Our intuition is a part of our soul, which merges with the fetus before we are born. Describing intuition is not easy because it is something that must be developed through experience, continued practice, and the building of faith. It’s like learning to play the piano – you may have an ear for music, but it’s still necessary to further develop and refine this gift if you want to improve and advance.
We may acknowledge our intuition, but how often do we poopoo it, discount it? We do this out of distrust in ourselves. You may say to yourself, “How could this information coming from me be accurate?” Many of us have fallen prey to external programming that teaches us to find our answers in books, articles, people, religious leaders, doctors…the list goes on and on. But, how many of us are taught to meditate on a problem and then get quiet and listen for the answers that come from within? We must fine tune our intuition must on a regular basis to build the faith we need to trust it and use this valuable spiritual tool.
When I was young, I learned to live disconnected from myself, my soul and the Divine. I couldn’t see any evidence that I had any connection to answers that would work for me and my life, that the answers could / should come from these intangible sources. So, I learned to search for answers from outside myself – from those around me, from TV, from my parents and friends, or I just made do without answers that fit my life…
…as I read all that I have written about my young life, I see that I was indeed being guided. Maybe not to the most exciting or fun things, but certainly to the things I was meant to experience in the school of life. I was not aware that I had an internal guidance system, but I recognize the influence internal guidance had over my decisions – especially the really big ones, such as my leaving my first husband, his family, and the safety net that held me for five years.
As in past blog articles, I am including, in this auricle, excerpts from my life story from that time period so that you can see how, through meditation, my understanding of discernment developed.
***The Universe is calling, and I must answer***
Once again, an unknown force within me seems to be in control and is driving me to leave. I am not aware of this force but follow its persuasive urgings. Even though I am not exactly sure why I need to leave, and I sense that what is coming next will be yet another period of great unhappiness, I feel supported enough to make the decision to go.
***Emerging from my cocoon***
Written August 21, 2015
Today I am consciously aware of the changes afoot in my life. I sense I am almost at the top of what feels like a monumental hill I have been climbing for a very long time. I am anticipating the fall, the release, and the momentum that starts once I hit the downward slant of this mountain. I am scared and I can’t see what’s in front of me.
I have been living in a cocoon of safety, dormancy, attached to my inside protected world. As my skin separates from these walls, there is pain and fear. This pain and fear have almost stopped me before – as when I was afraid and yet left my first husband anyway. All those previous times in my life, I could feel the “wanting to be safe” pulling me back into the seeming comfort of my conventional surroundings, but courage and support from the unseen lifted me up as I released the brakes to move out into the world – vulnerable, naked, unsure of where I (was) (am) going and who I (was) (am). Trust is my staff, as it was back then, and I prepare to make my way forward onto the path of my long-awaited destiny.
The wind whispers to me in a soft gentle roar. Birds soar above me, sending me the message that I can do the same. Mother Earth supports me from beneath. The clouds take the form of Angels, giving me the sense that I am safe, I am supported, I am loved, and all is and will be well.
Now, if I can only take my own advice!
I wrote the above journal entry when I was feeling the same strong force I had felt thirty plus years before (this time, a forceful message coming through a friend). I wrote the 2015 entry when I was leaving my second marriage of twenty-eight years. It was time, once again, to leave the conventional life I had been forcing myself to fit into and move onto a different track and in a very different direction. This time, the direction of the path was toward what I had been in training for all my life. What connects these two times in my life is that, despite my intense fear, I was able to keep moving.
As I juxtaposed these two pieces of my story while writing this blog article, I was struck with the similarities of the two situations, the two junctions in my life. My first marriage ended in 1984, having lasted just shy of four years. I had no money, a menial job and few job skills and a four-year old to care for. But I knew with every fiber of my being that I was meant to leave.
