Joy...that's what I felt this morning around 9:48 (9+4=12, simplified to 1+2+8=11). The song, "One Call Away," by Charlie Pluth started playing in my head, too. Particularly the lyric, "And when you're weak, I'll be strong. I'm gonna keep, holding on. Now don't you worry, it won't be long, Darlin', when you feel like hope is gone, just run into my arms...."
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."
Because I've remained open after loss, I'm never alone. Not even when there's no one else in the house but me. Not surprisingly, a knock of confirmation just resounded in the room where I am currently writing. And now, another.
After what has been professionally classified as "severe" loss and trauma last year, I have done my best to live my life. To be happy. To not waste my time on the planet. But not a second passes where my heart isn't broken. I had yet to learn of the #TwinFlame narrative, and how it is theorizes that, after #TwinFlames initially unite, it's common to have latent gifts emerge, or become stronger. That certainly happened for me. As did the abandonment.
Almost all of the celebrity clients I manage are from paranormal television. That's not a coincidence.
My experience in entertainment (and ghosts) goes well beyond scheduling radio interviews and appearances for my clients. Part of why I represent people who work in paranormal entertainment is because I get it. I really do. One of my grandmothers, who helped raise me, passed away in 2009; that's when I started getting the dreams. They were always set in her house, something Ghost Hunters alum, 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. It was always in a dream. But, just like in life, my grandmother was facilitating big family gatherings in order to foster familial communications and connections.
I miss her...so much.
Much of my current research (and subsequent writing) deals with mental illness. Not surprisingly, evidence has emerged from a number of university-driven studies that prove corollaries between certain psychological conditions, like schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, mania, borderline personality disorder, etc., and believing you've been touched by invisible fingers, hearing voices no one else hears, paranoia about "evil" demons disrupting your life...none of which is helped by an American supernatural-centric pop culture. That does not mean that if you think you see, feel, or hear something unusual, you are schizophrenic. Nor does it lessen the validity and value of legitimately gifted individuals who really do have a connection to those who have passed. It just means that when it comes to the paranormal, I know that there can be more behind a sighting or incident than an actual spirit.
My house in Atlanta 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 all the harder. But, as I did not wish to become a ghost, or, create any new ones--leaving my home, my job, and my life behind was necessary. Just to survive. Not because of the ghosts who were already dead. Because of a living one. And, a sad collection of stereotypes and caricatures of life in the rural South.
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....
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 Atlanta home. And, just like them, one day, I'll be a ghost, too. When I'm quite old, tired, and ready to go home again to my grandmother, and taste those poppy seed cookies once again.
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 remember feeling a certain joy--the clock turns some variation of "11," and it makes me wonder...why? 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--pun untended. I'm not afraid at all. But seeing the things I've seen 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???
#MoreThanAFeeling
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."
Because I've remained open after loss, I'm never alone. Not even when there's no one else in the house but me. Not surprisingly, a knock of confirmation just resounded in the room where I am currently writing. And now, another.
After what has been professionally classified as "severe" loss and trauma last year, I have done my best to live my life. To be happy. To not waste my time on the planet. But not a second passes where my heart isn't broken. I had yet to learn of the #TwinFlame narrative, and how it is theorizes that, after #TwinFlames initially unite, it's common to have latent gifts emerge, or become stronger. That certainly happened for me. As did the abandonment.
Almost all of the celebrity clients I manage are from paranormal television. That's not a coincidence.
My experience in entertainment (and ghosts) goes well beyond scheduling radio interviews and appearances for my clients. Part of why I represent people who work in paranormal entertainment is because I get it. I really do. One of my grandmothers, who helped raise me, passed away in 2009; that's when I started getting the dreams. They were always set in her house, something Ghost Hunters alum, 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. It was always in a dream. But, just like in life, my grandmother was facilitating big family gatherings in order to foster familial communications and connections.
I miss her...so much.
Much of my current research (and subsequent writing) deals with mental illness. Not surprisingly, evidence has emerged from a number of university-driven studies that prove corollaries between certain psychological conditions, like schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, mania, borderline personality disorder, etc., and believing you've been touched by invisible fingers, hearing voices no one else hears, paranoia about "evil" demons disrupting your life...none of which is helped by an American supernatural-centric pop culture. That does not mean that if you think you see, feel, or hear something unusual, you are schizophrenic. Nor does it lessen the validity and value of legitimately gifted individuals who really do have a connection to those who have passed. It just means that when it comes to the paranormal, I know that there can be more behind a sighting or incident than an actual spirit.
My house in Atlanta 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 all the harder. But, as I did not wish to become a ghost, or, create any new ones--leaving my home, my job, and my life behind was necessary. Just to survive. Not because of the ghosts who were already dead. Because of a living one. And, a sad collection of stereotypes and caricatures of life in the rural South.
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....
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 Atlanta home. And, just like them, one day, I'll be a ghost, too. When I'm quite old, tired, and ready to go home again to my grandmother, and taste those poppy seed cookies once again.
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 remember feeling a certain joy--the clock turns some variation of "11," and it makes me wonder...why? 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--pun untended. I'm not afraid at all. But seeing the things I've seen 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???
#MoreThanAFeeling
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