Remembrance

On Sunday, September 27, 1981 I called my close high school friend , “Janie” (not her real name) to check in with her. I had not spoken with her in a couple of weeks. I had graduated high school three months earlier and while I was happy to be out of high school, I did miss seeing the friends I had left behind. They were seniors now, their last year before exiting school and entering the next phase of their lives. So, it was her uncle who, after I asked to speak with her, wanted to know who I was and what I wanted. I told him who I was and explained I was a friend of hers from school. What he said next really stunned me, paralyzed me actually. He told me she died the night before, a car accident, and the date the funeral would be held.

For the first year following her death I could not get over it. Whenever a song or group that we liked came on the radio I felt the pain physically in my gut. I always remembered her birthday and the date of her death two days later as the years went by. Eventually, she faded to the background as I started a career, entered and exited relationships, got married and started a family. It was while I was driving to work one morning in the early 2000’s, after both of my children were on the school bus, that I received a message from her. The reason she chose that moment was mysterious but effective.

Shortly after that I would begin writing what I could recall from our brief school years together. At first it was just a few memories, the obvious ones like the favorite band that brought us together. Then the little things like passing notes in school, boys, what she wore, her hair. The more I started to write down the details the more I recalled. Then the tears came and the heartbreak all over again. I could not believe some of the little and big things, nuances, her sense of humor and other memories that I had forgotten or suppressed over the years.

I turned it into a short story in 2014. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was inspired by our friendship and my own spiritual journey up to that point.

I still feel her around me sometimes. I have wondered how she would have reacted to the grunge movement in the early 1990’s that ushered in Alternative rock. She may have said it’s all rock and roll. I wondered if she would be a drummer in a band as she always dreamed of and what she would think about other women rockers. In 1981 there was Debbie Harry, Joan Jett and the Go-Go’s. Would she have been among them one day?

What I know for sure is that there is a reason for everything. The answers are not always offered up. Maybe it’s just meant to be a mystery. Whatever the reason, she is still in my heart and always will be.

Joan of Arc

Statue of Joan of Arc in New Orleans

Her mission was to restore the French Monarchy. She cut her hair short and dressed in men’s clothes as an act of rebellion. As a young woman she could not pull off this mission unless she presented herself as a man.  St. Catherine and Archangel Michael presented themselves to her at 17. They told her she would rescue the Dauphin, Charles VII, the king of France who was in English custody after England invaded France. She was a warrior in the French army triumphantly leading the charge at the battle of Orléans. January 6 is the anniversaire of Jeanne D’Arc, Saint Joan of Arc.

January 6 is also the Twelfth Day of Christmas and the Feast of the Epiphany, when the three kings or wise men arrived to see the baby Jesus. So during Joan of Arc’s journey, she was aware that she was born on the Epiphany – an epiphany she did not take lightly. She believed that there was great significance in this shared date and a definite connection with Jesus.  They were both leaders and both were captured and eventually put to death for a mission that they believed was divinely guided. However, Jesus died to save mankind’s sins. Joan died because of her perceived sins. Hearing voices of the Archangel Michael and St. Catherine, believing in what she was born to do, dressing as a man to rescue and restore France’s king to his place on the throne and refusing to give in to the Catholic church’s demands.

In 1431 Joan was handed over to the English, branded a heretic, cruelly abused in a medieval prison and finally burned alive at the stake – which was prophesied by the voices that had led her the two years since beginning her divine mission.  Only her pure heart remained unburned.

Jeanne d’Arc was declared Sainte Jeanne d’Arc in 1920.

SHYLA

From my journal entry on November 8, 2017:

‘For no apparent reason last night (11/7/17) I thought of Shyla and prayed for her.

I found a post on FB from yesterday (also 11/7/17) that she passed away. I’m so sad, but so happy that I knew her.’

Shyla was a very important spiritual teacher and mentor for me. She was an intuitive and medium and had those abilities since she was a child. She had been giving readings and teaching other spiritual practices for many years. She practiced Wiccan and was a Reiki Master. And Shyla was always generous with her time and her gifts.