My second relationship ended in 2015 after thirty years, twenty-eight of them spent being married. And again, I felt the urge to leave with many odds stacked against me. I was not working at the time, I still had no idea what I was supposed to do, and, yet, the ceiling of my world was beginning to be peeled back, revealing an expanse I had not been aware of until then. My biggest fear – how was I going to survive out in the world? And, oh shit, here we go again!!
***Lily pad or tight rope?***
I call my sister, who lives a short distance away, and ask if I can stay with her and her husband for a short time until I can save enough money to rent an apartment of my own. I am surprised at the amount of resistance she exhibits as we talk on the phone. I guess I had expected her to say yes immediately, so I am confused as to why she is having such difficulty saying “yes”. After all, it will be a temporary situation. She tells me that she must speak with her husband first and will get back to me. She does, and reluctantly, she and her husband agree to take in my young son and me but only under strict circumstances.
My plan is to give them money toward rent, utilities, and food, but this quickly changes after I have been there a few days. After a few beers for courage, my brother-in-law comes to me to tell me that he does not want me contributing to their expenses at all. He wants me out ASAP and tells me to save my money so that I can leave. He gives me a six-week deadline but prefers I leave sooner and tells me so.
In January of 1984, my young son and I move out of the apartment my husband and I have been sharing, and in with my sister, just two weeks before our fourth wedding anniversary. It is a very hard day for all of us.
Upon moving in, I feel the tension in my sister’s house is palpable. It’s as though I am walking a tight rope that is situated over a ravine. (In this instance, the “ravine” is my sister’s alcoholic husband.) One misstep and I will fall to the wolf. I am keenly aware of any noise or mess that my son and I make, doing anything and everything possible to cover my tracks perfectly – polishing and straightening behind me as I go. The only time I can relax is when I am in my car and away from this place, and I do my best to stay away as much as possible. My young son is only with me part of the time…the remaining time he is with his father, who has now moved back in with his parents.
I feel bad because my son knows we are unwelcome and tells me so one evening as he listens to my sister and her husband in the next room, arguing about our being there. While it is distressing, I am focusing on having my own space very soon…this is what gets me through the intensity of the situation.
The short period I spend enduring my sister’s dysfunctional and submissive way of life gives me just the right amount of time to stash the money I need to rent a basement apartment from a couple, who live in the house with their young daughter. It is close to work and a short distance from where my sister lives, and yet we barely connect after I leave. It becomes clear she is uncomfortable being connected to me, and I suspect it is because of her husband. His insecurity about their relationship makes him possessive of her and controlling about the people she associates with – family is at top of the list of suspicious associates.
The apartment is dark, modest, with typical basement windows. But, it has the perfect price tag, is a good size, and the location works well for my son and me to reassemble our little household.
My soon-to-be ex-in-laws have practically disowned me and make it difficult to coordinate help taking care of my son when I am working. While it is hard on me, the ill effects are transferring to my young son. He is sick more than usual, and they blame me.
As I look back, it’s clear that my ex-in-laws could not bear to see that there might be another side to the breakup of the marriage. It was easier to blame me for everything and make me the scapegoat instead of looking at both their son and me as immature, barely adults, struggling with the responsibilities of mature adults.
I know this relationship would never have worked out, but I didn’t have the insight to see this clearly when we got married. I know that, while the marriage was meant to be, it was equally true that I wasn’t meant to stay any longer than I did.
In our youth and innocence, we can’t possibly see how things will play out. It takes wisdom and experience that can only be developed over time to understand what will work for us and what won’t. And it takes courage and integrity to own up to and speak our truth.
***The country club and the boyfriend***
I have been working as a waitress at a local country club for several months, and it’s just up the road from where my new apartment is located. One of the bartenders and I have been seeing one another since early February, just shortly after I leave my marriage. I am 20 years old; he is 27, a returned missionary of the Mormon church. It seems contrary to me that he is working in a bar and drinking alcohol on a regular basis. This is taboo for a member of the church and doubly taboo for a returned missionary. I am confused by his behavior, but I don’t bring it up because I am afraid it will turn him away from me.
