Several years ago when I was still married, Josh, the little 5-year-old neighbor boy, would periodically come by the house and ring the bell. He always said the oddest thing, but then again he was only 5. The first time it happened I never questioned it or gave it much thought. Josh rang the bell and when I answered it he told me, "Hi Vicky! I just wanted to tell you that I can't play today." It caught me off guard and I assumed he meant to say that he came by to tell me he could play today. I checked, "Oh, do you mean you can play?"
"Nope, I can't play today. We have to go to the store," Josh said, with his usual smile from ear to ear. He was always such a happy kid, but for the life of me it made no sense why a kid would be happy that he couldn't play. And why was he telling me this?
I just told him "ok", and off he went, happy as a clam. I had no idea what this was all about, but I quickly forget about it. Until the next time Josh rang the bell.
The second time he came by, I thought I'd pre-empt him by opening the door and immediately saying, "The kids aren't home right now," since I assumed he was here for them. On this occasion he said, "I didn't come for David and Abby. I came to see you." This too caught me off guard. My attempt to quickly get rid of him (not that he was a bad kid, but he was a kid and I was a grown up and being a grown up meant I was busy and had things to do) had failed, but I thought he was only telling me he was here to see me since I had already told him that the kids were not home.
"Oh you did? What's up?" I replied.
"I can't play today," Josh said.
This scenario, in one form or another, happened at least once a week. There were times when my kids played with him, so there was nothing unusual there. The only unusual thing was when Josh would inform me that he couldn't play on a particular day. After this became our usual thing, I got the notion that Josh was specifically telling me that he couldn't play, and it wasn't so that I'd inform the kids. He never wanted the kids, only me. Me. Again, I'm a grown up. Why this 5-year-old who I didn't know wanted to inform me that he wasn't available for me to play with, I had no idea. I once asked his older sister why he did this and she just laughed and said she had no idea. "He's just weird I guess," she'd said.
An affinity for Josh grew, and I became so curious about why he acted as if he and I had some kind of connection. He was a cute kid. Never caused any trouble. And he was always just so darn happy to see me, even on the days when he said he couldn't play. And he wasn't making it up either. His mom would be waiting in the car while Josh ran over to inform me he couldn't play because they had to run errands that day. I always wondered what his mother thought!
I decided to set an intention to find out what connection Josh and I had, or at least get some insight as to what this was all about. My intention was pure and simple, "Is there something about Josh that I'm not aware of, something we do together nonphysically maybe, or something he perceives of me that I don't know about?" I set my intention before bed, hoping the answer would come to me somehow. I'd had a lot of experience having OBEs this way, by setting an intention before bed.
This one worked like a charm. I found myself in the most exhausting OBE I've ever had. In it, Josh and I were playing in a gigantic indoor playground. It was the size of a warehouse and had tall, winding staircases that went up a couple stories or more. There were kids running, laughing, having a good time. There were games, food, candy, and lots of things to do and look at. It was like a cross between an amusement park and a playground and there was so much to do you couldn't have done it all in one day. Josh was in the lead, "Come on! Let's go this way!" I obediently followed Josh, running to catch up to him, trying to catch my breath at the same time. We played and ran, and ran and played. We were nonstop having fun, chasing each other and eating and playing. It sure was a neat place.
At some point a sense of familiarity came over me and I'd realized I'd been here before many times. I stopped, pondering that thought, as if it were the first time I had thought about it. Then as if coming out of a state of amnesia, it hit me. I remembered my intent to have an OBE to find out what this thing with Josh was all about. I stood there amidst the noise, chaos and kid-fun. Up until then I had played with Josh, almost mindlessly, not paying attention to anything but the moment. But as I stood there remembering, realizing with full awareness that this wasn't physical reality, I suddenly felt exhausted. This was a nonphysical place, not physically real, but this is what Josh and I did together (for some reason) on occasion. And those days when Josh would come by the house to tell me that he couldn't play today, this is what he was talking about. In little Josh's mind this place was real. And he and I played together here.
