10-05-2014, 12:39 PM
Hi everyone, I'm new. I've been lurking for a few weeks and decided it's time to join up!
I would like to share my story with anyone interested in reading! I don't know if it's a "wanderer" story, more of an "awakening" story. But it is profoundly important to me, and I am honored to be able to share it here with you.
Anyhow, on to my story:
My personality is extremely stubborn and skeptical. Must be traits I needed/selected for this incarnation, eh? -- my Dad said I was "the most stubborn baby" he's ever seen, and he quickly realized he could not make me do anything that I did not want to do. (Believe me, I don't say this with a sense of pride, as the cons of this personality trait is that simple things, or things I even WANT to do, can be very difficult...)
To cut to the chase a bit: it was at a young age when I wrote off religion. It never had the ring of truth to me, but this was even more cemented after a 5th grade class where we were focusing on the creation stories of ancient cultures. I found their creation stories were, of course, quite similar to ours. Yet our teacher led discussion in such a way that these stories were rudimentary, untrue in a hilarious way -- and my peers were laughing along at all the silly ideas that ancient man had once held. Despite, of course, the obvious similarities to our creation stories.
Well ... that was all the catalyst I needed. Despite the severe case of a haunted house at my next door neighbors' -- a very interesting story for another day, including my own experience -- I declared that I could not believe in God, that the Spirit World must also be a sham, that we were incarnate as a result of a random evolution of life on this rock called Earth until we died, and that was it, etc.
And I was very comfortable in those beliefs, expertly honing them to defend them from anyone who tried to convince me that there was more to life. (I'd just like to point out that I never tried to aggressively convert anyone, as the one thing I could not stand was when someone did the same to me. I might have viewed the religious as "idiots," but it was their right to believe whatever they wanted.)
There was one major discrepancy in my worldview, though.
At age 14, my Grandma (maternal side) passed away at age 61. She was beautiful, smart (a MENSA member, even), an expert gardener (a hobby I have continued), and always so kind and interested in my hobbies ... even if I was hard to pull out of my shell.
Grandma was pretty well-known in the community of St. Louis, so when she passed away, we were overwhelmed with the amount of flower arrangements that were gifted. My mom decided that the more amazing flower arrangements could be displayed at the cathedral where the funeral was to be held, while the less spectacular arrangements would be displayed at the funeral home, where the wake would be held -- two different locations, miles apart. (This will be relevant, I promise.)
At the funeral home, I spotted an arrangement of orange flowers -- I cannot recall what they were -- in a basket. The flowers were OK, nothing amazing, but I remember looking at the basket and thinking it was a nice basket, and that I would like to keep it for myself to store things in. So, a mental note made.
Two days later, at her funeral. The service is concluding, and the pall-bearers have been asked to step to the front of the casket.
On the inside of her casket is a single rose, with a card that I had written that simply stated "Dear Grandma" and nothing else. I didn't know what else to write. She was dead, and I couldn't unwrap my mess of emotions.
As the pall-bearers are preparing to close the lid to the casket, my focal point was on that rose. I remember thinking, "there it is -- my last contact with her." I watched it intently until it disappeared from view, as the pall-bearers gently shut the lid to the casket. They draped fabric over the casket, and we followed them out to transport her casket to the graveyard, where she was ceremoniously lowered into the ground and buried.
***
Hours after all the ceremony, my family ends up back at my great-Grandma's house. A delivery man from the funeral home where the wake was held had arrived with all the flowers. He loads them into my great Grandma's basement, and they absolutely fill the place up. He says that there will be another delivery tomorrow, with the flowers from the funeral.
When he leaves, I stand by myself, overlooking all the flowers, still kind of numb and in a state of shock over everything that has happened. It is then that I notice the orange flowers with the basket I liked. I smile a bit. Then, I have a sudden impulse to go squish my fingers into the green foam at the bottom of the basket that the flowers press into.
I walk over to the flowers, slowly stick my hand through them, and as my hand descends through the stems, it feels as though something is inserted into my hand. I reflexively grab onto it, shocked at this sensation, and pull it out.
I look at it.
It's the card. "Dear Grandma."
On some level, I knew what this meant, but I wasn't ready for it. I started crying, ran upstairs, and showed it to my Mom.
She kept telling me it was a sign, which only seemed to make it worse for me. She was confused why I seemed upset.
"It doesn't make any sense," I told her the story from earlier, how I'd noted those specific flowers, how I'd watched the lid close on that card, how it's impossible that the card would end up in THOSE flowers when we'd followed the casket directly out to the burial yard -- heck, those flowers were MILES away from the Cathedral and the burial yard. How did the card get there? None of it added up!
