t know what this looks like. My Guys have told me I will reach 80% of my clients (or people) this way. The other 20% will see me in person.

faith

I’m trusting. As I did almost 13 years ago when I quieted ego and opened the doors of Inner Focus Reiki, I’m taking another leap of faith. I’m following something primal and I’m agog with excitement and also pee-in-my-pants scared.

I want to thank each one of you who has seen me once or a hundred times during these years. You may think I was just helping you, but you were also helping me. You were giving me confidence, experience and allowing me to push boundaries. You were encouraging me to become more. You trusted in me and I, unknowingly, was trusting in you.  Thank you for finding your way to me. It’s an honor to have been part of your journey.

Sabbatical 2

(I will continue to see clients through November 28, 2018.)


As of today my first novel, “ONE (plus one makes…)” is still in the hands of my copy editor. I will post updates on my professional Facebook page as well as my website. ♥

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

Delete

Since my energetic upgrade a few months ago, I’ve grown very restless with certain things in my life, one of those things being my personal Facebook page. I never have been one to obsessively check FB nor do I care what people are up to that I haven’t associated with in years. I wasn’t one of those who had hundreds of “friends” and I didn’t post my every thought, event or picture. It’s totally cool with me if others do, but I never used social media that way.

Truthfully, the only reason Inner Focus Reiki has a business FB page is because years ago when a friend of mine was helping me get my website up and running, he said I HAD to have a social media presence. I reluctantly gave in and created a business FB page. He questioned me about Twitter and such but I didn’t want anything to do with it (and I still don’t). Social media sort of short circuits me; it feels like being among hordes of last minute Christmas eve mall shoppers.

I’m a very private person and I always have been. It’s how I was raised. I recently realized that my need for additional personal privacy comes at a time when my Work is expanding. The truth is sometimes when people taste my intuitive gifts they want ALL of me. It’s as if I stop being a human and become a commodity. People forget I am also a wife, a mother, a sister, a best friend. They forget I have emotions and that I bleed red when cut. They assume my life is an open book and they are the ravenous, insatiable, greedy readers. I am wholly uncomfortable with that.

I’ve seen how people who publicly use their Intuitive gifts can be idolized, alienated, harassed and even stalked. I don’t want anything to do with that as being a practicing Intuitive is just a fraction of who I am; it does not define me. It’s also one of the reasons I strive to empower my clients as I don’t want people to become dependent upon me or my intuitive knowledge.

My home, my sanctuary, has been a busy work environment for my husband’s work crew for over three years. My sense of space and privacy has been greatly diminished by this. I reached my indignity limit recently when I was in our bedroom, door closed and the cable TV dude walked right in. Didn’t knock, just opened the door and walked right in (our cable box is in the bedroom closet). Uhhhh. HELLO?! What if I had been in my pajamas or (gulp) NOT in my pajamas?!

All of this has led me to feel like I need to declutter and my eyes turned towards my personal FB page. It felt tarnished and of the old. Several acquaintances had left my life and I hadn’t had an honest conversation with – or seen – others in years. There were others whom I stopped wanting to stay in touch with and others who were just ‘Facebook Fabulous’ (Facebook Fake). I no longer wanted that social media connection. It no longer fueled me, on the contrary, it seemed to drain me. I needed to end that chapter and energetically free myself.

Of course I had the “good girl” thoughts of: If I do this, would the deleted parties go all “mean girl” on me? Would the earth still turn? What if….?  Then I realized this wasn’t about them, it was about me (“It’s not you, it’s me”). I needed to be true to myself and get over some residual “what will everyone think” thoughts. Once I realized this, reducing my friend list became so much easier.

I have always been one to maintain professional distance with clients for many reasons. Going through my personal Facebook friends, I found there were several clients whom I didn’t know or associate with outside of Work, nor did I care to. That told me something.

With the desire to keep more of my personal life private, it strikes me as odd that I feel led to become more open and slightly less professional (Egads! That thought almost causes me to break out in hives!) on my business Facebook page.  If it’s my quirkiness, personality, and well “humanness” you want, well then maybe I should do this more publicly? It sounds so counter-intuitive to sequester more of my personal life in one area but open it up in another, much larger, area.

The energy surrounding this feels of the new and yet sort of uncomfortable.  But if you’re used to doing things one way for so long, the new will feel uncomfortable until it becomes, well, comfortable.

 

Flu

fluMy client had scheduled two Intuitive Reiki sessions back to back; one for her and one for her husband, whom I’d not professionally seen before. Her session began like any other but about two thirds of the way through it, an intensely beautiful archangel popped in.

