I'm crying a little now, just thinking about it....
I wish there were arms to run into. I had to look up that line. What followed, "...when you feel like hope is gone," sounded different in my head. Everything else was accurate to the original song, as I later verified. But, instead of "...just run into my arms," I heard, "...just know you're not alone."
I'm never alone. Not even when there's no one else in the house but me. My Twin used to tell me that things would go wonky in the house when I left; he's a medium and was haunted by spirits, calling me a "diffuser." Things seemed to calm down when I was around. Ironically, a knock of confirmation just resounded in the room where I am currently writing. And now, another.
After my Twin and I separated, I did my best to live my life. To be happy. To not waste my time on the planet. But not a second passed where my Twin wasn't on my mind. I had yet to learn of the #TwinFlame narrative, and how, after Twins unite, it's common to have latent gifts emerge, or become stronger. That certainly happened for me.
Almost all of the clients I manage are from paranormal television. That's not a coincidence. My Twin was a paranormal investigator, too. Thanks to him, my experience in the field goes well beyond scheduling radio interviews and appearances for my clients. Before meeting my Twin, the grandmother who helped raise me passed away in 2009; that's when I started getting the dreams. They were always set in her house, something Amy Bruni would later tell me is common in communications with those who have passed.
Within six months of my grandmother's passing, she was bringing people to me. People from my family who had died years and years before. Just like in life, my grandmother was facilitating big family gatherings in order to foster familial communications and connections.
I really miss her....
I met my Twin in 2013, four years after my grandmother passed away, but it wasn't until my Twin and I began Skyping that I could see them. His ghosts. Unlike mine, his were't people he knew. He'd usually be out in his workshop when we were talking, and there was always a screaming man reflected in the window. One time, after my Twin found a civil war era button next to his car, and picked it up (!!!), taking it with him...I started to see a little girl around him. She had drowned, and looked like she was still in the water, yet, she stood next to my Twin, who was seated. She was handing him a button, or trying to, over and over again.
My Twin and I were always careful not to create a psychological effect in each other. He said he felt cold on his left side randomly during a Skype session one night. The little girl happened to be standing on his left. He asked if I saw anything, because he thought he felt the presence of a child, maybe a girl. That's when I told him what I saw. He was a little freaked, as freaked as I was when he pointed out a blue orb hanging over my right shoulder. Only through the camera, could I see it. Took a screen shot, just to prove to myself I wasn't going crazy. And, I wasn't.
Later in the conversation, I watched the little girl touch my Twin's arm; he nearly jumped a mile when she did, complaining he had just felt something really, really cold. Yeah, it was quite real. And no, I can't explain it. But I also can't explain why dark matter keeps expanding in our Universe, yet that's very real, too. No matter what you believe, the one thing all intelligent humans can agree on is that what we don't know is greater than what we do.
I told my Twin that the girl had touched him when he jumped before we said goodnight; he wasn't surprised. Things like that happened all the time when we were apart, but when we were together, my Twin had a modicum of peace. Unless I was traveling. Then, all Hell would break loose, in a manner of speaking....
My family--the ones who have passed--would let my Twin know they were watching him. But he had other visitors, too. A Confederate soldier, for example. We saw a tent in the woods one night while star-gazing. It wasn't a 21st century tent either. Looked more like a piece of canvas stretched over a make-shift frame. My Twin checked, and there was no tent. A few days later, he saw a Confederate soldier wander around the house. Without a camera, I've only seen things in my periphery, except for once. It was June 2015. Being a definitive Leo, and a total alpha, I walked right through it, grabbing a lipgloss from the drawer the figure was standing in front of, as if it wasn't happening. My Twin and I had separated at that point. The physical manifestation looked almost like something from Star Trek, a bunch of tiny particles trying to rematerialize in the shape of a person. When I walked through it, all I felt was peace and love.
All I ever feel from the ghosts attached to me is positive energy. Except for my last week in the Atlanta house where my Twin and I started (and ended) our partnership that included the planned pregnancy of our daughter, #Emma.
Luckily, a good friend from Alabama, and a very talented psychic, "found" me, explaining that the paranormal agitation was because of the circumstances surrounding my move, as well as the move itself. Instead of focusing on the negatives, I switched it around, making it an opportunity by inviting my ethereal guests to come with me. Positive energy always improves every situation, no matter how awful, scary, or scarring. But I did feel an unwelcome, unexpected hand on my cheek after that; it physically brushed hair back from my face. That was when I explained it was not okay to touch me. Not like that. I needed forewarning. That was the first night I really paid attention to the knocking, too. Very loud. Very distinct. And, in a definite pattern.
