Last year, in July 2010, I had spent a little over a week visiting with Bruce and his wife at their home in Florida. I hadn't wanted to come home. It was so hard to say bye to Bruce. I could tell he didn't want to cry, so he just hugged me, gave me a kiss, said bye, and walked back to the car. I was in tears. I'm such a big softy. No, big baby is more like it. I can't stand saying goodbye.
So upon returning home I was a bit out of it, I guess you could say. My focus of awareness was so focused there, at Bruce's house, that returning home felt like I was walking in a dream. I had even had a brief out-of-body experience on my last morning there....I had awoken early and went back to sleep, taking the opportunity to imagine myself getting out of bed and walking throughout the house. It's my easy trick for inducing a quick OBE. Immediately I was completely "out" and found myself in their living room. I thought, I wonder where Bruce is, and immediately the scene changed. I was no longer in their house but instead found myself in a Japanese temple garden. The building wrapped around the garden, squarely bordering it with a low-roofed porch. Bruce was standing there in the middle of the small garden which seemed dwarfed by his tall frame. Almost unaware of my presence, he gazed---intrigued by the architectural structure---at the temple. He turned to look at me and said, "Since you're having an out-of-body experience, you should use this opportunity to experiment. Why don't you go to the kitchen in my house and look at the phone. You can try to read the time on the display." Because of his suggestion my attention immediately obeyed, and I found myself standing in his kitchen looking toward the phone. I awoke then.
Upon returning home that night I had another brief OBE. Something had awoken me and at first I believed I was physically awake. I got out of bed with urgency and amnesia. I didn't recognize where I was. I stood at my bedroom window and looked out onto my backyard. I could see clearly, recognized my yard, but didn't believe I was actually there. "I'm not home, I'm still at Bruce's house. How can I be here?" My awareness and energy were still so much fully focused at Bruce's house that it felt so unreal to be anywhere else. I turned to look into my bedroom, which I could also see clearly in the dark. I recognized it as my room but still did not feel I was actually there. I was so confused that I crawled back into bed and went back to sleep. When I got up in the morning I realized it had been an OBE and was the reason I was able to see so clearly in the dark without my glasses on. It's one of the tale-tell signs for me, although at the time of an OBE or any waking physical reality nonphysical experience, I forget to realize that my normal physical senses aren't as acute as those of nonphysical perception.
A good example of what I mean is what happened next, the next morning. It was a Sunday morning, less than 48 hours after returning from Bruce's house, with my awareness STILL so completely focused on not wanting to leave Bruce, that I was still in a sort of dreamy daze. It was 5:30 a.m., dark, and I was on my way to work. Suddenly, something came flying toward my windshield. A big blackbird. I hit the brakes but it was too late. The bird whacked into my windshield so hard it made a loud, cringe-causing, sound. Immediately the bird walloped onto the roof of my car and I looked into the rear-view and then the side-view mirror to see anything. I felt so bad about colliding with the bird and hoped, despite that awful sound, that it was ok. Fortunately I saw him roll off the roof from the right side of the car and land on his feet in the grass. He did this funny little shaky-dance thing, like some cartoon character would have. He shook his entire body as if to shake-off the "willies" of a near-death experience. I smiled.
I was so relieved the little guy was going to be all right.
I drove to work, worked my 10.25 hour shift, and upon coming back out to the parking lot that evening found a horrible sight. There was something on the roof of my car, wedged under the luggage rack. I had to open my car door and step onto the inside frame in order to be tall enough to see the roof, and there was the black bird, dead. For a few moments I was so confused. How could that be? After hitting my windshield and bouncing onto the roof, the bird had fallen off the car and into the grass. I saw it! Could it have been a different bird that had instead stood there in the grass? It didn't seem reasonable. I knew what I had seen, saw the poor little guy flip head over tail over the edge of the top of my car, saw him do his funny little dance, and saw the expression on his face which said, "Whoa, that was close!"
Then it dawned on me. How could I have had such great eyesight in the dark, while driving about 40 miles per hour, and see the expression on a bird's face in the passenger side-view mirror? How could I have even known what he was thinking?