 I had seen her about six months before her passing for my last reading with her. She was showing me how to interpret a tarot card. I had worked with my own tarot cards, looked at the pictures and read the interpretation in the accompanying booklet. She taught me to look at everything on the card, that there were objects and scenery – symbols – that were specific to the message. The card that she was explaining that day featured a man (King?) on a throne with Ram symbols all over the card indicating that a love interest would be an Aries – also based on the placement of the other tarot cards in the reading. There was an Aries man that I was interested in at the time too.

Over the twenty five years that I knew Shyla, I learned something new every time I saw her about tarot, psychic development, the spirit world, different realms, Reiki (I learned Reiki because of her. I am Reiki 2nd Degree), and extra terrestrials. I had called her one evening a few years ago before my son was to come back from a Boy Scout camping and hiking trip in New Mexico. I explained to Shyla about my sons ‘dreams’ about extra terrestrials. He had a couple of them where he would wake up terrified. He had had an ET ‘dream’ four days before he was scheduled to fly out with the boy scouts for this once in a lifetime trip. ET’s and New Mexico: if the trip was not already paid for I may have tried to cancel it. I was on the phone with Shyla for an hour talking about what this meant and more information than I wanted to know about extra terrestrials. I knew they were not dreams, per se.

I had met Shyla in the early 1990’s when nearly everyone in my office went to see different psychics, first Judy and then Shyla. I would continue to see Shyla once a year or twice since then, wherever she was. She moved a lot trying to find the space she was meant to be in. As a Medium, Shyla told me that although she did see and hear spirits, there was one time in a haunted house with a paranormal group where she did not want to open her eyes to see the spirit of a woman who was in a bedroom. That surprised me about her.

So today when I did automatic writing, asking for guidance from the angels, I also called in my Grandma Shirley for help, Shyla made herself known. I was not thinking of her however she offered some advice and had a message for me. When I was done I looked at my notes and thought it was odd that Shyla came to me without me asking her for help. Perhaps I needed a teacher. This time of the year is also when the veil is thinnest and our loved ones can come to us and we can hear or see them better.

Empty Nest

I felt alternately clingy and self-composed that I was letting him go. On the way home the tears were non-stop. I did not think I would feel this way when we dropped off our second and youngest child at college just over a year ago. I had not felt this way when our eldest went to college three years earlier.  He was very ready to fly away and I was ready for it, too. I had helped my son with his college application and we drove the four hours for his freshman orientation. It had to be empty nest syndrome because I could not come up with another answer for my feelings.

My son had been ready since high school graduation. He’d made purchases for his dorm room from bedding and cleaning supplies to a cache of snacks and his PlayStation. He had all the necessary supplies. It may be innate and it may be Boy Scout preparedness but he’s always been organized and ready.  He knows what he wants and takes action. As a Bear cub in Cub Scouts he told me that he was going to go all the way and pursue his Eagle Scout, the highest rank in Scouting, and he did.

I have wondered why the empty nest syndrome affected me more with my son than my daughter. Was it simply that there were no more children at home? Or was it something else? I do not play favorites with my children but I have felt more protective of my son for reasons I can’t describe. Looking back, though, I saw the clues that may have been there all along.

When he was younger my son loved playing war battles with his small plastic army men, like a lot of boys. He always won. He was and is still very interested in war history, particularly World War II. His scout troop once had a sleepover on the destroyer USS Slater in Albany, N.Y. where his dad accompanied him. When his dad showed me the pictures of our son on the ship with his fellow scouts wearing a WWII – era helmet, I froze. Something in that photo triggered a flashback to the night when my husband and I were watching “Saving Private Ryan” on DVD. We stayed in a lot then. We had a two year old daughter and I was about five months pregnant with our son. I did not know then the sex of the baby. I like good surprises.

So watching that movie was another clue. By the end of the movie I was in hysterics and I did not understand why. What came to me as I was writing this was, “Was I afraid of losing him again?” This was a past life event unfolding.

After my son obtained his Eagle Scout at 18, he did what all young men in the United States must do: register with the Selective Service. I was anxious and blurted out ‘What if you get selected?’ His reply was: “What’s wrong with wanting to serve your country?”  My feelings were completely brushed aside by my pride in this young man that I helped raise.