I awoke completely worn out, totally exhausted from that experience. I thought to myself, "I never felt this way before, or maybe I have and just thought I'd had a bad night's sleep or something. But now that I am aware of all that nonphysical activity, I'm also aware of how exhausted I feel. Maybe if I hadn't set intent to know, I wouldn't feel this way right now." My grown-up body wasn't used to all that kid-fun stuff, as neat as it was.
Josh probably woke up remembering these experiences, and I'm sure when he did he wanted to get right back at it. But sometimes he had to do other things, like get in the car and go somewhere. These were the times when Josh would happily come over to let me know he couldn't do it today. I guess he didn't want to disappoint me!
What was going on with Josh, I assumed, was that he probably didn't have memory of this experience all the time, but when he did it was so real to him that he had no way of knowing it wasn't physical reality. He probably had many occasions when he either didn't remember the OBE, or he did but he patiently assumed it would just happen again. Then, when his mom or dad disrupted him from whatever activity was consuming his attention at the moment, that's when Josh would suddenly realize that he was going to be busy, and that his waiting for our play time to "just happen" again would be put on hold. That's when he'd come tell me he couldn't play.
It made sense. I mean, it made as much sense as it could. When you're a 5-year-old, the boundaries between physical and nonphysical reality are easily blurred and constantly overlapping. Young children don't pay attention to the proper order of sequence of how and when things happen. Their attention span is too much in-the-moment to be bothered with boring details.
And although it was amazing to have the OBE that I had so that I could make some sense of Josh's pre-occupation with me, I never did find out why he and I nonphysically played together in the first place! Well, I'm a kid at heart and I love kids, so I'm not too surprised.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
A BIRD'S TRANSITION INTO THE AFTERLIFE
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
FINISHED MY RUBIK'S CUBE!!
While cleaning out the garage I came across a Rubik's Cube, all scrambled up and no doubt tossed into the garage because all of us poor saps had given up on it. I had one as a kid and even though I'm 40, solving the Rubik's Cube is still on my before-I-die to-do list.
I cheated and Googled for the instructions, and I came across the hard work someone put into video-taping a demonstration of how to solve it, complete with providing all the formulas that go along with it. For two days I studied the two-part video and played it over and over, taking notes on paper as I did. Then I perfected my own notes, adding in more descriptive detail to suit the way my own brain works. Finally I had my own set of instructions for solving the cube, perfectly tailored for me, and I tested them out several times. My kids were impressed, as was I.
While on the phone with Bruce the other day I told him my small victory. "I finally solved my Rubik's Cube!" Bruce and I are best friends and he always surreptitiously one-ups me, seemingly unintentionally but I'm not so sure. A few months ago when I purchased my new computer, a Gateway with 1 TB hard drive and 6 GB of memory and told Bruce the good news, he bragged that he had purchased one the day before that was 1.5 TB. Now he was playfully bragging that he had solved the Rubik's Cube a couple of years ago.
"Well did you solve it on your own or did you have to cheat like I did?" I asked.
"Oh I had to look up the instructions. There's no way I would have lived long enough to solve that god damn thing. I even printed up the instructions to keep on hand!" he said.
"I see you're just as big of a geek as I am. I guess I'm not the only one who does that sort of thing," I said.
"Are you kidding? he said. "I have a Rubik's Cube at each toilet so I can practice it daily. The trick is memorizing the formulas so you don't need the instructions. And I've gotten pretty good at it. I've learned how to be sneaky to look impressive, so that if I'm ever out somewhere with a Rubik's Cube and I know someone is watching me, I can turn it around pretending I'm trying to figure out what to do, then do one of the formulas and act surprised when I get the piece moved where I want it to go!" I laughed, picturing him actually doing that.
"Well you're way past me then," I said. "I still can't do it without the instructions." Bruce said I need to practice doing the formulas while watching to see how the cube moves the piece I'm working on. That's something I've tried to do but haven't succeeded at yet. Bruce said, "Yeah, sometimes I think I know what I'm doing, but then I end up turning one move the wrong way and the whole thing is messed up again!"
"Well," I said. "It was pretty awesome when I finally solved it. It was like my entire brain got drenched in endorphins at that moment. This relief I'd never felt before came over me. Thirty years of build-up, finally released!"
