Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Me, GA, and SC-Part 4: the running girl and "bunny stuff"

My life was filled with challenges and changes--leaps of insight and fallow years--loves and losses--great spiritual confusion and moments of crystal clarity. Even after "meeting" GA I never believed he was around all the time. I knew he flashed in when somebody else needed assistance, but I thought he begrudgingly arrived when I was so spiritually lost it was his obligation to show up and kick some spiritual butt. Like he had drawn the shortest straw with the guardians. Obviously everyone has a guardian angel or I certainly wouldn't have one, right?

I gradually learned to pay closer attention to coincidences and to this zapping thing that would happen to me ever since I can remember. A tingly feeling starting at the top of my head and working down my body--usually happened when I was wrestling with spiritual decisions, pondering what was the right thing to do--when I was struck speechless by the beauty of words or the earth or music or love--and it was always there at those spiritual light bulb moments. Hard to explain because I wasn't paying attention as to when it happened--it had just always happened on occasion and I related it to soul-positive things.

Fast forward to January, 1993. I had been married twice and my second live-in relationship was ending. My dream of finding that soulmate had slipped through my fingers--several times. There was obviously something deeply flawed in me. And I was unable to make good choices when it came to men--period. So, I totally gave up. Washed my hands of it. Handed my love life over to God/GA. Vowed that I would never get involved again unless the man was "GA Approved". And told GA that he would have to be as hit-me-over-the-head-obvious about it as he was with the quitting smoking. (Been alone since--ROFL!)

I thought my spiritual path had been the most important thing in my life, but I was so easily sidetracked by wanting to be loved (men), money issues, jobs, moving, and starting over so many times my head was spinning. I told GA that I wanted to put my spiritual path first from now on.

[Aside: I couldn't remember which year this all started and just went to go look it up in a box where I knew I had the "Soul Comfort" sheet I wrote out to give to people I worked on years ago. I just now realized that after I grumpily declared these things to GA in January--it was a few months later that I caught my fingers in a pressure roller at my fairly new job (I didn't want to be sidetracked by work so I got a factory job)--and then later my wrist muscles shredded because of the first accident and I was forced to leave that job....and the long downward health spiral began. ?? Maybe GA had to help kick me (forcefully!) right off my path--several times--before I ended up here in Fargo unable to do much of anything at all anymore! I am very stubborn and single minded at times. *ahem* Talk about your putting your spiritual path first, eh? Be careful what you ask for--ROFL!! Everything happens for a reason. Even if you have to wait a decade or two to be able to look back and see the bigger picture more clearly. LOL!!]

Anyways--I also don't recall exactly (but it was around Jan 1993) when I had one of those GA information things as I was waking up where he told me I was to learn how to do what I did in a crisis without the crisis.

What?! Come again?

He brought the accident with the girl who was hit by a car into my head. "Remember. Think about it."

I had forgotten all about her. Dagan was about three years old. I had split up with his dad (for the second and last time) and Dagan and I were living in Coon Rapids nearby where my dad worked. My folks encouraged me to come over and wash clothes over at their place to save money and my dad had picked us up after work with all our dirty clothes. It was cold, dusk, and it had started to snow--enough that there was a dusting of snow on the ground. Had to be late fall/early winter because there wasn't much snow accumulated on the ground at all--may have even been the first snowfall? We were driving down East River Road in Fridley--two lanes each direction and we were in the far right lane. My dad is a careful driver and the car up ahead of us, I noted, must have been, also, because we were keeping pace with him as the sun was disappearing.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a girl crossing in the middle of the road. A bus had just gone by in the other direction, so I figured she must have just gotten off the bus. I hadn't noticed her until she was about to cross the center line and come trotting across our lanes of traffic--head down--watching her feet so she didn't slip. But she never glanced up and kept going! And ran right in front of that car ahead of us!! She flew up and over the hood and landed on the side of the road!

Stop! Stop! I shouted at my dad! He pulled over. I told Dagan to stay right there in the car and wait--and I ran down the road toward the girl. I remember thinking maybe she was dying or having a seizure--because her legs were out stiff and shaking oddly. I tried to remember what I did--auto-pilot is a blurry thing. But I know I immediately got down on my knees in the snow besides her on her right side and held her hand. She was not conscious.

The driver was beside himself. I remember telling him it wasn't his fault--she never looked up to see him coming. A remember a couple strangers showed up--I asked someone to call an ambulance (this was long before cell phones and I don't know if we even had 911 yet?) and people to go look for a blanket or something. She was alive because she started to shiver. I told the driver man to go out on the road and get her shoe and I saw a book. He really needed something to do--was frozen in panic. So he did that in between cars.

