pieces of me
Memoirs of a Past Life Tourist
Touch the Sky
Photo by: Walter Babinski, My American Husband
“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.” Rumi
To Be So Lucky
“Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.” Rumi
With a Little Help From My Friend
![SewingAngel~LM2[1]](https://pastlifetourist.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/sewingangellm21.jpg)
“Good-byes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.” Rumi
Before my friend Janice passed away I had very little knowledge or experience with after-death communication. Looking back now I realize that those times in my youth where I would suddenly smell that distinct aroma of my grandmother’s home… baking pie, cinnamon, pipe tobacco and just a hint of talcum powder, that it had to be Grandma popping in to say hello. Or those incredibly vivid dreams when I would awaken from sitting at the table and drinking tea with my Grandpa, and know that he had come for a nice nighttime visit. Back then I attributed things like that to coincidence, or imagination, or just too strange to be true.
But then Janice crossed over in such a dramatic fashion and I was simply jarred awake to a new level of perception. In the months that followed I would experience communications and signs that would leave no doubt in my mind that Janice was reaching across the veil and carrying on the conversation we’d started here on this earthly plain.
Way back when my daughter was 7 years old she became involved in a production of Les Miserables put on by our local high school theatre company. I would pick her up and drop her off at rehearsals and was always very impressed by the dedicated teachers and volunteers who worked tirelessly with this big group of kids. I had been a theatre major in University and it was years since I had taken part in anything theatrical. I asked my girl to let me know if she heard of anyone needing help because I would be happy to volunteer. I was suddenly very excited to get involved in the theatre again after so many years. Just as long as it wasn’t costumes. I hated doing costuming.
“Mama, this lady needs help”, my daughter pulled me by the hand and introduced me to Janice. Bazinga! Instant recognition. We were laughing and joking within the first five minutes, and I knew that I was going to have a great time working with her.
And of course, she was the Costume Designer. Sigh. Ahhhh well, it was time to dust off the sewing machine, load up the glue gun and fire up the bedazzler, because apparently I was going to make some costumes.
We worked closely together for the next few years. Janice was the brilliant visionary, pulled by the creative muse that had her flitting from project to project haphazardly. I was the organizer. I kept her on task (some of the time), looking after the details so that she could concentrate on the BIG PICTURE. We were the perfect pair. I was the Laurel to her Hardy, the Captain to her Tenille, the Tweedle Dum to her Tweedle Dee. Through production after production we worked diligently, getting hundreds of costumes built, compiled, organized, fitted, ironed, hung up, cleaned and stored away. The tasks were daunting but we had a group of willing and able volunteers to work with us and show after show we managed to get it all done and looking pretty damn good, too.
But then…. Janice left this world suddenly, during intermission at Beauty and the Beast. One moment we were laughing together and the next she was gone. Aortic aneurism, they told us. It was instant and painless, and she was doing what she most loved in the world. Her last moments of this lifetime were spent in pure joy. We would have chosen to keep her here with us many more years, but as far as exits go, she picked a great one.
After the immediacy of the departure, we were faced with getting through the production, helping the kids handle their shock and grief, helping to plan the celebration of her life, and the myriad details that all of those things entailed. The next few weeks were a blur. Catching our breath, the three remaining members of the production team began to consider the future. Who would be the new costume designer? Would we even be able to continue on as we had been, mounting productions with 100 + kids? Janice had been a vital part of the team and how could we go on without her expertise?
And that is how I became a Costume Designer. I volunteered. And they gratefully accepted. What the heck had I gotten myself into?
The spring production was Anything Goes. The size of the cast was just under 100. The number of costumes needed would be over 400 and of that number about 200 would have to be created from scratch. I would need to learn how to design a sailor uniform that could be mass produced, design a full, matching wardrobe for Reno Sweeney and her Angels, source 40 pair of tap shoes and keep it all under budget. Oh yes. And work full time at my day job while doing it all.
What me, worry?
Funny things happen when you have an Angel on your side. I began noticing little things. I would think to myself, “I sure would like to get some matching fur coats for Reno’s gals” then *poof* I would walk into the thrift store and find 4 matching vintage minks for $20 each. I would need a pin striped gangster suit with matching hat and *shazam* there would be one in the perfect size hanging up with the randomly donated graduation dresses. Capes, bonnets, bows, velvet, sequins, knowledge, volunteers, sailor hats, and everything I needed or wanted began to show up in the craziest ways.
