Messenger Between Worlds Read online

  Witches were feared for their ability to affect natural phenomena, but many of the times disgruntled neighbors or town folk used the witch label to point fingers at those they were angry at or jealous of. If an execution took place, it helped eliminate their case of envy. So it was never determined if Mary was truly a witch, or just a prominent lady who existed in the 1600s and wasn’t liked. I like to think of her as possibly both.

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  twenty-eight

  Starting Over

  I had so much on my plate, missed my mom like mad, had received a promotion at work, and was petrified of messing up another marriage. Driving to work one morning, the anxiety and pressure built up so much that I burst into tears as I maneuvered my way through the winding road that I had driven for over six years. I heard someone clear their throat next to me, and almost ran off the road when I saw an African American man sitting in the passenger seat, his feet lounging on the console.

  “Who are you?” I gasped.

  “Your new guide. I’m Marvin, but I prefer Marv.”

  “What? Where’s Alto? And Tallie?”

  “They’re still around, but there are some major life changes happening and I’m just the man to help.”

  Marv had a smooth way of talking, almost melodic. I felt comfortable around him, even though we just met. That is the thing about a guide; you are gifted them, to help as a best friend would, only with clearer objectives.

  Just as I went to ask him more questions, I looked over to see that he had disappeared. It would have to wait.

  I plopped into my seat at 8:00 a.m. to start my day.

  Sitting in my brand-new office with my brand-new furniture and brand-new computer, I closed my eyes and tried to wish away the tears. I worked with strong people, and I knew that tears wouldn’t be acceptable. I begged my guides for an answer. I had accepted a promotion in my “real” job in hopes that it would make me happy, but it was doing the opposite. I was miserable. Before I could feel sorry for myself anymore, my phone rang and I was off and working. The clock read 4:00 p.m. when I clutched my hand to my chest. I ached and I ached horribly. I asked my guides if I was having a heart attack and received the all clear, but I knew something was wrong. As if on cue, my boss walked by and noticed that I was turning a nice shade of khaki green. She promptly asked me if I wanted an ambulance, and although there were signs of something serious, I told her I would just go to my doctor. I grabbed my purse and drove across the street to see what in the world was going on. That was the last day I would ever step foot in that office again—over five years ago now.

  My anxiety and panic over being miserable had manifested illness within me. The diagnoses ranged from mononucleosis to chronic fatigue and finally to fibromyalgia. Here I was teaching my clients to take care of themselves, and I was doing just the opposite. I panicked going back to work, and I panicked not going back to work—what was I going to do? After several months of lying on the couch in exhaustion from the illness, I was festering in a pool of anger at a disability company that sat outside my house, spying on me. I was angry at my workplace for not believing that I was actually ill. I was angry at myself for allowing myself to get so stressed, and so sick, and for not listening to my intuition and my guides. Every time I thought I was getting well enough to return to my position, I got ill again. I sat for over five hours in my doctor’s office, my husband curled up next to me on the exam table, holding me as I sobbed when the doctor asked me what I thought I could do to get well. The blood tests were there in black and white, evidence that showed that I was sick—it wasn’t all in my head—but the disability company refused to pay me, stating that it was anxiety and nothing more. And my workplace wanted an answer. I finally looked up at the doctor and my husband and said, “I think the prescription is resignation.” They both nodded in agreement. It was like a weight had fallen off my shoulders as soon as I made the announcement. Explaining to my family that I was going to quit my job, and then giving my formal resignation, was difficult and frightening. I grew up in a household where you pack a brown bag lunch and work for 8.5 hours and come home. Nothing less, nothing more.

  Rosanne Cash is quoted as saying that “the key to change is to let go of fear.” Fear is what kept me rooted longer than I should have been. As I let go of my fears and embraced growth, the change allowed me to flourish. I knew that I had a calling and that I couldn’t do it being stuck in an office that I hated, a job that wasn’t a good fit. All I was doing was causing resistance, which was the reason behind my illnesses.

  It was a tug of war with my destiny.

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  twenty-nine

  Embracing My Fears

  I love the beauty of birds—each species unique in their markings, colors, and habits. I have always admired them from afar for their freedom—wings spread without a known care in the world. However, I never had any up-close interaction until I took a trip to a pet store the day before I was to be hospitalized for a blood transfusion and then have a full hysterectomy.

  I’ve never claimed to be a pet psychic, and in fact I still don’t. I had inherited my mom’s fears of birds, but during my time off of work, I would venture to the local pet store. It seemed to help with my stress and anxiety. I would play with the puppies and the kittens, but it was one certain pet shop parakeet that grabbed my eye.

  As I went up to his cage, he bounced right up to me and began to telepathically speak to me. He told me to call him Sarge and that he had been a military fighter in the Army. It was my third visit to his cage when I told my husband that the bird was talking to me.

  “You have to buy him,” Chuck urged.

  Chuck had been around birds all his life, so he didn’t understand my fear of its flapping wings, pointy beak, and intimidating claws. Not only was I frightened, I had no time, or money, to take care of a bird. And then add in that the bird could actually talk to me! I would never get any rest!