His behavior is typical in the area of Utah where I live. I have noticed it in the bar I frequent, the only bar near me where the local cops hang out at closing time to bust as many “sinners” as possible, making an example of those they feel have strayed away from the herd. My gut tells me this is discrimination, but I am not comfortable speaking about my feelings. I do my best to stay under the radar, but it doesn’t feel right to have to hide my choice to go for a drink or to listen to a band, or to dance.
If you ever saw the movie “Foot Loose”, you will see the resemblance between the premise of that movie and how things were in the area where I was living right after my divorce from my first husband. In fact, parts of that movie were filmed in the next town over from where I was living back then. Some scenes were even filmed on the same street I lived on. The portrayal of the characters and the influence of religion were quite true to life.
I have never understood why anyone would want to dictate how a person should conduct her- or him-self – whether it would be to let loose and dance, drink, smoke or…This is something I did not understand back then, and I still don’t understand it now. It seems to show up in many religions and cultures across the board. This, to me, is judgment and segregation at its core and being demonstrated across the globe even at this time.
I have not been physical for quite some time, and a strong attraction develops between the two of us. The sex is not comparable to what I had been used to, and we have it often. His significant attentiveness has an enchanting effect on me when we are together, and we talk at great length often until all hours of the morning. I feel a deeper connection with him than I have ever experienced before in the few relationships I have had so far. I am being shown that I am indeed meant to move out into the world and explore, and yet…
We have many great times together. He drives an old refurbished yellow convertible that is super cool, and he takes great pleasure in getting dressed up and taking me to up-scale restaurants. He opens the car door for me and is very polite, a little too formal for my taste.
Unfortunately, as the relationship develops further, his jealous streak and lack of patience when it comes to my son surface. He has very little tolerance for my son’s rowdy behavior and immaturity. His insecurity about my relationship with my soon-to-be ex-husband is disturbing, and I feel he is threatened and believes I will eventually go back to my husband, despite my reassurance that this will never happen!
His contrary-ness becomes more prominent, and as time goes on, I feel his pressure to commit to something I am realizing I cannot commit to. My emotional instability, mixed with extreme mood swings (brought on by severe hormonal imbalance and depression), leaves me burning with anger one moment and weeping uncontrollably the next. He wants very much to help me, but I don’t know how to explain to him how I feel or how he can help.
I am distraught by our turbulent on-again, off-again relationship and want desperately to get his attention so that he won’t break it off with me. Even after the relationship seems to be ending, I decide I want and need him back…but how do I accomplish this?
One day, after leaving work early, I go to my car. I put the keys in the ignition and am suddenly struck with an idea. I get out of the car, leaving my purse on the seat, the key still in the ignition, the car door ajar. I wander out onto the golf course, crying hysterically, ducking into shrubs away from any stray golfers who are still out on the course. It is close to dusk. I don’t know how long I have been out here, but it is starting to get dark. I am crawling behind bushes and shrubs, not really knowing what to do. No one knows I am out here, and I wonder if I should just go back to my car and go home.
I am watching as my now ex-boyfriend comes out the front door to head for home. He sees my car in the lot, keys in the ignition, my purse on the seat. and starts to call for me. I don’t answer, and he goes back into the building. A short time later, the police arrive. I see him talking with them, and they then turn toward the course and start walking in my direction.
I don’t know what to do and freeze for a bit, ashamed, embarrassed, and now humiliated that the police are here. I don’t know how to get out of this crazy predicament I have gotten myself into. After some time, I decide to come out and tell everyone that I am okay and that this was all a mistake, that I just went for a walk. I am met by a policeman who wants to talk with me in his car. I turn away, telling him I am fine and am going home. And that’s exactly what I do.