There is one thing that still makes me shake my head in wonder. I needed a long length of fake white fur, about 3 inches wide, to trim out one of Reno’s travel outfits. I had just designed the outfit and not surprisingly the perfect polka dot fabric had shown up in the clearance bin at the fabric shop, the exact right hat had fallen off the top shelf of the costume storage locker and the coolest brass sailor buttons had shown up in my sewing basket (I still don’t know where they came from). I was rummaging through bags of notions that Janice had stored in her basement. I pulled out a big bag and inside was, you guessed it, white fake fur. But the really amazing thing? It was a long strip of 3 inch wide fabric that was the exact perfect length to finish Reno’s outfit. I kid you not.
Thanks Janice.
For many more productions, projects and creations I have enjoyed Janice’s help. She always seems to bring me what I need, helps me figure out how to create what is needed and never stops making me laugh at her shenanigans.
And sometimes I still hear her giggling in my ear, “Suck it up buttercup, it’s time to get things done”.
“I always say to people when they lose someone, ‘Now you have an angel you can call by name,'” Oprah Winfrey
The Garden Gate
The Secret Garden by Emla, Deviant Art
“The garden of the world has no limits, except in your mind.” Rumi
When it comes to motivation and following my purpose I have found that the biggest obstacle in my path had nearly always been Me. Myself. You’d think I’d be my best supporter, greatest cheerleader, biggest fan, but no. I have been my loudest naysayer, setting up traps and making sure I trip, fall, or avoid the path completely. What is up with Me? Don’t I know that I will be the biggest benefactor if my dreams come true? Sheesh, Self. What is your problem?
Then, a few months back I saw Steven Pressfield on Super Soul Sunday with Oprah. He was talking about his book The War Of Art and how resistance and self loathing are actually good things.
Wait… what?
“The dream arises in our psyche (even if we deny it, even if we fail to or refuse to recognize it) like a tree ascending into the sunshine. Simultaneously the dream’s shadow appears—i.e., Resistance—just as a physical tree casts a physical shadow.
That’s a law of nature.
Where there is a Dream, there is Resistance.
Thus: where we encounter Resistance, somewhere nearby is a Dream.” Steven Pressfield (very cool article. You can read the rest of it here)
To consider that Resistance is actually a law of nature, like gravity, or attraction, was hugely liberating for me. Suddenly I could see clearly all of the ways that Resistance insinuated itself into my life. It was the same old song, ever time.
The Rise and Fall of the Beautiful Dream
Sudden inspiration leads to HUGE excitement, plan making, visions of euphoria. That would typically last for a day, maybe two. I would even get busy making lists and drawing up plans and telling my American Husband all about it. “I have this amazing THING I am going to do!!” and he would get excited too.
But then.
This will never work. How can I possibly find anyone to help with this? And how can I afford it? Besides, who would listen to me about anything? I am a nobody. What do I have to offer the world? Who am I to set myself up as teacher/leader/guide in anything?
But hey, I’ve dealt with the nagging voice of my own self doubt for my whole incarnation, so I know how to muscle through. So the next step is to soldier on despite the doubts. Let’s say, for instance, the Dream is that I will write a book, perhaps about Past Lives for instance. Hypothetically speaking of course.
I decide I will sit down and write, despite the cacophony of self loathing that is singing in my head. Here’s what happens next.
I sit down to write. But wait, I have to pee. So I get up to pee and on my way back I remember that I should take something out of the freezer for supper, so I grab a package of chicken and set it to thaw on the counter. Hey, maybe I’ll make that yummy lemon chicken we had at Mom’s last month. I better call her for the recipe. Beep beep beep, dialing, “Hello Mom, how are you?…” Twenty minutes later with recipe in hand I realize that we need a few ingredients, so I suit up and head over to the grocery store. By the time I get back I see that it is lunchtime, so I make some soup, and while I am eating I figure I might as well catch up on my Downton Abbey viewing, so on goes the Netflix. Part way through my 3rd episode I look down at the laptop, just sitting there on the table, mocking me. I reach over and close it, trying to ignore the niggling guilt. I can’t write now, I don’t have time, I justify to myself. Finishing the episode I jump up and start prepping supper. So I didn’t write today? So what. Nothing will ever come of it anyways.