I recently read something by a spiritual teacher who reminded me that our children come through us not of us. My children chose me to be their mom for a reason. Human mothers carry their children for nine months and rear for about 18 years unlike baby birds who hatch out of egg shells and are nurtured for a short time until they are nudged out of the nest when it is time for them to leave. Unless that bird knows when it is his time to fly.    

Writing

My first byline read ‘Lindsay Sheridan’. My immediate thought was who is Lindsay? My second thought was that would be a good pen name – but no one I know would know it was me. The publisher had made a mistake going to press. I decided it was okay since that first article was not really helpful anyway. By the time it went to press in the college newspaper, the event I wrote about, ever so concisely, had already happened. But it was a start.

My next piece – with a corrected byline – was an investigative report on plagiarism. The publisher said he wanted me to do it and gave me the name of a professor on campus to interview for the story. I found three more leads on my own to interview. During this creative process I realized I was having so much fun researching, interviewing and writing the story and discovered that it was not so difficult. Nine hundred words later my investigative report was the lead story in another issue of the newspaper.

In middle school, as I recall, I really did not like writing stories, papers, reports or anything. I had to write a creative paper in class and I remember using a simile – something about the top of my boots falling over like a wilted rose. My teacher liked that and told me to keep going. I could not. My creative drive was, well, wilted like that rose. I had no desire or motivation or inspiration. Anytime anywhere that a paper needed to be written, I used a minimal amount of words or if possible, avoided it altogether.

Later on in my working life I was asked to write a mission statement for a committee I was involved in.  I froze. I had no idea where to start. Instead, I enlisted someone else at work to help me write it.

Fast forward a few years and I found myself out of work due to the downturn in the economy in the late 2000’s. Interestingly enough I worked for a local newspaper where I was not a journalist but a clerk in the accounting office. After numerous attempts at finding work in my field I decided to go back to school at a community college and try something new. While I was studying there I joined a club: The college newspaper. I don’t know why, I just walked in. I didn’t like writing as I have stated a few times in this story. Actually, I did know why I joined.

A few years earlier I had been to see a channeler who said that I should try writing books; that I had a lot to say. Start with a children’s book, the channeler or rather the entity coming through the channel had said. I did not agree and wondered if the message may have been meant for someone else. So, perhaps by walking in that day to the college newspaper I was humoring the universe or just curious to find out if writing was what I was supposed to be doing. That day I decided I would keep an open mind. 

Here’s how I have learned to tell my stories. For me, writing is just like gathering facts and information and adding adjectives, a simile here and there and writing as if I was talking to someone about what happened. Another way I learned to write was listening to the radio or television news to hear how a story was structured and presented. Also, reading a lot of books on any topic. The newspaper journalist and book author Pete Hamill has also said that reading a variety of books growing up is what helped him to be a good writer.

But how writing came to be something I love to do now is a mystery to me. Maybe it was there all along and maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was a bit of both. I know what stories I’m meant to tell. I believe I just needed to have had the experiences to share and hopefully inspire people. Perhaps this story is one of them.

A Visitation

“Sweet Dreams”, 2019 Lettra Press

‘Janie called me on the phone. “Rockin’ Rosie Mahoney!” “Janie! Where are you?” I cried. ‘

Our loved ones appear to us in our dreams. Loved ones calling us on the phone or talking to us through a radio in our dreams. These are visitation dreams. Our loved ones just want us to know that they around us and that they are okay. Sometimes they just want to check in and say ‘Hey’ and sometimes they have a message to give us.

Very often our crossed over loved ones choose to reach out to us while we are sleeping. And that is because they do not want to frighten us. They do see us during our waking hours and many young people can see still see spirits of loved ones even if they transformed to the spirit world before they were born. I can feel their presence and I know they are around  me. But how can they communicate with us? Birds, feathers, coins, suddenly hearing a word or phrase or a song on the radio in answer to a question: “Show me a sign that you’re around me. “

Six months after my high school best friend died suddenly, I received a message from her in a dream. She called me on the telephone to tell me that she was safe and alright. As a teenager, I did not know what happened to us when we died. Do we die and that’s the end? Or do our souls/spirits continue on to another life? What I learned from that dream was that she had crossed over and was communicating to me through a medium that I would understand. After school, we would talk for hours on the phone about everything and nothing. (A 1980’s landline telephone; cell phones were not created yet.)

