Archive for the ‘Meditation’ Category

The Man at the Lake.

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010

I’m overtired.
It’s unseasonably hot and muggy. Not good sleeping weather. It’s Mercury in Retrograde again. And it’s full moon. An old friend of mine – now in spirit – wakes me up. It’s Sunday night and he’s brought a young adult male with him. They are standing at the side of my bed. His young friend just died in an accident. I cannot see this person’s face – I find out later his face was lost in the accident. I’m not meant to see these kinds of details. It’s part of “the deal” I have with my guides. I’ve asked to stay in the higher realms. So no blood, gore, low lifes or threatening entities whenever possible, and I will do my part. There are other intuitives more designed and able to handle this other side of life.

My friend tells me his young friend hasn’t crossed over yet. I realize that’s why I cannot hear the young man talk: If he’d crossed over I would be able to hear him. This fact would be obvious if I were somewhat coherent at 3 a.m. What is apparent is that my services are needed. So for two nights I’m awakened at 3 a.m. to tell this young man I can see him, he’s dead, and he needs to go to the light. He will be fine once he goes to the light. He can come back and visit. But right now, he needs to go to the light. I’m trying to sound convincing while blessed sleep pulls me back under.

It’s in this frame of mind that I’m feeling compelled.
I need to go over to the farm of my daughter’s soon-to-be teacher. Brie has been wanting me to walk through her farm house and environs for months now, to see what spirits are around, to see if I can tap into her guides, and to find out if there’s any ghosts or other energy that need to be removed. But I’ve been so busy, and pulled in many directions. It’s now Mercury in Retrograde. I’ve been doing my best to conserve energy, stay grounded, stay centered. Take care of old business.

So when I get a call from Brie this morning, I’m not surprised. But Brie is shaken. She has a friend who has gone missing – I think this may be another reason why I’ve been so unsettled. In addition to my nightly bedside visits, I’m probably picking up on this situation too. Her friend’s family used to own a farm and Peter was instrumental in getting his Dad to sell the farm to Brie when he retired. Peter has been missing for 4 nights. I’ve never met him and don’t know anything about him – until now.

Peter has been depressed lately. Last Saturday he came to visit Brie and her husband at their farm. They all went down to their lake and enjoyed a swim. Peter was very “up”. He had dinner with them at the farm house, and left their place about 11 p.m. The next day, Brie found his car parked at their lake property, his wallet in the car. A cottage neighbor told her he’d towed their floating dock back to Brie’s lake property that morning. It had gotten loose during the night and had floated over to his side of the lake. It had been a flat calm night so the wind hadn’t torn it loose.

Brie called Peter’s family to tell them about the abandoned car.
They told her their news: Peter had not turned up after his visit to Brie’s. The family had since called the police. So first thing Monday morning, police showed up at the lake with two teams of divers, boats, sonar equipment and surface teams. Now, the police are starting their third day of searching the lake, and still no luck.

Brie wants to know if I can tell if Peter’s lost in the woods and if so, did I think he was still alive, or if he’d fallen in the lake? There’s concern he may have committed suicide. I blurt out, “He’s gone. He decided to leave”. I can feel Brie’s shudder over the phone.

I say, “You did a very good thing, Brie. To give Peter this time with you on the lake, and at the farm where he grew up. This was a gift to him. He was off his meds. I can feel his spirit trying to pop out of the top of his head. He was joyful when he saw you. He was barely holding on to the physical. He was bi-polar. He couldn’t take it any longer. Not feeling. He wanted to be joyful”.

Brie confirms what I’ve said: Peter is indeed bi-polar and known to go off his meds.

I am now seeing a marshy area at the far side of a lake.
Then I see a man fill his pockets with rocks and walk into the lake. I cannot tell where he is on the lake. It’s a close-up. Then there’s an inhale of water. Silence. That’s it. At this moment, I don’t tell Brie what I am seeing or hearing. She asks me if I can come over and see if I might be able to locate him. I agree to come over in the afternoon. I remind her this is not my normal work. But Brie’s just relieved I can come.

When I get to the farm, Brie and her husband are there to greet me. They say that they’ve been thinking Peter may be in a marshy area where the police haven’t yet explored the water. A man appears between them – squat, about 75 with greyish white hair. I asked them what Peter looks like: Peter is tall blond and 40ish.

