Feel The Magic ...

There's a lot of talk about magic, but what is magic really? No, I'm not talking about the slight of hand type of magic, where the magician makes a rabbit pop out of a top hat. This magic is a delicious sense, a deep and pervading feeling that something is right and working out perfectly for us.

Let me give you a couple of examples and I think you'll understand. How about when you're in a hurry to be somewhere and you have to stop at the grocery for something first. Doesn't it feel like magic when there's a parking spot right near the door? What about when you need an appointment and you know it's always busy there, but just when you call, they have a sudden, uncharacteristic cancellation and can fit you in immediately? I can almost see you nodding your head as you read this. Well, that's magic ...

Here's another example. My significant other, Robert, planned a multi-class reunion which was held last September. It took two years to pull it all together and, at times, in spite of negativism. He often spoke of feeling the magic as he was planning it. Things just seemed to fall into place along the way, against all odds, as thought they were supposed to. He called it a feeling that what was coming together was something very special. He felt, more than knew, that it would not only bring people together, some who had not seen each other for decades, but it would also open hearts to the very same magic he had been experiencing for two years. Having been in attendance at the reunion, I can vouch for the magic. I believe everyone who was there could feel it.

As a writer, there have been times when the writing came so easily, almost as though it was coming from somewhere else, somewhere outside of me. One time in particular, I was in that place where the energy flowed through me and the writing just came, like magic. When I read what I had written, the theme was so unlike what I normally write -- this poem was about a child looking down from heaven and talking to her parents. Even though it was different, I had a feeling and included it in my first book.

Three years later, I did a school visit in Circleville, Ohio. Seven schools were bussed in to one school over a three-day period and I did about five presentations each day. It went very well and I formed many wonderful friendships with the teachers and the librarian there. (To this day, Circleville remains as one of my favorite school visits ever).

A few weeks later, I got an email from the librarian at the main school. She had very sad news. One of the students, a second grade girl, had been killed in an auto accident riding with her mother and little brother. The librarian wanted me to know that this little girl had loved the poem about the child in heaven. She carried the book everywhere and read the poem over and over to everyone -- teachers, students, parents, and even grandparents. She referred to herself as the angel in the poem, saying she wasn't afraid to die.

After reading the email, I called and talked with the librarian. She shared so much more with me. At the funeral home, her parents had copies of the poem and they handed them out to everyone who attended.

I finally knew why, three years earlier, I was shown the words to write the poem. There was a purpose, a reason, and I was not privy to it at that time. That was the magic.

I wrote to the little girl's parents and grandparents. I wanted them to know how deeply I felt their grief and loss. I also needed them to know that nothing had ever touched me so personally. Then the magic continued ... her mother called me. She asked my permission for the family to have the poem etched on her monument. I have never felt so humbled as I did at that moment.

This is when I first began to feel how the universe works. We are all connected and an energy flows through us like a river. There is always a higher purpose to everything, even though we don't always know what that purpose is at the time; however, we are aware of and have a sense that everything is exactly as it should be. We must feel the energy, allow it to guide us, and have only to allow it to flow through us. This is ... the magic.

All Kinds of Whispers ...

A precognitive message, intuition, or ... whisper ... doesn't have to always be a life-saving event, although those are the ones that we remember most vividly. Some are little things you just know. You don't know how you know, you just do.

Have you ever thought about someone you miss and the phone suddenly rings and it's them? Have you ever dialed a phone number, only to have that person already be on the line because they were calling you?

My friend, Ellen Silverthorn Howe, knows what I'm talking about. In her words, she has a lot of the little ones.

CJ,
Reading some of your blog posts has made me realize that we have to listen to those "whispers". I do plan on sharing more of mine.

My kids even listen to me. When mom says, "I have a really weird feeling about this...", they trust my feelings. My youngest daughter, Whitney, who by the way is only 19, says, "Mom's got that weird feeling again. We'd better listen."

Growing up, they could never figure out how I knew things about something they had done. It wasn't really that I knew exactly what they had done, but I knew. Maybe my heart just let me know.
~Ellen Silverthorn Howe

I have another friend, Jane, that I credit for saving my middle daughter's life, years ago, when my daughter was only two years old.