Taking a plastic grocery bag from my car, I used it to pry the bird from the roof, wrapped him in the bag, and placed it on the floor of my car. As I drove home I cried. I replayed that morning's events in my mind, checked the passenger side-view as I drove, and realized there was no normal way I could have "physically" seen what I had. It must have been with a nonphysical sense of vision that I had seen the dead bird appear to still be alive, appear shaken from the accident, and appear relieved that he was still "alive".
The bird's transition into the afterlife had been so abrupt that he was unaware of it. To him, nothing had changed. He was still alive. That quick transition also meant he had died instantly. Thank God.
It's amazing that the nonphysical senses can kick in so easily without detection. It makes me think we probably experience seeing nonphysical things all the time without even realizing it. We just take it for granted that everything in our experience is physical.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
THE RIGHT PEOPLE WILL HEAR THIS STORY
A new friend informed me I haven't updated my blog in a while. Thanks Patti! Her book, Mainstream Mystic is very similar to mine in fact. We did a book exchange in the mail and I can't wait til her book arrives so I can see how much more I know than she does about all this stuff. Just kidding! I'm really looking forward to reading her life stories surrounding her own spiritual experiences. Every time I read or hear stories like these, they not only inspire me in my own life but also bring such a heartwarming feeling to know that a lot of other people are having the same experiences as I am. We're all on our own journey of self discovery, and it's so important to share that with anyone who is willing to listen.
Writing this right now just reminded me of something my dad once told me, before he died that is. (By the way, that's fun to say. When I learned to open my perception one of the perks was learning that I can communicate with people even though they're not physically living anymore. So sometimes my way of explaining a story involves adding little minor details like, "Oh, and this was a conversation that took place after so-and-so died." When you have friends who completely understand what it's like to communicate nonphysically, then this is a normal conversation. And when you talk this way out in public, knowing that complete strangers are overhearing you and wondering what in the world you're talking about, well it's just fun to do that. I keep waiting for someone to be inquisitive enough to ask what we're talking about! It'll happen one day).
Ok, what I was reminded about my dad was something that happened back in 1997. I finally opened up and shared one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life so far, and to my relief and surprise my dad told me, "Vicky, you need to tell that story as often as possible. Don't be afraid of what people will think. The right people need to hear your story!" It was so inspiring. My dad and his little gems of wisdom. I love remembering these moments.
What prompted this happened a year earlier. In my book, Persephone's Journey, I tell the story about how my 8-month-old son had saved my life. Our sweet baby boy always slept through the night, and instead of hearing crying from him upon awakening, you'd hear him laughing and talking to himself through the baby monitor. But one night he did cry, for the first time. It woke us up of course and took us literally a minute or two to figure out what this new sound was. At 3 in the morning, my husband was not happy about having to get up. "He's never cried before, why is he crying now?" I decided to get up too, to help, even though my husband offered to do it himself. But once I sat up in bed, I knew something was wrong. But I had no idea how serious it actually was. If it hadn't been for our son crying us awake, I would have drowned in my own blood.
I had had no idea that a large pseudotumor (it was suggested it was probably scar tissue) was growing inside my lower left lung. It had grown so big that it broke open blood vessels that had slowly been leaking. I had had no idea, despite all the recent coughing, that my lungs were filling with blood. On this particular night my lungs were as filled as they were going to get before I'd have taken my last breath. If I hadn't woken up when I did and coughed up enough blood from my lungs, I would have died in my sleep that morning.
At the hospital I met a man named Luis. That's all I knew about him, pretty much. He seemed like a caring hospital worker whose job it was to consol patients before surgery. I had prayed, silently and alone, for God to just let me know if I was going to die. I wanted to live of course, but if death was in the cards at this time in my life, then I just didn't want it to be a surprise. "Please just let me know if I'm going to die." Luis had indeed tried to consol me many times, assuring me I wasn't going to die. It never occured to me that he was answering my prayer. It's funny how when you pray you don't actually expect an answer.
