Okay. How do I say this? Let me count the ways. Should it be 1. As a something shared with me by a friend or a client, 2. As a program I saw on TV, 3. As a story I read in a book, 4. As an experience encountered in a dream? Or how about none of these, how about the truth? That at 10:15 a.m.Tuesday morning, without prejudice, or preconception ─ with only the slightest notion of what to expect or how to handle what I might hear or learn, I spoke by phone with someone I had never seen and had only a slight knowledge of, but whose credentials as a medium were both respectable and respected, and who asked me the following questions, which blew away the veil between this world and the next with these few simple words.
“Can you tell me who Esther is?”
“Do you know anyone named Betty?”
“Who is Sol or Samuel?”
“Who is Howard or Harold?”
Esther was my mother-in-law. I called her Queen Esther. She was Eastern European royalty with a Yiddish accent. Betty was my mom. There are no words to do her justice; she was far too good for this world. Sam was my father; he taught me resilience and generosity by living it each day of his life. And Harold was my beloved friend. He helped me to repair my life and restore my soul. His love for me was a miraculous surprise, a saving grace.
The medium speaks not in hushed tones, nor in anyone else’s voice but her own, which is calm, normal and bright. She sees my father in uniform. She sees a horizontal sepia toned photo of him with other soldiers. (once she mentions it I remember. It was at least a foot long, perhaps more. I kept it rolled up in a box until it fell apart and disappeared). He keeps shaking his head to tell me not to feel guilty. He says he knew I was busy with my family and my life. That I couldn’t always be there for him.
She knows I took care of Harold while he was ill, but she also knows I wasn’t with him when he died, that I got a call to tell me he was gone. He wants to thank me for how I cared for him during his illness.That I helped him to have a “king’s exit.” That I was not there when he passed because he wanted it that way. Harold had been an actor for many years. “A King’s exit,” was something he would say.I can hear him saying it.
She knows my mom’s name; my mother-in -law’s name; my dad’s name.That my dad had been in the service and there was this photo of him in uniform. That I had taken care of Harold while he was ill. How could she know all this? It’s “impossible”.
She says my sister is doing great. That the pain of her passing has “evaporated.” That during her greatest suffering her higher self departed her physical body leaving only raw ego behind ─ as though an alchemical process had taken place. How comforting to hear this. Yet, why would I believe a word this person says? Anyone can say a loved one is doing great. It’s what we want to hear. It’s what mediums tell us, a lucrative gimme.
Before we spoke I told her nothing about myself, except that my sister had passed. I began to let a small piece of something slip out when we started our conversation and she quickly shut me down, told me not to say more about anyone or anything so her reading would not be tainted, her mediumship could remain uncompromised.
Things came up that I didn’t expect, not that I “expected” any of it.
Perhaps this is foreign territory for you (as in some ways it is for me). But she had me at:”Can you tell me who Esther is?” And she sealed the deal with ”Do you know anyone named Betty?”
This may or may not hold meaning for you or give you some comfort. My logical mind feels squeezed, bent out of shape. But despite this assault on my left brain intellect, what I experience blows away any remnants of doubt that I have in the eternal, and affirms my belief that this is not all there is by any means. How could it be?
Just because we can’t wrap our minds around this doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. In fact, the opposite is true. There’s just too much impossible knowing here to think this was anything but a connection with the other side. What’s in it for us to think otherwise?
But now I want more. I wonder what are they doing? Where are they? Are they here beside me, or are they somewhere out there in the cosmos? How do they spend the day, the night? Do they watch us? Are they alone or together? Do they miss their physical bodies? Do they work on reversing bad karma? Do they fall in or out of love? Or is their energy invested in repairing themselves and the world?
There’s much to think about. Even more to experience. But I can wait. Really. I can wait.
Here is an exercise for those with someone whose passing was fraught with anguish and pain.
Take a piece of paper and write down all the horrific things that went on during this person’s passing. Crush the paper. Burn it. Get rid of it in any way you choose: Bury the ashes, throw them in the river, to the wind, down a toilet. And know that the pain and darkness is gone.