  The joke would later be on me.

  Ever since the mononucleosis, my blood count kept dipping dangerously low, and I was having awful stomach pains that sent me to the emergency room several times. During one emergency room visit, I was lying in the bed awaiting tests as the doctors were sure that I had appendicitis when a spirit of an older black lady stood next to my bedside. She didn’t say anything, just stared at me. I wasn’t even certain how to react, but after about ten minutes of her just staring at me, I started a conversation. I thought that if a doctor or nurse caught me talking to the air that I could at least blame the painkillers they had given me.

  “Have you ever heard that it wasn’t polite to stare?” I told her.

  She broke down in tears.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was trying to be funny. Did you pass away here?”

  “I don’t think so,” she sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

  I was confused. If she didn’t pass away there, why was she hanging around a hospital?

  Before I could ask any more questions, a nurse came in.

  “Ask her who is behind the curtain,” the lady said.

  I giggled, wanting to tell her it might be the Wizard of Oz, but then realized I was being rude and giddy off of the drugs.

  “Nurse, can you tell me who is in the next room to me?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Is there possibly a deceased lady of about seventy-something lying there?”

  She moved the curtain aside, pushed her head in and out quickly, looked at me strangely, and ran out of my room. It wasn’t long before I heard several people in the room next to me.

  The spirit bent over and gave me a kiss. “By the way, my name is Delores in case anyone asks,” she said, and then she walked back over to her room.

  The nurse came back, her eyes large and questioning. “How did you know that there was a deceased patient?”

  “Because she told me she wa
s there,” I replied simply. “And by the way, her name is Delores.”

  It was true. That morning Delores had passed away in the cab on the way to the hospital. She didn’t have any identification on her, and they left her there in hopes that someone would come and ID her. Then, after a shift change, she was all but forgotten. Until I came along.

  They determined that I didn’t have appendicitis and sent me home with pain pills. That week my doctor decided that they would have to do a full hysterectomy, but first do a blood transfusion. I was scared, but had high hopes that it would help solve the mounting medical ailments.

  The morning started off early with dropping the kids off at school and then making my way to the hospital for my blood transfusion. I was surprised to check in and be told that my room was ready. They walked me to a regular room and told my husband and me to make ourselves at home. Because I was wearing comfy clothes, they didn’t even make me change into a gown! So I lay in bed with some nice warm blankets and the hubby settled down in the recliner and they started the IV. It took a while for them to bring me my blood because they hadn’t done a cross check on my blood and that took an extra hour. I was a nervous wreck about the blood going in me, but the nurses were being so sweet about everything. What made me even more nervous was that I could not only taste the saline from the IV, I could then taste the blood and actually feel it as it circulated in my body (including in my eye veins). What was even more scary for all of us was that my blood was making odd noises … almost an electric/vibration type noise that had us all staring at one another. They said they’d never heard of anything like it. We all blamed it on the empath in me because a normal person should not be that in tune to the body and the circulatory system. When I explained to the medical practitioners how I felt it move, they said it was exactly the way the anatomy ran (and sorry … I never took that class!). Even though I didn’t know what was going on, I would later discover that the vibrations came about because my body was out of sync, and much like maintenance working on an elevator, and lubricating its moving parts by sending it to the top floor, the transfusion was doing the same by realigning my chakras and cleansing my aura.

  Because I was on clear liquids that day, the nurses were nice about bringing me anything that went under that category … and even made me some iced tea. I finally fell asleep around 1:00 p.m., but awoke to the spirit of a young woman standing over me. I looked to see if my husband saw her, but he was snoring away. She said her name was Tanya and that she had just recently passed, but that she didn’t have family that much cared. I felt so bad for her, but she didn’t want to have anything to do with going to the light and continued to sit with me throughout my hospital stay. She kept stroking my right hand and saying that we would’ve been friends if she had known me. I thought that was sweet, and it made me feel even worse.

  The nurse came in with a second pint of blood, which took forever, and then tried to convince me to stay the night as my hysterectomy was scheduled first thing the next morning. However, between the ghosts, the uncomfortable bed, my fear of hospitals (see ghost comment), and my desire to take a hot bath, I opted to go home and just go back there at 6:30 in the morning.

  The hysterectomy was pretty much like my C-section, only I wasn’t rewarded with a baby to hold. I became allergic to everything and blamed the blood transfusion, which was only met with smirks from the hospital staff as they explained that it didn’t work that way. Well, I never had allergies before, I would huff. I couldn’t sleep. I itched, and I hurt.

  I finally dozed off after all my visitors had left, only to hear the television go on. I snapped my eyes open and saw the spirit of my mom sitting in the chair next to me.

  “Mom?” I asked.

  “Dear, just go back to sleep. I’m just going to catch up on my soaps.”

  I looked at the television and sure enough, All My Children was playing. I didn’t want to sleep, I wanted to visit. It had been almost a year since she had crossed over, but she stroked my hair and I fell into a peaceful sleep.