Bruce said, "Yeah...thirty years of Rubik's Cube foreplay finally paying off!" I laughed so hard when he said that.
"Well you know me and how I love formulas. I had no idea it was all about formulas and precise moves," I said. Bruce too said he spent many years just trying to do it one side at a time but it never worked. He said, "Well I think us folks who know how to solve it are now of higher intelligence than others!"
I agree. I don't know if it was tenacity or obsession, but the satisfaction I feel was worth it.
I cheated and Googled for the instructions, and I came across the hard work someone put into video-taping a demonstration of how to solve it, complete with providing all the formulas that go along with it. For two days I studied the two-part video and played it over and over, taking notes on paper as I did. Then I perfected my own notes, adding in more descriptive detail to suit the way my own brain works. Finally I had my own set of instructions for solving the cube, perfectly tailored for me, and I tested them out several times. My kids were impressed, as was I.
While on the phone with Bruce the other day I told him my small victory. "I finally solved my Rubik's Cube!" Bruce and I are best friends and he always surreptitiously one-ups me, seemingly unintentionally but I'm not so sure. A few months ago when I purchased my new computer, a Gateway with 1 TB hard drive and 6 GB of memory and told Bruce the good news, he bragged that he had purchased one the day before that was 1.5 TB. Now he was playfully bragging that he had solved the Rubik's Cube a couple of years ago.
"Well did you solve it on your own or did you have to cheat like I did?" I asked.
"Oh I had to look up the instructions. There's no way I would have lived long enough to solve that god damn thing. I even printed up the instructions to keep on hand!" he said.
"I see you're just as big of a geek as I am. I guess I'm not the only one who does that sort of thing," I said.
"Are you kidding? he said. "I have a Rubik's Cube at each toilet so I can practice it daily. The trick is memorizing the formulas so you don't need the instructions. And I've gotten pretty good at it. I've learned how to be sneaky to look impressive, so that if I'm ever out somewhere with a Rubik's Cube and I know someone is watching me, I can turn it around pretending I'm trying to figure out what to do, then do one of the formulas and act surprised when I get the piece moved where I want it to go!" I laughed, picturing him actually doing that.
"Well you're way past me then," I said. "I still can't do it without the instructions." Bruce said I need to practice doing the formulas while watching to see how the cube moves the piece I'm working on. That's something I've tried to do but haven't succeeded at yet. Bruce said, "Yeah, sometimes I think I know what I'm doing, but then I end up turning one move the wrong way and the whole thing is messed up again!"
"Well," I said. "It was pretty awesome when I finally solved it. It was like my entire brain got drenched in endorphins at that moment. This relief I'd never felt before came over me. Thirty years of build-up, finally released!"
Bruce said, "Yeah...thirty years of Rubik's Cube foreplay finally paying off!" I laughed so hard when he said that.
"Well you know me and how I love formulas. I had no idea it was all about formulas and precise moves," I said. Bruce too said he spent many years just trying to do it one side at a time but it never worked. He said, "Well I think us folks who know how to solve it are now of higher intelligence than others!"
I agree. I don't know if it was tenacity or obsession, but the satisfaction I feel was worth it.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
TIME HAS BEEN FLYING
It's been five months since I've posted! Besides the usual things of life, mostly I've been busy with developing my psychic abilities. I've been so focused on that and taking notes for my next book that blogging about it slipped my mind. I'm learning that I'm not developing psychic ability per se, but it's more about learning how psychic ability works and how my Guidance communicates with me. We all have psychic ability, so it's not so much about learning how to have it, it's about learning how to use skills that you already have. And we all have our own Guidance system working with us.
Guidance is the term I use to denote whatever it is out there who's guiding me...my own greater Consciousness, my higher self, the source from which my soul originated, and I wouldn't hesitate to include in there other beings and spirits who help, guide, and protect us. Whatever you call it or whatever it truely is, it's more than what I know my own physical self to be. We've all had an experience of divine intervention of one kind or another, no matter what our spiritual beliefs are. And since writing my first book, I've heard people tell me that even though they aren't sure what they believe in out there, they know we are not alone here in this world. There's so much out there to explore and experience, I know that for sure.