She started to come to and was fighting to get up! I knew she shouldn't move. I laid my hand fully on her forehead--telling her to just lie still--and she sunk back onto the ground. Someone did come with a blanket or something to lay over her--but I remember I didn't let go of her hand to help them with the blanket. I remember explaining to her that she'd been hit by a car and that the ambulance was coming and she was going to be alright. I slowly stroked her forehead--like you are brushing hair back, you know? Told her--I'm here. I'll stay right here until they come. She never spoke. Just nodded her head that once. And she laid quietly while I talked to her-until the ambulance men came racing up. Couldn't have been more than 10 or 15 minutes from the time she was hit. I moved when they told me to.

My dad had come up. I remembered seeing him earlier. Where did the people come from? Cars that stopped? There wasn't really much around there as far as buildings go? I remember wondering where they had found to call for the ambulance? I listened to her cry and watched as they cut her jeanpant's leg up the side and saw the bone sticking out of her leg--poor thing! Gave a policeman my memory and then dad and I walked back to the car where little Dagan was sitting so quietly in the warm car--waiting with big eyes. I told him all about what happened.

[Aside: I wrote everything down when I got to my folks' place and gave a detailed statement over the phone a few days later. Years later the case was going to court and they called me to testify. I saw the girl in the hallway, but she quickly turned away from any eye contact. I was relieved that she was okay, tho--and walked fine. I was there to repeat my story that the man couldn't have possibly expected anyone to run across three lanes of traffic right in front of his car in the near darkness. Not that I blamed her, either. She was a young teenager at the time, with her mind on other things and made a grave mistake. Someone came out and said they didn't need me to physically testify after they read my statement. But I was glad I got to see her.]

Anyways, so how do you deliberately replicate whatever the heck it was that you did in a crisis? Good grief! I usually couldn't remember too much of what I said--even right afterwards. I was totally lost on how on earth to proceed.

Different mornings I'd be told--"remember-think about it"--and be reminded of these things I already mentioned--the hamster--the crow--the tornadoes--the people on bummers--Dagan--and other incidents in my life.

Well, first of all, when you are on auto-pilot you do not think about yourself at all. In fact, I was so totally focused on the other person or animal that I wasn't fully aware of my surroundings unless I had to be. But how do you put yourself in that state of mind without an emergency to act on?

I "got" to sit quietly.

Well, my brain was always going 90mph and I couldn't shut it off. I tried music, but everything I had back then had somebody singing and I'd just listen and daydream and think. I was telling my friend, Ruby, about my dilemma and Ruby said she had recently heard this music on Public Radio and had gotten the cassette. Said she'd send me a copy. Music To Disappear In by Raphael. Well, the second it started I knew--this was it! (New age music and I became the best of friends--hehe!)

I practiced and practiced--until as soon as I heard Music To Disappear Inbegin I was like Pavlov's dog and could feel myself fall into the zone pretty quickly. This was not an easy task and took me months to accomplish. (I haven't been called "motor mouth" in my lifetime for nothing--hehe!)

Okay--now what?

Send energy out through your hands.

Huh? I don't remember that part. No--I don't remember doing that at all!

Okay then--I guess I needed something to focus on--to put my hands on. I used to do this in bed before I went to sleep and a girl I used to work with named Roxy had given me this stuffed rabbit for Christmas. I was not a stuffed animal person and wondered why on earth she had given me this stuffed rabbit in the first place. Well, it would do, I guess. In most times I remembered I focused on heads and hands. This stuffed bunny had a head and tiny stumpy arms, right? It would have to do.

So, I practiced with my music and my bunny--feeling mighty foolish at times, I tell you--not having a clue whether this was working or not working--or if I was doing it properly or just wasting my time holding a stuffed bunny's head--ROFL!

I had only told my closest people about any of this "bunny stuff". Didn't know what else to call it, you know? I felt kind of ridiculous and pompous to think I could actually do any of this in the first place, so a bit of a silly label seemed fitting. I didn't think of any of this as "energy work" or "meditation" or any of those terms at that time. Just was trying to figure out with GA's guidance how to do what he "suggested" that I learn how to do.

Since his next step was to try this with actual people--well, I needed to call it something, right? It became "bunny stuff".

And here is my favorite part of Music To Disappear In. It lifts the soul. At least mine. Enjoy! :):)

Me, GA, and SC-Part 3: Dagan and GA

It seems like I had always had that feeling that somebody was looking over my shoulder, but I believe it really took hold when I starting writing about the age of nine. I knew the concept of a diary, but all the ones I saw only gave you one small page to write on per day.
Number one--consistency was never one of my strong points.
Number two--when I did write, I wrote pages and pages.
Number three--I tore all the pages up when I was done.
So, back then I just used sheets of school paper.

For me, writing was a thinking tool: for wondering about life, pondering why people did what they did-why I did what I did, planning and figuring out what was the right thing to do, and--let's be honest--just plain venting and spewing frustration. I felt this presence over my shoulder as I lay on my belly fervently splashing my anger on the page or chewing on my pencil wondering. You know those cartoons where there's an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other--well, I had the angel conscience over my shoulder. The devil was in me. (Still is.) LOL!

