A Friend's Gift

It has been my pleasure to meet someone who has a wonderful gift.  I won't use her name, because she is only beginning to reach out and share.  When she's ready, I will ask her to write something for Knowing Whispers.  Here was her communication with me today:

Hi Catherine,
I have been reading your blogs and feel like I'm not alone anymore. Is the male voice that speaks to me my spirit guide? Most people have said it's just my conscience, but I know the difference. The male voice started after I almost died. I hear the voice when I'm given a vision into the future. Strange huh? I am not afraid anymore and will help others when I'm given a sign.

The last time I heard the voice I was told not to let my friend be alone or he would die. I made my husband stay with him all night and told him not to leave him alone. He said he was fine and left at midnight. A neighbor found my friend dead at 12:15 am. I am having a hard time living with his death because I was told not to leave him alone.

I can't try to hear the voice or ask it to speak. What I do know is that my gift started after I saw the light and was instructed that it wasn't my time. Thank you so much for sharing your gift. Today I am even more of a believer because I have read your words...
Take care

*****************

Hello,
Thank you! I'm so happy you wrote and shared your story with me! Yours is a wonderful gift, and yes, that would be your spirit guide that speaks to you. We all have at least one and all we have to do is listen and hear them with our hearts. What you said is true, sometimes they are mistaken for a "conscience". We are never alone!

I'm so sorry to learn of your friend who passed on. Don't blame yourself. You are learning -- and yes, this was a dear lesson to learn -- but one that taught you, you truly do have the gift of clairvoyance, and maybe more gifts that you will become aware of in time. Embrace the hurt you feel, feel it throughout, let it go and then forgive yourself, okay?

Your guide's voice just comes to you and, as you said, you can't "try" to hear it, it just is. That's true for me, as well. At this time, I can talk to both of mine, although I can't always call them to come to me. There are times when I go weeks without having any contact at all. Talking with your guide may happen for you, too, as you become more comfortable. Everything is as it should be, as Dinahh so often says to me.

I will be posting more and more on my blog about the experiences I've had and those to come. Please keep in touch. I would like to continue our conversations. I am still learning, too, and we can help each other!

Your friend always,
Catherine

Namaste!

Turning Thoughts Into Things

I spoke to my guide, Micah, again.  This was surprising, because for nearly a year I didn't hear from him at all and now it's been twice within a couple of weeks.  Micah, The Dream/Vision

Micah asked whether I had spent any time thinking about what he showed me in the vision.  I told him I had thought about it, and I even wrote a blog about the vision.  Then I said, "Micah, the vision was very cryptic, and I have a lot of unanswered questions."  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.  I sensed that he, like Dinahh, would tell me to be patient because I already have all of the answers.  But that was not what he said.

Micah asked, "Catherine, what do you feel in your heart?  What did the vision say to you?"

I told him what I felt about the vision.  "Micah, the people in the vision made me feel very sad.  They seemed to be starving and needful of everything -- they had nothing at all, and I could see only a hopelessness in their faces and their sunken eyes.   They were just empty -- empty of all feeling, even empty of all hope.  When I watched them form a line in front of me, it was as if they were expecting something.  You then told me to fill their bowls from the kettle beside me.  When I did, Micah, the pot was full of words, not food."

"This is true, Catherine.  You gave them what they needed.  Go on.  What more did the vision tell you?"

"Micah, when I saw this, I wanted to know what the words said.  Where did the words come from?  Why was I the one to put the words in their bowls?  How did the words form sentences and how did the people understand what the words said?"

"Now I will tell you the same as Dinahh.  You must go to the silence and find your answers, Catherine.  You will find them there, if you will open your heart and listen.  You have come far, but you have far to go, and so much to learn, so much to remember.  Catherine, listen with your heart, not with your mind.  Your thoughts become things.  Be careful what you think."

And then Micah was gone again.

Namaste.

The Death of Fear

A Short Story
by Robert Cosmar

Sitting alone in its self-contained identity, Fear bemoaned its fate. Always alone, separate, and isolated, Fear seemed to be apart from everything. It was constantly analyzing its condition and trying to answer the question of why. Why did it exist? How had it become this way? What is going to happen to it? 

Feeding itself fully with these questions of self-doubt, Fear felt trapped and completely hopeless. It seemed that someday it would finally dissolve into total nothingness, which was something Fear agonized over more than anything in the world. 

Day by day, it seemed like there was a noose around Fear's neck growing ever tighter and tighter, choking out the very hope of any change. Finally, the question of its identity and very existence became too unbearable for Fear. It decided to let go of the questions, the ponderings and all of the speculations. Fear chose to be nothing and do nothing. Fear decided to face itself, just as it was and admit to itself that it was scared, alone, and completely lost. 