The amount of psychic experiences I've had over the summer has been enormous, all of which are verified, documented, and included in my next book. I've even had to take some time off from writing it just to let things sink in. I've found that things have been progressing so fast that my notes, writing style, and knowledge are changing week by week! If I look back on some old notes from a couple months ago I think, oh I'm way past that now. And that's exciting! As I write my notes, I'm including all the questions I have and all the possible things I conceive of why, how, and what if. And as I progress, I shrink that down into a more concise view of what I've learned and why it works. My next book will in one way develop as my new experiences do, but also will have to wait until I feel complete in what I've learned.
What I'd like to include in my next book is a more comprehensive overview of how others can learn to do what I'm doing. I'm excited about that. I'm also excited to continue on my own journey and also delve more into seeing, sensing, and communicating with ghosts, learning the art of retrieval, and of course my all-time favorite OBEs. I've been told I'm a little too detail oriented. I know that I do get a little technical at times, but that's how I learn. Hopefully I will be improving my writing skills along the way! It is my hope to pass on what I've learned and teach others what I'm learning about psychic abilities. Just from what I've learned so far, there's a lot more to it than just the typical beliefs. I'm finding how the psychic senses are connected with all the other spiritual and paranormal things I've experienced.
Even when things were really taking off this summer, I never let it go to my head. I really do not feel that what I'm learning is a skill or talent. Each psychic experience I have had has been an opportunity to learn about my ability to communicate with my Guidance and with other living human beings, and of course how they communicate with me. It's a two-way street. It's all interconnected. Everything we experience is something we took part in creating. And discovering the role our own consciousness plays is another component of learning about psychic development.
Guidance is the term I use to denote whatever it is out there who's guiding me...my own greater Consciousness, my higher self, the source from which my soul originated, and I wouldn't hesitate to include in there other beings and spirits who help, guide, and protect us. Whatever you call it or whatever it truely is, it's more than what I know my own physical self to be. We've all had an experience of divine intervention of one kind or another, no matter what our spiritual beliefs are. And since writing my first book, I've heard people tell me that even though they aren't sure what they believe in out there, they know we are not alone here in this world. There's so much out there to explore and experience, I know that for sure.
The amount of psychic experiences I've had over the summer has been enormous, all of which are verified, documented, and included in my next book. I've even had to take some time off from writing it just to let things sink in. I've found that things have been progressing so fast that my notes, writing style, and knowledge are changing week by week! If I look back on some old notes from a couple months ago I think, oh I'm way past that now. And that's exciting! As I write my notes, I'm including all the questions I have and all the possible things I conceive of why, how, and what if. And as I progress, I shrink that down into a more concise view of what I've learned and why it works. My next book will in one way develop as my new experiences do, but also will have to wait until I feel complete in what I've learned.
What I'd like to include in my next book is a more comprehensive overview of how others can learn to do what I'm doing. I'm excited about that. I'm also excited to continue on my own journey and also delve more into seeing, sensing, and communicating with ghosts, learning the art of retrieval, and of course my all-time favorite OBEs. I've been told I'm a little too detail oriented. I know that I do get a little technical at times, but that's how I learn. Hopefully I will be improving my writing skills along the way! It is my hope to pass on what I've learned and teach others what I'm learning about psychic abilities. Just from what I've learned so far, there's a lot more to it than just the typical beliefs. I'm finding how the psychic senses are connected with all the other spiritual and paranormal things I've experienced.
Even when things were really taking off this summer, I never let it go to my head. I really do not feel that what I'm learning is a skill or talent. Each psychic experience I have had has been an opportunity to learn about my ability to communicate with my Guidance and with other living human beings, and of course how they communicate with me. It's a two-way street. It's all interconnected. Everything we experience is something we took part in creating. And discovering the role our own consciousness plays is another component of learning about psychic development.