"Maybe she wanted you to have the sign because you were the one who needed it the most," is what I remember her saying last.
***
I kept that card and still have it today. I did not deny the validity, or the inexplicability of this story, if you are wondering. Often, if I were in a discussion about the after-life, I would speak freely about my doubts ... but always end, with a glint in my eye, about "that one experience that I cannot quite explain ..."
Instead, the way I viewed that experience was that I couldn't explain it, and as such, I had to temporarily "shelf it" until I would be able to.
The time came last year, during my first Saturn return, when I felt I had reached a dead end. I remembered that card, and, for the first time, giving up -- said aloud, as I lay in bed, "Grandma, I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm ready for whatever I need to see."
Just like that -- what I know now is my heart chakra, opened. An incredible vortex of energy opened above my heart, swirling and churning as love and light entered and exited my body. My mouth hung open, my body shook -- I couldn't move but I didn't want to. I soaked it all up for all it was worth.
I felt like a kid again in that moment ... awe-struck by creation, that there were still things amazing and incredible, things I couldn't explain but some inner part of me, that I had been denying for far too long, KNEW existed. I quickly realized how my "rational mind" had given me a false, depressing view that stripped the world of its love and wonder.
After several minutes, it subsided. All I could think was, "show me what I need to see. I'm ready."
The next day I "happened" to begin my awakening, which, for a die-hard "fact, logic-based" personality, happened to take the course of examining world events. A bad choice of words in a Chomsky speech led me to research JFK's assassination in earnest, since the last time I had done so (age 17), I had been convinced there was a cover-up but still didn't quite have the tools to realize and cut-through disinformation. The idea that disinformation even exists is, of course, a huge revelation in itself. JFK led to the Bush family crimes, led to 9/11, led to more esoteric topics like aliens, EBs, etc etc.
Eventually I found Law of One and have found it one of the most profound pieces of information ever. And "whether or not it's true" (there's that skeptical, stubborn mind, eh), to me never mattered, as it has helped me adopt more loving thoughts that aren't so harsh or critical of others. Just that has made a big difference in my life and invalidates the doubting ego voice.
Thanks for letting me share! I appreciate you reading this far -- I know I wasn't brief!
with love,
dyne
I would like to share my story with anyone interested in reading! I don't know if it's a "wanderer" story, more of an "awakening" story. But it is profoundly important to me, and I am honored to be able to share it here with you.
Anyhow, on to my story:
My personality is extremely stubborn and skeptical. Must be traits I needed/selected for this incarnation, eh? -- my Dad said I was "the most stubborn baby" he's ever seen, and he quickly realized he could not make me do anything that I did not want to do. (Believe me, I don't say this with a sense of pride, as the cons of this personality trait is that simple things, or things I even WANT to do, can be very difficult...)
To cut to the chase a bit: it was at a young age when I wrote off religion. It never had the ring of truth to me, but this was even more cemented after a 5th grade class where we were focusing on the creation stories of ancient cultures. I found their creation stories were, of course, quite similar to ours. Yet our teacher led discussion in such a way that these stories were rudimentary, untrue in a hilarious way -- and my peers were laughing along at all the silly ideas that ancient man had once held. Despite, of course, the obvious similarities to our creation stories.
Well ... that was all the catalyst I needed. Despite the severe case of a haunted house at my next door neighbors' -- a very interesting story for another day, including my own experience -- I declared that I could not believe in God, that the Spirit World must also be a sham, that we were incarnate as a result of a random evolution of life on this rock called Earth until we died, and that was it, etc.
And I was very comfortable in those beliefs, expertly honing them to defend them from anyone who tried to convince me that there was more to life. (I'd just like to point out that I never tried to aggressively convert anyone, as the one thing I could not stand was when someone did the same to me. I might have viewed the religious as "idiots," but it was their right to believe whatever they wanted.)
There was one major discrepancy in my worldview, though.
At age 14, my Grandma (maternal side) passed away at age 61. She was beautiful, smart (a MENSA member, even), an expert gardener (a hobby I have continued), and always so kind and interested in my hobbies ... even if I was hard to pull out of my shell.
Grandma was pretty well-known in the community of St. Louis, so when she passed away, we were overwhelmed with the amount of flower arrangements that were gifted. My mom decided that the more amazing flower arrangements could be displayed at the cathedral where the funeral was to be held, while the less spectacular arrangements would be displayed at the funeral home, where the wake would be held -- two different locations, miles apart. (This will be relevant, I promise.)