A couple days after my surgery and I was feeling better, the nurse allowed me to sleep through the night undisturbed. Up until then I literally had a nurse coming in to check on me once or twice an hour. But on this night I was allowed to fully rest, and those several hours of sleep were much needed. I awoke at 2:30 in the morning fully rested, but wishing I had some company. I immediately thought of calling my husband but didn't want to wake him and the baby. I even considered buzzing the nurse in just so I wouldn't be alone. But then I remembered Luis, the nice young man who had been so loving, kind, and patient with me. He had been so nice during each of his visits, either telling me not to worry, telling me that I was going to make it through the surgery, or saying a prayer with me. I just loved his company. His presence was like nothing I'd ever felt from anyone before. I lie there thinking, I wish he'd come visit me again.
At that moment there was movement next to my bed and I turned. Luis was suddenly standing in the room next to my bed. He had this soft glow around him, and I could instantly feel that incredible energy presence of his again. I said in complete amazement, "It's you! You're here!" And Luis said, "I'm always here for you, Vicky".
He explained why he was here, to remind me of my prayer. He said he had come to answer it. He said it was his job to come here to give me that answer, and that he'd tried many times to answer it. "Before your surgery you wanted to know if you were going to die. I came to tell you that you weren't going to die, do you remember that?" I had to admit, I hadn't even realized it. I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't believe you." It was true. All the times that Luis was telling me I had nothing to worry about, that I wasn't going to die, I didn't believe him. I assumed he was just being nice. I had no idea he was actually answering my prayer to God. Luis said, "That's why I'm here. To let you know that it was my job to come to you."
I still remember the feeling of shock and amazement and can imagine the look on my face. I thanked him, and he came and sat on my bedside one last time. Said another prayer with me, and you know what? Every day of my life since then I wish I could remember word for word what he said in that prayer, but I cannot. All I can remember is looking into Luis' face, seeing that soft golden aura that surrounded him, and feeling the love and kindness in his energy field that emanated from him. I was indeed in awe. Probably couldn't have even said my own name at the time. I often remember that state of shock. Not scared, but blown away. There ARE angels, I had thought to myself.
After that experience I didn't tell anyone about it. I didn't think anyone would believe me. I thought about it every single day, every single day! But a year later while visiting at my parents house and thinking about my gratitude at my one-year anniversary of the day I nearly drowned in my own blood, I decided to finally speak up. I said to mom, "I need to tell you something." She listened, didn't say a word as I told her the entire story. I was afraid of what she'd think of me. When I was done she simply said, "Let me go get your dad. He needs to hear this." I was 8 months pregnant with my second child then, and sitting on the back patio. I remember waiting for her to get dad, and wondering what they'd both think of me. Would they be worried I was just making it all up?
When she came back with dad and I re-told the story again, my dad had said, "Vicky, you need to tell everyone you can about this. Keep telling it to anyone who will listen! Don't ever be afraid of what people will think. This is important and the right people will hear this story!" It was an amazing moment, to have both my parents not only completely believing and supporting me, but also encouraging me to speak out and share my experiences. I'm so grateful for that.
Writing this right now just reminded me of something my dad once told me, before he died that is. (By the way, that's fun to say. When I learned to open my perception one of the perks was learning that I can communicate with people even though they're not physically living anymore. So sometimes my way of explaining a story involves adding little minor details like, "Oh, and this was a conversation that took place after so-and-so died." When you have friends who completely understand what it's like to communicate nonphysically, then this is a normal conversation. And when you talk this way out in public, knowing that complete strangers are overhearing you and wondering what in the world you're talking about, well it's just fun to do that. I keep waiting for someone to be inquisitive enough to ask what we're talking about! It'll happen one day).
Ok, what I was reminded about my dad was something that happened back in 1997. I finally opened up and shared one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life so far, and to my relief and surprise my dad told me, "Vicky, you need to tell that story as often as possible. Don't be afraid of what people will think. The right people need to hear your story!" It was so inspiring. My dad and his little gems of wisdom. I love remembering these moments.
What prompted this happened a year earlier. In my book, Persephone's Journey, I tell the story about how my 8-month-old son had saved my life. Our sweet baby boy always slept through the night, and instead of hearing crying from him upon awakening, you'd hear him laughing and talking to himself through the baby monitor. But one night he did cry, for the first time. It woke us up of course and took us literally a minute or two to figure out what this new sound was. At 3 in the morning, my husband was not happy about having to get up. "He's never cried before, why is he crying now?" I decided to get up too, to help, even though my husband offered to do it himself. But once I sat up in bed, I knew something was wrong. But I had no idea how serious it actually was. If it hadn't been for our son crying us awake, I would have drowned in my own blood.