At first I usually started writing because I was upset about something. Hurt, confused, frustrated, angry, puzzled, sad--I got very riled up over injustice or cruelty to people or animals. I'd write around and around something--think it upside down and sideways--until I finally came to that place where (with the nudges from and arguments with my "conscience") I could finally see it from the "proper" more loving perspective (outside myself) and thought I had come to understand the underlying core issues and motivations. (These days, I would have been wearing a WWJD bracelet, I bet--ROFL!)

Somewhere along the way I started to kind of jokingly think of and call that conscience over my shoulder my guardian angel. GA for short. I was often very annoyed with the "advice" I was hearing and would argue my case as to why the advice was wrong--or ignore it completely. (Hey--nobody wants to hear about how you are at fault, too, when you believe you have been wronged.) Well--I either had a guardian angel or was this crazy girl who had arguments with herself, right? I preferred to think I just might have a guardian angel. Over time, I learned that when I didn't listen--I should have. And it really "felt" separate.

Okay--January 1975.

Dagan was born in November of 1974. I'd had him in to this GP a couple of times already for bad colds. I told the doctor how Dagan never slept or ate much (calmly-in detail) and it was getting worse, but the doctor just thought I was exaggerating, I guess, and basically kept telling me everything was fine. Worried new mother and all that.

I felt Dagan and I were very tuned in to each other. He may have been unable to sleep, but he wasn't crying or fussy. I knew which positions seemed more uncomfortable for him. If he could only drink an ounce or less at a time and fall asleep for a short time (classic heart symptoms, I found out later) then I just fed him over and over--day and night. But he still seemed skinny to me.

I was getting all this flack from my husband and his mother about how I was just spoiling him and was a terrible mother, etc. The husband never helped me. My anger toward him, especially, had been growing and building the more exhausted I was becoming on 2 hours of sleep a night. I just did what I "knew" was right. I followed Dagan's cues and trusted those mother instincts--the mysteriously knowing things--and to hell with them.

After another evening of being insulted and scorned and laughed at my the was something like two in the morning and Dagan had finally dozed off in his infant seat (he liked being at an angle--turned out he needed to be). I laid down on the couch--flat on my back--hoping I might get a few minutes sleep. I was so angry at Dagan's dad. I was so tired that I had turned and walked into a wall that afternoon. I didn't like Dagan being around the angry energy--and I couldn't shove mine away that night. I was furious--like a mama bear defending its cub, you know? Don't you mess with myDagan!

I was lying there staring at the white ceiling of the apartment, trying to get comfortable--when suddenly--I was gone!

My one out-of-body experience in my life and it is nearly impossible to describe because I saw nothing but light. There were no physical bodies, but I could sense entities--everywhere--in this lightness--endless entities. There was a kind of humming sound of them all communicating--but it wasn't a physical sound. If you could hear vibrations of thoughts--I think that was what it was. And right next to me was--GA!!!

Note: I still call him a he, but there were no genders there. I last knew him on earth as a he, so that's why I probably have always thought of him as male.

GA was really real!! And I wasn't the least surprised. (At the time.) Communication was telepathic. I instantly understood how I could just "know" the occasional things that he sent to me (managed to get through to my ego-controlled brain). And how difficult it must be for them to try to communicate with our human languages!

Anyways, we had no physical bodies. Were just energy. He wanted to take me someplace. It was kind of like being taken by the hand, hands--hehe! We passed rapidly through layers and layers of entities/souls. And he brought me to--wait for it--my husband.

My sleeping husband's soul. And I realized that everything about a soul was right there--no place to hide. On earth we can hide away, you know? It was as if all of you was right there in what would be a face, to me--because the eyes are the windows to the soul. Everything--the bad things, the good, all the reasons why for every particle of energy composing you. And I knew what GA wanted me to do--to learn.

It was almost like merging energies--when you read someone's soul. I merged with his soul--briefly. In an instant I knew everything about him--all his whys. I felt no anger toward him whatsoever. Then--poof!--it was time to go back. GA sped us through the layers of souls--but I didn't want to leave! It was glorious! It was safe! (I just realized--there was forgiveness there!)

Next thing I kind of thunked-slid into my body on the couch. It seemed like I had been thrust in through my head. For a moment I couldn't see--even though my eyes were wide open--and I couldn't hear--even though the 55 gallon was pumping away a few feet from me. Then, like when your ears pop, my body popped in place or something.

At first I was really sad to be back--peering through these eye holes. I wondered why I didn't see myself lying on the couch like people describe? And I started giggling! GA knows me too well. If I had seen or felt myself leaving--I would have freaked out and slapped right back into my body, I tell you! He snatched me out so fast and tossed me back so hard and quick that it's a wonder I didn't suffer spiritual whiplash! Of course, I might not have returned otherwise! ;)

Not true, really. If he had reminded me of Dagan, I would have been back in a flash.