“Well there’s this older gentleman with whitish hair standing between the two of you with a big smile. Maybe he’s going to help us find Peter.” Whoever he is, he joins Brie and I as we hop in the car for the ride over to their lake.

The lake is small, partially populated, much of it wild.
There are about 25 cottages on the north and west sides. The remainder is natural – and much of that undeveloped part is Brie’s – it’s part of the farm. The police are out in their boats, and there is a cottage cordoned off, being used as the police encampment and staging area.

We park the car at the end of the road and walk to the south side of the lake – an absolutely beautiful hike – near the crest of a hill, in mixed forest. The trail takes us down a steep ravine towards the marshy area of the lake where the police have not searched yet. As I am walking on the hiking trail, I’m picking up that Peter wants his body to be found.

We follow along a stream, the lake’s inlet, down towards a small point of land by the water. At this point, Brie asks to stay behind – she doesn’t want to go to the shoreline. I think she may be worried about encountering a body. The thought doesn’t bother me in the least. The white haired man is still with me.

My view focuses on an outcropping of rocks in the water by the far shore and I get the strong impression Peter had been there. But is his body there? I don’t feel it’s so.The police boats are past the rocks. Then my attention is drawn to a boulder sticking out of the water opposite from the rock outcrop, the boulder surrounded by reeds and fish are jumping around it. These rock formations are all visible from the other side of the lake where the police are searching.

A tall younger man appears.
I don’t know if it’s Peter but I surmise it is. He’s with me for only a moment. The white-haired man is telling me to touch the huge log that’s lying on the shoreline and juts out into the water in that lush marsh. I touch the green mossy log. I feel as though I am meant to stay here. Then I get the feeling I am supposed to act like a beacon to call the police boat over.

As I am thinking that and then start sending messages for the police boat to come this way, the police boat makes a sharp turn and heads towards our end of the lake. Brie comes up behind me – she has watched the boat make the abrupt turn and head towards us. She says,”I was wondering if you willed that boat over”. I tell her it felt that way and added, “There’s something about this log, although I’m not sure what. This man is telling me to touch the log. There was another younger man here but he’s vanished.”

I remind Brie that finding dead bodies is not my forte. Helping people communicate with Spirit is – so this new endeavor feels strange to me. The signs are not clear.

The police boat floats in close to us – as close as it can get in shallow marsh – and the policeman asks me if everything is okay. I ask him if he’s checked this part of the lake and he says no, there’s protocol in searching for a body. They are going through the search grid. I say I understand and wave him off.

I am not sure if the body is where we are.
The fuzzy information I’m picking up is throwing me off.  Maybe I’m being shown that Peter could see these rocks from where he stood at Brie’s dock.  I have to stay open to guidance.  There’s more information but I’m not getting it here.   I look behind me.

This boggy point of land is like a garden. It’s wild but there is symmetry, organization, to the placement of jewel weed, wild snap dragon, irises, jack-in-the-pulpits, ferns, moss and some very unusual plants that I’ve never seen before. I can feel that the police have been here on the land, and then Brie finds foot prints. There are also clean rocks thrown in the water – no moss or algae on them.  Grass on it’s side in places. People have  been here recently and have left a subtle disruption.

I tell Brie this older man is still with us.
She’s trying to place him. Maybe he’s the neighbor who died in December? He loved the lake. If he were alive, he would be helping out right now. Maybe he IS helping now. My description of him makes Brie think it’s probably him.

As we hike back to the car, Brie recalls how Peter was talking to her daughter about University last weekend. Her daughter told Peter she’s a really good writer and wants to be a journalist. Peter said “Wow! That’s so great that you know what you are good at. I think I am good at one thing – seeing beauty.”

I begin to understand a bit more why Peter wanted to go off the medication: It makes everything dull and flat. Hard to see beauty when it’s being intentionally suppressed – and if that’s your gift and you can’t use it, what’s life for?

Brie’s cottage neighbor George is waiting for us back at the car. He tells us he’s been watching us from his deck. What were we doing? What was I pointing at? What did the police say? I don’t know this man but he’s acting a bit on the “untethered” side.