Monday, June 14, 2010
LITTERBUG
We all have our quirks, but now one of mine was on display for the entire neighborhood. My biggest quirk is my obsessive-compulsive note-writing habit. I don’t know what it is, but if I don’t write my sticky-note reminders to myself I fear I’ll forget everything. Ok, this is not as bad as the guy in Memento. It’s not that I’ll literally forget everything if I don’t write it all down, but I have to admit that I over-worry that appointments will be missed, logins and passwords will be forgotten, and to-do’s won’t get done. My sticky notes clutter my desk at home. My bathroom mirror sometimes gets a little tricky to see into. I stick sticky notes into my flip-up cell phone and also stick them to my blood-sugar monitor. I have sticky notes in the ash tray of my car and all over my kitchen table. Hmm, now that I’m actually writing this it does seem a little abnormal.
I had to backtrack the course of events leading up to this embarrassing discovery. It baffled me. How had this happened? What was responsible for this mess? A dog? A cat? Surely something had gotten into my trash to cause this mess. By the way, it’s been nearly three weeks and I’m still finding the occasional sticky note outside my house. One was found two weeks ago under a broken hand-painted flower pot in my backyard. That was weird. Another was found in the front yard grass while I was mowing the other day. I think the wind just keeps blowing them around the neighborhood.
Here’s my Memento version of how my personal life via my compulsive sticky-note reminder obsession came to be scattered about for the whole world to see:
Monday: It’s trash day and I’m outside noticing lots of pieces of trash strewn in the bushes along the side of the house, some in the neighbor’s yard. Apparently the wind had had a chance to do its work on the trash before the garbage man had. I go closer to pick up the pieces as I always did—yes, I’m that neighbor you see who would actually step into the street to pick up a piece of trash to throw it away properly. While bending over and grabbing trash bits from my neighbor’s bushes, I notice something familiar. Sticky notes. My sticky notes. My hand writing on those sticky notes. It was my trash that was strewn about in my yard and neighbor’s yard. I look across the street and see one of my neighbors eyeing some trash at the edge of his grass-lined yard which he keeps neatly trimmed. He’s obviously trying to assess what it is and whether he should pick it up. I see him kick it into the street instead. No doubt he’s confident the wind will come by soon enough to remove it for him. I realize it’s one of my tissues. I’ll have to go pick that up later, I think, after he’s not there to see me do it. I’m embarrassed at the realization that it is my trash that has been blown about. And even more embarrassed being uncertain exactly what messages my sticky notes may have contained. How personal were they? I read the ones I’d picked up and so far all were harmless.
Saturday and Sunday: As typical here in Colorado, the wind roared heavily for a couple days, an average of 30 mph they say but also kicking up to 60 or more at times in some regions. Personally, I’m sick of it. Is there anywhere where it doesn’t blow all the time? Because of that wind, I’ll have more yard work to do tomorrow, or as soon as this wind subsides, I told myself. I’m a little bit of a neat freak when it comes to my yard.
Friday: The lone ant had indeed wandered during the night and had made his way upstairs and into my bedroom. I use a tissue to capture him off the wall. He scrambles to escape and not wanting to crush the little fellow, I think quickly and toss the tissue and him into the trash bag beside my desk. It’s a good thing I’d left it there for that quick maneuver. I decide to take the trash bag outside now, scurrying ant inside it, so I gently clasp its top edges and carry it out. It occurs to me outside that if I tie up the bag, the poor little guy will surely meet his death. Ants can’t gnaw their way through plastic bags can they? I don’t have time to ponder nor Google, so I decide the most humane thing to do is to just leave the bag loosely clenched as I place it into the garbage bin. As an extra precaution against the wind, I place it under another trash bag. This way, the loose bag won’t blow away and the ant still has some of his own free will.
Thursday night: I’m up late. I decide to finally tackle some of the sticky notes that cover and clog my computer desk in my bedroom. The important ones get placed in a pile for keeping, while the obsolete ones get tossed into the trash bag near my desk. The trash bag is mostly filled with tissues, but now with all my thrown-away sticky notes it’s full enough to be taken out to the trash pile. Since it’s late, I decide to leave it there and take it out tomorrow.