Debbie Downer get out of my head.
When I watched Steven Pressfield talk about Resistance and describing it as a real, tangible thing, I had a great big Oprah A-HA moment. If Resistance was a thing, then I could find away around it. But how?
First I tried to identify how Resistance wages war on me. I came up with the Big 3. They are, in no particular order:
1. Procrastination. This weapon of mass destruction has lobbed it’s poison at me more than any other. I will do it tomorrow, after this, once that happens, soon…. Putting my Beautiful Dream off forever into the unreachable future more times than I can count.
2. Getting busy. I am an expert at over-scheduling myself. I fill my days and nights with so many tasks that I just never seem to have time to follow my Beautiful Dream. “Beware the barrenness of the busy life”, says Socrates. I hear you, Bro.
3. Self Loathing. That inner bitch just keeps letting me know I am never going to be good enough, smart enough or gosh darn it, likeable enough. She has been trying to come between me and my Beautiful Dream my whole life.
To set up a viable defense against these three weapons of Resistance, I had to plan my counter-attack. My line of defense is pretty simple, actually, and so far has worked miracles for me.
I began by making a concerted effort to recognize Resistance as it crept up in its many forms. Once recognized I would say, “I see you, Resistance!” and then I would imagine that Resistance took the form of a giant bubble, blocking me from my Big Dream. Huge and unwieldy I would see it there, as a tangible “thing”. And then I would huff, and I would puff and I would blow it away.
Easy as pie. Bubbles have no defense against a good gust of air.
This simple tool has not ended the war with Resistance. With each new day comes new weapons and tools aimed at stopping me from moving toward my Beautiful Dream, and each day I must be aware, fortify myself and blow those bubbles away. At times I forget and end up stalling. Sometimes I stall for months at a time, but eventually I remember.
Resistance I am done. It’s not me, it’s you. The beauty of my Dream is calling and I intend to heed her siren song.
“Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.” Steven Pressfield
Come On In
“You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.” Rumi
Everything I need to know about science I learned from watching Star Trek the Next Generation. For example, I learned that human beings consist of “ugly giant bags of mostly water” or more precisely what Data says HERE .
I went to Wikipedia, my other source for all things scientific, to confirm that whole 90% thing and found out that we are actually closer to about 60 – 75% water. I want to make sure I get my facts straight for any of you hard core scientists who might be reading this. Because, yeah… I get a lot of hard core science types reading this blog.
But back to the water thing. (be patient, I’m building a metaphor here)
Consider God (or Universe or Source or Big Kahuna in the sky, or whatever name you have for the Infinite Intelligence that runs the show). Let’s say that God is the ocean. When humans want to get closer to God they build boats, all different kinds, and set sail in search of God, pointing their compass toward heaven or nirvana, etc. The boats all fill with people of like mind who want to sail on that particular boat. They usually think that theirs is the best boat and that no other boat is seaworthy. Some of the boats are huge, like cruise ships, opulent and fancy, while others are more like old rowing ships, requiring all who ride in them to work diligently and never ever stop or look up or think. Other boats set tall sails and let the wind carry them smoothly across the surface. And all of these boats have one thing in common. They are created by humans, built by humans, and most importantly, captained by humans. This is religion.
Spirituality, on the other hand, is about diving right into the deep end and splashing around, becoming one with the tides and the swell of the waves. Sometimes we choose to jump in but oftentimes life throws us in, leaving us to thrash about and barely survive. We fear we might drown, but after awhile we allow ourselves to let go and trust and we find that the salt water gently buoys us, keeping us afloat. Instead of riding the bucking waves of life, we discover that we can sink below the maelstroms to the still quiet that waits deep below the surface and provides a calm strength that protects us from any storm. Spirituality is discovering that the greatest part of ourselves is made up of “mostly water”. We are what we came from. Some people prefer to ride in the boats, taking comfort in the leadership of their captains and the community of passengers on their journey. Some others never leave the shore, preferring the solid ground of “reality” beneath their feet. Others, like myself, prefer to get wet. This is spirituality.