I originally assumed he was there for my client but it turns out, he was there for me. His visage was breathtaking. I don’t even know how to adequately describe his looks.  He was beyond beautiful and my breath caught in my throat.

He was dressed as other archangels have been; no shirt, form fitting black leather-like pants and large black silken wings. His face though, oh my GOD, his face! It was something I could stare at all day long; a thing of great beauty. He had a straight patrician nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw, dark black eyebrows/lashes, riveting sapphire blue eyes and chiseled lips.

His thick, dark black wavy hair fell to his shoulders. His body was lean, powerful and muscular. His left leg was casually bent at the knee and his foot was resting on my wall. His beauty was so intensely stunning, I thought I would cry.

What set him apart from other archangels I’ve seen was his demeanor. He was somewhat impatient like an antsy teenager wanting to leave the company of an adult to be with his friends. His energy was powerful, confident and very, very saucy. This boy oozed animal magnetism and he was fully aware of his charm. Sweet JAYSUS, Lawd ha’ mercy! He was rakishly gorgeous.

I wasn’t expecting an archangel to just pop in during a client’s session. His angelic countenance caused me to take in a sudden whoosh of air and I could feel heat rising to my cheeks; I was blushing. Clearly I was startled and off balance and geez, Louise! a little warning next time?!

But in true Melissa form, I tried to act like I had game instead of a silly little school girl experiencing her first crush on an older man. I was like, “Oh, hey, dude. Hi. What’s up?”  To me, I thought I sounded nonchalant, airy and cool but I know my intuitive voice was high pitched, like I’d gotten caught doing something I didn’t want anyone else to know about. In a way I had, because he could hear everything I was thinking. Busted!

He said, “I’m here to give you an energy upgrade. Are you ready?”  I indignantly blurbled, “Now?! Psssssh. I’m with a client!” I was trying to buy myself some time to think. He didn’t respond but continued to gaze at me (gulp) so I stuttered, “Well, uhh, sure, I guess.” And then I found my strong and steady voice, “As long as it doesn’t negatively affect me or my client. I have another client after her and I have to be able to function. I’m going to trust that this energy is going to help both of them as well as me.”

He smiled again (oh dear GOD, why, WHY did he do that?!) and telepathically assured me this would be gentle. I looked forward again as if thinking about this (I wasn’t, I was just buying some time again) and then nodded my internal head. His perfect 7 foot frame was instantly standing behind me. He placed his large hands on my shoulders and I physically broke out in goose bumps.

Within seconds I heard, “You’ll feel pressure in your head” and before that sentence was fully finished, I felt pressure in my head, like a vice grip.  I physically shook my head trying to clear the pressure but it didn’t help. I heard, “It’ll pass” and sure enough, within seconds the pressure eased as did the shivers.  The whole upgrade was finished in about three minutes but I must say I wasn’t paying attention to the time. I was focusing on my client making sure she was OK with this new energy and she seemed to be resting peacefully.

The archangel didn’t stay around once his part was completed. I felt his hands lift off my shoulders and then he was gone. Well, gee. Was it good for you? Can I call you in the morning?  Humph. Cad. Rake. Rapscallion!

My client’s session ended and her husband’s began. His session was different from the get go. I couldn’t keep my energetic eyes off of him. I had never seen a person that energetically beautiful before.  His aura/energy captivated me and I felt drawn in; I wanted to know all about him.  I giggled and told him just that.  He, being older and very modest, said he didn’t know what he did to deserve this admiration.

When we went into session, my hands remained cold. Usually my hands are heating pad hot but I trusted that this was exactly what he needed.  As our session went on, my hands felt like they were getting even colder. I started shivering and my head had that weird vice grippy thing going on. I turned up the room’s heat.  My client was very warm to the touch but I was ice cold. What the hell?

His session ended and I told him this was the first time my hands remained ice cold during a treatment. He asked what that meant and I said it was neither here nor there, just an observation on my part as that had never happened in all the years I had used Reiki.

I went home that evening with off and on chills. The next day I awoke feeling like there was a fire in my upper chest and my head was being squished by a vice. I raised my eyes to the heavens and said, “If this is gentle, you Guys can kiss my ass!”  By the end of the day my skin hurt, my hair hurt, even my toenails hurt and I was super cranky. I internally said, with much less venom this time as it almost hurt to think, “You Guys! You said this would be gentle. This is NOT gentle. HELP ME!”

It was about then that I drug my carcass from the bed and looked up my symptoms. Was it possible I had the upper respiratory flu? Or WAS this the energy upgrade? I didn’t know and I didn’t hear an answer when I asked but I knew there were no coincidences.