And I couldn't remember all that information about my husband. I just knew I wasn't angry with him anymore. (Then--ROFL!)

Note: Looking back...GA knew I needed to get my sh*t together. I needed to be spiritually grounded and in the right place--not waste any energy on negative emotions. I needed to be open to receive information. Daganneeded us.

Shortly after my OOB experience Dagan went downhill fast. Paler, weaker, projectile vomiting, crying, barely sleeping. I trusted my "knowing" things. I was ready to do battle. Brought Dagan in to that dense GP and demanded he find out what was wrong with my baby. I can't comfort him--I can't fix this--it is something that will kill him and we need to find out what it is. (Crazy woman loose in the office--hehe!) I demanded they weigh him--He's too skinny. Dagan hadn't gained any weight for six weeks and he wasn't even three months old! So--to "humor" me, he put him in the hospital for "failure to thrive".

In those days, anyone admitted to the hospital got a chest xray. Thank goodness. (Long story short--as if I am much good at that--Dagan's heart was three times the size--crushing his lungs and organs.) When the GP showed up the next day he couldn't look me in the eye, told me that Dagan"might have a heart problem", then avoided me, and had a nurse give me the xrays and instructions as to where to bring Dagan. I was told I had to see a pediatric cardiologist from Children's Hospital. Was under the impression it was a clinic visit. They said, just go in through the emergency door and they'll direct you where to go.

I waited for my mom to come and pick us up. (I didn't learn to drive till I was 30.) We went to the emergency door and they snatched Dagan out of my arms and ran down the hallway with him. At Children's they had expected him to arrive by ambulance.

Because of the OOB experience--I was centered, grounded, and focused onDagan. I never stopped to wonder about where the information would come from that would pop into my head.

Example: First thing after they got Dagan's heart rate as regular as they could with meds--they needed to perform a heart cath on Dagan to see exactly what his heart defects were. The pediatric cardiologist, Dr. Katkov, said it was a safe procedure and had become almost like having your tonsils out.

But--I was sitting in the waiting room during the cath with friends and family when I knew his heart needed a steady beat and he was in trouble. I just focused on sending him a steady beat. I softly pounded my fist on my leg and rocked in my chair a little--zoned out, as somebody described--pound--pound--pound. I remember Dagan's dad asking me what I was doing (I think he was a bit embarrassed). He needs a steady beat. (Crazy woman in the waiting room--hehe!)

But then a scrub nurse came out and said they were having trouble--had to stop the surgery--Dagan had gone into arrhythmia. They were going to have to get that straightened out before they could try again. (They did try again--went in under his arm--set his heart off even worse.)

In the waiting room--I knew it didn't work. I knew he was bad again. Got up and walked out into the hallway to the right set of doors to wait for him. (They had not told us anything and I had no way of knowing which doors or when.) Shortly they wheeled him out. Katkov was shocked to see me standing there. He told me they had to cancel the surgery. "I know." We have to get him back to Neo-Natal right now to work on getting his heart beat regulated. "I know"--nodding.

The cath lab is actually at Abbott Hospital. There's an underground tunnel between Abbott and Mpls Children's. The crew of people raced Daganthrough the tunnel. I followed. I know everybody else did, too--but I was on auto pilot.

When we arrived there was a team of people working over Dagan on his warming table. Friends and family went to the hallway to wait--where they hadn't drawn any curtains in the adjoining room so they could see right through into critical care and watch the team. Me--I silently went and scrubbed up. I walked in around the edge of the team, went into that adjoining room, found a rocking chair, pulled it up near the door to critical care, sat down with my back to the team frantically working over little Dagana few feet away, and rocked.

First I was too fast--because all I could think was--don't take my baby! don't take my baby! Racing through the tunnel had thrown me off.

But then it was like I got a soul shake. My rocking slowed. You're right. You're right.

Dagan was not "mine". Shame on me! Whether he lived or not was between him and God. None of my business. I was so grateful to have known him for the weeks that he had been with me. Dagan was such a precious gift. We had spent day and night together--just enjoying each other's company--for the short time he had been here. If it was time for him to leave, I handed him over--gladly and with love in my heart. And I would hug and thank every person who had worked to save him. But, if Dagan could stay--if I could help in any way....

I slowly and steadily rocked--and rocked. I don't know how long. I was in a zone--never noticed my family and friends before me in the hallway. I just remember I could feel when Dagan and I were in sync. I knew he was okay. I felt like God had given him back. At least for now. Then I could hear the people tending to Dagan. Confirmed.