Unable to answer the question of why, Fear, humbled and stripped of all pride, waited in the aloneness for the nothing, for what seemed like forever. To it's amazement, it had not dissolved into nothingness. It had merely stopped thinking and analyzing. 

Then something wonderful began to happen. A whole other part of Fear began to assert itself and awaken. Not with thoughts of the usual nature, but with feelings. Fear began to see things there, down within itself. Understandings began to emerge explaining the ancient questions it had always wondered about. 

Finally fear began to see that all along, the only problem it ever really had was thinking that it was separate from everyone and everything else. It thought it was even separate from life, itself. Fear thought that it needed no one nor needed anything to either exist or survive. 

Fear had finally won the great battle and learned the great lesson: we are part of One Energy, One Life Force or One God. How we think is what we are and that is how we see life. We create our lives from our thoughts and we have the power to change our lives when we remember to feel. We are what we feel, but we only feel what we choose to be aware of. 

The Cell

A Short Story
by Robert S. Cosmar

The prison cell was dark and damp and Prince Challoff sat pondering the woeful meaning of his situation. For the past several years, he had sat in the dismal cell thinking about his father and wondering why he had not come to rescue him.


The prince ran away several years before, during his rebellious youth, and joined a group that opposed his father and his political policies. After the rebellion was surpressed, the angry prince was placed in this cell in a  line of prison cells containing the other conspirators, because he was still angry with his father.

Over time, due to the solitude and frequent letters from his father, the prince's whole attitude began to soften.   Gone was the righteous anger, the rebellious spirit, and his know-it-all attitude. Still, the prince was in prison and his spirit was slowly being crushed.

He could not understand why his father did not come and rescue him. The letters from his father, sent by messenger, were both forgiving and accepting of him.  It did not make sense to the prince that his father would forsake him like this.

One day, the son decided to put aside his pride, drop all of his pretenses and ask his father outright in a letter why he had not released him from this cell. He cried as he wrote the letter and he felt his heart open and the years of regret poured from his pen onto the paper.

After a few days, he received a letter from his father:

My dear beloved Son:
It seems there has been a terrible misunderstanding.   All this time, you have thought you were in prison, but the door has always been unlocked.  You were free to go at any time.  I thought you were aware of this. The guard outside of your cell is not there to keep you in the cell, but to constantly protect you from coming to any harm.  My son, you can leave whenever you choose to leave. 
Love always,
your father

The prince was stunned by his father's words.  The truth finally sank in that this misunderstanding and his own false perceptions were all that had ever kept him imprisoned.  He learned a valuable lesson that day -- never to accept anything at face value and to be more aware of his life and the circumstances surrounding him.

Things are never as bad as they seem.

The Tear

Mother's Day was just here and I can't quit thinking about Mama. Maybe it's because I was in the car with Robert both to and from Ohio, 4-1/2 hours each way, and sharing stories about Mama with him during the travel time. He suggested that I share one of the stories with you, so I will.

The Tear
A Memoir of Mama
by CJ Heck

One of the most difficult things I've ever had to deal with was being in an unhappy marriage and living far enough away from family that I had to take my daughters out of school so I could drive the distance from New England to Ohio to be with family for a few days. Of course, that was balanced by occasional visits from them to us, as well. It was hard for everyone, but I have a close family and we needed to be together, especially since Mama had been fighting cancer for many years.

[Mama as a Young Woman] 

Mama was a tiny little package -- maybe 100 pounds, fully dressed and soaking wet. She was a multi-faceted lady, having raised six children and an occasional foster child or two. She sewed beautiful clothes, could decorate like Better Homes and Gardens, loved to garden, cooked like a chef, was the original Suzie Housekeeper, and even worked as a secretary for the superintendent of schools. Her best qualities, though -- she was a caring and loving wife and mother who taught us best by her example. Oh, and you didn't want to cross her, because she was also a formidable disciplinarian -- I had my fanny warmed more than a few times!

In 1992, I had been going through a terrible two-year divorce. He had been fighting me tooth and nail and wanted me to, "Stop this nonsense and come home where you belong." I knew after twenty years that we were oil and water and it would only get worse, but he was insistent. "I'll see you on Welfare if you divorce me." That didn't happen, of course, but it wasn't for a lack of trying.

[Mama and Daddy on their Wedding Day]

Mama was my confidante, my best friend, and my sounding board. Mama also had the same gift I had and from the time I was a child, encouraged me to listen to my whispers, not to be afraid of them and, even more important, to always follow through with them ... and Mama had been fighting the cancer because all of us asked her to, even though she had been pronounced terminal.

