'Til Death Do Us Part...

Most of you know that in the last year we’ve adopted two Beagles. After the death of our 14-year-old companion, Lucky who was also a Beagle, I was guided through a dream to go out and adopt two new members to our family. After the Great Gathering workshop in October of 2010, I promised to dedicate myself to this journey and give it at least six months of my undivided attention. This is the reason why you haven’t seen me at any workshop since last year. I will be at the Golden workshop though coming up this July.

I honestly believe that Lucky passed away to make room for Bella and Murfle. It’s certainly not the first time in my life that decease animals or humans have guided me towards others, towards change, towards profound learning and healing. It probably won’t be the last. Having the ability to lucidly speak with the dead has certainly made me unique. Seriously I believe that this dimension of my life has managed to impact all other dimensions of who I am. For example, I’m regularly told that I’m not a mom like every other mom. I’m not a wife or a friend or teacher like any other as well…

I believe without a shred of a doubt that “talking to Spirit” has given me a perspective that is unlike others and because of that I do tend to think and act somewhat differently than most. Where countless people go grocery shopping without any incident week after week I tend to always create some raucous. There’s always someone who’s lost a loved one and it’s amazing what can synchronically happen to get me to “do the work” (so to speak). So I try to be careful about crowds and move through the super market fairly quickly in order not to get caught up in everyone’s story.

Recently I was asked in an interview if “this ability” was also the source of some emotional suffering. I tend to believe that pretty much anything and everything can be the source of emotional suffering, if we let it bother us it can grow and grow until all that remains is hurt and pain. From where I stand today this ability has shaped me into who I am and has given me access to incredible adventures, beauty beyond compare and unexplainable abundance. It’s also touched my loved ones and given them access to beauty and abundance, learning and healing, and the kind of life that most people only fantasize about. It would be somewhat ridiculous to dwell on the suffering when there’s so much greatness.

On the other hand, I often meet people who haven’t reached beyond the pain yet and would like some help in getting there. Some people would do anything to get a diagnosis of mental illness rather than develop their emerging abilities. Others will stop themselves from sleeping or eating; or become agoraphobic because they don’t know how to functionally practice and be disciplined with this skill. This does not include all of the people who take drugs and alcohol to numb the ability and consider them selves basically “normal.” You can’t imagine how many addicts I meet who are just hiding from their 6th sense. Interestingly enough, what most people call “paranormal” I call “completely natural.”

For years when my children were in elementary school, the School Board would invite us to tour their schools and talk about First Nation traditions and culture; as well as do some drumming and storytelling. We found that many of the children who had behavioral problems were more sensitive to what we call the “paranormal.” At one event, a kindergarten boy started whimpering while we were drumming. The teacher tried to contain the situation by removing him from the circle. He fought against the young woman and it took two people to grab him and literally lift him off the ground to attempt to get him out of the room. I had to stop the drumming and politely ask the technicians to let the young boy stay.

I approached the boy and asked him: “Why are you crying so much?”

The boy wonderfully told a story about warriors gathered around a fire preparing for war. He described each man and told us he could hear their voices as they chanted. It was beautiful. The teacher was even impressed with the fact that he could tell a story. Until that particular moment he had never shared with anyone and this was literally the first time he talked about his feelings. I then, guided the boy through his vision and showed him that he didn’t need to be afraid. Two days later I received a letter from the boy’s mother. She thanked me for what I had done and for giving her and her son some new resources. We got in touch a few times in the years that followed until the boy reached high school. He no longer struggled with school and no longer had what some called “behavioral issues.” Obviously this young man was extremely sensitive.

Too many fear this “gift” literally believing that they were given a “curse.” Many years ago I met this elderly woman in her mid 80’s. She was a neighbor. She never left her house. Her husband took care of the shopping and she stayed at home to take care of her garden. She didn’t like people and it was disturbingly obvious. People often talked about her as someone who struggled with mental illness despite the fact they didn’t know anything about her. I often spent afternoons observing her from across the street. I would write in my journal for an hour every day while the kids napped. I would settle on the front porch and watch her care for her flowers. One day, she crossed the street and offered me a red rose.

She smiled and said: “You’re an angel of death aren’t you?”

Caught by surprise I accepted the rose amicably and ignored the statement.

“Thank you,” I said “the rose is beautiful.”
“You don’t like cut flowers,” she said “because they remind you too much of what you are and what that means.”

I remember staring at the ground trying to control the tears that had quickly overwhelmed me. It was true, I didn’t like “cut flowers.” I swallowed a few times and nodded because really there was nothing I could add…

“Are you a psychic?” I asked.

She laughed and sat down on the step of our porch.

“I’m not sick or crazy,” she stated, “and I’m not a psychic. I’m someone like you. Maybe a long time ago there were respectful names for people like us but now, there’s no longer any name for us. Maybe one day.”

We talked for a while about her family: Her husband, her grown kids, grand kids and great-grand-kids. She even sat and listened about my family life. We had a wonderful time. At the end, I could tell she was tired. I wondered about how much she had picked up off of me; but I didn’t want to know. I helped her cross the street and climb the stairs that lead to her home. She hugged me like an old friend and strangely enough we never talked again.

A year later, the Ice Storm hit Quebec. She didn’t want to leave her home despite the fact that there was no electricity for 12 days. Her husband and children took care of her as she battled with pneumonia. She finally passed away on the day that the Army was going to force her to evacuate her home. I was part of the whole process because I was a volunteer who helped people get to shelters. I hoped to convince her to go to the hospital.

On that day she passed, I told her: “You have to leave just for a little while. You won’t loose your house. The electricity will eventually return.”
She squeezed my hand and said: “We both know it’s my time to leave and I won’t ever return.” Her husband sat by her side just watching. I wondered what he thought of her and me? At the time, I often imagined the worst out of people.
She stared at me for a moment and asked that I help her stick around in Spirit until Spring, so she could help her husband get through caring for the garden. I had no idea what her request meant or how to make it happen and I humbly told her so. She winked at me and whispered: “I’ll teach you.” And she did…
When Spring came her husband planted the flowers beautifully and when he saw me watching from my porch across the street, he walked back into his house and returned with a small pot of African violets.
“For you,” he said, “for watching over her and giving her what no “normal” person could ever do.”

I hugged the man with all my strength and felt her through me. I cried non-stop for two days until she said goodbye in a dream. It’s incredible how much my education came from the most unexpected people, at the most unexpected time, and through the most bizarre circumstances. A skeptic at heart I always needed the isolated witness who brought it all together for me making it real and making it important.

Sacred Circle tradition calls me a “keeper of the dead”. Like with the word SHAMAN I let people call me whatever they need to call me when they realize what I am or what I do. PT said it well when she stated: “There was no name for us any longer in this modern society.” I always found that sad somehow. In some instances people know years even decades before their death that I will be instrumental in their passing. I’ve always found those experiences to be the most dramatic and most mind-boggling. It’s crazy how the Universe manages to get people to cross path at the most crucial moment. I always seem to be there when I’m needed and sometimes at the last possible instant. It’s super-natural. No matter how, no matter when, and no matter who – the people I’m called to help at death always know what I’m meant to do and why. Again, confirmation and synchronicity at its best.

Believe it or not this is not what I planned to talk about tonight as I sat down to write this blog entry. I wanted to talk about “soul retrieval” and how it became an important part of my journey with Murfle our second adopted Beagle. I guess, it will be a topic for tomorrow. Tonight’s entry kind of flew literally out of my hands. I’m assuming this one is meant for someone out there….

I hope it helps.
And please if it does, don’t be shy to write me a little comment.
I like to know who’s out there reading me.

Tahau!