At the funeral home, I spotted an arrangement of orange flowers -- I cannot recall what they were -- in a basket. The flowers were OK, nothing amazing, but I remember looking at the basket and thinking it was a nice basket, and that I would like to keep it for myself to store things in. So, a mental note made.
Two days later, at her funeral. The service is concluding, and the pall-bearers have been asked to step to the front of the casket.
On the inside of her casket is a single rose, with a card that I had written that simply stated "Dear Grandma" and nothing else. I didn't know what else to write. She was dead, and I couldn't unwrap my mess of emotions.
As the pall-bearers are preparing to close the lid to the casket, my focal point was on that rose. I remember thinking, "there it is -- my last contact with her." I watched it intently until it disappeared from view, as the pall-bearers gently shut the lid to the casket. They draped fabric over the casket, and we followed them out to transport her casket to the graveyard, where she was ceremoniously lowered into the ground and buried.
***
Hours after all the ceremony, my family ends up back at my great-Grandma's house. A delivery man from the funeral home where the wake was held had arrived with all the flowers. He loads them into my great Grandma's basement, and they absolutely fill the place up. He says that there will be another delivery tomorrow, with the flowers from the funeral.
When he leaves, I stand by myself, overlooking all the flowers, still kind of numb and in a state of shock over everything that has happened. It is then that I notice the orange flowers with the basket I liked. I smile a bit. Then, I have a sudden impulse to go squish my fingers into the green foam at the bottom of the basket that the flowers press into.
I walk over to the flowers, slowly stick my hand through them, and as my hand descends through the stems, it feels as though something is inserted into my hand. I reflexively grab onto it, shocked at this sensation, and pull it out.
I look at it.
It's the card. "Dear Grandma."
On some level, I knew what this meant, but I wasn't ready for it. I started crying, ran upstairs, and showed it to my Mom.
She kept telling me it was a sign, which only seemed to make it worse for me. She was confused why I seemed upset.
"It doesn't make any sense," I told her the story from earlier, how I'd noted those specific flowers, how I'd watched the lid close on that card, how it's impossible that the card would end up in THOSE flowers when we'd followed the casket directly out to the burial yard -- heck, those flowers were MILES away from the Cathedral and the burial yard. How did the card get there? None of it added up!
"Maybe she wanted you to have the sign because you were the one who needed it the most," is what I remember her saying last.
***
I kept that card and still have it today. I did not deny the validity, or the inexplicability of this story, if you are wondering. Often, if I were in a discussion about the after-life, I would speak freely about my doubts ... but always end, with a glint in my eye, about "that one experience that I cannot quite explain ..."
Instead, the way I viewed that experience was that I couldn't explain it, and as such, I had to temporarily "shelf it" until I would be able to.
The time came last year, during my first Saturn return, when I felt I had reached a dead end. I remembered that card, and, for the first time, giving up -- said aloud, as I lay in bed, "Grandma, I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm ready for whatever I need to see."
Just like that -- what I know now is my heart chakra, opened. An incredible vortex of energy opened above my heart, swirling and churning as love and light entered and exited my body. My mouth hung open, my body shook -- I couldn't move but I didn't want to. I soaked it all up for all it was worth.
I felt like a kid again in that moment ... awe-struck by creation, that there were still things amazing and incredible, things I couldn't explain but some inner part of me, that I had been denying for far too long, KNEW existed. I quickly realized how my "rational mind" had given me a false, depressing view that stripped the world of its love and wonder.
After several minutes, it subsided. All I could think was, "show me what I need to see. I'm ready."
The next day I "happened" to begin my awakening, which, for a die-hard "fact, logic-based" personality, happened to take the course of examining world events. A bad choice of words in a Chomsky speech led me to research JFK's assassination in earnest, since the last time I had done so (age 17), I had been convinced there was a cover-up but still didn't quite have the tools to realize and cut-through disinformation. The idea that disinformation even exists is, of course, a huge revelation in itself. JFK led to the Bush family crimes, led to 9/11, led to more esoteric topics like aliens, EBs, etc etc.
Eventually I found Law of One and have found it one of the most profound pieces of information ever. And "whether or not it's true" (there's that skeptical, stubborn mind, eh), to me never mattered, as it has helped me adopt more loving thoughts that aren't so harsh or critical of others. Just that has made a big difference in my life and invalidates the doubting ego voice.
Thanks for letting me share! I appreciate you reading this far -- I know I wasn't brief!
with love,
dyne
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