A little while later Dr. Katkov was heading toward the hallway to tell the Dagan-group what was what--and as he entered the adjacent room he was startled to see me sitting there rocking. I stood up. He said--we got him stabilized. I know. (Is it any wonder Katkov always thought I was strange--hehe!) I had secret assistance. :)

Dagan was not expected to live.
I've handed him over many times. Many times God's handed him back for a while longer. ;)
Dagan, GA, and I were very tightly connected on this level for the next dozen years. Then less closely--and eventually, when he was grown--that unspoken health knowledge tie was severed. Dagan was supposed to learn to trust his own angels and guides. And he does. :):)

GA loves Dagan very much, also.

Dagan's amazing wife, Leah, is the one with him now for surgeries and such. If I was ever needed--well, GA knows I am here. I trust he'd let me know.

Life is a gift. We are all on borrowed time. :):)

Me, GA, and SC-Part 2: Strangers

My life has been filled with lots of spiritual "nudges"--coincidences, surprises, comfort, solace. Looking back, there were certain incidents that stand out to me in this area of energy. It's not like these were daily occurrences or I constantly heard voices, like I understand some people do. (Might have been more helpful, GA.) I just never thought it was anything out of the ordinary when I did--even if there had been a decade of silence. (Or a decade of me not listening?)

I believed I was on my own, had to fend for myself, and I was unworthy of God's notice--despite the fact I also grew to believe I could be used as a conduit. Makes no sense? Well, it does if you think of God as the CEO of a huge conglomerate and you're a peon who works the night shift down in one of the thousands of mail rooms. ;)

I digress. As is my nature.

Let's see...the next big incident I remember had to do with the FridleyTornadoes-May 6, 1965-when I was 14 years old.

First of all, since I am not the best listener, I think GA found that he could contact me more easily as I was falling asleep or, most often, waking up--before my brain went into high gear. I'd be waking up and "get" information (still do). Like that my first pair of hamsters, Mr. (brown) and Mrs. (albino) Little One had just had nine albino male babies. (What were the odds of that!) But on rare occasions I'd get information in the middle of the night or when I was wide awake.

The first time I consciously remember one of those inside-my-head conversation was when I was five:

Okay--the tornadoes and strangers.

When I was in sixth grade I had this scary dream. It was pitch black. I was standing hunched against a mighty wind. My hands were bound in front of me. I was inside of something--my face was against this thin box or whatever it was--I could feel the rocks, branches, or something that was pelting against my face and the whole front of my body. I couldn't move my hands. There was this horrible, loud sound that reminded me of a train when you have snuck up too close to the tracks--but I knew it wasn't a train. I woke up in the dark, heart racing. I heard--"don't be afraid--remember this". Like a command. Made no sense to me.

Three years later. I'm at the Fridley Junior High Science Fair. My project was I fed two black guinea pigs differently. (Dumb project, but any excuse to spend time with my critters--hehe!) My friend, Lynette, and I shared a table. She had used her big rat, Charlie, (who never ran on the wheel) for her project. The various displays were arranged on the tables all around the outer edge of the gymnasium. Parents and teachers were milling. And I was feeling guilty.

My brother, Blaine, went to his boy scout meeting over by the trailer court, I was gone to the Science Fair, and my folks had wanted to go to a movie. They wanted me to take my sister, Renee, along with me that night. But I had adamantly refused. Didn't want my little sister hanging around and having to watch her when I was supposed to be explaining my experiment--well, you know how that goes with big sisters.

I felt badly, though--decided to call my folks and let them know they could drop Renee off with me. Found my dime, told Lynette where I was going, and went to call on the pay phone straight down the hall by the front doors. My dad answered--but before I could get much of anything out he shouted--A tornado's coming! We're going to the basement!

I stood for a second, listening to the dial tone, and gazing out the front sets of doors at the green sky. Nothing was moving. It looked really strange outside.

I rushed back down the hallway to the big gym doors and pulled--and pulled--there was this pressure--like suction--couldn't get the door open. The double sets of front doors suddenly blew open--and the doors way at the far end of the main hallway at the other end of the building flew open, too! Wind whistled down the hallway as the door finally gave way. I jumped inside and the big door slammed loudly behind me. Everyone was just standing or milling about--casually the Science Fair was in progress. A few parents looked over at me with that annoyed looked parents get when you are too noisy. I felt safe.

I fast-walked across the room to our table and grabbed up my guinea pigs. I looked Lynette in the eyes and said--my dad says there's a tornado....

...the lights flickered, my ears popped, and a long narrow section of the ceiling disappeared all along the opposite side of the gym wall.

People went crazy! Some screamed, everybody raced for the closest doors, a dad dove into a ball under a table across the room from me, some grownups pushed kids aside to get just themselves or to herd their own kids out into the hallways. I stood there with my guinea pigs and watched. I remember thinking that, if this was my time to die, I was ready. I "knew" I wasn't supposed to move.