I had had no idea that a large pseudotumor (it was suggested it was probably scar tissue) was growing inside my lower left lung. It had grown so big that it broke open blood vessels that had slowly been leaking. I had had no idea, despite all the recent coughing, that my lungs were filling with blood. On this particular night my lungs were as filled as they were going to get before I'd have taken my last breath. If I hadn't woken up when I did and coughed up enough blood from my lungs, I would have died in my sleep that morning.
At the hospital I met a man named Luis. That's all I knew about him, pretty much. He seemed like a caring hospital worker whose job it was to consol patients before surgery. I had prayed, silently and alone, for God to just let me know if I was going to die. I wanted to live of course, but if death was in the cards at this time in my life, then I just didn't want it to be a surprise. "Please just let me know if I'm going to die." Luis had indeed tried to consol me many times, assuring me I wasn't going to die. It never occured to me that he was answering my prayer. It's funny how when you pray you don't actually expect an answer.
A couple days after my surgery and I was feeling better, the nurse allowed me to sleep through the night undisturbed. Up until then I literally had a nurse coming in to check on me once or twice an hour. But on this night I was allowed to fully rest, and those several hours of sleep were much needed. I awoke at 2:30 in the morning fully rested, but wishing I had some company. I immediately thought of calling my husband but didn't want to wake him and the baby. I even considered buzzing the nurse in just so I wouldn't be alone. But then I remembered Luis, the nice young man who had been so loving, kind, and patient with me. He had been so nice during each of his visits, either telling me not to worry, telling me that I was going to make it through the surgery, or saying a prayer with me. I just loved his company. His presence was like nothing I'd ever felt from anyone before. I lie there thinking, I wish he'd come visit me again.
At that moment there was movement next to my bed and I turned. Luis was suddenly standing in the room next to my bed. He had this soft glow around him, and I could instantly feel that incredible energy presence of his again. I said in complete amazement, "It's you! You're here!" And Luis said, "I'm always here for you, Vicky".
He explained why he was here, to remind me of my prayer. He said he had come to answer it. He said it was his job to come here to give me that answer, and that he'd tried many times to answer it. "Before your surgery you wanted to know if you were going to die. I came to tell you that you weren't going to die, do you remember that?" I had to admit, I hadn't even realized it. I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't believe you." It was true. All the times that Luis was telling me I had nothing to worry about, that I wasn't going to die, I didn't believe him. I assumed he was just being nice. I had no idea he was actually answering my prayer to God. Luis said, "That's why I'm here. To let you know that it was my job to come to you."
I still remember the feeling of shock and amazement and can imagine the look on my face. I thanked him, and he came and sat on my bedside one last time. Said another prayer with me, and you know what? Every day of my life since then I wish I could remember word for word what he said in that prayer, but I cannot. All I can remember is looking into Luis' face, seeing that soft golden aura that surrounded him, and feeling the love and kindness in his energy field that emanated from him. I was indeed in awe. Probably couldn't have even said my own name at the time. I often remember that state of shock. Not scared, but blown away. There ARE angels, I had thought to myself.
After that experience I didn't tell anyone about it. I didn't think anyone would believe me. I thought about it every single day, every single day! But a year later while visiting at my parents house and thinking about my gratitude at my one-year anniversary of the day I nearly drowned in my own blood, I decided to finally speak up. I said to mom, "I need to tell you something." She listened, didn't say a word as I told her the entire story. I was afraid of what she'd think of me. When I was done she simply said, "Let me go get your dad. He needs to hear this." I was 8 months pregnant with my second child then, and sitting on the back patio. I remember waiting for her to get dad, and wondering what they'd both think of me. Would they be worried I was just making it all up?
When she came back with dad and I re-told the story again, my dad had said, "Vicky, you need to tell everyone you can about this. Keep telling it to anyone who will listen! Don't ever be afraid of what people will think. This is important and the right people will hear this story!" It was an amazing moment, to have both my parents not only completely believing and supporting me, but also encouraging me to speak out and share my experiences. I'm so grateful for that.
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