Stepping Into the Unknown

My 48th year on this planet is winding down at an unprecedented rate of speed. I've watched it go by from the sidelines it seems, just as I have a good deal of my life. These last few months, however, I feel as though I've taken some quick and dirty dips in the stream of life, caught my breath, was amazed and inspired. I realize that when we walk forward into our fears, they fall away. Completely fall away! But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to face them.

I talked to my father last night about this very subject; my fears, looming decisions that petrify me and seeming burdens that disable me. He sat on the bed and listened while I talked. Sometimes I felt his arm around my shoulder or his hand on my forearm, punctuating those bolder, more freeing thoughts and ideas that needed reinforcing, or those feelings of hopelessness that required reassurance. He always seems to know when I need him. Whether it be in my dreams in or when I'm alone and missing our deep, morning conversations. He arrives out of nowhere, bringing with him the earthy smell of coffee and wood smoke, deep-boned warmth, and a comfort that knows no boundaries.

He reminds me that life is to be savored. That it is not a test, but a gift. That every deed is to be undertaken with gratitude, that every loss is a blessing in disguise and every achievement reassurance of our inherant divinity. Examine your life, he said. Hold it as you might a shimmering glass ball, look inside with curiosity and reverence, and above all, be joyful in all you do. These words he spoke during our last conversation on my kitchen floor (of all places) where we sat, backs against the wall, just before the light came in the window and I was forced to wake.

I am reminded, he wasn't quite so bearing of comfort in life. But by the time I really got to know him, which wasn't very much at all, I knew him as an extremely grumpy old goat who loved a good argument, and who's rudeness often sent me packing. But once in a great while, something else came through. An inspiring introspection and breadth of knowledge and mental openness that was nothing short of other-worldly. Somedays, I caught him at the right moment, and that's the person who held me spellbound. That was the man I knew I would miss the most when he died in 1989. I would miss our conversations, for surely, there was no one else with whom I could confer on such levels.

Shortly after his death, I began noticing little things. A warm hand laid on my shoulder, despite my being completely alone. Waking to someone's hand crossing my face and pushing back my hair. Weight plunging down at the foot of my bed. Then the dreams came. Usually when I was struggling with decisions or taking life too seriously. Here we found a common ground to meet and where our talks could continue ... freed now of his human cloak, the angry old goat who was filled with physical pain and mental demons, was now a sage and a mentor. He is with me now as I write this, hoping I will also include his sense of humor, which is as silly and irreverant now as it was then.

Several years back, before I truly understood what was happening, I received a flyer in the mail to take a two day course in mediumship with John Holland. I jumped at the chance, knowing that opportunity is fleeting. After our first day's class, we were to meet after dinner for a demonstration. In the hotel room, I said to my father, "If you come through, give me a sign, something no one else would know." Of course, the class was full of others hoping their own loved-ones would come through, I knew he wouldn't call on me.

The show was spectacular. The energy in the room was kinetic and for some reason I began to shake. Within minutes, Mr. Holland stood in front of me and said, "I have an older male, has your father passed? Eugene or Gene?" I nodded, my eyes teared up. He began speaking quickly about the leak in my roof in the upstairs closet, about my dogs who were with him, he told me my writing would be public, but in a different genre (I wasn't blogging then) ... to tell his son (my brother) he loved him, that the decision I was considering would free me, but I needed to act on it. As I shook in my chair, tears raced down my cheeks, John Holland said Gene was telling him to back off because he was upsetting me now, he moved on to someone else as another who'd transitioned stepped forward to make contact through the medium.

The reference to my writing stunned me, though. I'd just finished a novel and thought it was my mother who stood over my shoulders those many nights I pounded the keyboards, she being the family "writer". But ... she died when I was 13 and I truly hardly knew her. So, perhaps it had been my father all along. I'd stored the novel, unable to make further changes to the draft, I'd grown so sick of it, but still wasn't sure if it was good enough to submit. It still sits on the top shelf of my closet to this day. Where, by the way, I checked for a leak when I returned home from my weekend mediumship course. Sure enough, a water stain loomed. Strangely though, that stain never grew and we've never replaced the roof in all the years we've lived here.

The decision I was struggling with then, was one I struggle with now. I've always struggled with the big decisions in life. The little ones I turn on a dime, it's the big ones that get me. Cause me to faulter. I've finally come to the realization that I must move forward if I desire the kind of change that is monumental, otherwise, I might fluctuate back and forth until doomsday. Such a concept! Still, it's hard for one so adept at being unseen. Despite my age, my fears and the unknown. Perhaps, as my father said beyond his death, it will be freeing.

~L