Thursday, November 25, 2010

My Heartfelt Thanks

Since today is a very special day, I feel that some thanks are owed.

I am grateful for my readers without whom my writing would be but a song unsung, thrown to the winds, forever untold. Thank you.

I am grateful for my children, and all my friends, new and old, in both the U.S. and Canada, and now Mexico. More than grandiose vistas, all of you have made my travels worthwhile just to encounter you, whether in person or through the written word. All of you have enriched my life. Thank you.

Today I received an email from a young friend in Alberta, Canada. She sent an attachment without words. I want to share it with you. It brought joy to my heart and tears to my eyes. Please click on it. You won't be disappointed. It's just one more thing for which I'm grateful and that I want to share. It's called a Random act of Culture at Macy's

Happy Thanksgiving to All!


LiveJournal Tags: ,

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Messages for Lillian

Picture this if you will. My teenage son and daughter are in school at Freeport High School in the Bahamas. I've had breakfast and my morning coffee and I'm doing my nails. A not unpleasant occupation, better at any rate than cleaning the oven. I live in a small house on Flying Fish Street and have only one neighbour, an African American woman whom I will call Lillian*. We have talked a few times, nothing too elaborate. She apologized for her husband Eddie who smokes weed, a particularly stinky one (see note below) close enough to stink up my home. Eddie has no steady job. Lillian doesn't appear too happy and she's obviously pregnant. We're close to mid-December and her baby is due around the third week of February. She and Eddie have a cutie pie of a daughter, a little pixie a year and a half old.

I'm applying nail polish when all of a sudden, I hear in my head a thought voiced that should be my own but somehow feels different that says, "You have to go tell Lillian not to leave, that here is home", in those exact words. I dismiss it immediately as I seriously doubt that she'd be going anywhere, pregnant and a half, with a toddler, no money with a husband that earns only sporadically. Any way, while I can ascribe that inner voice to no one but me, the thought is totally alien, so I just dismiss it outright. But the more I attempt to ignore it, the more insistent it becomes. After more than half an hour of that back and forth, exasperated I finally blurt out loud, "...and who shall I say is telling her this? Because it certainly can't come from me. It makes no sense at all. She's going to think I'm crazy!" Actually, I wasn't far from thinking it myself.

Just as soon as I've popped that question, a name appeared in a kind of olden script in my head Adeline somewhat like this but fancier. That's when I thought, "No way, this is a French name!" I had suddenly decided that my imagination was playing tricks on me, and for no reason that I could fathom. Not funny at all. I'd never had anything like this happen to me. Annoyed, I fully intended to do nothing. However a while later, I felt as if a hand was pushing out of my seat and almost against my will, as if in a trance, I went out and knocked at Lillian's door.

I began by apologizing and told her that I had a "message" for her, careful and somewhat embarrassed to add that it had made no sense to me. She asked me what the message was. I related it verbatim "Don't leave, here is home". She then queried me as to who was telling her this, somewhat stone faced. I had expected no more, no less. I told her and had to repeat it on account of my accent. That's when she gasped and put a hand to her mouth saying, "Oh my God! Grandma Addie!" She moved away from the half opened door and invited me in pointing out to her bedroom door where a large navy blue suitcase and a smaller one stood, obviously filled. It was my turn to gasp.

We sat down and she began relating how she had a twin sister, Diane living in Detroit; that she'd always been grandma Addie's favourite. That her parents lived in Chicago and that she'd decided to fly to live with them until the baby was born. That as soon as she could she'd find a job and a place of her own. Eddie was hopeless in her opinion. They had hardly anything to eat. She didn't want to spend the Holidays cooped up alone with her daughter and nothing at all for Christmas.  She said that although she was married to a Bahamian, she wasn't allowed to work. She was very, very depressed and had no way of making money to feed her child and herself, let alone a newborn. And she was all alone. Her despair was palpable. For a while, we discussed her options. There weren't many. But she'd stay in Freeport, she said. She'd always listened to her grandma. She added that I shouldn't hesitate if ever I got another message for her.

Relieved that I hadn't become totally unhinged, I went home. It had been our first personal conversation and I felt bad that I hadn't been aware of her plight. It was understandable given that we'd never gone beyond brief salutations. Besides, I had my own problems. My husband and I had split up.  The following week, I was doing my Christmas shopping and I prepared a bag of groceries and goodies for her and her little girl. I couldn't stand the thought of her alone and hungry. She thanked me profusely and we didn't see each other until some time after the first of the year. 

Let me cut to the chase right now. I did not understand the reason for the warning to stay in Freeport until January end. By then, Lillian had heard from her sister who had traveled from Detroit to Chicago.  In the first week of January their mother had died. Three weeks later, their father also passed away. Lillian would have been left alone after the trauma of losing both parents. She explained to me that they had lived in public housing and that she would have had to find a place to live in her last weeks of pregnancy, with a toddler, and in the dead of winter in Chicago without any resources. Clearly, the warning had saved her a lot of hardships.