When we leave this life, we return to the sea. And then one day the sun warms us and we once again rise from the water as mist and fall gently to the earth , drops of rain ready to begin again, our journey back to the sea. This modality provided by our benevolent Big Kahuna, allows us as many do-overs as we need in order to learn our lessons and get things right. Sometimes we stay on shore, afraid to go near the water, sometimes we bury our heads in the sand, sometimes we set sail, checking out the different boats along the way, and sometimes we swim. This is reincarnation.
Every experience is valid, every boat seaworthy in its own way. If you ever find yourself in a little too deep, you can always find a life preserver: all you need to do is ask. Remember that the captain of the ship, while having the best of intentions, is also having a human experience and they have a navigation system that has its own quirks and flaws. Trust your own inner guidance. It will not steer you wrong.
And thus concludes this watery metaphor. If you think I am all wet, then you are correct, sir. One last thing before I go…
Come on in! The water’s fine.
Living Happily Ever After in 8 Easy Steps
“Either give me more wine, or leave me alone.” Rumi
Any of you who have been following along on my journey for the past few months have probably figured out that I like to set myself to tasks. I have found that if I don’t give myself tangible goals and set intentions to follow through, days and days will pass without any writing, creating or purposeful living. Yes, yes: I really AM the Queen of Procrastination. Look here I am with my crown:
And so I find myself with the task today to talk about Rumi’s quote, “Either give me more wine or leave me alone.” No really. It’s a Rumi quote. Imagine my surprise when I was collecting quotes to use during this month of Ruminations I have assigned to myself, and here was this awesome, fabulous, incongruous quote. It seemed so unspiritual in nature,(ironic, I know, because of the direct reference to a spirit) but when I contemplated the quote further, I wondered, could this hide a great life lesson?
On the surface the meaning seems fairly clear. Granted I have had moments like that in my life, wanting nothing but to be left alone to slosh around in my own self pity, ‘wining’ as it were. But upon further study I believe the true meaning behind these words goes much deeper. Perhaps what Rumi is really trying to say is “if you are here to add to my joy, then stay. If not… get outta my face.” He says it a bit more poetically.
My contemplation of joy, and how to bring more happiness to life has led me to write a LIST! I know. You are probably as excited as I am.
Living ‘happily ever after’ is not just for Disney Princesses anymore. With a few guidelines anyone can live a happier, more fulfilling and joyous life. Here are a few tips that have made all the difference in my life.
1. Choose your friends wisely. Friends are a great source of happiness. They can bring you comfort when you need it, a shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with, or someone to build you up and make you believe in yourself and in your dreams. Good friends are priceless and irreplaceable. Keep them close to your heart. Cherish them and love them for they count among the greatest gifts your life has to offer.
Then there are those other ‘friends’. You know the ones I mean. These ‘friends’ are always sure to knock you down a few pegs, make you feel just a little bit foolish for dreaming too big, or say the things that should really be left unsaid. The ‘friends’ who gossip to you, and then gossip about you. The ‘friends’ who start sentences with things like “don’t take this the wrong way, but….” or “I hate to be a bitch, but….”. These people are not friends. They are frenemies. Recognize them quickly, send them love, but then send them. Away. Far, far away.
2. Choose to be happy. Sounds too simple, I know, but when you come right down to it, happiness really is a choice. Life is a constant series of changes, some good, some not so good, but always it is our reaction to events that cause us to experience happiness, or not. By making a conscious effort to see happiness as a choice when things are going well, it will be much easier to find a silver lining when those storm clouds roll in. Sure, you may not feel happiness when the rain is pouring down, but at least you won’t despair. Choosing to be happy most of the time helps to create a habit of happiness so that no matter what life throws your way, you will weather the storm.
3. Get moving. Walk, bike, swim, dance, jog, hop on a pogo stick, skip rope, whatever. Just get moving. It will fire up your endorphins and make the happy chemicals dance in your brain. And while you are at it, take those endorphins out into nature. Something about walking through the woods recharges and replenishes in such a way that it is nearly impossible to hold onto stress.