Thursday afternoon: Mortified by the ant crawling the wall beside her, Abby gets up from her perch, and we humanly capture him by using a measuring cup and some plastic lid to something and free the creature back outside. I spray the window edges and creases a second time. As the evening progresses, another occasional rogue ant is spotted on the wall. After saving the lives of three of these misguided souls, I am growing weary of my good-natured efforts. How are they by-passing the bug spray? I wondered. Hours later one more had somehow made his way in, but I say nothing to Abby who is secured comfortably in her spot. I don’t want to send her into another tizzy. If she doesn’t notice, I won’t have to get up and save this one. He can wander for the night. I’m too tired, I think to myself.
Abby, who is nearing her 13th birthday, has been displaying typical teenage behavior for approximately the past seven years. She sits in the living room chair, sideways, lap top within reach, cell phone within reach, finger-nail beautifying supplies within reach, remote control for the television within reach, paper, pencils, can of Pepsi, and Uni her favorite stuffed animal all within reach. That scene has now become Abby’s spot from which she rarely moves. To try and get her to do so is only asking for trouble.
Thursday morning: I don’t have to look at the calendar to know it is summer. Actually summer isn’t official for another couple of weeks or so, but all the signs of summer are here. I had remembered to buy a big new pump bottle of insect spray at the store today and was securing the usual areas. Especially around the windows outside and also along the front door frame. The bottle lists “ants” as one of its promised targets, yet an ant is spotted on the wall in the living room even after I spray. I manage to catch him and put him back outside. Spraying to prevent them from coming inside is one thing, but killing them outright is another. Among my quirks, not having the heart to kill an insect is one of them. Spiders, now that’s a different story. If there’s one in the house I can kill it because intense fear of spiders is another of my quirks. But a little ant? I couldn’t kill an ant. Besides, how much trouble can one little ant cause?
I had to backtrack the course of events leading up to this embarrassing discovery. It baffled me. How had this happened? What was responsible for this mess? A dog? A cat? Surely something had gotten into my trash to cause this mess. By the way, it’s been nearly three weeks and I’m still finding the occasional sticky note outside my house. One was found two weeks ago under a broken hand-painted flower pot in my backyard. That was weird. Another was found in the front yard grass while I was mowing the other day. I think the wind just keeps blowing them around the neighborhood.
Here’s my Memento version of how my personal life via my compulsive sticky-note reminder obsession came to be scattered about for the whole world to see:
Monday: It’s trash day and I’m outside noticing lots of pieces of trash strewn in the bushes along the side of the house, some in the neighbor’s yard. Apparently the wind had had a chance to do its work on the trash before the garbage man had. I go closer to pick up the pieces as I always did—yes, I’m that neighbor you see who would actually step into the street to pick up a piece of trash to throw it away properly. While bending over and grabbing trash bits from my neighbor’s bushes, I notice something familiar. Sticky notes. My sticky notes. My hand writing on those sticky notes. It was my trash that was strewn about in my yard and neighbor’s yard. I look across the street and see one of my neighbors eyeing some trash at the edge of his grass-lined yard which he keeps neatly trimmed. He’s obviously trying to assess what it is and whether he should pick it up. I see him kick it into the street instead. No doubt he’s confident the wind will come by soon enough to remove it for him. I realize it’s one of my tissues. I’ll have to go pick that up later, I think, after he’s not there to see me do it. I’m embarrassed at the realization that it is my trash that has been blown about. And even more embarrassed being uncertain exactly what messages my sticky notes may have contained. How personal were they? I read the ones I’d picked up and so far all were harmless.
Saturday and Sunday: As typical here in Colorado, the wind roared heavily for a couple days, an average of 30 mph they say but also kicking up to 60 or more at times in some regions. Personally, I’m sick of it. Is there anywhere where it doesn’t blow all the time? Because of that wind, I’ll have more yard work to do tomorrow, or as soon as this wind subsides, I told myself. I’m a little bit of a neat freak when it comes to my yard.