First, let me tell you a little about Jane. She's intelligent and witty, the mother of four, feet firmly planted on terra firma, and by her own admission, totally unaccustomed to these types of intuitions.

About thirty years ago, Jane and I were neighbors in Illinois. Our children often played together and Jane and I formed a fast friendship.

My youngest was an infant at the time, and she was taking her afternoon nap. Carrie, my four-year-old, was playing in the living room and I was sitting on the couch reading. I had just checked on Beth, my two-year-old. She was sitting on her bedroom floor building with Legos.

The phone rang and it was Jane. She said something like, "This is totally unlike me, but I have this really strange feeling. Where is Beth?"

I told her she was playing in her room. Jane said, "Go get her. Now!"

I started to ask Jane why, but she was so insistent that I went into Beth's bedroom, picked her up, and went back to the living room to the phone. I told Jane that Beth was in my lap and she was fine. I asked her to tell me more about this feeling.

Just then, I heard a loud crash. I put Beth down on the couch and ran down the hallway to see where the sound had come from. It had come from Beth's room. The ceiling light fixture, a large white glass globe, had shattered on the floor where Beth had been sitting. The shards of glass had sent the Lego pieces flying in all directions.

Stunned and shaking, I went back to the phone to thank Jane. She had saved Beth's life by trusting this "strange feeling" she'd had and by making the phone call to see it through.

Every time I visit Beth and her husband and those four wonderful grandchildren they've given me, I think of Jane. I hope she knows how indebted I am to her for the gift she gave me ...

From the Heart ...

"Write about what you feel and write it from your heart. It's a start. If you're confused, write about being confused. If you're pissed, then write about that." This was an exercise Robert suggested that I do today, when I told him about my frustrations in writing the Knowing Whispers Blog, especially the recent blogs about my 'visitor' from the universe.

As I sit here at my keyboard, I've searched deep inside the self. I've opened my heart. The mind now asks, "What do I feel? I mean, what is it really that's making me feel so frustrated? Is it that this all makes me feel crazy? Is it a sense of embarrassment at how this might be taken and how it might reflect on me as a person? Is it downright anger at being asked to turn my back on everything that I've always thought to be true and trustingly go down some unknown path to who knows where?"

This Dinahh being who came uninvited (to say the least) from the universe has repeatedly told me I have much to learn. He has begun to try and teach me. He has also said I am to share what I learn with others by writing about it. So far, I've done what he's asked ... but.

I've checked my visitor counter every day. I see very few readers for this blog, and no comments have been left at all. If there are people 'out there' who want or need to hear what the universe has to say, albeit through me, I sure don't see any signs of them. That's just a part of my frustration. Here I am, sticking my neck out and taking all of the risks ... risks that people will think (like I do at times), that I'm somewhere in La-La Land, missing a marble or two from my little drawstring bag, stuck in an X Files rerun, or in one of Steven King's freakin' nightmares, none of which makes me feel very good.

Another part of me asks the obvious question, "If I'm not crazy, and if this is real, then why me?" What could a simple writer like me possibly achieve for the universe by writing what they deem to be vitally important? Aren't there a million more qualified, better educated writers to do what the universe is asking me to do?

Robert simply says, "Why not you?" He seems to think it's because I am, even at my age, still so tuned in to (in touch with) my inner child's innocence and wonder and I have retained an ability to remember through awareness. The universe is pure and innocent, and connected with no beginning and no end, a complete and total circle of love.

Maybe. I don't know ...

Part II ...The Visitor

My next contact with this dream visitor, Dinahh, came about in much the same way as the others had. I was asleep and, during a dream, he appeared to me. His arm was outstretched and he said, "Catherine, come with me. There is something that you must see."

I took his hand and we were slowly moving upward and outward, floating, like you do in dreams. He suddenly changed in appearance. He became a small glowing light. It reminded me of how a street light looks at night with a bright center glow and a lesser glowing outer ring, an aura. In between in our connection to each other, was a thin bead of light about the diameter of a thick hair, sort of like a fiber optic bead of light. As we floated up and outward, we climbed into darkness. This frightened me and I let go of the connection and woke up.