4. Dance with abandon. We all seem to worry so much about what others think of us it stands to reason that everybody else is so busy thinking the same things themselves that they don’t have the time to think anything about us. Free yourself from the perception that other people judge what you do, then crank the music and dance. Nobody is watching.
5. Help somebody. It is the best kind of high. Reaching out to somebody in need takes us out of ourselves and gives us a sense of empathy, compassion, and joy that makes feeling despondent nearly impossible. Lend a hand, and gain a heart.
6. Get busy. Create something. Put down the iDevice, shut off the Netflix and make something from nothing. Creating gets us closer to our true selves and brings our spirits alive. It doesn’t have to be fancy and you don’t have to share it with anyone. Fingerpaint, or decorate a cake, or plant an herb garden or make a rag rug… anything will do. Be inspired and follow that calling.
7. Stay young. Years may cause our bodies to age, but we can choose to keep our spirit young. In youth we see things with fresh eyes, we fall in love with life and all of its possibilities, we dream big and believe we can grow into it. By maintaining a youthful spirit we can sell our cleverness and look with awe at all of the wonders of the world.
8. Laugh (and cry) often. My American Husband is hilarious. He makes me laugh every single day and this, to me, is his finest quality and most attractive feature. Laughter really is the best medicine for whatever ails you. But did you know that crying is also very good for you? Feeling and expressing whatever emotions you have is the most authentic form of human existence. It’s only when we suppress our emotions that they bounce around inside and cause us to get sick. So watch a funny, or sad movie, find friends who share your sense of humor, and learn to laugh at life’s funny twists and turns. Don’t take life so seriously. Nobody makes it out alive anyways.
And so concludes my advice on living happily ever after. Taking a cue from my own list, I create for you, a poem:
My list is writ,
my song is sung,
my smile is lit,
my wine is brung.
Take that, Rumi.
Miracles Happen
Brother Sun by David von Braun
“Run from what’s comfortable. Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious. I have tried prudent planning long enough. From now on I will be mad.” Rumi
Fourteenth row. I can’t believe how close we are to the stage. Was I even this excited when I saw Billy Joel perform live in Calgary back in 88? Checking the time I see that it is only a few moments to show time. I look up and there he is! Walking down the stairs, just as casual as can be in his shorts and T-shirt, he shakes a few hands, gives a hug then signs something. He chats a bit then moves closer to the stage. As the announcer walks to the microphone I see him smile and wave at a few people. ” Ladies and Gentlemen, blah-d-blah blah……… Dr. Wayne Dyer!” The crowd roars. I am personally doing the bouncy clap, trying desperately not to hoot, whistle or throw any undergarments at the stage, which to my mind would probably not be deemed appropriate behavior at a lecture on Spirituality.
Dr. Dyer saved my life. I can’t honestly say that I would be who or where I am today if it hadn’t been for his books, his teachings, or the mesmerizing quality of his lectures. I had recently been through some very traumatic stuff and through it all Dr. Wayne was the life line for me. He followed me through my days, his voice repeating words over and over from the tinny speakers of my MacBook. His teachings on Inspiration, Intention and fulfilling our personal Dharma had been the bricks in the path that led me away from despair and showed me that I had everything within me that I needed to heal, survive and thrive.
I had really wanted to go on his tour of Holy sites in Europe, but the cost had been prohibitive. Regardless, I knew that the Universe had ways and means beyond my small human thinking that could make this miracle happen for me. So I just did what Dr. Wayne says to do. I set the intention. “I intend to experience the miraculous with Dr. Wayne.” And then I left it up to the great Divine Mind to figure out the hows, wheres and whens.
As with most miracles, this one knocked my socks off. I had planned to drive to Kelowna, a city about 7 hours away by car, to take my daughter for a music festival. I was talking to my Mom, asking her if we would be able to stay with them while we were there. Dad mumbles something in the background. Mom says “Dad wants to know if you want to go see Dr. Wayne Dyer in Vernon while you are here.”
Well slap my ass and call me Judy! Did he just say THE DR. WAYNE will be mere moments away from me while I am in Kelowna?? Needless to say I booked our tickets that very night, and didn’t sleep a wink between that day and THE day of the event. (I told you a million times not to exaggerate).
