The Gift from Shirley

After meeting Monica and Vic,

The next spirit guide I met was

Shirley.

She was vivacious, sexy and had blond curly hair.

My grandson says you can learn anything on YouTube,

So…

I found several “Meet your personal spirit guide” videos.

Each is 15 minutes to 2 hours long,

Of deep, self-hypnotic, meditation in which

You meet your spirit guide, your personal spirit guide.

I had already met two, a woman and a man,

But today it was Shirley..

I saw her clearly enough to describe her, and to sketch her.

I liked Shirley.

She had been alive in Salem, Mass. She wasn’t a witch.

She was a protestant, somewhat protected from life”s excitement.

Anyway,

When she was leaving she turned and presented me with a gift.

Monica had done something similar, it was a crystal like the one in  my living room window that showers rainbows when my mother visits from the other side.

This gift from Shirley was a gold ring with a crystal in it.


No, it wasn’t this ring, but it was like this ring.

I had gone to Fred Meyers jewlers and asked if they had one. No, but Many Hands Trading (an import store) might.

SonI went to Many Hands Trading and asked if they had one. No

So I went to Amazon.

They had this ring for $3.47, plus $7.47 shipping, and they could get it to me in three days.

so… Tht’s it.  This is my gift from Shirley, one of my spirit guides, who lived in 1892.

Nice, huh?

I don’t know why Vic and Marc didn’t offer me a present. It doesn’t matter.

I find them, the spirit guides to be great, loving and helpful people,

And generous.

– Small Twon Boy

Advertisements

Meet my spirit guides

Spirit guides are spirits who guide you from cradle to grave.

I met mine via YouTube.

My grandson says you can learn anything and everything on YouTube.

I think he’s right.

Anyway, look for Meet your Spirit Guide

Deep meditation/self hypnosis video.

It’s was during one of these videos (I’ve since listened to several) that I met Mona.

I could visualize her and recognized her as someone I often see in my dreams; someone who has dark hair, olive skin, and dark eyes.

I actually met her in Venice Italy in 1999, during a solar eclipse. I was on the piazza, but wondering in the back shop area telling people not to look directly at the sun, but instead use a pinhole camera that I had made.

She came out of a store where she worked and I told her she was the girl of my dreams!

My wife Betsy also matched this description 45 years ago when we married.

During another deep meditation I met Vic. (Or Victor)

How did I know their names?

I asked them, and waited for the first name that came to me.

Mona had been a Maasai woman in 1890.

In 1894 book Durch Massailand zur Nilquelle (“Through the lands of the Maasai to the source of the Nile”): “There were women wasted to skeletons from whose eyes the madness of starvation glared … warriors scarcely able to crawl on all fours, and apathetic, languishing elders.

I’ve since learned that Mona’s name is Monica (the name of a friend who also matches the description).

Vic was a man named Leonard and worked in a meet packing plant where he killed the cattle to be butchered in 1940.

I have also met Shirley who is very sexy and precocious.

And Marc, an older man with no hair.

I have sketched each of these people in my journal. Shirley has blond curly hair.

But wait, there’s more.

I was meditating lying on my bed with my dog, Tawny, whom I now think is an animal spirit guide.

And then I met all six of my animal spirit guides (most of whom I know and have a long relationship with)

Ben, a large black bear. (After I met him I put on my bear costume and later gave bear hugs to anybody!)

Deloris , a doe. (I had just watched a deer family close up at the beach)

A crow named Calvin;

A great blue heron named Henry ;

A turkey vulture named Trent;

And a Ram named Randal.

(I’ve been checking my notes to be sure I got the names right)

Finally, I’ve been visited by friends and family: Gladys, my older sister; Trudie

A woman I worked with; and my uncle Monty.

So that’s my story. So far. Try it and see who you meet.

BTW I let Tawny pick our path on a dog walk and she took me to new places where I met interesting people in my neighborhood.

I have since read The Tao of Physics (I’m a retired physics teacher) and read about the seven laws of the universe.

This stuff wasn’t included in the 25+ years of formal education. I’m way deep in mysticism and have a new friend who is a spiritualist (for want of a better name.)