George says he was at his cottage the night of Peter’s disappearance.
George had arrived at his cottage on Saturday night at midnight.  He sat on his deck overlooking the lake until 4 am. He’s an insomniac. He heard nothing. Saw nothing. He also talks about how he had to get rid of his home-grown when the police showed up on Monday. He had it in pots soaking up the sun by the lake and had to ditch them when the police boats started searching the lake perimeter.

George tells us how he told the police that they were going about the search all wrong. How they weren’t in the mind of Peter: Peter would be detaching the floating dock, lying down on it, paddling furiously away from shore; he’d go out to the deepest part of the lake, swearing at all the people who’d done him wrong, and offloading all his anger at the world in general. And then he’d tie something heavy onto himself and jump into the deepest part of the lake. George seems to know a lot about the frame of mind of someone who is about to kill him self.

But this is not at all what I’m picking up about Peter.
Peter’s in a shallow area, close to shore. He’s at peace when he does the deed. He’s not swearing – he’s very calm. He’s ready. He’s happy to let go. As Brie and I leave, Brie says, “George has his own problems with depression. I think he’s made some attempts on himself.”

I reassure Brie that what George is saying is not at all what I am picking up about Peter. Maybe that’s the difference between being bi-polar and being manic depressive?

As George disappears in the rear view mirror, Brie wants to know if we should stop by the police camp and tell them to search in the marshy area. I say “No.  I don’t think so. It’s not clear to me that Peter’s there. I think Peter’s enjoying watching the police try to find him. Let’s just let them do their thing and let Peter have some fun. They’ll find him. Just not now.”

We drive back to Brie’s farm but before we get down the driveway I have a thought. “Brie, would it be possible to go to the area where the dock is? The police have cordoned it off, but can we get in there anyway?” “Of course”, she says, “I own the land.”

So back we go, this time headed in the opposite direction.
We park outside the police cordon at her property lane way, duck under the yellow police tape, and walk the path down to the lake. It’s overgrown, wild, and beautiful. I see the water sparkling through the trees and I hear voices. Brie is ahead of me and starts talking to some people at the water. At first I think it’s police, but no, it’s two of Peter’s family members along with a family friend. They are standing by the side of the lake watching a police boat go back and forth, dragging the sonar behind it.

Brie introduces me and tells them why I’m here. The brother and sister nod. They are in their mid to late twenties. Serious. Articulate. The brother says,”We know about intuitives in our family – I’m not, but my mom sees auras, my sister sees spirits.” His sister nods. They are both smoking heavily: This is stress and they need to ground themselves.

The brother asks me if I think Peter is in the lake.
I say quietly, “Yes. He’s gone. I have no rational explanation for this – there’s no evidence. But I know he’s gone.” The brother nods. The sister takes a deep drag from her cigarette.

I tell them I think Peter’s likes the wild goose chase, watching the police try to find him. He wants to be found, but not just yet. The brother nods, “That sounds exactly like my brother.”

I ask Peter’s sister if she feels him around.
She says – “I’ve been seeing double shadows around me. Mine and someone else’s. Last night I couldn’t sleep and felt a spirit press up against me by my bed. I am open to Peter but I am also concerned about what else I’m open to right now.” I think Peter’s sister is shut down, partially from shock and stress, partially hoping he’s still alive, and then there’s her fear that, in the midst of this crisis, she’s now a target for wayward souls.

I point to the outcropping of rocks across the lake from where we are standing; I tell Peter’s brother and sister I feel the impression of Peter out at those rocks.  The brother says, “Peter goes there. That’s the swimming rocks. That’s his favorite swimming spot.”

I see a tall middle aged man standing in the trees by the water.
I walk over there. The man doesn’t speak. At least I cannot hear him. He’s not crossed over. I am getting impressions from him though. I feel like I am supposed to touch the tree closest to the man. It vibrates under my fingertips. Tingly energy shoots down my arm, through my body, and into the ground.

The afternoon sun is sifting through the forest canopy, its beams touch the foliage, the tree trunk, the ground. The man is Peter. It’s the same energy I’ve been picking up on the hike. He’s now appearing to me, tall, blond, thin, early forties. I am getting an impression that he’s using the energy of the trees, the water, and the sun, to stay present, and be clearly visible. He’s obviously here to hang out with his siblings.  There are no specific messages. A great sense of peace is emanating from this quiet spot, even with the police boat going back and forth, trolling the sonar off to the left of us.