Several years before, Mama had undergone a radical mastectomy but the cancer had spread and was in one kidney, which was eventually removed. Over the years, she had been through every kind of chemo available and had just finished the latest (and last available) cancer trial drug. With only one kidney, the drug had taken its toll and she had lapsed into a coma. The whole family was called. Everyone was there by her bedside, including relatives from as far away as Florida, Kentucky, Wyoming , and I was from New Hampshire.

The very best medical minds in the country pulled the family into a conference room. They sadly told us that her little body was shutting down. Her remaining kidney had stopped producing urine, she was in a coma and on life-support. They told us she had fought a valiant battle, but the cancer had won. They felt we should seriously talk among us about unplugging her life-support, since that is what her wishes were.

[Four Generations: Mama, Me, Carrie, Grandma]

That was a terrible moment. Daddy was still convinced he was going to bring her home. I'll never forget the look on his face as the message from the doctors sank in. He was a broken man and we all hugged him together in that claustrophobic room. We talked. It was decided, since those were her last wishes, we would have to abide by them. We would each say our good-byes to Mama alone and then after the last one came out of her room, we would all surround Mama's bed and hold hands. We would play her favorite music on a CD player, and say the Lord's Prayer while the staff unplugged the machines.

When I went in Mama's room and saw her in the bed, it felt so unreal to see what used to be such a vibrant, alive woman lying there completely helpless and comatose. I started to cry and I put my head down close to Mama's and sobbed into her pillow. After a while, I put my arm around her and whispered in her ear that I loved her with all my heart. Through my tears, I told her that it was alright for her to go. She had fought a brave fight, but I knew it was for us and I knew she was tired of fighting, and I thanked her. I said again that it was okay for her to go. I promised her, the girls and I would be fine. Then I thanked her for being my Mama, and my best friend.

Then I saw one tear. Just one single tear, and it spilled from her closed eye, ran down her cheek and melted into the soft white pillow. Mama had heard me ...

Namaste.

Micah: The Dream/Vision

I had an interesting dream last night -- or maybe it was a vision, I'm not really sure what it was. My other guide, Micah, appeared to me again, after nearly a year since his first appearance. He told me he had something he wanted me to do.

He spread his hand out in front of him and suddenly I could see hundreds of people standing and looking up at us: men, women, and children. They seemed to be very poor and they were dressed shabbily, almost like refugees. Their eyes looked sunken and empty of feeling, their faces were gaunt and they all looked hungry.

Micah then pointed to a huge kettle boiling over a fire to the right of me. He said I was to use the ladle and pour a heaping portion into each person's bowl as they came up to me in the line. When I looked up, a line had formed in front of me and it stretched out as far as I could see.

I dipped the ladle into the boiling kettle and poured a full helping into the bowl of the first man in line. I was stunned. What I had poured into the bowl wasn't a stew or soup at all, but words. Then the man nodded his thanks and walked over to a long row of tables and sat down in one of the chairs. I watched him in awe. He ate from the bowl like he was starving. It was this way with each bowl I filled and for for each person.

I glanced over at Micah and he was nodding -- and then Micah and the dream were gone. I wish he had told me more.

Namaste!

Things I Know: John Roof

The post today comes from a very good friend, John Roof. John, Robert and I have all been friends since we were children together in Coshocton, Ohio. John is an accomplished artist, poet, and writer, who lives with his wife, Betsy, in Texas.

Things I Know
by John A. Roof

I saw a turtle the other day -- it had been clipped by a car. His front right leg and shell had been badly broken and smashed, and yet he continued to cross the road. He was trying with all his might to reach the safety of the tall grass at the side of the road and looking for peace. My guess was that this would be his final resting place. I could feel his pain and his lonely death, and yet there were no tears.

I watch my tree in the evenings, as the fading sun softly strokes it with its final gift of life for this day. The evening brings to life many new voices coming together in a song of life often ignored by those in a hurry. I listen to the songs of the locusts, trying to define the words, and knowing my inability to understand them. I know they say it's a call for a mate, but then you think about this seventeen year "Brigadoon" life the locust lives -- only twenty-four hours of life once every seventeen years.

I believe this is the cry of a new born baby: it wonders what lies ahead and what sadnesses of life are in store for him. Whatever life brings its song, it is a sweet sorrow to one's soul. All the while, even the cricket is calling to you to say good night to the final light of the day.

I look forward to the new light and the new hopes of the next day. The gentle breath of wind stroking each leaf with a final caress as it continues on to another tree, then another, always looking for the perfect resting place. If this wind could be followed, will it someday return to this place, as I hope my soul will, too, someday return to its place of peace?

I watch the flight of the dragonfly in disbelief, as it turns and drops, and then climbs to new heights of unknown destinations we will never know. Its grace in the air is an invitation that beckons us to join in its endless flight. Only a free spirit can join its pursuit in search of a life known only to angels ...