When she sleeps, she often dreams.
Of different realms, where many, many souls reside. They welcome her warmly, a visitor from the land of the living, and tell her their stories.
She is recognised in these realms for her soul’s gifts and calling as a Spirit messenger. Sometimes they ask her to pass on messages to their loved ones. When they make the request, she smiles and asks them to make it happen – to set up the circumstances where she can pass on the message to its intended recipient.
Very often, they gladly do.
* * *
“I read your articles and felt I had to contact you. I’ve been in a slump for a while. Any advice would be appreciated.”
I smiled at Lydia, the new client across the table, and began to shuffle the cards. Meanwhile, the white-haired old lady’s spirit who had been following me since a week before smiled at Lydia as well, her eyes overflowing with love and pride.
The Tarot spread indicated stagnation in career and family life. Much of the stagnation seemed to have originated in unresolved grief. A deep loss in the previous year had occurred, and Lydia could not move on from it.
“My grandma,” Lydia muttered as she looked down at the table. “She passed on from a brain tumour four months ago. She raised me up after my mother re-married.
“My grandmother was my life.”
* * *
My granddaughter was my life. The spirit of the old lady says gently, while pouring freshly brewed tea into two cups. Would you like a scone?
She looks around. This time, she’s in a cosy living room with many framed photographs on the walls. She sips the sweet hot tea and enjoys a buttered scone: despite the old superstitions which warn against accepting food or drink from spirits, she knows there is no danger in accepting the old lady’s generous hospitality. Plus, calories don’t count in dreams.
Thank you for coming here today, my darling. The old lady smiles. Tell her my hair is back to what it was. I’m fine now, and my granddaughter needs to look after herself.
She nods, mouth full of soft buttered pastry. Then she gets up from her comfy armchair and looks at the photographs on the wall. Many of them are of a young lady in tortoiseshell-framed spectacles.
* * *
Lydia took off her spectacles and wiped the tears from her eyes with a napkin.
“When her hair fell out from the chemo, I couldn’t take it. I would look at her bald scalp and cry in shock. She didn’t cry, I knew she was trying to be strong for me. But I couldn’t stop crying. She was my strength, and she was falling apart before my eyes.”
– I understand she used to get her hair done quite often at the hairdresser’s. She was very proud of her hair.
“Yes. And you know what?” Lydia’s voice turned low and savage. “After she lost her hair, I started visiting her at the hospital less and less. I couldn’t face the fact that she was dying. Luckily my grandma was only semi-conscious from the morphine most of the time so she didn’t notice. She died when I was at work. But now I have to live with the guilt of being so selfish. I was so stupid, and now she’s gone and I couldn’t say sorry and goodbye.”
The weight of confession was finally lifted from her soul. Lydia broke down and wept.
– Lydia, your grandmother is well. She’s here with us right now. Her hair is thick, luscious, and a gorgeous silver-white. It’s immaculately permed and comes down her shoulders. There are sparkly hairclips on both sides of her temples; she’s rocking the ‘50s bombshell vibe. Does the description fit?
Lydia nodded and stared at me, the last of her sobs fading. “Yes. Yes, that’s my granny. That was her hairstyle when I was a little girl. It was my favourite look.”
– She wants you to know she’s fine. You need to move on from the grief and take care of yourself. She may have passed on physically but in Spirit, she’s with you and watching over you. Is there anything you’d like to say to her?
“Yes.” Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Granny,” she whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you left. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye. I miss you every day. I love you, Gran. Bye-bye.”
– Your grandma hears your every word, Lydia. I see her smiling and nodding at you. She says you’re her darling. And now I see her being escorted by the angels and returning to the realm of light. She’s newly departed and she needs some more time to get used to being a spirit. But she will come over and visit whenever she can.
“… Okay. I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
When she sleeps, she often dreams. This time, she’s attending a potluck gathering in a large, wood-panelled barroom.
There’s lots of laughter and singing. In a corner, an impromptu darts competition has begun. She sits on a barstool, eating roast turkey and sipping a Bailey’s that a kindly old gentleman had offered her.
Here, calories don’t count, and there’s no danger in accepting Spirit’s generous hospitality. Astral projection can be exhausting, so she might as well enjoy it.
She is recognised in these realms as a Spirit messenger. Sometimes, they ask her to pass on messages to their loved ones. Already, a large border collie has boldly made his presence known, sitting next to her and accidentally-on-purpose brushing his wet doggy nose against her leg.
She smiles, and asks him to make it happen.
* * * * *
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The stories on this website (including the above recount) are based on Kelly’s personal and professional experiences as a lightworker. Some details have been changed to protect the identities of the individuals involved.