I tell the siblings their brother is here. I say, almost to myself, “That makes sense. He would want to be with you.”  The pair nod. The brother steps down the embankment to the water’s edge. He sits on a rock near the family friend who’s not speaking, just lying on the floating dock. The sister sits quietly in an old chair and closes her eyes. We are all silent. I walk over and sit on an old stump, close my eyes to clear, ground and center. I make a space and wait for more impressions – subtle telepathic information – to drop in.  It’s the state of “no mind” where intuition flows. I hear the wind in the boughs of the fir trees, bird calls, September crickets, and the low drone of the Zodiac’s motor.

Peter’s brother starts talking –
“My brother told my Mom that if he went missing he was with a cinder block in a body of water some where. Peter had bought a cinder block. But when we checked his house on Sunday, the cinder block was there. I was relieved, but now I’m thinking he went the natural route. He used stones from here to weigh himself down.”

I tell him that’s what I saw in my vision this morning. Stuffing stones into his pocket, lying down in the water, inhaling. Very peaceful. “He’s in a much better place. This world was too hard for him.”   The brother nods.

I hear the words ‘not today, not today, not today’. I tell the small group I’m picking up that the police probably won’t find Peter today. I tell Peter’s brother and sister, “Your brother is standing by that tree. Peter’s enjoying being here in this beautiful place with you.  Just peace here. ”

The police boat abandons the search area close to the shore where we are sitting. The boat heads to a completely different area further out in the lake. As we all sit there in the softness of the forest, a piece of the puzzle slots into place:  Peter really does want the police to keep searching – I feel his intention – to spend these moments with his siblings here in this quiet refuge. And it’s happening.  He’s very much present and available to be with them. He couldn’t do this before – when he was alive.

Quietly, I mention this impression to Brie.
And how Peter had chosen, what has turned out to be the most beautiful period this summer has offered, to take his physical leave and be with his family. If he’d checked out earlier or later in the year, his siblings would be bundled up and standing out here in the cold or rain. But no. They have been sitting under the tree canopy by the lake in a peaceful spot for three glorious summer days that we didn’t think we’d get. A gift.

The brother thinks out loud, “The last time we saw Peter was at the end of May. For his 40th birthday. He was happier then. And he let us give him a hug. It was really hard for him to be touched. But that day, he was fine with it. He seemed to like it. Then we didn’t see him at all. Not since then. He just retreats, doesn’t want people around him. Won’t leave his house. This is normal for him.”

Peter’s sister steps down to the water’s edge to sit beside her brother.
They put their arms around each other. They quietly discuss whether or not they should leave now. They’ve been here all day. But they don’t move. I whisper to Brie, “They know they are meant to stay here with their brother.”

I make another connection and whisper to Brie – “The last time they saw Peter was the last Mercury in Retrograde.” She nods. Brie knows about Mercury in Retrograde. People act out, blow up or act on things they wouldn’t normally do. Life can look as though it’s quickly unraveling, where life’s forward motion has stopped and may feel like life’s slipping backwards, losing ground, regressing.  But this is actually a time where great progress can be made, if used wisely.

I am now feeling the need to leave, to let the siblings spend time together by themselves. Brie and I get up. Brie gives them all big hugs. They come over to shake my hand.

I don’t tell them I am sorry for their loss.
I give them each big hugs. I tell them “I think you are meant to enjoy this time together now. Your brother is now able to spend time with  you.  Please enjoy this quiet moment – all of you finally together.”

As we walk away, I tell Brie, “I’m hearing the word “Friday”. Maybe that’s when Peter’s body will be found. But time doesn’t mean much on the other side, and we have free will on this side. The police could decide all of a sudden to change tactics, and Peter could be found much sooner.”

As we hike back to the car, Brie says “You told them to enjoy this time. I felt that too.”

I reflect, “It’s an odd thing to say if you’re totally immersed in the ways and thinking of our physical world: Here they are, watching the police searching for their brother’s body, and I’m telling them to enjoy this time. It’s counter-intuitive to our left brain to think this way. But from a spiritual perspective, from the intuitive right brain, that’s what makes the most sense. ‘Peter is here for you now. Enjoy this beautiful place of your childhood, and the peace it brings, communing with your brother,” and I add in my head ‘before Peter’s body is found.’