One thing is for sure, I won’t play with fire next year. It’s either the flu shot or if a devilishly handsome archangel shows up wanting to upgrade my energy with promises that it will be gentle, I’ll check for horns and a tail.

Wounds

For so many of us lately, myself included, it feels as if old emotional wounds are being ripped opened and re-exposed. These are wounds we thought we had dealt with and healed. We are, quite frankly, pissed off as all hell about this.

I recently intuited some information about a client’s long dead father and her very much alive best friend. I said, “It looks like old wounds are coming up for you that need to be healed. It’s all coming around for you again. Your bestie is treating you the way your father did.” My client blinked her beautifully wise blue eyes and she said she thought she had dealt with this painful emotional issue.

She then said something so profound that I felt as if I was the student instead of the teacher. Truth be told, this often happens when I work on her. She drew in a breath and said what she had previously dealt with was the back end of her father’s abuse; she hadn’t dealt with it while it was going on. Now, she said, she’s been given the opportunity to deal with the front end of this abuse thanks to her life-long best friend.

Well, what the hell (head scratch). She’s completely right, you know.

I thought I was through with the emotional/psychological abuse I suffered at the mouth of my starter husband. I thought I had worked through the pain of the passive-aggressive and emotional abuse from my family. I thought I had healed the reoccurring betrayal and abandonment issues that seem to weave themselves throughout my life. I thought. I thought. I thought. Turns out, I thought (mostly) wrong.

Based on previous blogs, it’s no secret I firmly believe people enter our lives to help teach us lessons. Some of those lessons can drop us to our knees while others barely cause us to break a sweat. Some of the most powerful lessons we learn are from our parents, our siblings, our children, our spouses and our besties. Those that are closest to us know us the best and they also know our triggers and how to push them. It only makes sense that our families would try to teach us some of the most transformational lessons.

It’s also no secret that I long ago let go of hating someone for the pain they’ve caused me. I just look at things differently now. Hating someone who ultimately tried to help me heal/grow and may have done so at my implicit request, serves no purpose. It’s like hating your stomach for making you fat.

Most of the time I understand the people who cause us pain are here to help us heal and grow but in the effort of full disclosure, I DO hate someone. I hate this person mainly because of how internally ugly they are and the pain this person has consciously and calculatedly inflicted on someone I love. I can’t shake the disgust and repulsion I feel for this small-minded individual.

Sometimes, when I’m in a more spiritual place, I feel sorry for this person and their tiny self-constructed and limited world. At times I remember that this individual is in a ton of pain and has chosen not to heal. They have chosen to lash out because they want attention, good or bad. They are seeking to hurt a certain person because they feel this person is responsible for their pain and thereby owed it. They misguidedly seek to lessen their own internal pain. This lucid and spiritual way of seeing things calms me and helps me see clearly, but with this particular person, that doesn’t last long.

The reality is this person is trying to teach this someone something but they are triggering the momma badger in me and I want to rip them apart in the form of politically correct, but well directed, words. The reason I don’t is it’s not my fight; it’s not my battle. They are not here to teach me something, at least not directly. I’m just a bi-product; a civilian casualty. While I retain the ability to hate, I will not be mean. I will not yell, belittle, debase or verbally/emotionally abuse anyone. Not anymore. I do not and will not do this no matter how much a person gets my goat.

I was raised by a family who were masters at trying to control others by using these tactics. I know all about the intimidating, threatening, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-until-veins-pop-out-of-your-neck yelling. I am NOT that person anymore. Yelling has no place in my life. Yelling is just an attempt to be threatening and to try to intimidate another. Once you’re on to this, yelling is almost a laughable offense. Truth be told, you can stop a red-faced, eyes-bulging yeller with just a whisper and a steady gaze. This is a trick I learned from my girl Charmaine and then refined with the help of Jemma from Sons of Anarchy.

Back to my point; people are here to help teach us lessons. If we can believe and trust in that, then everything, every shitty little thing that happens in our life is aimed at helping us heal and grow. Why would we hate someone, yell at them or speak horribly about them, if their sole (soul) purpose was to help us heal? It sounds silly, right?  And if we are all connected (we are), then hating them is to hate a part of you.

Susie uses the concept of mirroring. What you dislike/like in them is what you dislike/like in you. Let’s go back to this bitter and abusive person for a moment. What are they triggering in me that I need to heal? I, obviously, am having a very strong reaction to their tactics so I may need to examine what I thought I had healed.

If I choose to do this, I may be able to deal with – and heal – these strong emotions at the beginning of their cycle, thereby healing the entire wound.  Maybe I can take a page out of Susie’s book. When life has handed her a giant load of crapsicles it would be easy for her to choose hate and yet she remains neutral and softly says, “I choose love.”