Another section of the roof disappeared and another. A mini funnel appeared in the middle of the gym and the wind instantly geared up. Things started lifting up off the tables. At some point the lights went out. The last thing I saw was that man huddled under that school table. A big piece of poster board slapped up against my face and body and I braced myself against the wind.

AHA! The Dream!! It was exactly like my dream. But my hands weren't bound. I couldn't move them because I was cradling a guinea pig in each arm. It was poster board! And I was being pelted by glass and who knows what from all the displays. And the sound! The sound kind of like a train, but not. I remembered. I realized I hadn't been afraid even before I consciously remembered the dream--as soon as I heard the tornado--the sound--before the roof started coming off in sections.

Anyways, the wind died as the tornado passed over the Junior High. The poster board slid down onto the floor and it started to rain. The roof was gone and all the lights were out. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the man get up off the floor. The table he'd been hiding under was gone and so were the rest of them on that side of the room. I tried to see through my wet glasses and gingerly pick my way thru the rubble to get to the hallway. I had my penny loafers on and was afraid of losing a shoe. There was glass, rubble, and tables everywhere.

People were in shock. Most people were silent and hushed, some were aimless and confused, some were hysterical, many were crying. The first thing I saw was a dad standing against the wall with a blank, hollow glaze to his eyes. I knew he was in a bad way. I made a kind of basket out of my sweater for the guinea pigs, so I had one hand free--walked over and asked him if he was okay. No response. I placed my hand on his chest and stood there for a few seconds. He kind of came to and turned to look at me. Are you okay, I asked, as I moved my hand to his arm. He took a deep breath and looked better. I remember asking if he needed help finding anybody? He thanked me and said no and off he went.

I walked up and down the main hallway. Just standing next to certain people. Touching people's arms, hands--talking calmly to them. I was aware that in that crowd of people you could count on one hand with fingers left over how many people were centered and helping other people. It was the first time I was aware of being different in a crisis. (Not that I didn't have dream help--hehe! And I do collapse after the fact.)

But I would never in my right mind under normal circumstances go up to complete strangers--especially parents and teachers!--and touch them and comfort them. Good Lord! We didn't touch or hug in my own Swedish family.

Note: I went back into the dark rainy gym for Lynette to see if I could find her rat, Charlie. There was only one table left standing and only one thing on that table--Charlie's cage. And I could hear him running on the wheel before I saw him, so I was sure it wasn't him. Lynette could hear me laughing in the darkness. :)

Another friend, Cheryl, had her project with her two hamsters set up in a classroom down the hall (it was a big Science Fair--the windows in the classrooms had shattered--inward). I helped her locate one hamster (the other I did find dead, but didn't tell her at the time because she was quite rattled) and walked her home in between tornadoes. She lived about a block and a half from my house. Made her laugh by dancing on a piece of the senior high roof laying by the road. We avoided the live wires and rubble. I was glad to feel the warmth of my two furry friends in that chilly rain. (Never did find their cage.) Made it home. Mom, Dad, Renee, and the house were still standing. My brother was okay, even though the trailer court nearby the troop meeting was destroyed. My folks were immediately upset that I left my purse with my transistor radio in it, but brought the guinea pigs home. *she giggles*
Okay. My other Strangers story--skip to the winter of 1969-70. My life, shall we say, had been a lot about survival. Unlucky in love, rape, moves, different jobs. I had landed in a cheap 2 bedroom apartment with four other girls inAnoka, Minnesota. I'd already done a little experimenting with grass and pills. Enough to know I had an addictive personality, liked speed not downers or hallucinogens, and it was a good thing I had a near phobia about needles or I could have been a dead cokehead by then! I had backed off, but I'd come home from work and find parties going on most nights. Which I wouldn't have minded if I didn't sleep on the livingroom floor--hehe! But, I was the new addition to the group when I moved in, so had little to first.

Note: Within a couple of months, I ended up the rent collector and payer, apartment cleaner, and chief cook--even if I really only knew how to make goolash/hamburger hotdish.

Anyways, I come home one night, the place is filled with people, but they're not partying--they're all looking like rats hunting for the deck ropes--and I can hear some female sobbing. There was a girl curled in the fetal position on the floor in the corner of the livingroom. They told me the girl had taken acid for the first time and was completely bumming out and would scream if anyone touched her. Can you help her?

Now why on earth would they ever assume I could help her? And why on earth did I tell them--Yes?!!! I went into a kind of auto-pilot--like I did after the tornado. I had never had any experience with a situation like this--ever--yet I heard myself telling them I could, but they all had to leave (terrible energy?). The place was cleared out in what seemed like moments--(of course--hehe!) I don't remember exactly what I said or how I ended up with her head in my lap in the corner--but within ten minutes she was calm as I stroked herblonde hair off her damp forehead. I just knew that god-energy would be there to help her--to comfort her frightened soul. And this is on such a deep core level that I can honestly say I wasn't consciously aware of thinking or making decisions, you know? Like reaching out in darkness with your heart wide open and being guided along by a small beam of light.