Once my Twin and I separated, even though I lived alone, it sounded like there were at least five people living with me. The house was newer construction, too, built in 2006. But guess what happened on the land it was built on??? There was a Civil War encampment there. Yup. Lots of canvas tents stretched over make shift frames, thanks to the Army of the Tennessee. Confederate boys. At different stages of different battles. Some were laying in the hospital tent, wounded, dying, while others were strategizing their next battle. Yet others were planning their escape from the ranks, wanting to walk back in the direction of home.
My house was situated on what is now Paulding Forest, in the mountains of Northwest Georgia. It was the most peaceful house I've ever lived in, which made leaving it even harder. But I had to leave. My ghosts knew that, too. Because my life was in jeopardy.
While I had no power to stop the frequent break ins, my gut (and my ghosts) told me when I needed to leave. The one time I willfully stayed was the time I saw the physical manifestation of what can only be described as energy. I had no weapon with me, no way to protect myself from the "real" people hunting me down. With arrows, no less. All I had was the grit God gave me. And, my ghosts.
The manifestation seemed tall to me, and I felt like it was male. Perhaps my grandfather. He was a big man with large hands and a barrel-like chest. Curley hair and light eyes. Quiet. Tormented. Yet, self-educated, a philosopher at heart. Family-drama forced him to leave high school before he graduated. Flat-feet kept him out of the Army. But he was good with his hands. Could sketch anything, build anything, even cars and homes, and was an excellent photographer with a fondness for reading and history. These same descriptives could be used for my Twin as well.
Funny how we meet people who seem familiar to us throughout our lifetime. My grandfather died when I was 19. My Twin would have been eight-years old. We weren't even aware of each other until 2013; I had just turned 42. We met one month before my Twin's 31st birthday. When I saw him for the first time, without knowing a thing about #TwinFlames, I did not say, "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Rebecca," I said, "It's really you...," recognizing my Twin from a lifetime of dreams and visions and feelings and "fictional" characters I thought I'd made up, but now, it wasn't a dream or a vision or a painting or a novel: HE. WAS. REAL.
He is real. And, so am I.
I'm not so good at translating communications that aren't direct. By direct, I mean things like email or a letter. Even a direct conversation can be translated incorrectly. But written language holds encrypted secrets that rhetoricians like me can definitively translate. I like that. I'm comfortable with that. Any writing, in almost any language. I'm a polyglot, better at reading and writing than I am at speaking. But I am still fluent in a number of languages, including Hebrew. In fact, I led a Seder last night, and read and sang and spoke in Hebrew, trying to help my English-speaking guests understand more about Middle-Eastern languages in general. No matter what hat I wear, I'm always a teacher....
Apparently, that was my role with my Twin, too. And, still is. He is a healer. While I can now heal people, too, I'm more the Light that helps them see who they are, see their Destiny. I can teach people about what came before them, and why they need to head in a certain direction. If my Twin and I were still partners, he could heal the people I draw maps for, giving them the ability to follow their path. We are meant to be partners-in-karmic-crime. All #TwinFlames are.
In some ways, I'm something of a soul-cartographer, sketching maps and translating directional signs so people don't get completely lost on their journey through life. I do it for myself, too. But I'm not nearly as motivated to make change these days. Too tired. Life has beaten me up. I'm making my last stand, so to speak. Like those Confederate soldiers with the Army of the Tennessee haunting my property. And, just like them, one day, I'll be a ghost, too.
While I can go "home" anytime I want, my gut tells me I need to be on the planet. To see things through. And, that is part of my karma. Learning to trust my gut.
Last week, my car was broken into...yeah, that happened. It was pretty scary. Because the thief had been watching me. For about five days. He may have been planning something worse than just smashing my car window with a hammer. At least, that's what his police record indicated. I knew it was an adult male in the same way I knew he was more than just a thief. But I'll expand on that later.
While I was hiking in the woods where a stag, a wolf and angels have greeted me, this man, a parolee, broke into my car. He didn't rummage around. He was after only one thing. I'd had a dream about the item the thief stole four days earlier. The item had a registration number. I had the distinct feeling in the dream I should go look for it. The number. Naturally, that never happened. Mainly because, a day later, I was moving furniture in my car. My back seat was folded down. The item was trapped under the seat, completely concealed. Unless you were a thief who'd been canvasing my car for theft and saw something you wanted days earlier, waiting every day thereafter for me to come alone, like I normally do. But my gut had warned me that something was off. So, I wasn't alone....