I believe that all dreams are messages and a visitation from a crossed over friend, relative or co-worker is a special message that they are safe and watching over us.

Channeling

Several years ago a friend invited me to a group meditation at the house of a friend of hers. The group meditation was to be followed by a channeling session. Meditation is not my forte because I usually fall asleep or recite a mental to-do list. I really wanted to be there to see what channeling was; I had heard of it before and I was intrigued, but I did not know what to expect.

Before the evening began and introductions were made, I expressed this to the woman facilitating the group meditation and channeling that night. In fact, the only channeling I had ever seen was in the movie, “Out on a Limb”, based on Shirley MacLaine’s book and starring her and the actual channel (depicted in the book as Kevin Ryerson). Watching that in the movie was riveting to me. So I wondered if this woman channeling would be just as interesting.

During the group meditation about fifteen people sat in chairs or on throw pillows scattered on the floor. Soft meditation music played, a single candle lit and the guided meditation begins. I cannot tell you what thoughts came to me. All I recall are the lights. My eyes were completely closed and I could see bright white flashes of light and then blue/green/magenta flashes of light. I knew that there was a single candle but it was not that bright. These flashing lights were dancing in the center of the room. I knew they were spirits, angels even. And I knew if I opened my eyes the lights would no longer be there. Keeping my eyes closed I enjoyed the light show. There was a lot of energy in the small living room. Angels, archangels, spirit guides and crossed over loved ones of everyone there that beautiful spring night.

After a break, the channeling began. I sat next to her but before she began she explained to me what would happen. And then the room became quiet until all of a sudden her body started moving, as if she was dancing in her armchair. A voice came through. It was her voice but with a slight, playful accent. The entity she channeled was known as ‘One’. ‘One’ greeted everyone, gave a short message and then opened it up to the participants for questions and guidance of a spiritual nature, generally. No one asked for the winning lottery numbers.

When it was my turn, I asked ‘One’ about the weight I was carrying around my waist and abdominal area, my solar plexus. No matter how much exercise I did the weight seemed to stay where it was. The answer I received was this. The weight is related to not being getting enough out of life. I was not getting out enough possibly because of some things happening in my private life. ‘One’ made a pulling motion from the channeler’s midsection to show pulling things out of the abdominal area to demonstrate what it meant. I understood. The solar plexus, the power chakra, is the body’s energy center for assertiveness, self-esteem and will power. I was grateful ‘One’ did not mention a serious health issue.

I just want to say another thing about channeling. Whether we are aware of it or not, we are all conduits or channels of universal energy. I call it being in the ‘zone’ when I feel like I am on autopilot. And if you’re in the zone and you get a series of numbers, play them.

When the Student is ready, the Teacher appears


I was reading a self help book when I met my first spiritual teacher. The book, purchased from a bookstore was something I thought I needed in my life at the time. After reading less than half of the book I realized that it did not resonate with me. It was not what I was looking for after all. My sister had invited me over to meet him; she would be meeting her boyfriend there as well. The book I was reading was in my hands when I was introduced to him, although I can not recall why I would be carrying it around with me. But the Universe did.

After introductions, he asked me what I was reading. Prenaturally, he must have known why I was reading it and asked me to follow him inside. From a book shelf he chose a paperback and handed it to me and said I should read it. It had helped him. The book was ‘Out on A Limb’ by Shirley MacLaine. “When the Student is ready the Teacher will appear”, he said. I had never heard the Buddhist saying before but when he said it I got goosebumps. Something inside of me pinged. It was a knowing.

I was a little skeptical about this book having recalled what I had heard of it and her at the time. Less than 10 years from the time it was published I had her book in my hands and read the books description on the back cover. I waited about a week before I actually read it, unsure if I was really ready to read it. It changed the trajectory of my life. My spiritual journey had begun.