Each of us is but a child of God. A solitary soul in this Universal web of life.

Whew! I had to stop for some serious nose blowing. I think I know now why I felt I was "supposed" to write about all of this. It brings me back and flings my heart open. A kind of preparation for what is to come starting on New Year's Eve, I bet.

Anyways, one of the roommates had forgotten something and came tiptoeing into the apartment. Couldn't believe her eyes! I put my finger to my lips and she backed out the door.

Apparently she told everybody. Fast forward a couple months...pounding on the door. I answer it. Two young men gripping the forearms of an angry, wild-eyed mumbling fellow struggling to get away. "You Rita?", one of the arm grippers asks. "Yes." "Somebody slipped him something at the pizza parlor." "Acid?" "Don't know. Think so. He's a redneck. A drinker. He'd never touch that kind of shit." (The roommates were already grabbing their coats and purses as soon as they overheard the conversation) "This is crazy," the other guy said. "Can you help him?" "Yes." They let go of him and start rushing down the hall. "What's his name!" "John!", they called over their shoulders. I heard breaking glass! "Good Luck!" one girl said. "Make him pay for that", another one said as they whizzed past me out the door.

This six foot something football-player-type guy had walked into our bathroom next to the front door and smashed his fist into the mirror over the sink. His hand was bleeding. He pushed past me, stumbled around the apartment, smashed a wine glass on the floor, headed down the bedroom hallway, and started trying to open the window at the end of the hallway--on third floor!

I wish I could tell you exactly what happened. I remember thinking in my head--okay--I need help now! I do remember suddenly knowing that he was hearing voices coming from other places than the person who was talking to him--and explaining that to him. And that he should sit in the bedroom and not the living room because we didn't have much furniture and it was more echoey in there. But ten minutes later he was calmed down, I was holding his hand wrapped in a towel with my left hand, and holding my other hand on the center of his back as we sat on the edge of the bed.

When they sent me the people on bummers, the roommates or any of the crashers gladly fled to find other places for the night. I knew I had a good 7-10 hours ahead of me with this particular stranger until either someone picked them up or I tucked them in to sleep and they'd leave after they rested. I remember redneck guy and I took a walk to watch the sun rise and then he got tucked into a roommate's bed with a kiss on the forehead--left that afternoon, but came back with packs of cigarettes for me. (I was often rewarded with packs of cigarettes. *chuckle*)

Note: As long as I was getting known, I used to feed the street people goolash or whatever I could make for dinner--first come first serve. And they could sleep on the floor (most of them were under 25 and it was winter poor things!) and what little we had that would serve as blankets and pillows was also first come first serve. (A rolled up sweatshirt can make a pretty fine pillow.) The door was locked to the crashers at a certain time--I think it was midnight--and no one was allowed in after that. Tough love. And no drugs allowed. I had to throw out somebody now and again. Learned there was another rule--no locking the bathroom door--period.

Toward spring we were robbed of our rent money, lost the apartment, and I ended up living on the streets of Anoka for the summer. I became known as "the mad hugger" and people who didn't now my name called me "Sunshine." I was protected--by big guys who were like my big brothers--and, obviously, GA. (I have overworked him a lot in my lifetime.) Good times.
Oh that reminds me--

Me, GA, and SC-Part 1: The Hamster and The Crow

I have been wondering how in the world to start this story. After all, I didn't even know GA (what I call my guardian angel for short) was an actual entity and not just my conscience talking inside my head until about 36 years ago when Dagan was a baby. I didn't even begin to start trying to learn about "energy work" until about 17 years ago--1993, when I was 42 years old. And the last 11 years--well, I moved up here to Fargo-Moorhead to go to college and the energy work went by the wayside. My spiritual path--especially as concerns energy work--has been choppy and sporadic, to say the least.

The only thing I always knew without a doubt for as far back as I can remember was that I believed in God. He was there for absolutely everyone and everything--and could do anything. God was pure, unconditional love. Looking back, I had GA guidance all along. I never questioned where it came from. As I got older I thought of it as just my naggy conscience in my head. (That I argued with--hehe!) I had my first religious crisis when I was five. Looking back--GA was there all along--even when I didn't consciously acknowledge it or know what it was.

Seems like my whole life I've had this personal internal battle going on between good and evil--worthiness and worthlessness. But in a crisis--whensomebody's hurting--I reacted on auto-pilot--no hesitation--with total, unquestioning belief that God would want to comfort and help them and I'd run to their aid. Took me many years to consciously stop and think about how that made any sense whatsoever--ROFL! All I can say is that I don't question God's decisions or try to direct or make requests or heal or actually DO anything myself--on any conscious level. It is none of my business. That may make no sense to anybody but me--hehe!