The next night, he again came to me in my dream and invited me to come with him. This time, I was more prepared. I had talked with Robert, who told me this was more than a dream. He felt that Dinahh was a making a connection with me, a connection from the universe, and I shouldn't be afraid. I gathered up my courage and again, I went along.

This time, I asked Dinahh where we were going and why. He answered me, but like the other times he's spoken, his lips didn't move. I somehow sense his words. "Catherine, patience. There is no time for impatience. Leave your impatience behind and come with me. Everything is as it should be. I will show you. Come, Catherine."

I decided to go with him. Again, he changed to the glow of light and I could see the thin bead of light between us, the connection. The experience was charged with an energy that I cannot describe to you. I can only say, it was like a charge of static electricity that filled me. I had an incredible feeling of being "home" as we floated up and out into the blackness. This time, though, I could see into the blackness. It was filled with millions of those same glows of light, all connected by the same thin fiber optic sort of light beams between each of them. This is what I saw as far as I could see. It was amazing and I was awed. The feelings were overpowering, frightening, yet I was filled with a calmness and peace, and a joy I have never known before.

Dinahh spoke again. "See, Catherine, feel with your heart. We are all connected. We are all one with the universe. There is no beginning and no end. There is much to show you. Catherine, you have much to learn."

Dinahh told me there were things I was to do, I had only to be patient and I would be shown. He spoke of unfinished writing Robert had done years ago. Again, he said I was to be patient. Time means nothing to the universe, because there is no time. I would be shown how to help finish it. "They are ready for it. They are ready now to hear it. This must be done, Catherine, and you will help to get it done."

Again I felt as though I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. I was puzzled and he was being too cryptic. I asked Dinahh, "Who are you talking about? Who is ready to hear and who is they?"

All Dinahh would say is, "Everything is as it should be." Then I woke up ...

To be continued ...

The Visitor ...

For lack of any other way to say this, I've made a new friend. It was during the middle of the night. I was sound asleep, minding my own business in a pleasant dream. What the dream was about isn't what is important. Besides, by now, I've forgotten all but what IS important ...

In the dream, I had arrived home and was walking toward my back steps to the house. Sitting on the top step to my house, there was a small wrinkled old man. I asked him who he was and he told me that wasn't important right now. I fired a couple more questions at him. What are you doing here? What can I do for you?

I had to strain my ears to hear him. In a low and soft voice, he told me that I don't need to ask him anything. "All the answers are there inside of you. You need only to listen when you are ready to hear." I woke up then and sat up in bed thinking about the strange dream.

The next night, I had another visit from this tiny old man. In this dream, he was sitting in a chair in my living room. As I passed through the room, I saw him sitting there. I asked him why he was here and why he was coming to see me. Again in a low soft voice, he told me, "Catherine, I'm always here. I've been with you all along." This spooked me and again I woke up, but this time I was drenched in sweat.

The next morning, I told my significant other, Robert, about the visits in my dreams as we were sitting on the couch having coffee. Feeling a bit like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone, (or worse -- going crazy), I was interested to hear his take on it. He's much more knowledgeable about these types of things than I am. For years, he's studied the metaphysical, astrological and spiritual sides of the universe and meditates every morning. I felt if anyone could throw some light on it, it would be him. He would at least put my mind at ease, assure me I wasn't crazy and remind me that it was just a dream. But, if he was as puzzled as I was, I felt he would know how to go about finding the answers for me.

Robert was calm. He told me he felt the old man was a higher part of myself and, as a part of the universe, (after all, we are all connected) he was here to help me become more aware ... aware of my creativity, aware of my purpose, aware of my connection to the universe.

I asked Robert why, if this was all true, had the visitor come to me as a wrinkled little old man. He told me that the universe probably figured that an old man was a safe symbol to me, someone I could trust enough to listen to. He asked if this visitor had given me his name. I told him no.

Then, as I looked into the next room, I "saw" the little old man again, (although truthfully, it was more of a "sensing" than seeing). He was sitting in my black swivel office chair in front of my computer desk. His legs were so short that they stuck straight out. Again, I didn't so much "see" him see him, as sense him see him, but he was as clearly there as the skin on my hand. I thought it so strange, it being daylight and all, and yet there he was. He said only, "Catherine, you are to call me DinAhh." (Please understand, I'm not certain of the spelling, but the accent was definitely on the second syllable).

