The Art of Love

Today is day one of the month associated with celebrating love. This year, I am fully embracing the theme by challenging myself to make a conscious love connection on each of the twenty-eight days in February. This will include celebrating romantic love, love between friends, maternal love, self-love, and brotherly love. It may take the visible form of a call, a card, a hug, a gift, a kiss. Or, it may be invisible - a meditation, a prayer, or one of my favourites, visualizing hundreds of tiny hearts raining down on strangers. Thank you February for inviting me to practice the art of love. 
Image: Johntex
www.diaryofanintuitive.com

Peeling Back the Layers

Last week's yoga class left me feeling quite undone.  Rather than returning home in the usual state of gratitude and contentment, I encountered a crushingly difficult, grief-filled evening instead.  That overwhelming sense of loss dominated much of the following day as well.  This was a first - yoga had never had that affect on me.  Upon reflection, I realized that my grief had been triggered by the teacher's suggestion that we each set an intention for class.  After some deliberation, I had silently asked for a hug from Michael.  Of course, my rational mind knew that was physically impossible.  However, another part of me entertained the notion that the hug may come in the form of spirit connection.  Alas, in Savasana pose at the end of the class, I recognized that neither had occurred, and the tears flowed.  I was again reminded that a physical hug from my son would never occur. Obviously this was not new information, so what was going on?  Why such an intense response?  Perhaps it was the perfect time for me to access yet another layer of grief.  My mind, body, and soul were in that deeply connected state of existence, allowing for further penetration of reality. Peeling back the layers.  Like in the onion analogy often referred to with regards to personal growth.  I wonder how many layers this onion has. 

I Still Call Bullshit

This morning, while placing flowers at the memorial plaque engraved with my son's birth and death dates, the voice in my head is still calling bullshit.  On a soul level, I understand Michael's passing, however, as his mother, I doubt if it will ever make sense.  The accident happened two and a half years ago today.  It might as well be two and a half months ago, since time has done little, if anything, to alter my day-to-day reality with respect to this intense loss.  How could it?  He is gone. He will never again give me a hug, never again call me on the phone, never again sit down to a family meal.  Regardless of what is happening in my day, experiencing joy or sadness or anything in-between, this companion called grief is with me, always.  I would not have anticipated this is how it would be, but as with any profound life experience, you don't know until you are in it.

Gifts from Spirit

Last Wednesday, while seated in the audience awaiting an evening of ISA mediumship demonstrations, I silently asked the spirits of my loved ones to draw close.  My younger daughter had a strong desire to attend this event in order to absorb some of that lovely supportive energy, and perhaps receive a message as well, so here we were.  We listened as various people were given detailed and loving guidance from spirit. Near the end of the two hour session, the medium (who had no personal knowledge of my daughter, me, or my son) came to me and began describing a spirit that sounded like my son, but it was when she said, "He's like a big kid," that it was confirmed.  The message Michael communicated was that he admired my ability to thoroughly prepare for, then commit to activities, which was in direct contrast to what had been his approach - that of enthusiastically trying new things, with little or no preparation.  This usually resulted in giving up within a week because invariably, the situation failed to play out the way he imagined it would. He recommended I try finding a balance between our two approaches by easing up a little on the planning aspects of projects, and incorporating a little more risk and sense of adventure into my life, not always concerning myself with having all my "ducks in a row" (his words).  He suggested that this might add more fun to my life.  Before leaving, Michael sent both my daughter and me a huge, joyful hug.  After thanking the medium for the much appreciated message, I left feeling that often the bigger gift from an evening such as this is the comfort I receive experiencing further confirmation of spirit's eternal existence.

Hug from Spirit

Recalling a recent experience.  One from a couple of weeks ago. Mentioning to my husband that I could really use a hug from my mom. Craving that kind of nurturing.  Later that evening, practicing mediumship.  Standing behind a blindfolded fellow participant while she tuned in.  The two of us positioned in front of the sizable group. After accurately relating some characteristics of mine, she described a spirit which had come through for me.  One who had left with things unsaid.  In particular, how much she loved me.  Upon sharing further details, it became obvious that this was my mother.  Delivering her message of often being around me with love and coming specifically to give me a hug!  Another truly amazing experience.

Sublime Summer Day

Saturday, so much fun.  Under cloudy skies, we set off on the motorcycle.  A day for meandering, no agenda.  Up on the ferry deck, the very welcomed appearance of the sun.  Then off to a friend's ocean side cottage for a short but cherished visit.  Back on the road, made our way up the coast.  Bodies caressed by the warm summer breeze.  Exploration of nooks and crannies along the route before stumbling upon the perfect spot for a late lunch.  Painted Boat Resort.  Quaint name, delicious food, idyllic setting.  Filled with gratitude and contentment, it was time to head back.  A stop for coffee and desert en route.   Seaside stroll as well.   Return trip on the ferry, followed by a short ride for the last leg of our journey.  Interrupted by an impulsive stop along the way at the outdoor wedding of a daughter's friend.   To give the young bride a hug.  What a sublime summer day.