Later that same evening, my ex-boyfriend comes to my house to talk. I think he feels bad about how upset I am, and, frankly, I think he, too, is not ready to end the relationship, so we decide to give it another go. But before too long, it is evident that things are not heading in a positive direction for us. He has little understanding of my financial obligations or my situation and begins to treat me with contempt. By fall, the combination of the encumbrance of being a young single parent, in addition to my serious lack of support and complete lack of self-worth, bring about a second break-up of our relationship.
What I have not thought through is that he is in control of my work schedule, and he shows his true colors when he severely cuts my hours back at work. He is a game player, and I am finding myself in a heap of trouble, struggling to be able to afford my rent. He wants me out of his work and has the power to make this happen. With this, our relationship ends and so does my employment at the country club.
***My little anchor***
I spend many days and nights crying endlessly, unable to get out of my bed because I am in such pain and experiencing a darkness that pulls me down so deeply that I barely have the strength to bring myself back. My pillows are stained with my tears, my eyes puffy and red from wiping them with tissue after tissue, angrily tossing the empty box against the wall when I reach for one and I find none there.
Every day, I ask, I beg, I pray for help, for something to stop this Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde affliction inside of me. I am in a war against life, and thoughts of death bring me dangerously close to the edge. I don’t understand why things have to be so damn hard all the time. The world seems to be against me, and I feel there is no place for me, no reason for me to be here. I am angry and scared.
The only thing that keeps me moving is my responsibility to my young son. Somehow, I muster up the strength to ensure that he is fed, bathed, and clothed. He tells me one day about his imaginary friend called “Cranky”. This seems strange for a four-year-old to say, but it is most likely his way of coping with his emotions, maybe his father’s and certainly mine.
At this moment, he is my only reason for living: He is my anchor, the only thing in my life that is holding me to the Earth.
I am finally diagnosed with a severe case of PMS and prescribed progesterone to help stabilize the dips in my hormones during my cycles. I am barely able to afford the prescription. Besides, it doesn’t seem to do enough to help me steer clear of the depression I am battling. I am seriously unstable and have very little faith in my ability as a parent, a lover, or even a functioning human.
Spiraling down fast, I do whatever it takes to get attention…the kind of attention that gets me into more than one mess. I am going out regularly, drinking too much, allowing men to have their way with me, thinking this will bring me adoration and acceptance and ultimately love. Worst of all, I am making poor decisions regarding the care of my four-year-old son.
I long to be loved but have no idea how to receive real love from another person. Discernment is not a characteristic I am familiar with. My life experiences thus far have not reflected positive examples of what a loving and caring connection looks or feels like. I am lonely, sad, and very depressed, and I want / need help desperately!
I remember a night just after my boyfriend and I had broken up. It was my twenty first birthday, and I went to one of the few bars where all the non-Mormons (or Jack-Mormons) would go to drink, dance, and have a good time. We lived in Utah County, where there were few places that could legally serve alcohol due to the strict laws governing the consumption and sale of alcohol in the 1980s. My ex-boyfriend was there with some of his friends, and I was there with my sister. I chuckle when I remember this event because I had been going to this bar for over a year and had been only 20 years old. I was finally 21, and they were all singing Happy Birthday to me from the band stage.
At this point, I had already had a lot to drink. My ex-boyfriend bought me another drink for my birthday even though it was evident that I didn’t need it. I downed it and became very intoxicated. He then left the bar, and I drove home, drunk.
The cops routinely hung around at closing time to bust anyone who was under the influence and careless enough to drive. I was one of them. I walked outside and saw the policemen waiting in the parking lot. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to drive out of there, but I did it anyway. I did manage to get out without being stopped and drove toward home in some very heavy fog – with visibility of about a foot, if that. I couldn’t even make out the freeway signs – both because of my drunkenness and the dense fog. I ended up driving off the exit, almost hitting the exit sign itself as I headed for home.
This was a wakeup call. I had enough sense to know that I was lucky that I had made it home without any issues, but as I remember that night, I am reminded of the fate I tempted due to my very poor judgement. I sense that a part of me wanted to die, but that wasn’t going to happen; I still had much to do.