I get home and end up down at my own dock by our lake for a late afternoon swim and “poopoos” (my Mom’s term for our happy hour appetizers). My Mom, brother and sister-in-law are down at the dock. My wee girls are in the shallow water playing with my teenage nephew.

My husband eventually comes down to the lake to join us. He starts quizzing me about my afternoon adventure. I answer my husband’s questions. He’s listening intently.  He knows this is new for me. How did it go?

My Mom is used to the daily doses of spirit I receive.
She’s accepting of my experiences, and trusts my instincts. She doesn’t question me anymore, but she has questions about the messages. This reflects her own spiritual shifts this year.

Mom says – “You’re talking about that man who’s missing? I’ve been hearing about it on the radio. It’s in the newspaper today. So sad. You were asked to go see if he was dead? This is amazing!?” My brother appears to tune out. My sister-in-law has no comment.

I rarely talk of these things in front of my brother or sister-in-law.  They are not “receptive”, shall we say. But it’s not my job to teach them, shield them, defend myself or prove anything. It just is. My world includes these outer dimensions, other planes of consciousness. Better me then my brother, I tell him. He agrees with that.

My husband is a force, not to be trifled with.
With my husband there asking serious questions about my experience, my brother the lawyer doesn’t dare to question my frame of mind or argue what ‘really’ could have happened this day: That there’s another  “logical” explanation for this.  Yes, I think to myself: Spirit is everywhere; Logic and intuition work together to receive and decipher these messages.

Later, we’re all sitting at the dinner table. I get a call from Brie. “I wanted you to know that they found Peter’s body just a little while ago. At sunset.”  I blurt out, “So it’s NOT today he was to be found, it was TONIGHT.”  I love the words of Spirit. True but tricky. This is a reminder to always listen deeply to the words.

Brie is amused by the interpretation. “That’s right. They found him off a big log that juts out into the water, just to the left of where we were all sitting.”  Where they’d stopped searching earlier, I’m thinking. The police must have gone back to that same spot after we left.

I say, “The log. Brie, remember that older man told me to touch the log by the shore in the marsh? That’s when Peter first appeared.  I guess I was being shown Peter was near a log that juts out into the water. Not THAT log but A log. Peter wasn’t in the marshy area, but that was his view from where he last stood.

I tell Brie about the messages from Spirit –
They are sometimes literal but are more likely signs, symbols and metaphors for what’s really going on. We have to learn the language to understand what’s being said and not said. At the table, my brother is throwing his eyes heavenward, and shaking his head as he listens to my “Spirit talk” – but he says nothing. At least during earlier dinner conversation tonight, I’ve learned my bro has moved from atheist to agnostic and tonight is claiming he’s “spiritual”. That’s a shift.  He just needs to figure out what “spiritual” means to him. That will be his journey.

Brie tells me that Peter’s siblings have just left her house – They’d come over to tell her that Peter had been found and to thank her for being there, for bringing me, and for us staying with them. They’d had hope, and in this case, hope had been a very painful emotion to manage. They needed to know what happened to Peter:  Our being there helped them to prepare for the moment when Peter’s body was found.  They’d stayed at the lake until sunset, when the Police found the body. When his body was found, they said Peter’s face had a lovely peaceful expression on it. It made them feel so much better to see he really was at peace.

I look back, and I realize my job today was just what I normally do -
I help people to connect with Spirit. It wasn’t about finding a body. It was to help the people here come to terms with the death of a loved one, to hear their messages, to face life lessons, to come to accept difficult realities, to move forward. In this particular situation, the siblings wanted to know not just Peter’s whereabouts.  They wanted to know that he was finally at peace.  The impressions I picked up helped them to feel that.  And then they saw it for themselves.  It revealed their own knowing that Peter was moving to a  better place, finally released from the trials of this world, and is now experiencing the beauty found in peace.

Tonight it started to rain, a heavy subtropical downpour. It’s still raining. Colder weather to follow. You’ve got to admit – Peter’s timing was perfect.

— With thanks to Spirit for infinite return.
(c) 2010, 2011, 2012 The Accidental Medium. UltraMarine Media Inc. All Rights Reserved.

The Blue Balloon.