Oh my God. The little old man from my dreams had come into the light and given me his name.

To be continued ...

Light or Heavy Whispers ...

C'mon people, I know there are those of you reading this that have had whispers and know what I'm writing about here. Just in case you're not sure, I'll explain again.

A whisper is when you get that little feeling, warning, premonition, precognitive thought, intuition ... yes, a whisper ... that something may, will, or is about to happen. Sometimes it's good. You're expecting a baby and you really want a boy. You don't know how you know, you just know it's going to be a boy, and inevitably, it is.

I remember a whisper I had last summer. It still makes me smile, even now. It was 6:00 a.m. I was in my kitchen pouring a second cup of coffee and absent-mindedly making a list of several errands I had to do that day. When I looked, really looked, at what I had written, I laughed. I had written "flat tire fixed". When I read those words, I knew. I could feel the certainty that if I went down to my driveway and looked, my car had a flat tire. It did. Absolutely a true story.

A whisper can also be a premonition, a precognitive warning. In two of the previous blogs, I gave several examples, should you care to read them.

I remember a whisper, a premonition, I had back in May of 1969. At that time, my first husband, Doug, and I had been married four months and living at Ft. Bragg, NC. He had just received orders that he was being sent to Vietnam. Being newlyweds, we were devastated. The army gave him four weeks leave to get things in order, so we packed up our belongings and moved back to Ohio, where I would stay with my parents while he was gone. We spent three of the weeks visiting, doing fun things, spending time with family and friends. The other week, we spent together in a cottage at Devil's Lake in Michigan.

That year, May was a little cool, but it stayed sunny and we did some boating and fishing. We took long walks, talking and holding hands. Other than being sad that we would be apart, there was nothing either of us felt that was negative in nature. We truly believed he would return.

The third night that we were there, a terrible storm came up. Both of us loved thunder storms, so we just held each other, listening to the raging wind and rain. In the morning, we found near total destruction. Several of the cabins were destroyed, boats overturned and we had slept through it. Later that day, we learned a small tornado had ripped through the whole town.

The whisper I had didn't have anything at all to do with the tornado; however, I did have a dream the night of the tornado. In the dream, I was in front of a church. I walked up the steps to the wide double doors and, as I pulled on the handle of the right-hand door, I felt a foreboding that filled me with terror. I opened the door and then I was walking up a center aisle toward the front of the church. Then I saw it. A casket with the lid up. At first, I was afraid to look inside, but when I did, I saw that the man inside had no face.

I'd had these premonitions before, so I suppose because I was young and in love and so full of the optimism of youth, it was normal that I assumed the disturbing dream had to do with my father. When I awoke in the morning, I called home and told mama about the dream. She assured me that daddy was fine and, yes, she would keep a close eye on him all day, not to worry.

It was September of 1979, ten years after the dream at Devil's Lake in Michigan. I was remarried with three small daughters and mama and I were watching them play outside. I told mama that while I was in Ohio visiting, I wanted to take the girls and go up to the cemetery, since it was exactly ten years that Doug was gone. Mama got this look on her face and I asked her what was wrong. She asked me if I remembered the dream I'd had at the lake. I told her of course I did. It was the warning about daddy. She slowly shook her head and then said, "It wasn't about your dad. Honey, the dream was about Doug."

Please tell me about your whispers. You can email me or use the form on the right side of this blog. I would love to hear from you.

~Hugs, CJ

A Daughter's Whisper ...

I remember a whisper my oldest daughter, Carrie, had years ago. It was when we were about to move from Indiana. My husband at the time had just taken a new job in New Hampshire, and my three daughters and I stayed behind to sell the house. Eight months later, the house finally sold. My girls were in the 4th, 6th and 8th grade and, as most children facing a long distance move, they were sad to leave their friends behind.

Mother had come from Ohio to help with the move and the drive to New Hampshire. The house was thoroughly cleaned and the moving van was already on its way. At last we were ready to leave. We piled the last of the items we didn't trust the moving van with into my Toyota station wagon.

