When others from the other side connect to me (it is so strange....AND I know I’m not crazy)…weird things happen, uh, like phone calls from a number and then a hang up. Coincidence? I’m not so sure.
Today…as usual, I meditated, with both cats by my side, purring connectively, along with roomie…we were all breathing in sync, while the RA-MA-DA-SA music was nurturing us in the background. It was delicious. I cut up a cantaloupe, ate my breakfast, and then my mind went into many different directions…”go to the gym, file your income taxes, sort pile on counter into throwaway, file away..” A lot of these things happen, it’s Monday.
So I start to organize. I pick up this glass door insert to put away in the back of my closet. I have to move a big box in there and opened it just to remind myself what’s in it. There are more picture books and odds and ends I threw in there very likely a few years ago. Right on top is an old newspaper, dating back to 1954 from Walla Walla, Washington.
I remember this, it was a part of my Uncle Bill’s collections of writings, musings, and clippings of his own personal interest. Why keep these, I have no idea, but I remember him telling me about the headline story, as gruesome as it is, was about the murder of his own Uncle (my Great Uncle) in a county hospital. He was fascinated or fanatical, I can’t tell which about the story. But I thought to myself, wow…this story would fit appropriately with some creative license with my Scooter Boys novel, collecting in my brain.
I remember my father always having great respect for Uncle Art, so I pull the paper out to read it more thoroughly in the bright light of my kitchen and to take a picture of it. All of a sudden my cell phone rings…a number of no recognition. I answer it, “Hello…hello?” There is no one on the other side. Then the phone hangs up.
It’s not a local number. After “googling” the area code, it’s somewhere near Pennsylvania. The cynic in me says, it’s just a telemarketer.
I could continue to be skeptical about the timing of the phone call, but my connection with source and others who have passed over has become heightened. I don’t see myself as a clairvoyant, clairaudient (okay, perhaps maybe), clairsentience, or clairgustance, (look them up!) but I’m pretty sure I have been clairalience, and claircognizance most of my life, but pushed it away.
I guess there was too much time spent living life and not being present that did not allow me to recognize this in me.
As I read the story, I note the heavy emphasis on “communists” and the fact that the murderer was a Chinese person. If anyone can remember back in the early 50’s (I was only 3 when this happened), this was the beginning of the Cold War with Russia. Everything had a sinister ring to others who weren't white. I also believe that very likely, this Uncle Art, who was aged 83 at the time, may have very likely antagonized the man. The Godsey clan from Missouri were a pretty tough crew. Uncle Art never married or had children, so I can only imagine that he may have had a skewed observation about life and may have made some very racial overtones that might have been part of this murder. I do remember that most of my Uncles, and my father, had a very pessimistic outlook on life. So did Uncle Art have it coming? I don’t know.
I can only say…Uncle Bill, I know it was you who directed me to the article, and it was you who helped my cell phone ring. Validation that I’m very likely some of those “clairs” listed above. I tip my hat (his favorite saying), and recognize that you are giving me a little shove to include this murder into my book. Love you!
Now what?
Today…as usual, I meditated, with both cats by my side, purring connectively, along with roomie…we were all breathing in sync, while the RA-MA-DA-SA music was nurturing us in the background. It was delicious. I cut up a cantaloupe, ate my breakfast, and then my mind went into many different directions…”go to the gym, file your income taxes, sort pile on counter into throwaway, file away..” A lot of these things happen, it’s Monday.
So I start to organize. I pick up this glass door insert to put away in the back of my closet. I have to move a big box in there and opened it just to remind myself what’s in it. There are more picture books and odds and ends I threw in there very likely a few years ago. Right on top is an old newspaper, dating back to 1954 from Walla Walla, Washington.
I remember this, it was a part of my Uncle Bill’s collections of writings, musings, and clippings of his own personal interest. Why keep these, I have no idea, but I remember him telling me about the headline story, as gruesome as it is, was about the murder of his own Uncle (my Great Uncle) in a county hospital. He was fascinated or fanatical, I can’t tell which about the story. But I thought to myself, wow…this story would fit appropriately with some creative license with my Scooter Boys novel, collecting in my brain.
I remember my father always having great respect for Uncle Art, so I pull the paper out to read it more thoroughly in the bright light of my kitchen and to take a picture of it. All of a sudden my cell phone rings…a number of no recognition. I answer it, “Hello…hello?” There is no one on the other side. Then the phone hangs up.
It’s not a local number. After “googling” the area code, it’s somewhere near Pennsylvania. The cynic in me says, it’s just a telemarketer.
I could continue to be skeptical about the timing of the phone call, but my connection with source and others who have passed over has become heightened. I don’t see myself as a clairvoyant, clairaudient (okay, perhaps maybe), clairsentience, or clairgustance, (look them up!) but I’m pretty sure I have been clairalience, and claircognizance most of my life, but pushed it away.
I guess there was too much time spent living life and not being present that did not allow me to recognize this in me.
As I read the story, I note the heavy emphasis on “communists” and the fact that the murderer was a Chinese person. If anyone can remember back in the early 50’s (I was only 3 when this happened), this was the beginning of the Cold War with Russia. Everything had a sinister ring to others who weren't white. I also believe that very likely, this Uncle Art, who was aged 83 at the time, may have very likely antagonized the man. The Godsey clan from Missouri were a pretty tough crew. Uncle Art never married or had children, so I can only imagine that he may have had a skewed observation about life and may have made some very racial overtones that might have been part of this murder. I do remember that most of my Uncles, and my father, had a very pessimistic outlook on life. So did Uncle Art have it coming? I don’t know.
I can only say…Uncle Bill, I know it was you who directed me to the article, and it was you who helped my cell phone ring. Validation that I’m very likely some of those “clairs” listed above. I tip my hat (his favorite saying), and recognize that you are giving me a little shove to include this murder into my book. Love you!
Now what?
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