I was moving out of the little house on February 1st into a larger house on Amberjack, my husband and I having reconciled.  Just before I moved, as I was packing and thinking of Lillian and her soon-to-be-born baby, I got another message from grandma Addie. She said that Lillian would find help with the new baby if she went to the Southern Baptist Church of Freeport. She also said that eventually she'd find a good job and have no fear of missing life's essentials. That she and her children were home.

I'd never heard of that church and when I related this to Lillian, she asked me how I had known that she was a Southern Baptist. Clearly I had not. She didn't know there was such a place of worship in Freeport. Neither did I. After some enquiries, we found out where it was and Lillian visited the pastor. She was introduced to a senior retired woman who turned out to be like a second mother to Lillian and took care of both children later on when Lillian had been granted permission to work and got a good job as an office manager. This I found out months later. I'd been wrapped up in my own matrimonial drama and had not visited with Lillian. Unexpectedly I'd seen her through a window at Churchill Square downtown Freeport a bit before summer. She looked radiant. Her life was right on track, a happier one.

Note: When pursued by the DEA, planes filled with kilos of weed wrapped in plastic drop them at sea where they are sometimes retrieved by enterprising Bahamians. The weed gets dried up and is recycled for users. Marijuana that's been in sea water STINKS!

*  Since I've long lost contact with Lillian, I had to change her name and that of her husband to protect their privacy. Her grandmother's name is real as is the approximation of the kind of fancy lettering that was indicated to me.

LiveJournal Tags:

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Recalling a First and Last Vision

It came at a crucial time in my life. But before I talk about it, I have to flesh out its source and meaning.

My ex-husband was a black belt in judo and had opened his own school. I had always been fascinated by all types of martial arts because of the self-discipline and self-assurance, even a kind of serene countenance, that they seemed to impart to many of its practitioners. So I signed up for free judo lessons. As a white belt (beginner), eventually I had to engage in competition with a yellow belt (one grade higher up). My first was against a tall young man half my age. And I won! This meant an immediate granting of my yellow belt. My ex and his cousin, who was also a judo instructor, both exclaimed that I was a "natural". I grinned, its more profound meaning lost to me at the time. I kept with judo for a short while until, some weeks later, I got pregnant. Still, Japanese culture held a special attraction for me and always had a sense of familiarity. As did other cultures and ethnic groups. I later learned that this special connection often gives a clue to past lives in those same ethnicities. But at the time, I was nowhere there...

A number of years later, my world as I had known it collapsed. It ended up being probably the worst time of my life due to many traumatic losses. My father to death, my mother to estrangement (eventually we reconciled), my 17 year old son to joining the army, separation from my husband, which eventually led to divorce, loss of my house, which was his by marriage contract. All that had been my life blew up within 6 short months. Understandably, I was extremely despondent. And angry. And fearing having to start from scratch with two young children. And hurting for my children. And so very resentful.

While still in "my" house, on a sunny and mild day, the children were at school and I was washing the dishes, trying to ignore the anguish that gripped my heart like a vise. There was a window above the sink overlooking the backyard. Everything was still green in early September. But since I would soon be losing it all, I knew that I had to try detaching. I suppose that my stare must have been quite blank.

All of a sudden, the window seemed to turn very dark. As if I'd been watching a movie, I "saw" a woman dressed in a black kimono, head down, slowly walking toward a house. It was clearly Japanese in style, and was fronted by a step running the whole width of the house. There was a planter on the left and the doors consisting of shoji screens were wide open. Puzzled, I followed the woman as she entered the house. Way at the end of the room was a table that seemed like an altar on which were displayed statues, candles and incense. She walked toward it and stopped glaring at it all.

Then, suddenly it felt as if I had jumped into her skin. And I became aware of her deepest emotions and thoughts. She was seething. Her anger was directed at the in-laws, the husband, even the ancestor worship of Shinto practice. She hated a life filled with so many taboos and restrictions. She felt capable of so much more, painfully yearning for freedom from what felt as totally oppressive. But her yearning was even more for the freedom to be all that she sensed that she could be. The cultural obligation of being silent and submissive was killing her. Her sentiments became mine. I was not crying. I was raging, fists so tight against my chest that it hurt...

Just as suddenly as it had come, the vision ended. I have no idea how long it lasted. Seconds? Minutes? I can't say. I was more flummoxed than shaken. What was going on with me? It was all so alien to my mind and belief system (or lack of it) given my atheism of the past 20 years, I certainly was at a loss to explain any of it. I mentally filed it away, somewhat unconcerned. Other things were of much more immediate and serious concern.