This was another example of how I sought solace from someone or something outside of me. I couldn’t look within myself; it was far too painful. This was a lesson that would take me a long time to learn, but when I finally did learn it, I was in awe of what I discovered about myself.
***What is my next move?***
I hang onto my apartment as long as I can, collecting unemployment. The holidays are coming, and I have very little money left, the stack of cash I hide under my bed diminishing quickly. A woman I have worked with at the country club moves in so that we can share expenses; however, this arrangement is short-lived due to her rowdy behavior and lack of funds to pay her share of the rent. She moves out very shortly after moving in. Once she leaves, I know I have no choice but to come up with a plan to find shelter elsewhere. My father and stepmother’s house will most likely be that place.
One evening I am visiting the local bar I frequent, and a new DJ I haven’t seen before seems to take a liking to me. He asks me to dance with him, and because no males are knocking down doors to get to me, I accept. He is not attractive, but any attention I receive will do. It is a few days before New Year’s Eve, and he is working as a DJ at a private party and invites me to come along. I am painfully shy and feel intimidated and self-conscious, probably because he makes me uncomfortable, but I blow right past my intuition and accept his invitation. I have a hard time relating to him – probably because he isn’t that interesting, but his attention on me draws me in.
I see so clearly now how my lack of discernment prevented me from making decisions in my best interest back then. I was making some very poor choices that not only affected me but my young son and our safety.
As the clock strikes midnight, he sweeps me off my feet (more for effect than because he is inspired to do so), kissing me as the clock strikes midnight. He takes me to his house, about 30 minutes away from mine, and I spend the night. This is no romantic interlude, no night to remember. It is clear I am only with him out of my loneliness, and he, most likely, is with me for similar reasons. We end up “dating” for a couple of months, but we don’t ever go out. I either follow him to his gigs or stay at his house while he works.
He seems to be in the process of remodeling his house, and so half of it is covered in plastic sheeting and quite cold. Our conversations are only superficial; we have no deep connection, and he doesn’t share much about his life with me. I get the sense that he is trying to avoid someone he owes money to because, while I am at his house, frequent knocks on the door and phone calls go unanswered.
One night, I bring my son along because I have no one to watch him. He makes my son sleep on the other side of the house, alone and cold, and I am too intimidated to tell him “no” or to leave. I regret doing this because my son comes to me early the next morning complaining he is cold, scared, and wants to go home. Lucky for me, right after this situation, my “boyfriend” breaks off the relationship. I am sad, but I know in my heart it is for the best. Once again, I am alone.
The realization that I must leave my little sanctuary and surrender my privacy to return to a place I never thought I would ever go back to makes me sick. And now, there is another child in my father’s and stepmother’s home in addition to the tribe I left just a few years ago.
When I had been in the middle of my pregnancy, my stepmother had also been pregnant with her eighth child, a girl, who is born three months after my son. So, now, I am going back to a house of eight children (well, a couple of them are young adults – like me). My father and stepmother and the madhouse with deep trenches of snow, frozen pipes and mud are pretty much the same as they were when I left. It feels as though I am tumbling backward and can’t seem to stop myself. On a positive note, this time around, I have a car and built-in babysitting.
Memories of this house bring to mind the misery and torment I encountered as a teen, and, yet, if I don’t make this move, my son will end up full-time with his father and…I have no idea where I will go. I am blessed in some small way because my father is there to help me make this move. This is what he is good at, helping damsels in distress, and this damsel is in some deep distress alright!
Before my move, I accept a waitressing position at a seafood restaurant halfway between where I am now and where I am going. My drive from the Eagle’s Nest will be a bit of a trek, but I am relieved to be working again. The restaurant is new, and so in the beginning, there will be a lot of training to get to the point of making money, but I am looking forward to a fresh start.