Friday: The lone ant had indeed wandered during the night and had made his way upstairs and into my bedroom. I use a tissue to capture him off the wall. He scrambles to escape and not wanting to crush the little fellow, I think quickly and toss the tissue and him into the trash bag beside my desk. It’s a good thing I’d left it there for that quick maneuver. I decide to take the trash bag outside now, scurrying ant inside it, so I gently clasp its top edges and carry it out. It occurs to me outside that if I tie up the bag, the poor little guy will surely meet his death. Ants can’t gnaw their way through plastic bags can they? I don’t have time to ponder nor Google, so I decide the most humane thing to do is to just leave the bag loosely clenched as I place it into the garbage bin. As an extra precaution against the wind, I place it under another trash bag. This way, the loose bag won’t blow away and the ant still has some of his own free will.
Thursday night: I’m up late. I decide to finally tackle some of the sticky notes that cover and clog my computer desk in my bedroom. The important ones get placed in a pile for keeping, while the obsolete ones get tossed into the trash bag near my desk. The trash bag is mostly filled with tissues, but now with all my thrown-away sticky notes it’s full enough to be taken out to the trash pile. Since it’s late, I decide to leave it there and take it out tomorrow.
Thursday afternoon: Mortified by the ant crawling the wall beside her, Abby gets up from her perch, and we humanly capture him by using a measuring cup and some plastic lid to something and free the creature back outside. I spray the window edges and creases a second time. As the evening progresses, another occasional rogue ant is spotted on the wall. After saving the lives of three of these misguided souls, I am growing weary of my good-natured efforts. How are they by-passing the bug spray? I wondered. Hours later one more had somehow made his way in, but I say nothing to Abby who is secured comfortably in her spot. I don’t want to send her into another tizzy. If she doesn’t notice, I won’t have to get up and save this one. He can wander for the night. I’m too tired, I think to myself.
Abby, who is nearing her 13th birthday, has been displaying typical teenage behavior for approximately the past seven years. She sits in the living room chair, sideways, lap top within reach, cell phone within reach, finger-nail beautifying supplies within reach, remote control for the television within reach, paper, pencils, can of Pepsi, and Uni her favorite stuffed animal all within reach. That scene has now become Abby’s spot from which she rarely moves. To try and get her to do so is only asking for trouble.
Thursday morning: I don’t have to look at the calendar to know it is summer. Actually summer isn’t official for another couple of weeks or so, but all the signs of summer are here. I had remembered to buy a big new pump bottle of insect spray at the store today and was securing the usual areas. Especially around the windows outside and also along the front door frame. The bottle lists “ants” as one of its promised targets, yet an ant is spotted on the wall in the living room even after I spray. I manage to catch him and put him back outside. Spraying to prevent them from coming inside is one thing, but killing them outright is another. Among my quirks, not having the heart to kill an insect is one of them. Spiders, now that’s a different story. If there’s one in the house I can kill it because intense fear of spiders is another of my quirks. But a little ant? I couldn’t kill an ant. Besides, how much trouble can one little ant cause?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
MY BOOK IS HERE!
I am proud to finally have the chance to announce that my book, Persephone's Journey, is officially finished! I published through CreateSpace and it will be available on Amazon within a couple weeks. I will post the link when it is ready. The book is also available here: www.createspace.com/3443642.
I created this book first as a personal project for myself, and second as a way to leave my life stories for my children in a neat way. Over time the project developed into the idea of creating a book that others would hopefully find as interesting as I do. I wanted it mainly to be memoir, but specifically to include as many of my life stories surrounding paranormal, psychic, and spiritual events as I could fit into one book. Many more of my experiences didn't make it in.
The book is designed to outline most stories chronologically so as to build a foundation not only for demonstrating a picture of my life, but also to show the development of my beliefs, knowledge, and use of my "sixth senses". Over the years my research in reading as much as I could on these subjects, interviewing authors, and meeting people with similar experiences, one author's work made the most impact on that development. Bruce Moen, author of the Exploring The Afterlife series, teaches us about the use of these nonphysical senses of perception that we all possess, and it was because of his work that my own personal development of my "abilities" became what it is today. I never believed I had special abilities or skills, and in fact I still don't. But I know I am able to use certain senses in such a way that is considered in our society today as much as it has ever been, paranormal. In most common belief systems the word paranormal equates to "abnormal", which in turn equates to "not possible". And it is that kind of thinking which is the biggest obsticle when it comes to learning not only how to use these abilities, but also more importantly that we even have them. They are innate to all of us. They are intrinsic to our fundamental nature as spiritual beings living in this physical reality. And yet we tend to arbitrarily opt for not allowing ourselves to even believe in what is possible. It takes a huge amount of trust and energy to turn that blocking effect around so as to open ourselves up again to the possibilities of what we are able to create and perceive with our very own conscious awareness. No real special abilities, other than the power of consciousness. Sounds mystical, impossible, and difficult? It's no harder than deciding to get out of debt, lose weight, or make any other drastic change in one's beliefs and lifestyle. First you have to want it, then you have to learn how.