  That night I was agitated and teary after the interaction with Mom, so they finally gave me some sleeping medication. I remember waking up and seeing my family standing there and Chuck telling me to follow him. So, I somehow got up, put clothes over my IV, and began dragging my pole with me. The family led me to a window and told me to jump, that I would be caught. I snapped out of the haze to realize that I didn’t know where I was, what room I was supposed to be in, or what my name was. A nurse found me sobbing and took me back to my room where they kept guard on me all night. No sleeping medication for me!

  After several days, I was granted a release from the hospital and was thrilled to be home and in my own bed. I was on the phone with a friend when my son rushed into the house. Normally very polite, he urgently pulled at my sleeve, jumping from one foot to the next. Excusing myself from the conversation, I asked him what the deal was. In a dress-up Army hat was a baby robin. I first squawked myself and then panicked. What do I do with a baby bird? Thankfully it wasn’t long before my husband came home from work and Dr. Doolittle went to work on showing me how to feed and care for her, a girl we promptly named Lillith (Lily). We created a makeshift nest in a laundry basket and hand-fed her fruit and blueberry muffins. She refused to leave, so we spent time teaching her how to peck, and we fell in love. She would fly to and nuzzle the dogs’ faces and fall asleep on our shoulders. We figured that we would keep her until her tail feathers came in, and continued to take her for dry runs.

  Since I tend to find a spiritual message in almost everything that happens in life, I meditated on it and was told to search out what a Robin totem meant. The name Robin actually means Bright Fame, but as for the totem, a Robin totem will stimulate new growth in all areas of life. So it all made complete sense, at least to the two people who were getting the most out of our lovely Lillith—my husband and me.

  We had hopes that Lily would understand that we had learned the lesson and join her family again—knowing that she would always have us to come to if she needed a blueberry muffin.

  I went to lie down for my nap when my husband came running into the bedroom, crying and holding Lillith. She had died in his hands.

  That little bird taught me so much about facing my fears and examining my life in order to overcome. Even little fragments of messages can communicate a lot. And my fear of birds? What fear?

  I was raised with the theology that animals don’t go to heaven because they have no soul. Anytime we studied that part of the Bible in school, I would shake my head in disbelief. It just couldn’t be true, I thought.

  I grew up around a pet, and it was after the kids’ dad left that I found myself caring for Conan, a Great Pyrenees who was a gentle giant. A hundred and fifty pounds of white fluff, he was great with the kids, and a wonderful protector for me being a single mom. I began to notice that he was having issues with his back legs and took him to the vetrinarian where they gave us the bad news—he had heartworm and probably wouldn’t make it. Even though I faithfully gave him his medication, the doctor thought that because he was so large, his given dose hadn’t been enough to prevent it. I was devastated and even more saddened to tell the kids that their faithful pet was going to die. The doctor told me to bring him in when I was ready, or when Conan was ready.

  After a few months, I knew that it was time. The car ride to the clinic, just Conan and myself, was heart wrenching. I sobbed and tried to see the road through my waterworks.

  Sitting in the small room with Conan lying in my lap, his large brown eyes looking into mine with a knowing, I hugged his head and broke down again. The veterinarian, a kindhearted man, sat on the floor next to us and slowly and quietly helped Conan find his peace. I left with his collar and leash and a heavy heart.

  A year or so afterwards, Connor kept tripping. He was five years old and I was worried that he had a medical issue, or was just extremely clumsy.

  “Wh
at’s going on, Connor?” I asked, exasperated.

  “It’s Conan,” he answered easily.

  I gave him that look that says to tell the truth.

  “It is Conan, Mom! It is. He keeps walking in front of me.”

  I let it go because Connor rarely if ever lied.

  “Mom! Mom!”

  It was a couple days after the Conan talk when I heard Connor yelling at me from his bedroom. I raced from the kitchen to his room, where I found him crying and petting the air. There, in spirit, was Conan. Not only did I see him, there was no denying it. Connor’s bed was weighed down the way only a one-hundred-fifty-pound dog could do to a youth bed. Just as soon as he appeared, he slowly disappeared and the mattress took back its shape.

  We never saw Conan again, and Connor’s tripping stopp-

  ed.

  Conan gave us his final goodbye before his final stay in heaven. And yes, I do believe that animals go to heaven. How couldn’t they, with as much as joy and love as they give us here on earth?

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  thirty

  Follow Your Path

  Success surely doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a journey that encounters many obstacles, mistakes, and even some wounds. Whether it is finding your soul mate, a fulfilling relationship, or a satisfying job, you don’t wake up one day with knowledge of exactly what you want out of life and find yourself saying, “If only … ”

  Among the array of reasons one doesn’t succeed, the main one is fear. Fear of failure (or sometimes fear of success) creates a chaos of overthinking and overanalyzing, which roots the vibration into what I call the bottom-feeder pond. This creates even more craziness and can affect every aspect of your life. Not a fun place to be.

  So, what can you do to find your path? First, set your intentions according to your passion. Is it a new relationship? A new car? A better job? More money? As simple or complex your wishes are, you can achieve them by taking action. Setting intentions is the first piece of the puzzle. Gauge how you feel like when you ponder what you want. Do you feel that flutter of fear or a flutter of excitement?