This WordPress.com site is the bee's knees

Posts tagged ‘Spirituality’

Spirits Are Restless

The curtain in one window became a picture of a long strapped purse during the night. For some reason, the spirit who showed it to me is concerned about her purse. She can’t continue her journey yet. She has to find her purse.

The other window, which had been a bony hand stretching up, was turned into a long-stemmed flower by a different spirit last night. She was rather pleased with herself that she could make me see it. I told her it was lovely and sent her on her way.

Blinds in a third window were lines and lines and lines of writing. I couldn’t read them, but this was shown to me numerous times during the night. This was from a man, and he felt a need to wake me every time to show me.

I’ve been out of bed for three hours and want to lie down and take a six hour nap!

12 – 21- 2012

We make fun of the whole end of the world thing that some one a long time ago invented. We joke about Dick Clark being dead so we can never celebrate New Year’s Eve again. We laugh about the end of the Twinkie. We make light of the whole thing, as we should.

But some people are not laughing.

While you are laughing about it, remember that for some people it really will be the end of the world today.

Their husband or wife is going to die. Their mother is going to die. Their child will die.

Their house will burn down. They will lose their job four days before Christmas.

For some people, the end of the world doesn’t mean a big explosion.

It means a moment in time when their world will come to a screeching stop, and when it starts again will never be the same.

Weary Cavalier, Installment 2

The Babies

Many years ago, I had a baby. During my pregnancy, it seemed that I had a particular connection to infants who had died during birth or in the womb.

I remember many times waking up on my stomach or side with my arms wrapped around the pillow and a wriggling baby in my arms instead of the pillow. Some didn’t move much, either because they were unborn and underdeveloped when they died or they were plain exhausted.

One little girl (most of them were girls) was missing most of her face. I think she had a birth defect that was discovered by sonogram and she was aborted. She was very small.

Night after night, at least once a night, for months on end. I don’t remember them all but some stand out.

Once, I had the baby in my arms and lifted my head to look over the end of the bed and there was her mother, exhausted and dead and lying on the bench there. They had both died during the delivery. You’d think that doesn’t happen in this day and age, but it does. Not every soul that comes to me lives around me.  Energy doesn’t understand those kinds of limitations, so a soul can come to me from anywhere around the world.

I don’t have to know the language it spoke in life. We all speak the same language in death. I don’t have to know or understand the culture they came from. We’re all going back to the electromagnetic sphere of the world. The Source.

One time I remember waking up in a panic, sitting up and frantically searching the blankets at my feet for a baby trapped and in distress. When I uncovered her, she was kicking and laughing at her tricking me in this very fun game of hide and seek. Little shit. She laughed and went merrily on her way. I’ve never forgotten her.

Some were afraid to go through the portal. Confused and scared, and I had to reassure them they would be safe. They would be reborn and given next time to a family that would love them absolutely, so they would know all the love they didn’t get this time. I would hold them while thinking these things, kiss their little foreheads and pat their arm, shoulder or leg. Eventually they would be ready and go on through the patiently waiting portal and I could go back to sleep.

How do I know I wasn’t dreaming? I would often get up and go to the toilet, get a drink of water and return to bed. I’m not prone to sleep walking.

Another I always have remembered was hundreds of years old. I had seen a documentary on an extinct culture and society in Central or South America. The people would sacrifice someone, mummify them in a crouched and sitting position and put them up on top of a mountain. Centuries later, this mummy was found. It was a boy. I forget his age but he wasn’t more than ten or twelve. The scientists concluded he’d been sacrificed.

That night, he came to me. He hadn’t known he could leave the mountain. He thought he was supposed to stay there forever, so he had stayed in order to protect his people. He knew his sacrifice was very important to his people and was at peace with it. He had been willing to serve his people in this manner.

On his way to me he took a look at this new world around him, and he didn’t like it. He was perplexed by the strange, loud machines belching their poisons. He was confused by the strange customs of these people who wore such odd clothing. By the time he got to me, he was glad to go through the portal. He wanted to stay in that peaceful place he was going to and not be reborn. I assured him he didn’t have to be reborn if he didn’t want to be. He could wait and see and make that decision later. He was glad to go and leave this horrid world that was killing itself by stripping itself bare and poisoning everything.

I had never met a soul so young and at the same time so at peace with itself.