I still have a lot to learn. There's still so much I haven't accomplished yet, but I'm on my way. I would have loved to have been able to include more stories of my own personal experience with what Bruce mainly teaches, Afterlife Retrieval. But so far I haven't had many to tell and none quite as impressive as what many of Bruce's workshop participants continue to experience. I'm still learning to explore, still learning to trust and to open myself up that way. They will come, I know that. I've seen enough of my own personal advancement with these so-called abilities to know that whatever I put my mind to, I will be able to accomplish. I used many of Bruce's teachings in my book to demonstrate how my own psychic ability works, without which I would not have the knowledge and use of in any recognizable fashion. For Bruce, I am eternally grateful. I am so proud of him for what he's accomplished and that he is still teaching. I hope he continues to do so for many years to come and that many more people will continue to be inspired by his work as I have. I hope, too, that my experiences will do the same.
I created this book first as a personal project for myself, and second as a way to leave my life stories for my children in a neat way. Over time the project developed into the idea of creating a book that others would hopefully find as interesting as I do. I wanted it mainly to be memoir, but specifically to include as many of my life stories surrounding paranormal, psychic, and spiritual events as I could fit into one book. Many more of my experiences didn't make it in.
The book is designed to outline most stories chronologically so as to build a foundation not only for demonstrating a picture of my life, but also to show the development of my beliefs, knowledge, and use of my "sixth senses". Over the years my research in reading as much as I could on these subjects, interviewing authors, and meeting people with similar experiences, one author's work made the most impact on that development. Bruce Moen, author of the Exploring The Afterlife series, teaches us about the use of these nonphysical senses of perception that we all possess, and it was because of his work that my own personal development of my "abilities" became what it is today. I never believed I had special abilities or skills, and in fact I still don't. But I know I am able to use certain senses in such a way that is considered in our society today as much as it has ever been, paranormal. In most common belief systems the word paranormal equates to "abnormal", which in turn equates to "not possible". And it is that kind of thinking which is the biggest obsticle when it comes to learning not only how to use these abilities, but also more importantly that we even have them. They are innate to all of us. They are intrinsic to our fundamental nature as spiritual beings living in this physical reality. And yet we tend to arbitrarily opt for not allowing ourselves to even believe in what is possible. It takes a huge amount of trust and energy to turn that blocking effect around so as to open ourselves up again to the possibilities of what we are able to create and perceive with our very own conscious awareness. No real special abilities, other than the power of consciousness. Sounds mystical, impossible, and difficult? It's no harder than deciding to get out of debt, lose weight, or make any other drastic change in one's beliefs and lifestyle. First you have to want it, then you have to learn how.
I still have a lot to learn. There's still so much I haven't accomplished yet, but I'm on my way. I would have loved to have been able to include more stories of my own personal experience with what Bruce mainly teaches, Afterlife Retrieval. But so far I haven't had many to tell and none quite as impressive as what many of Bruce's workshop participants continue to experience. I'm still learning to explore, still learning to trust and to open myself up that way. They will come, I know that. I've seen enough of my own personal advancement with these so-called abilities to know that whatever I put my mind to, I will be able to accomplish. I used many of Bruce's teachings in my book to demonstrate how my own psychic ability works, without which I would not have the knowledge and use of in any recognizable fashion. For Bruce, I am eternally grateful. I am so proud of him for what he's accomplished and that he is still teaching. I hope he continues to do so for many years to come and that many more people will continue to be inspired by his work as I have. I hope, too, that my experiences will do the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