When I arrive at my father’s and stepmother’s house and begin to unpack my kitchen things, I am taken aback by my stepmother telling me she does not want my container of coffee in her cupboard. As irritated as I am by her seemingly silly demand, I succumb and decide it’s not worth making an issue over…I’ll just have to get my coffee fix outside the house.
Suddenly, I am struck with the fact that, for the past six years, I have been the one making up the rules, and now I will be the one who must follow someone else’s. While the move is taking huge pressure off me, I am also cognizant that my peace and privacy are no more. Once again, I am surrounded by a family I have never really accepted. As unsettling as this is for me, I realize that a trade-off must be made in exchange for having a roof over my head. But in the back of my mind I am telling myself I must find a way to leave here as soon as I can.
I share a room with my son, sleeping on the top bunkbed, he on the bottom. I settle in, making the best of a difficult situation. My furniture from my apartment is stored in a garage that had been built at the base of the driveway while I was away.
My son’s father is angry because I am further away from him now, and my every-other-weekends on which he has our 4-year-old are few and far between. I am driving an old Maverick with no heat, which means no defrost, and I have no money to buy the part to fix it. Even my father is too cheap to fix it for me.
***New job, new friends***
At the restaurant, I am working with several young women close to my age. While that is a bonus, I still feel like an outsider because I have a child and am not in collage or even remotely moving toward a career, a plan, or a goal for my life. These women are outgoing, and their ability to engage with the outside world seems so effortless. But for me, it’s a constant struggle just to stay planted on the Earth and to survive. This makes me feel jealous and, at times, angry…why me, why not me?
The restaurant is up-scale, and so the service must be, too. I am not skilled at opening a bottle of wine at the table and making conversation, being charming and organized while carrying large trays full of food on my shoulders. I am awkward, greatly lacking in the self-esteem department. This deficit lands me working the lunch and brunch shifts. The money is not so good, but I am so tired of change that I am staying put…at least for now. On a positive note, I am not paying rent or daycare, and this allows me to stash away some money.
Looking back, I see how much I clung to work that seemed to offer me a comfortable plateau on which to rest at what I perceived to be my level of ability. I did not understand at the time that I had a choice if the job did not work out or if it was not allowing me to grow and change. My perception of myself was of un-worthiness of anything better coming my way, driving me to cling tightly like a barnacle to the rocks. I was so afraid to let go of one thing in the event that nothing else would come along. I felt so invisible that, if I were to sink into oblivion, I believed that no one would miss me or hear my cry for help if I let go. It was as if the Universe had to give me the boot in order to get me to move in a different direction.
One of the women I meet is also an aerobics instructor who lives in Ogden…about 20 minutes north of Salt Lake. We become friends, and I begin to frequent her classes and hang out at her house a couple nights a week. She is recently divorced and a bit older than me, but we seem to get along well.
One evening, I am out with another group of coworkers at a local bar in downtown Salt Lake City, and I run into this woman’s ex-husband. I had met him once before while visiting her at her house, so I know what he looks like. We chat for a bit and then go our separate ways.
When I mention this to her the next day at work, she becomes very jealous, asking me all kinds of questions about what we talked about and wanting to know if he had asked me out. I start to get a really bad feeling about her and even begin to think that she may come after me. I back away from her and do my best to stay clear. She ends up sleeping with the night manager, who is also one of the owners, and gets pregnant. I am so soft spoken and naïve and not at all prepared to handle this situation. I have never understood why women have to be this way, and her behavior confuses me. This isn’t the first time I have encountered this type of behavior in other women, and, yet, it still leaves me wondering why they feel they must act this way toward other women.
I hear of a party going on one Saturday evening after work and decide to be brave and check it out. A co-worker of mine drives me, and I leave my car behind at the restaurant. When we arrive, hardly anyone is around, and my co-worker disappears into one of the bedrooms without a word to me. I can’t imagine they are all having sex because I can tell several people are behind the closed doors. On the other hand, I am not exactly sure what they are all doing in there, and I start to feel really uncomfortable. I want to leave, but I remember that I don’t have my car. Even if I can find a phone, who will I call?