Sunday, July 11th, 2010

Childbirth is brutal on your body.
What happens after wards is a big secret your girlfriends don’t tell you about. The sleep deprivation.  Your vital organs jiggling inside you, seemingly unattached to your skeletal structure.  The flabby skin jiggling outside you. Gone is the bikini belly along with the possibility of a perky butt anytime soon.  Then there are the pendulous breasts, clearly not your own, that make you feel like a milking machine. Mooooo.

After I had my second child, I had all sorts of additional minor postpartum issues – like misalignment of my spine, twisted sacrum and a problem with a vein that made my leg muscles ache. Child-bearing is not for whoosies.

But the main issue was my child herself.
Matilda had infant acid reflux and she would turn blue and start to choke if left lying flat for too long. She couldn’t be left alone. I tried feeding her at different times, in different positions, raising her head, raising her bed, putting her to sleep in a baby swing, strapping her into a baby car seat. Nothing worked. Functioning on very little sleep, I finally resorted to sitting up with Matilda in my arms and “sleeping” (I use that term loosely) that way each night for 8 months.

Matilda grew out of her baby reflux, but my aches and pains got worse. On the insistence of my husband who has messed up his own body from sitting at a computer too long, I went to see his massage therapist.

I’m always careful who I choose to work on my body.
It’s not just about skill level of or comfort level with the therapist. As an intuitive, I’m aware of and exposed to all kinds of energies, and with significant lack of sleep, there is always the possibility that a lower vibrating energy may glom on to me.  And there are the times I get scared, frustrated or angry and hold that energy in me.  Whatever the cause, it doesn’t feel good.  And when this lower energy eventually finds itself incompatible with me, it can break off and find somebody else to glom onto. I want my therapist to be protected from any bad energy I might inadvertently bring in.

Then there’s the practitioner’s office – it may not be clear.  The therapist may have worked on somebody else with bad vibes, negative thoughts or what have you – and that low energy may be hanging around ready to meld with the next client’s energy. yuck.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic here.
But you know how some places bring you down and other places lift you up? Some spaces feel leaden and others feel airy?  You know how you are attracted to some people but want to stay well away from others? You may have even experienced a blue funk that seems to hang on to you for a few hours or even a few days after you’ve visited a bummed out friend.  You are experiencing your own clairsentience (ability to feel energy). You’ve been exposed to low vibrating energy.

Meditation transmutes lower energies, as does exercise, relaxing in a warm Epsom salt bath,  spending time with happy people, finding the humor in a situation, laughter, being in nature or other sacred spaces.  If you don’t transmute this energy, it stays in the same low form and if it doesn’t stick to you it looks for another place to roost.

We are all energy. We need to protect our own energy as well as manage the energies around us.

Susan is a tall strong woman and a gentle soul.
A single Mom, she started up her massage therapy services just after her second child was born. Her second child is the same age as Matilda. I don’t know Susan well, but we took our children to the same playgroup.

When I walk into Susan’s treatment room, I see that she practices safe energy management. The room doesn’t feel heavy. It’s an oasis. There’s light orchestral music playing in the background. The faint scent of massage oil and incense floats in the air. There is a huge chunk of glistening purple Amethyst sitting on a side table and a healthy plant on another. Scentless candles burn silently in the corners of the room.

Even though Susan is noticeably careful about keeping her treatment room clear, I can see how this room could hold on to low energy. Fresh air flow and natural light help to easily maintain positive energy in a space:  This room is in a basement. It’s located far from the main reception door that leads to the outside. There are no windows. This is a busy health center. Lots of people in pain. Lots of issues in the tissues release themselves here.

We talk about my issues – my sore back and leg – and how best to proceed. She starts working to relieve the tight muscles I’ve developed holding Matilda for months at a time.

I haven’t told Susan about my abilities – but my husband has.
As she works on my aches, I tell her how I appreciate the effort she takes to keep this space clear. Susan admits that the space is not ideal – she’s renting the room from another health care practitioner.

I comment on her giant half geode of amethyst.  Amethyst is known for its energy transmuting properties – the stone helps to clear and protect a space from holding on to lower energies.  Susan stops to show me her favorite book – the Book of Stones. We share a reverence for these rocks – there is something magical about them. They have a strength and vibration that lifts our spirits, and makes us both feel grounded, strong, clear and centered.