Mama had suffered cluster migraines for years. She had finally found some relief with oxygen and carried a portable oxygen tank with her to use when she felt a migraine coming on. This said, we also had a five foot long green oxygen tank that we used to refill the small portable one. This, too, had to be loaded into the car. Add to this list three children, mama and I, a couple of suitcases, a cairn terrior and a howling cat. We were crammed in pretty tight and oh yeah, did I mention it was winter? It had just started to snow like gangbusters as we left Indiana and headed east.

About two hours down the road, it was snowing so hard that I could no longer see the lines on the road, or the road either, for that matter. Driving slowly, I managed to get behind a semi for a short while, and I kept my eyes on his red tail lights until he turned off at one of the exits. When that happened, Mama and I decided we had no business being on the road either. It was night and snowing so hard the wipers were having trouble keeping up and I couldn't even see the road. We began to study the exits for a motel.

A couple of miles further down, I took an exit which, according to a road sign, promised several motels to choose from. I pulled into the parking lot of the first one I came to and took a deep cleansing breath. I was about to turn off the car when Carrie spoke up. "Mom, I don't want to stay here. There's a fire here. This motel is burning and we'll all die!"

Mama and I looked around at the pristine, well-lighted (albeit snow-covered) building, one of the most well-known motel chains anywhere, and repeatedly reassured her that all was well and there was no fire. There was no placating her. She put up such a ruckus that I figured it wasn't worth the aggravation. As Mama always said, "Pick your battles ..." So we drove on down the street a few hundred yards to the next motel and got a room for what was left of the night.

When we awoke, we were greeted by a beautiful, sunny day. The snow had stopped. After enjoying a nice continental breakfast, compliments of the motel, we re-stuffed ourselves, the suitcases, the dog and the howling cat back into the Toyota to resume our drive to New Hampshire.

As we passed the first motel from the night before, we were all stunned. Sometime during the night, the motel had burned to the ground ...

More Whispers ...

I felt in my heart when I began writing this blog that I would begin hearing from all sorts of people from all walks of life who've had whispers of their own. Yesterday I heard from one of my friends about one of her whispers. She said it was only one of many that she's had, but I'm going to let her tell you about it, in her own words, just as she told it to me ...

"CJ, I have had those whispers many times. Last Christmas Day 2009, we had to drive our daughter back to the airport. I had this dream the night before of us driving. It was raining so hard and there was a bridge.

That day when we took her to the airport, it was raining and I was nervous the whole trip. As we we went into the "hairpin curve" to the airport, I told my husband to slow down. As we did, there were several cars overturned and he lost control and almost hit the bridge next to us. The police said it was "black ice". Thank God for my dream. It saved our lives. I have lots of stuff to share..." Ellen Silverthorn Howe.

Very powerful!

I have another whisper of my own to share. It's one I alluded to in my blog yesterday and it involved my youngest daughter, Heather.

It was during summer vacation and my three girls and I left New Hampshire to visit family in Ohio for a week. My brother, Tim, invited us to go out on a boat with him and his family of four children for a day to water ski and take the kids tubing on the Scioto River. My daughters were five, seven and nine years old at the time.

One by one, the children took turns donning the bright orange life jacket. Then, once lowered onto the huge innertube, they gripped the handles tightly and took their spins behind the speeding power boat. With each turn of the boat, the child was catapulted across the wavy wake to bounce and giggle with excitement. Tim was an excellent and safe driver, but his wife, MaryAnn, and I were like two mother hawks cautiously watching over each fledgling as they took their ride.

When it was Heather's turn, I buckled and zipped her securely into the bright orange life jacket. I was just about to lower her into the tube when I got one of those "whispers". It was loud, pervasive, and telling me in no uncertain terms that something was very wrong. I pulled Heather back into the boat and wondered what to do with the information I had received. After thinking about it for a few minutes, (much to the consternation of all aboard), I told Tim I would need something to tie with. He looked around the boat, but found nothing. Then I noticed that MaryAnn was wearing sneakers, unlike the rest of us who were either barefoot or wearing sandals. I asked MaryAnn to give me the laces from her sneakers. She balked at first, but after hearing my arguments for wanting to secure the life jacket, she reluctantly gave in and turned over her shoelaces.

