Since J's death, my connection to the meta-physical world around me has become hyper-sensitive. I know, every living thing produces energy, I know, there is a connectedness in this universe which is hard to explain but this connection - this belief in another dimension to our mere physical reality - has been pretty abstract to me until now.
It's as if I am more in tune with my instincts and my spirituality than I have ever been before. My faith has definitely been strengthened in this difficult time and I am eternally grateful for the support I feel - when I allow for it, that is. I have had so many many experiences that have brought me a moment of peace. Sometimes, however, I am too angry or depressed to allow for this touch but most of the time, I am open to heal...receptive for the love I am shown.
This sounds terribly corny and would I be reading such a post only 3 months ago, I would have already moved on. If you are still here, then I can only say - it's worth listening to that inner voice, it's worth opening yourself to that connection to the light, if you so will.
I can't claim all the credit here. I have had guidance.
Someone gave me a book, which I was going to donate almost immediately.
"A Message of Hope From the Angels", it was called. Not something I would usually pick up.
It's not that I don't believe in God. I do (even though, I had my moments of fearful doubt on occasion) but angels always seemed to be a whole other level of religious crazy. I may have - very vaguely and abstractly - believed in one's guardian angels. Only because of several personal near-death experiences that seemed to have had some minute interference from above. But other than that, I was not even willing to give the concept any serious consideration. However, because of the extreme circumstances and my desperation for some sort of consolation, I began reading Lorna Byrne's book, apparently a NYTimes best-seller. After the first chapter, I was ready to give up. Not only was the writing too simple, it also seemed just too fantastical. Although, now an Agnostic, I was raised Muslim and had always thought, we have two guardian angels (which contradicts my non-believing in angels, but just hypothetically speaking). Anyway, when Byrne explains that everyone has only one guardian angel, I just couldn't continue. I closed the book. Then I noticed that the back of the jacket included not only one but two reviews of Islamic figures (one scholar, one Imam). I took this as a sign. It just seemed so strange to see two reviews of Muslims on a book written by a Catholic. "Ok, ok ...I will read it," I mumbled to myself and whoever was listening. "Message received." I placed the book on my night stand to go to sleep, and as if confirmation was needed, I noticed, one of my other books sitting on the table facing up. It was a translation of the Greek philosopher Epictetus' work "The Art of Living". On the cover of this book, which has been on my night-stand for at least a year now, there was the picture of the bust of an angel. I had never noticed. .... "OK, ...I will read it," I said as I turned off the light.
I figured, even if I don't believe everything this woman says, I am sure there are at least a few positive ideas I can walk away with.
The book has been tremendously helpful and has brought me even more in tune with my surroundings and the subtle guidance we sometimes can receive if we pay attention.
Yesterday, sitting on packed subway train, I reached a chapter that talked about forgiveness. Reading about how you should forgive others and also yourself made me think about how terrible I felt about my last words to J. My very last angry words to the man I loved and thought I couldn't live without were to "get the f* out of my house and don't you ever come back! You heard, me? Ever!" ..... Words I never knew would to haunt me later, possibly for the rest of my life.
I found myself at the desperate brink of tears. I couldn't stand the fact that I was going to break down in front of so many people. Suddenly, a homeless man emerged from the crowd and successfully grabbed all my attention, for his plight reminded me of J's tough times. He spoke about how difficult life in the NYC shelter system was, all things I had heard from J's recounts of his homeless days. I gave the man money and when he left I noticed a simple command etched into the seat in front of me. Even though, I had been sitting on the train for almost an hour, I hadn't noticed this. It said: PRAY.
In disbelief, I stared at the word for a moment and when I returned my gaze to the angels book, I saw that the next paragraph was a prayer for forgiveness.
Now, you can try to rationalize an experience like this away all you want but I have decided to surrender and take it as a sign. A sign to have faith, to trust, to keep moving, and to not forget to pray, meditate, whatever it is that brings us into this moment of gratitude and awareness that we are not alone.