Out of the blue, Susan says, “I need to ask you about something. I’ve only told two close friends. They think it’s just in my head. Maybe you might know what’s going on…”

I listen, my eyes closed. “Sure! What’s up?”

Susan starts slowly. “Well, there’s this balloon…It’s in my house.”


Susan continues. “This balloon follows me everywhere. It even follows me UP the stairs. And it’s NOT HELIUM! It’s freaking me OUT!” Susan’s anxiety becomes palpable.

I’m thinking out loud, “What color is the balloon? Where is it around you?”

Susan mutters, “I don’t remember the color. It just follows me – it’s around me or just shows up in the room. I keep putting it back in the closet and the next thing I know it’s in the kitchen with me!”

Susan isn’t one to freak out easily.
She’s got a lovely calm way about her. Something is definitely up. There’s a balloon in her house that’s following her around like a dog. It’s wigging her out. Yet she doesn’t get rid of it. hmmmm.

With my eyes still closed, I take three deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. And immediately I see a blue balloon bouncing along invisible air currents and following Susan up a flight of stairs – it’s at her right shoulder.

I’m not thinking, I’m talking. “Has your Dad passed?” I feel he has.

Susan says, “Yes. He died a while back.”

I blurt out. “Did you have a good relationship with your Dad?” I don’t wait for an answer. “No, I don’t think you did. Doesn’t matter. He’s trying to get your attention. He’s trying to help you. So what’s happening with you right now? Something else is going on that’s upsetting you.”

I know next to nothing about Susan’s family. I don’t know how I know, but it’s so obviously her Dad. I don’t even know why it’s obvious. It just is.

Susan pauses. “Well… I’ve been trying to do this quietly. You’re right. I need to be out of this space.  So I’ve put an offer in on the old MacLeary place across from Alan’s Hardware Store. It’s perfect for my family and for running my massage therapy.

“I don’t know if I’ll get it. I don’t know how I’ll get it. I need a mortgage, and I’m a single Mom, and self-employed.  I’ve just started this practice so there’s no business track record. I’m not the best credit risk. And Mr. Alan has been trying to buy that place for years. He’s tried to start a bidding war …

“Luckily, Mrs. MacLeary said she’d prefer to sell to me.  She seems more interested in who gets her house than getting the highest price. But if I can’t get my financing in order fast I won’t be buying it. She needs to sell – she can’t wait much longer. Alan is waiting with a signed check with Mrs. MacLeary’s name on it. I’m stressed.”

Susan goes silent. I get another download.
“Your Dad is trying to make things right with you. Don’t you worry. He’s working in the background. Don’t panic. Just keep moving forward. You are meant to have that house. It’s going to happen soon.”

Faith is a funny thing. You need it most when life gets bumpy and uncertain – and that’s when faith is most difficult to find and hold on to.  Susan is obviously wrung out by this emotional roller coaster. Her ego has taken over, playing this “Will-it-or-won’t it” question in her head. Worrying her. Wearing her down.

I tell Susan, “Do what you can do, and then let it go. It will work out. What else do you need to do to secure the mortgage?”

Susan goes into the details. “My real estate guy says I need to get a co-signer for the mortgage. But the only one is my Mom. But she lives in Florida. But I need to get her to agree to this first, then get all the original documents to her, have her sign them, then get them back to me in time – by the end of the week – then the real estate guys need to do their stuff.  But I just don’t see how that’s all going to happen. It’s too much…”

Susan is overwhelmed. The ‘buts’ are blocking her. I don’t have any rational proof that she can pull this off in a few days, but I am compelled to say, “Just do it. It will happen. Your Dad is on your side. Well, he’s actually on the other side, but he’s pulling some strings. He’s going to make things right with you. After we’re done here, call your Mom, get the documents, call Fedex and get those documents rolling. Then you’ll have done all you can do. Let it go. It will happen.”

One week later.
I walk into Susan’s treatment room. I’m reluctant to pry but I ask anyway. “So… how goes the real estate deal?”

“I got it!!!” Susan bursts into a huge smile.

“I knew it!!!” I think I’m as excited as she is. “And the balloon is blue.”

Susan beams back, “Yes! I wanted to tell you!  The balloon is blue.”

— With thanks to Spirit for infinite return.
(c) 2010, 2011, 2012 The Accidental Medium. UltraMarine Media Inc. All Rights Reserved.