I re-zipped and buckled the life jacket on Heather. Then I took each shoelace and tied it through circular metal rings which were at both the top and bottom of the front of the jacket. By now, I was taking a lot of flack from everyone, adults and children alike, for my "over-protectiveness" ... but the whisper that had been so insistent was now gone and I felt reassured.

Again I lowered Heather onto the huge innertube, giving her the same motherly caution I gave all of the others: "Hold on tightly to the handles and have fun".

Her ride on the tube, as with the others, lasted about ten minutes. Back and forth across the wake, I watched as she bounced and giggled. One more time, we slowed the boat and circled round to pick up a young and weary passenger. I think I was the only one aboard who wasn't surprised when Tim pulled her up and into the boat. The life jacket zipper was completely blown apart and the buckles had let go. The only thing holding it onto Heather was the shoelace tied through the rings at the top and the one holding it together in the same way at the bottom ...

Whispers ...

We've all had whispers. You're probably asking, "What are whispers?"

They're those annoying little 'voices' that pop into our consciousness from time to time with no perceivable rhyme nor reason. They're so subtle that we wonder if we've even heard them. What are they? What do they mean? A warning? Or perhaps, a premonition of something that might happen? Or an announcement, maybe, from the universe that something already did happen?

I've had them since I was a child and, after sharing a few of them with some of my friends and family, I've come to find out they're much more common than what I had previously thought. Even my mother and my three daughters have had whispers.

One of the most significant whispers I recall had to do with my youngest daughter, Heather. After high school, she moved to Texas to live and work with my oldest daughter for a year. They both waited tables at a local restaurant.

One day on her way to work, Heather was stopped at a traffic light. She was the third car in line. Her eyes were drawn to the side of the road across a wide expanse of green lawn to a three-story brick building. The entire front of the building was glass and it was reflecting the bright Texas sun as though the windows were on fire. She said she was drawn to those windows and, although she could not explain it, she knew she had to hurry and go there.

Heather put her car in park and and ran across the busy street, across the lawn, and to the firey windows in the building. She told me she didn't have time to even wonder why because she heard a sound above her, and looked up just in time to catch a toddler that fell into her arms from a second floor window.

My mother used to have whispers, too. I didn't know this until I started to have my own and I talked to her about them. Hers were of the precognition variety. My father was a naval corpsman in WWII. He got called back into the Korean Conflict and my mother moved back home for the three years that he was gone.

Years later, mama told me of this incident. One day during this three-year period, she was helping out at the family-owned business. My grandfather walked over to her, put his hand on her shoulder and asked if she had heard from Joe (my dad) as to when he would be coming home. Mother told him she had not, but immediately the words tumbled out of her mouth, "He's coming home on June 16th." She apologized to grampa then and told him she had no idea why she had said that. But ... daddy took a taxi from the Columbus airport and surprised mama and everyone by knocking on the front door ... on June 16th.

I've had many whispers over the years. Mine usually involved someone close to me, my first husband, Doug, for example. I remember one time in particular that happened when I was a senior in high school and still living at home with my parents. Doug was in Columbus, a sophomore at Ohio State and living in a dorm there. I had gone to bed and somewhere around midnight, I sat bolt upright in my bed with this gut-punched feeling that something was very wrong. Something had happened to Doug.

I went downstairs and found my mother on the couch talking with my father across the room in his chair. They asked what was wrong and I told them I didn't know, but what I did know was that something was wrong. I told them about the feeling and that I felt it was about Doug. Mama said if I felt that strongly, I should go call him.

At first, Doug said he was fine and for me not to worry. When I pressed him further by asking several times, "What happened to you tonight?" He finally told me it was no big deal, but he had been at the library until it closed. On his way home, a cat had run out in front of his car and he swerved to miss it and hit the curb and then a parking meter. His head had hit the side window from the jolt. He had to have a few stitches at the emergency room and had just returned to the dorm before I called. He kept asking how I had known and I could only say I had just had this 'feeling'. Something or someone told me something was wrong.

There are many other times I've had these whispers. Every one of them was legitimate and I'm glad I had the courage and the insight to listen to the inner voice and follow through. Once, a whisper even saved my youngest daughter's life.

I'm sure there are many of you reading this blog that have had similar experiences. I would love to hear from you about yours ...