Eventually, with time and spiritual learning and practice, its meaning became clear to me. I had indeed been that woman. I even understood and accepted that I had wed my husband knowing in advance that he'd leave me and I'd have to start from scratch ON MY OWN. I had died with such a deep yearning for freedom that it had survived my mortal life. Finally I was free. Free to discover what strengths I had, to develop my own inborn talents so stifled in that despised life. It had been MY choice to opt for the life that I now had!

With time, it helped me to let go of bitterness, resentment, and even sadness. Not that I couldn't fight for justice whenever it was necessary, but I learned to let it go without rancour if it failed me. I had always had a complex of inferiority due to a number of factors. At age 15 I had won a 4 year scholarship but had let it go because of that sentiment born of poverty and a difficult childhood. I had repeated a previous life (or more?) of being in relationships with men who subtly or not so subtly would demean me or leave me. A vicious cycle that had to end.

Now was the time to prove my mettle. So I enrolled in courses, first at Champlain College, later at McGill University. I studied languages, administration, translation and found myself quite capable. I'm not saying that it was all easy. But it all contributed to making me develop into the woman that I had yearned to be eons ago.

Freedom has been a constant in my present life. It led me to traveling solo in an RV in my old age. And to settle in a foreign country to build my own little house. If I want to be honest with myself and others, I'll admit that from the time I was a little girl, I bristled as soon as my freedom would feel threatened. I have discovered to my satisfaction that with freedom and confidence, I could overcome all challenges, without any fears.

The vicious cycle has thus ended.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Visions and Messages - Preamble

Here, I don't want to offer a posit to explain anyone else's visions or for getting a message from the other side of the veil (yes... I do mean from "dead people"); this is the explanation that I have worked out for myself based on my experiences. To start with, let me state that in my opinion, it is impossible to explore anyone's psyche or even someone else's thoughts as if being that other person. At least for now, in our 3 dimensional world. But who knows what the future holds for us? Or the Other Side?

Years ago I had gone to an event where many First Nations* people were in attendance. There I met with a very profound and spiritual man, a Mohawk from a nearby reservation, with whom I engaged in a somewhat challenging discussion. Not for him, but certainly for me. As we were to go out separate ways, he concluded with a simple question for me, "...Where do you think the spirits are?" To which I simply admitted that I had no answer. He then stated, "All around us, that's where they are" Today, I do get it. We co-exist, but in separate dimensions. The quantum physicist Fred Alan Wolfe has something to say about this. Click on the link in the left column to check it out.

When I began to get messages from the other side, at first I thought that I was becoming mentally unhinged. That I was telling myself stories. Yet these messages were very clear and were not coming from some recondite part of my memory. I have a near photographic memory and nowhere in my life experiences could I recall anything related in any way to the information that I was getting. Sometimes pictures, at other times, a written word, or even a spoken word or phrase. This was almost instantaneous, yet it would take me some time to unravel it for another person. I was impressed that I'd been given a "capsule of knowing", but one without any connection to my life. Bottom line, it didn't really concern me. In no way was it relevant to my life.

Let me propose an example here. Suppose that I mention the name Schwarzenegger. Right away you visualize the man. You become aware of his life as an actor, then as the Governor of California. You become aware of a multitude of facts, all immediately, all instantaneously. You mentally even hear his voice and his unique accent. If you have seen any of the movies in which he played a role, you also "see" the whole movie. But you would require some time to relate it all. That's what I call a "capsule of knowing". It is immediate and complete. Afterwards my body felt as if it had been 'vibrating' inwardly at a higher speed. It's difficult to explain. Yet that's how it felt even if it was only for seconds. Honestly, it didn't feel that good. Besides, while it happened, even if for only seconds, I felt very vulnerable.

Once I had physically been made aware of the message or even of the sender, I suppose that apprehending such information would imprint itself in my gray matter. So, even to this date, I remember many experiences, albeit not mine to act upon except for transmitting to whoever had been targeted as the person needing to receive it. At one time, I remember wondering mentally, "Why can't I get it on demand?" The answer came very clear, "You will get only what can be of help to someone else", end of discussion. Idle curiosity wasn't relevant, period. Neither was speculation. However, when I would relate the message, the emotional response would validate all that I'd been given.

In my next posts, I will relate some of these experiences.

I am still trying to get the forum going. In the meantime, please do not hesitate to comment. It's a start.

*In Canada, we refer to indigenous people as First Nations.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Asking for Help re: Forum

I have spent hours (actually, it's more like a full day and then some) trying to get a free forum that works on Google's blogspot. The instructions were clear enough but were based on the presumption that a certain line of two possible ones would be present in the template html description. Neither of the lines appeared. I tried to improvise but it never worked. My forum is already registered with Nabble and I got the html script to include in the template. All I got was a couple lines of a message that "...cannot parse..." as written. I really don't know what to do to get the forum going.

Can anyone help?

Please email me if you can. I really want to get this blog going, like yesterday!