For three days after my dream, I hiked with a friend. I prefer to hike at night...I know, I know. But that's really when the natural world comes alive. I love it. Feel very comfortable in the dark. Perhaps it's because I can see so well. Perhaps it's because creatures like bats, snakes snd frogs are my friends. I've identified at least two of the bats in the area; that's how close they come to me. Like the peregrine. And, the wolf. However, the day of the theft, I started about an hour earlier than usual. Even though it was after eight o'clock by the time I got back to my car, it was still light out. That was unusual, too.
The moment I pulled into the parking lot, my gut put me on alert. I wanted to turn around and go home. But I wasn't alone and my friend doesn't believe in things like guts, or, ghosts. So explaining what sounds like a nebulous "feeling" isn't something people who consider themselves "rational" give much weight to. I did say, "It's really crowded, maybe we should come back tomorrow...," but that was met with the expected override command. And, I did have a lot of fun. No one bothered us. I took a ton of amazing pictures, too. So, by the time we got back to the car, I wasn't feeling anxious anymore; I was more concerned about getting a good shot of Jupiter and the Moon than anything else. That is, until I saw the glass.
A window had been shattered. After I got my dog safely off the ground full of glass shards, I looked to see what, if anything, had been taken, calling 911. Even though I don't always listen to my gut like I should, I still approach the world proactively, not reactively. That's the real "reason" the unreasonable happens to me: I have the uncanny ability to effectively shine light in the darkest corners, bringing about positive change.
It was close to midnight before I finished with the police, but I woke up early the next day anyway, and began making calls. In my research, I found there had been a string of similar incidents at parks all over my zone of the county. I also discovered the pattern. A particular running group seemed to be present at every park where there was an incident. Every victim was a woman, too. Which meant it likely the perpetrator was a male. And, a professional. This wasn't a teenager; this was a practiced pro, unafraid of jail, so had likely already served time. I called people in the Parks and Recreation Department, called the Town Supervisor, offered to use my PhD and grant-writing skills to obtain funding for cameras and signage and safety classes, and also explained the pattern I'd discovered. By noon, three different people in positions of political power contacted me about the case to ask about my research. Within less than 48 hours, the perpetrator was caught. One of the items found in his car at the time of his arrest was what he stole from me. It's part of evidence now, but will be released after all the legalities are taken care of. And yes, the perp was male, huge, and was on parole for good behavior after being incarcerated for a very dangerous crime. He was also a runner....
I don't always get to see the results of my #Light this quickly, but every time someone injures me--one way or another--they are held accountable. Not because of anything I do. I won't even eat meat because I abhor violence. And, I loved steak. No, it's just part of being a soul-cartographer, I think. Helping people get back on the right road...the road that will lead them to a better life.
Before things can get better, they often have to get worse. In order to clear the negatives from our lives, we must first have those negatives surface. Once we recognize--not the problem, but the solution--we can remove any toxicity (and corresponding drama) from our world. But, it can be a frustrating process.
Once again, I found myself cleaning up the mess a man had left behind. Not only was I inconvenienced, I was scared, I was angry, feeling as though I may never see a day where there is peace in my life. A day where I won't have to look over my shoulder for people who want to hurt me. But even though I was victimized, I would not (and will never) allow myself to be a victim. Using my academic training, I looked for the context, the background. Once I found it, I looked for a pattern. Patterns are language. And I can translate almost every language on Planet Earth. Once translated, I used my communication skills to accessibly explain what I found to the right people at the right time.
The results of a morning's worth of efforts was seen in less than 48 hours. That rarely happens. But I'm glad it did. Because, I didn't just help myself; I helped everyone victimized by the thief in the last three weeks. I helped raise awareness, and brought a sense of connection and community. I also helped create a safer environment for people in at least three local towns. Basically, by using positive energy to turn around what could have been emotionally, physically and financially draining, I gave the negatives a purpose. Purpose is the key to finding the untapped riches within all of us.
By the way, when I typed that last line, the line about purpose, the clock turned 1:11....
Sometimes, when I feel that sense of joy from my Twin and the clock has some variation of "11" on it, or, I receive a dream message, or my gut starts talking to me, I get agitated. Why me??? I like hard evidence, facts, proof...big blinking red signs that show me exactly what I need to do. To say I'm uncomfortable with the unseen is a grave understatement. I'm not afraid at all. But it does feel a little insane to a person trained to be grounded in solid research. An academic who checks, double checks and triple checks her sources. A writer and editor who lives and dies by putting the right dot in the right place at the right time. Bringing those two sides of myself together has been a struggle, but as a result of being open to the possibilities, I've experienced real miracles. Sometimes, on a daily basis.
How many people can say that???