You see, when somebody reaches across the page and touches a soul, that person can tend to gain a little bit of rock star status. At least he did for me. That would account for my nearly rapturous state at the lecture that evening.
The events that occurred that evening count as some of the most bizarre, magical moments of my life. On reflection I believe that what allowed it all to unfold the way it did was my state of pure openness. I was of a mind and a heart that was open to everything and attached to nothing. It was that magical state that allowed the veil to slip open for me, giving me a glimpse of eternity I never in my wildest dreams would imagine seeing.
Dr. Wayne began to speak, his deep soothing voice moving from topic to topic, easily inserting interesting and pertinent quotes and funny stories. He is engaging to watch, a true master of public speaking. My senses seemed to narrow and all of the people around me, the auditorium, everything faded so that it was just me watching him.
And then something weird happened.
A large white light seemed to extend from his form and surround him. It was a huge aura of energy, moving with him so that he seemed to be dancing in the light. I was mesmerized. At first I wondered if I might be getting a migraine headache. I’ve had those in the past and they sometimes created the light effects similar to what I was seeing. I looked around me to see if the aura was anywhere else, but it wasn’t. That is when I knew I was seeing something very special indeed. I was seeing the spirit and not just the man.
My eyes were swimmy with tears but I couldn’t stop grinning. This was the most awesome light show ever! Better than any rock show. My love dial was turned up to eleven.
Dr. Wayne started to talk about St. Francis of Assisi. He had written about St. Francis in his book There’s a Spiritual Solution To Every Problem. Although I hadn’t yet read that book I had always felt a great affinity for St. Francis and the prayer based on his teachings, Lord let me be an instrument of thy peace. Such beautiful teachings, pure in the spirit of Divine Love and service. I watched as Dr. Wayne became immersed in the passion of the teachings, his excitement evident in his voice and actions.
Then something really weird happened.
The man, Dr. Wayne Dyer, phased out of my sight and in his place stood Francis of Assisi. He was very thin, dressed in tattered monks robes with a fringe of hair around his otherwise bald head. His face was unlike any I had seen depicted in the frescoes and paintings of St. Francis. He did not wear the anguish of a martyr in his demeanor and expression. To the contrary. His face glowed with rapturous joy. It was the most sacred thing I have ever witnessed and even now, years later as I remember it brings me to tears.
It lasted for only a few seconds but the impression it left has changed my life.
Soon it was time for an intermission. Dad, my date for the evening, went off to stretch his legs. I sat quietly amid the sounds of hundreds of people milling about. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and tried to assimilate what had just happened. Was that real? Did I just see what I thought I did? Or has the cheese slipped off my cracker?
A soft touch on my hand startled me and my eyes flew open. Sitting next to me was a very lovely older woman. She grasped my hand and stared deeply into my eyes. I smiled back, a bit startled, but was fascinated by her eyes. They were so young looking in such an aged face. Sparkling green, they seemed somehow familiar. Did I know her?
“I couldn’t stop watching you. You were shining. It was as if a light was glowing from you.” She smiled at me and I felt like I was seeing somebody I knew really well but had forgotten for some reason. The connection between us was intense, like instant love, just add water.
We began to talk, our words melding, completing each others’ thoughts, talking about important things like God, and love and how we are all connected, about angels and friendships and family. We talked for the whole intermission and when Dr. Wayne climbed back on stage, she left my side to sit further in the row. Our conversation was not finished, I decided. As soon as this was over I would get her contact info so that we could resume our connection.
The second half of the evening was even better than the first. Everyone in the building could feel the energy and Dr. Wayne was as good as I have ever seen him. The aura was back, bigger than ever and I felt myself once again drawn by his words to moments of pure, inspired Truth.
He began talking about his year of living the Tao. For one year he gave up almost all of his worldly possessions and studied the Tao Te Ching, an 81 verse teaching that was purportedly written in the 6th Century BC by the Chinese Master, Lao Tzu. In the book, Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life, Dr. Dyer wrote 81 essays, one for each verse of the Tao. As Dr. Wayne was discussing these teachings he was once again caught up in the passionate message he was delivering. The words flowed seamlessly, carrying the messages of Lao Tzu.