Peace, love and happiness.

– Small town boy

Waiting

I’m waiting in the garden.

For what? For who? For when? For where?

I don’t know.

Like Waiting for Godot.

I’m beginning to see

Not what I’m waiting for,

But how I wait.

I wait with more presence,

I’m more here here.

I wait without expectation,

But I’m not disappointed.

When I’m not waiting I feel edgy;

I have to find something to do with myself.

By when I’m waiting, I have purpose,

And intent, and focus.

Wait with me won’t you ?

And we’ll see what turns up.

-Small town boy

Somebody else

I’m not writing this.

Somebody else is.

I’m not thinking, I’m just writing, typing for her.

Monica.

My spirit guide, one of them.

I told her I would let her write.

She wants you to know that it will be alright.

(Do you know what she’s referring too?)

She knows it will all work out in the end.

(Got that?)

In the mean time don’t fret,

Look inward. What do you see? Turmoil?

Calm your turmoil and the external turmoil will dissipate.

Sit for a moment without electricals.

Be self sustaining for a moment.

If you want something, ask for it.

Do good deeds.

She wants you to know she knows that it isn’t easy. It’s hard. And you think soft is weak.

She says it’s the other way around.

It is easy, and soft is hard.

Give up those thoughts that have gotten you and everyone to this point,

And listen without words.

What do you hear?

My heart is filling up as I do this for her.

Mine is not the only spirit guide, you have one too.

Where did I meet her and learn what her name is and what she looks like?

On YouTube!

Try it.

– small town boy and Monica

Comingling the entanglements 

Just one entanglement is enough.

two is too many, I think.

Two entanglements distract from your intent.

three entanglements, if they know each other,

Comingle. Comingle in my heart. Comingle in my life.

then what happens?

In the best of all possible worlds,

We would all get along,

But then we wouldn’t call them entnglements,

Would we?

Why is it the entanglements don’t

Get entangled, even when they are comingled?

could it be tht they are supposed to mingle, co mingle?

Do they untangle then? Are they not entanglements any longer.

What was it that decreased the tanglements?

With each one involved comes the chance to enjoy the other.

With enjoyment among the participants entanglements 

Turn into enjoyment.

Enjoyment of the love within each of us.

Love to share and not entangle, yes?

So comingling, and honesty, permits love sharing.

Try it.

– Small town boy

If I said that I love you…

If I said that I love you
I would be wrong,
Wrong headed,
Wrong thinking.
Because it would imply that I have strong feelings for you,
Feelings I would have called love.
My feelings that became strong when you are around or,
When I thought of you.
Let me suggest that love is not a feeling that I have, but
Something, some force, that has me, always.
So when I say that I love you,
What I mean is that my love acknowledges you as one it desires,
And jumps to my attention so that I must tell you.
And when your love acknowledges me and my love,
We, both of us, are IN love, together.
And so, when we are admonished to love one another,
I think it means for each of us to recognize the love that exists in the other,
And act on it.
We don't acknowledge gravity by falling.
It exists whether we do so or not.
Love is like that.
Love exists whether we feel it or not.
So?
So respect it, acknowledge it, and act on it.
Love is for us all, you, me, that person over there and the person next to you.
You can start by giving them a gift:
Listen.
And then give them another:
Speak your truth.
And feed them and hug them and offer safety and comfort.
I'm not kidding.
Love demands this of you.
You are the only you in the whole of creation.
You are the only one who can do what you do.
The only one who sees what you see.
When you love, you share this uniqueness with another, an other.
And they share with you.
So, I'm not saying I love you anymore.
I'm saying that I share my love with you.
Yes?
– Small town boy

My love receiver

I would be lying

I would be lying if I said I didn’t care.

If I said it didn’t hurt.

I would be lying if I pretended not to notice you there.

Lying to myself, because it is readily apparent to you

That I love you.

I don’t know how you know and how it’s hidden from me some days.

Each day begins with you; you’re on my mind and in my heart, so

I guess I know too that you love me.

Why would I be lying if I spoke roughly to you?

