When you’re a full-time Lightworker, the paranormal is normal. We tend to see things as connected and synchronistic. So as Halloween approaches, those legends of the veils between this life and “the other side” thinning are perfectly natural. That being said, I want to share this story about the first night I cracked open my latest assignment for the Hay House Book Club. For those who don’t know, I have the good fortune of regularly contributing to this show on Hay House Radio. Each month we read a book from the self-help field, talk about it and then get to speak to its author(s).
After harp practice on Monday night, I got all settled in and comfy on my bed, where I like to read before heading to the astral planes. As I opened “The Dalai Lama’s Cat” a ringing sound emanated from my ceiling fan/lighting fixture. It was gentle yet definite, clear and persistent. I looked up in search of the sound’s source. A wind chime that I had picked up at the Edgar Cayce center was ringing against one of the light bulb covers. The odd thing, even by my liberal standards, was that the power to the fan was completely turned off and all of my windows were totally closed. Nothing about this frightened me in the least. I’ve dubbed the wind chime my Venus charm because of the beautiful copper heart that hangs above its bells. I live on the second floor of the old house I rent and there has never been a good place to hang it up outside. In fact it is so lovely and sweet to me, that I have kept it indoors so that it would stay in good condition.
Curious as to how it got moving back and forth with such velocity, I stood up to steady it and quiet it down. It was my reading time before bed after all. My neighbor downstairs had been hammering something or other, so I’m sure that the physical origin of the ringing was a sympathetic vibration from his numerous bangs. When I looked at the fan blades I realized that I had not cleaned them in months. Who does, right? On the same side of each blade was a long thick string of my recently deceased cat Nicholas’ fur. Of course it was dusty. But as I thoughtfully pulled each gray strand down, what materialized in my hand was the first handful of his fur that I’d touched in months. Nearly 18-years-old, he died of cancer this summer, just two months after my dad passed. In the midst of trying to settle my dad’s estate and grieve that loss, I could hardly process losing another soul who was so near and dear to me. Today as Saturn and the Sun are conjunct in transforming Scorpio under an emotional Pisces moon, I’ve been able to cry and mourn his passing. I’m grateful for this book, my neighbor who does handy work after 10 P.M. and for the time to finally miss my furry little Angel. I put on a slideshow of his pictures and a playlist of songs about death and remembered so many special moments with him. This “Dalai Lama’s Cat” is certainly someone special.
Ps: As I wrote this post, a longtime client called to ask if I could recommend a good medium. I explained the computer screen in front of me and we both laughed.