Lucky for me, a young man (an earth angel) notices the desperation on my face and offers to drive me back to my car. I can only assume he isn’t into whatever it is they are up to in the bedroom. I accept his offer of a ride and am grateful when we arrive at the parking lot where my car is parked, and he drops me off.
I end up participating in a couple of parties after that but always make sure that I have my own car with me. I am not into recreational drugs even though they seem to be so widely accepted. As usual, I am the odd (wo)man out.
The winters in Utah can be treacherous. Driving up and down the canyon in a snowstorm is not something I want to do for very long. One dark evening after being out with friends, I begin my drive home, the snow falling at an angle that makes visibility extremely difficult. I end up having to drive with my door open part of the way to see the lines on the road, something I had done only on a few occasions. Once home, I have to park at the top of the driveway and walk down two hills to get to the house, a precarious but familiar path.
I remain at my father’s house through winter, spring, and early summer. Finally, a new plan emerges.
One of the other women I work with is from California and attending the University of Utah. After work one day, she and I and several other restaurant employees hang out at the apartment of one of my coworkers, lounging by the swimming pool. We are chatting away when she happens to mention that she may be moving back home when school is out, just a couple weeks away. My ears perk up immediately, and before I can even think about it, I ask her to take me with her when she leaves. I am not sure how serious she thinks I am, but her offer is given without a second thought. We do make a loose plan to meet up on a specific day and drive together. I have always dreamed of living in California, and I recognize this as my chance to start fresh.
Here again, I am feeling that internal nudge to put a plan into action and to leave Utah. I contact my oldest brother, who lives in San Francisco. My plan is to move in with him for a bit until I have a job and a place to live. My son is starting kindergarten in the fall, so I must move quickly to prepare.
Next, I must share the news with my ex-husband and in-laws. The news does not go over well, and I am met with much resistance. I sell a few things and get rid of what I don’t think I will need. I pack up all mine and my son’s menial belongings, give notice at work, and am so ready to leave Utah and all the bad memories behind forever…
The day my friend and I are supposed to leave, she is nowhere to be found. There is no way in hell I am staying put, so I call my brother and tell him to get me out of Utah, today! My plans shift, and my brother arranges a flight to San Francisco that leaves in the evening. I leave my son behind with his father, planning to fly back to pick him and my car up in a week or two. On July third, 1985, I leave the Salt Lake City airport and fly to San Francisco.
The drive from the airport to my brother’s apartment is surreal. The air feels different, the radio stations are different, the energy…It feels as though I am in another country – even though I have never been to a different country.
I am in for yet another ride of my life.
As I reflect on the things I have written so far, I am shocked at how many times I felt the internal urge to do something, and there was no stopping me. I ask myself now, “What was that about?” I had always felt so tethered to the indoctrination of my upbringing, yet I had this ability to move without needing to know the details, even details that would scare the average sensible person, even details that scare the hell out of me now as I look back.
I have run through my story over and over, and with every chapter, I learn more about myself, my strength, my will, and my faith in something I didn’t know was there and that I didn’t know that I didn’t know. But my soul knew the way and was leading me through this crazy obstacle course called life so that I could experience as much adversity and difficulty as possible before I would be awakened to my true purpose. The anguish and pain were the groundwork, my education and preparation for the work I am doing now.
And, as to the work I am doing now, you might be interested in joining the conversation…
If you are or someone you know is ill or in need of Divine intervention and support, you can join my Sunday Group Healing Call. The Sunday Group Call is free and an opportunity to share in the healing power of the Angels in a group setting.
I hope that you will comment on this blog article and participate in what has become an ongoing dialogue. Building a platform for sharing the thread of our stories, our understanding and experience is what my blog is for. When you share, you invite others to do the same.