How would I be lying if I said some unkind word?

When would I be lying if I didn’t tell you each day how much you mean to me.

Let me not wait till you’ve gone to state my truth to you each waking hour.

Let me not lie to myself that I am without you.

Let me say how much you do each day for our family, our marriage, our home.

Let me not lie.

There is no time for it.

– Small town boy

If you were me

I'm stymied, I guess.
I haven't written for a while,
After criticism and censorship.
The problem I have is this:
Each word, each thought has been dug up,
Dug up from the internal (and eternal) junk pile that is my recollection.
These thoughts are mine, I own them, and yet…
I permit the criticism of others dear to me to destroy my writing; my decision.
And so I approach each new thought with their censorship in mind; don't dig too deep.
Ok, so maybe I didn't think through enough the offending thoughts.
Maybe they were right, but still I must admit a stricture on my thinking.
And so now I begin again to write.
Unable to keep these thoughts buried, I must present them to you.
You have a right to your opinion.
I have a right to mine.
But should I publish for all the world to see?
Do I needs/must take into account the effect on others,
Or do I only have obligation to my Self to write what I feel?
Who reads this stuff anyway?

– Small town boy

Donna’s birthday party

I wept, several times.

I wept when I saw Sarah and Harvey, Gladys’s grown up children.

The last regret she told me just before she passed in 1984 was that she wouldn’t be here as Sarah and Harvey grew up.

But Sarah, now a nurse in intensive care with children of her own, looked so much like her mother, and I felt Gladys had come to the party for her younger sister’s 80th birthday.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her, and I wept.

I wept when I saw my grand niece Haylee who was recovering from an auto collision (she showed me the X-ray) of a broken pelvis (pinned back together) and an almost severed spine which would have left her a paraplegic.

And I wept, not for her injuries as terrible as they were, but for her bravery, resilience, and youthful beauty.

She has grown a lot since she came with Donna to the Oregon coast for a visit and made a glass heart in Lincoln City. Her fight with this traumatic injury was lessened somewhat (she told me) because she was a dancer.

I agreed and later told her father, my nephew Bruce, Donna’s eldest, that I thought it was not only her physicality, but her attitude that served her recovery.

I wept a second time hugging this fragile but enduring, tenacious eighteen year old. Her strength gave me strength (I’m weeping again as I write).

I wept when my brothers, Ron and Don, showed up,with Ron’s wife Pat. I thought he was angry with me for changing my last name from Meskimen to McAnelly because of father issues.

He told me he had contacted each of his sons, Eric and Paul, asking them if he had ever done anything so bad as to piss them off and change their last names?

And then he invited me to Loveland for a sleep over Thursday. I have not been to his house since he had moved there from his retirement house in Estes Park a few years ago.

Well, you know what I did, a little bit.

I spent a lot of time with Susan, Bruce’s wife and Haylee’s step mom, with whom I have not conversed for years but with whom I share an interest in geneology. She said she was using it to find a lost relative.

Susan is a caregiver for Stephen who was with her. I had a long talk with Stephen, who would take awkward notes to help him remember details of what was said.

When I was telling Stephen and Susan about my efforts (unsuccessful so far) to be a better listener, Stephen gave me some advice: you are giving that person a ‘gift’ when you listen completely to them. I told him he had just reversed my attitude 180° with that one word, “gift.”

This party was like the gathering of friends and family at a funeral, but without the death.

I also laughed while I was at the party. I laughed with my brother Donald about our spaghetti dinner in Louisville a few years ago. I laughed at the birthday cake with the number 21 in candles on the top. I laughed when everyone put their name tags on Paul.

It was a great party for my beloved sister who was turning 80.

Later I read her the story I had written for her called “Donna and me.” (But when I tried to print it out for her, I sent it to the wrong printer and the lady at the desk one floors down gave it to us when we went down for dinner.)

Before I close I should also mention the popularity of my kilt, especially among the older women. Several talked to me at length about their own Scottish heritage, tartans, and then asked if I play bagpipes. No one asked what clothing I had on beneath my kilt, not even my brother.

I smiled.

-Small town boy