Just like different phases of schooling we go through in life, so did my spiritual journey. When I had completed the book, I read another my new friend had shared with me. This one was ‘There is a River’ by Edgar Cayce. My life was transforming and I wanted to learn more about New Age spirituality as it was called. When I was ready, the next teacher on my journey appeared. And then the next. And then the next. And I am still learning.



A Past Life

20181215_084458.jpgDuring a past life regression therapy session I saw myself in at least a few lifetimes. There were men in each of those lifetimes: a dark haired man with a mustache who was a landlord of a rundown building; a farm hand of my family’s farm and property in the 1800’s; a man in a white tee shirt and a red plaid kilt who was my father in that lifetime.
Past life regression therapy is therapy. To get to the root of my issue in this lifetime, I had to go back through as many lifetimes as it took to find where the karma began. My higher self and spirit guides, guided me and protected me during this soul journey back in time where I saw, not the entire lifetime with the aforementioned individuals ( it’s only a 2 hour session), but scenes from those lives showing me and reminding my subconscious of a situation in that lifetime, kind of like a movie trailer. In spiritual truth, I did not forget. The memory was there all along in my cells. During and after those scenes I knew who the man was in all of those lifetimes and certain traits of those men were familiar to me in this life.
I was raped by the farm hand in the 1800’s and became pregnant. In another scene from that life I saw myself on a horse drawn wagon with my parents – unknown to me in this life – being sent away until the baby was born. The farm hand in that lifetime was my husband in this life. In this lifetime I learned that the karma with my husband was to give him children.
The man with the red kilt, who was my father in that lifetime, was also my husband in this life. I was about twelve and was enslaved, meaning I performed nearly every chore there was to be done and I did not want to do it anymore. I wanted my own life. I wrapped a red plaid shawl around me and began to walk away. He ran after me with a spear and plunged it into my chest and twisted it around. The wound was fatal. During the therapy session the practitioner asked me where my soul was leaving my body. I lifted my hand to put it on my chest a couple of inches above my sternum.
I felt myself floating toward the sky and turned myself around and saw my body lying there on the ground. It did not hurt. I was not scared. I turned back around and saw the blue tunnel and went through it to the ‘Other Side’. And it was beautiful there. My guides and angels were with me throughout this transition. When I got home that night, I washed up before bed and my eyes saw the red stained birthmark on my chest. I had seen it my whole life and never knew what it was or how it got there.
Having read quite a few books about reincarnation and past lives, this was my first experience with my own past life memory. Not only was it therapeutic, but it was absolute proof for me that our souls do go on after this life.

Getting Back in the Game

It’s all about being ready and being prepared for the situations that are thrown at you.”  – Eli Manning

It’s been a little more than a year since my last post.

It wasn’t writers block.

The last year has been preparation for the changes that followed. I knew the changes were coming but I did not feel they would affect me as they did. I was preparing for the events and knew what was coming. I underestimated myself. Sometimes that happens. And sometimes, well,  more than sometimes, I let events take control of me.

In  2018, I became an empty nester; sold a house in a neighborhood where I lived for over 20 years; ended a long term relationship. These life changes, though I knew they were going to happen, hit me harder than I ever thought they would. I was preparing for them. I was ready for these changes. I was surprised by how hard they hit me. They all happened  within a span of three months.

I was unprepared for the grief that followed. And re-build a new life for myself.

I’m spiritual not religious. I used my spiritual tool box but despite setting intentions, meditating, taking walks in nature and trying to be gentle with myself, depression is something that just needs time before action. Processing those feelings of living alone for the first time and moving somewhere new. Learning to let go because I must, I have to. The changes were necessary to allow new opportunities to present themselves. When one door closes another one opens.

It’s been three months since then. I’m working on a new career path.  I’ve resumed dream interpretations and writing: I plan on publishing not one, but two books this year. I have been setting intentions, meditating and watching for signs. Guidance from the Universe. Am I on the path I’m supposed to be on?

I am ready to receive good fortune and abundance.

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