I just always knew that if I asked on a soul level to be of service that God or the Universal Energy or whatever you want to call that positive force could use me--direct me--guide me as to what to do to soothe that soul--be it animal or human. I was a conduit--a straw--a tool. But I never stopped to think about it. It was just something I did automatically in a crisis. I thought everybody could do it. (I guess I still do.)


Well, it's not like there are too many crises to handle under the age of 10--ROFL! My experiences were mostly being out in the wild prairie area near our house. I did a lot of roaming about alone. Around that age I started collecting rodents and we got a dog and cat.

The things that happened were pretty subtle, I think. Looking back, there were a couple of animal incidents that were tied together in a strange way--and they set the stage, I guess. I didn't really remember them until I went to a psychic reader in my 20s. She asked me if I remembered holding a small animal like this (she demonstrated, hand cupped against my heart) and carrying it around for a long time--hours?

Instantly I remembered the hamster! I had those cages in the garage and one of my brown hamsters got out. I searched all over for it and figured it had gotten out the small garage door that had been open. I'm not sure how many days later I was looking for something in the garage and spotted the hamster lying on the bottom of an empty bucket. It was covered in eggs--yellowish oval maggot eggs--looked fat enough to start hatching! The hamster was limp and cool to the touch even tho it was a hot day. I sat and picked the maggot eggs off--one by one. Worried about the poor little hamster because it flopped in my hand as I moved it about to get each sticky egg off his fur. I was heartbroken--because it was my fault if he died. I hadn't secured the cage door well enough. His death was on my head. I felt that painfully in my heart.

After all the eggs were finally picked off, I gently washed him up with warm water and a little soap to clean all the sticky residue off his fur. Rinsed him off really well and massaged him dry with a towel--got a clean dry towel and carried him about--cupped as she showed me--on my chest--next to my heart, as she said. I tried to listen to his chest with my ear--and watch to see if his chest moved--nothing. Tried to give him water with an eyedropper, but it just dribbled out between his teeth. So I carried him around like that for a couple of hours--thinking that he just needed to warm up--and that it wasn't too late, he shouldn't give up, and didn't have to die. I was so-so-so sorry.

I had almost forgotten him--like he was just a part of my chest--when I felt him start to wiggle! And breathe and open his dark eyes--and with tears on my cheeks I rubbed him well and petted him--loved him up good! He drank water from the eyedropper. Within half an hour he was eating and drinking and running on the wheel. Blew me away! But I had forgotten all about it.

Anyways, I told the psychic reader--yes, I did. It was a hamster. And she asked me, did you know that it had passed over and you brought it back?

Come again?

What do you say to something like that a dozen years after the fact? I laughed. How ridiculous!

Later that night I remembered another critter incident I had forgotten. Happened after saving the hamster. We were visiting relatives in Minneapolis and us kids were playing outside. It was getting closer to dusk--bummer time for kids because you know the parents won't let you stay outside much longer after dark. I happened to see something fall off a nearby building. Just fall. But it looked like it might have tried to flap a little halfway down? How could a bird possibly fall off a building? Of course, I had to go see.

I was shocked to find a big black bird on the ground! The building was maybe three stories high, I think. Long way to fall. It might have been a crow, not sure. Could have been a starling. It seemed huge to me, but then I was only about ten. I thought it was a crow. Anyways, it didn't seem to have its balance--would flip in somersaults. I picked it up and held it upright in my lap. Just automatically started to move my free hand over the body to calm it down. It never tried to peck at me or claw to get away. But I will swear on a stack of bibles that I could hear it in my head telling me--just let me go--let me go.

At the time--probably because I was used to the occasional GA remarks in my head (not that I knew that was where they were coming from), and on rare occasions could hear people's thoughts, it didn't strike me as the least bit odd I might hear a bird's thoughts. The bird was dying and just wanted to die in peace. So, I lifted him up on my arm so he could grip it like a branch and I held his chest to steady him. He didn't want to die on the ground. We just sat there--watching the sunset. I kept him company. And while I did I heard in my head--in no uncertain terms--remember this--it is wrong to interfere--it is none of your business. After the sun had faded away, his talons loosened, he went limp, and he was gone.

But, since I never believed the hamster was dead (and still just can't), I never put that together with the crow saying "just let me go" and the GA lecture--until some lady tells me about the hamster all those years later. She tried to tell me I was a healer and have been in many past lives. And the very labelreally bothered me (still does). Later, when I remembered the crow--I knew why. I am just a conduit. I don't direct anything and am not supposed to. Healing--that is none of my business. Only God or that holy energy or whatever you want to call it knows what is best for each particular soul.

So, bizarre as this sounds--(even to me-ROFL!)--the backstory has begun