Then something really, really weird happened.
Dr. Wayne’s physical form seemed to fade into the white aura that surrounded him and he became the form of Lao Tzu. He had long white hair, braided down his back and wore a simple blue tunic. He had facial hair, long and sparse, and the Asian features of the great master. He emanated true wisdom and peace. I could barely breathe.
Again the image only lasted a few moments, but they were some of the most powerful moments I’ve ever experienced.
What was happening? And was I the only one who saw this?? I turned to look at my Dad but he didn’t seem overly weirded out. I looked down the row and everyone was in passive listening mode, all eyes turned toward the stage. With the noted exception of my new friend that is. Her twinkly green eyes peered down the row at me and we smiled at each other.
Dr. Dyer talked for another hour or so, powerful messages, good laughs and everything a person could hope for from an evening with the man. We stood up and applauded at the end and as soon as he had left the stage I turned toward my new friend, anxious to get her email address or phone number.
And then something really, really, really weird happened.
She was gone.
I searched the row, looking for her diminutive figure. The seat she had occupied was empty and there was no way she could have left other than by crossing in front of me. Where did she go? And more importantly, was I losing my mind?
Ah what the heck. Was a mind such a terrible thing to lose?
Dad and I left the venue and as we were pulling out of the parking space I happened to catch my own reflection up close in the rear view mirror and paused as I saw my own green eyes. They were exactly the same as the lady’s eyes. No wonder they looked so familiar to me!
Mind = blown. But in the best possible way, of course.
The following few weeks were spent trying to make sense of what happened. I shared the experience with my American Husband, my daughter and my best friend. They each had differing theories on what the visions meant. As far as the Dr. Wayne transformations there were a few schools of thought. One was that Dr. Wayne had been both St. Francis and Lao Tzu in previous lifetimes. Another was that he was so enraptured by the messages of these men that time kind of folded in on itself and they became One for a moment. The third option lived silently in my mind and whispered that I was delusional and had better not talk about this because I would be judged as bat-shit crazy.
As far as my friend, the woman with my eyes… who could she be? Was she an angel? Was she me from the future (another fold in time)? Or was she me from a Parallel lifetime? Jury is still out on this one, but I do know that she visits me in my dreams sometimes and it is always such a beautiful reunion. I only spoke with her for a few minutes, but I have missed her ever since.
So here’s the thing. When strange things happen to me I tend to keep them to myself, only sharing with a select few people. I would like to say that I am independent of the good opinion of others, but truth be told, I fear the judgment. (I’m working on it)
These events began to grow in my consciousness. It seemed that every moment of the days following I would think about them, and a persistent voice was nagging me, like Patrick Swayze singing ”I’m Henry the Eighth I am” to Whoopie Goldberg, over and over and over. This persistent, nagging voice kept telling me I must write a letter and tell Dr. Dyer what happened.
I ignored that voice of course. (WRITE THE LETTER). No way was I going to be THAT person! (WRITE THE LETTER). He would think I was wacko! (WRITE THE LETTER). Crazy as a spoon! (WRITE THE LETTER). Off my proverbial rocker! (WRITE THE LETTER).
I sat down at my computer and wrote the damn letter. Without allowing myself to give it any further thought I found the address to Hay House Publishing in the back of Inspiration Your Ultimate Calling and stuffed the damn letter into the damn envelope, sealed it and dropped it in the damn mail box.
Whew. Done. I could breathe again. Certain that my letter would never find the man, I went on with daily life, relieved that the nagging voice was stilled.
Little did I know what the Universe had in store for me.
You have one new message. “Hello Brenda Babinski, this is Dr. Wayne Dyer……”
Far Better Things
Photo by: Walter Babinski, My American Husband
Sorrow prepares you for joy.
It violently sweeps everything out of your house
So that new joy can find space to enter.
It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart
So that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place.
It pulls up the rotten roots
So that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow.
Whatever sorrow shakes your heart,
Far better things will take their place.
Rumi
Set Your Life on Fire
“Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames.” Rumi
May the passion of your dreams light your way.
May the fire of that passion burn the doubts that try to block you.
May your light shine so brightly that no shadow darkens your path.
May you be the light you seek.
May it find you.
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