Some days ago, I was sitting in my bedroom and happened to look towards the window. There, I saw a rather large dandelion fluff sail by. I didn’t think too much of it except to absentmindedly register it was very rare for me to see one or to see one so large. And that was it. I went about my business.
Yesterday, I was walking down the stairs to the subway platform, when I saw another dandelion fluff. Once again it was on the large side, and this time a part of me registered a bit more consciously, “That’s kind of neat—that’s the second time I’m seeing one in such a short space of time.” And that was that. Again, I went about my business.
Later in the evening, out of the blue, it suddenly occurred to me that those dandelion fluffs might be signs from my Guides. Perhaps a random assumption, but it was such a clear thought that it felt quite plausible to me. So, I asked for a sign, and I asked that the sign make it self known to me today.
This evening, while riding the bus to the local mall, I looked out the window and saw what looked like another dandelion fluff. I strained to get a better look, but as I was on a moving bus, I wasn’t very certain. But it did remind me that I had asked for a sign in connecting those dandelion fluffs to signs from my Angels and Guides.
As the bus was pulling up to the stop in front of the mall, I remembered thinking if that hadn’t been my final sign from them, then they needed to hurry it up as I was only going to be out for a short period and evening would soon be upon us.
I got off the bus, began heading in the direction of the mall and suddenly, I saw something white flying towards me. As I watched its approach, I started to laugh. As it drew closer, I reached out and gently caught it in my hands.
It wasn’t a dandelion fluff. But it was sign enough.
In fact, it was something that I had received from them (in almost the same manner) last autumn when I had also asked for a sign. Last autumn, it practically blew right into my face and I almost spun out of its path until I noticed what it was. I like to believe it was their way of saying, “You want a sign? OK, you can’t miss this one!”
And then today, instead of almost spinning out of its way, I saw it, laughed and held out my hands to catch it. I guess I’ve come a long way since last autumn.
My angels had sent me a little white feather.
What had me laughing even more? In the air, as it flew towards me, the feather actually resembled a dandelion fluff.
Coincidence? Nope. Synchronicity. I believe♥
Friday, July 12, 2013
Monday, July 1, 2013
Don't Put it Off
The other morning, I was in the bathroom ready to take a shower. I turned on the water, picked up my bar of soap, stepped into the bath and began to draw the curtains. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something go flying into the bath.
Startled and operating solely on instinct, I leapt out of the tub and lost my hold on the bar of soap. Once I found the soap (which had traveled quite a bit of distance), I turned my attention back to the shower. There, crawling across the floor of the tub, desperately trying to escape the running water, was the rather large unidentified insect I had seen a few days before.
Background: Several days prior to the aforementioned scene, I had walked into the bathroom to find this insect perched on the wall. As I looked at it my first thought was, “That’s a very large insect.” I don’t have a smart phone so I couldn’t take a picture to research what it was, and honestly, even if I had a smart phone, I don’t believe I would have used it to play National Geographic Insect Photographer. On the heels of the, “That’s a very large insect” came, “Normally, I would find a way to catch you and let out. But you’re really quite too large for me to deal with right now, and I’m not very confident that you’ll make it easy for me to catch you and release you into the wild suburbs of Brooklyn. So, I’m going to walk away with the hopes that someone else who lives in this house will help you in whatever way s/he can.” And so I walked away.
Later that evening, I cautiously entered the bathroom and after a painstakingly deliberately slow search, found no signs of it. The next time I went in, I did the same thing. Inevitably, my concern at finding the insect waned with every visit I made to the bathroom. But as I now watched it struggling to escape the water from the shower, a part of me admitted to knowing (akin to a sixth sense) that it had never left the bathroom.
Epilogue: I recount this experience as a reminder to face, head on, that which can be faced in the moment, instead of leaving it to someone else. Had I been braver about making an effort to help the insect escape the house two days ago, I wouldn’t have had the experience of our reunion a few days later.
I am sad to report that the unidentified flying insect ended up in a watery grave. I was actually quite upset at not being able to help it and went as far as to say a prayer for it.
Later that morning, I was waiting on the subway platform to make my second connection to take me to work. I had been singing to myself. I hadn’t done that in a while—singing out loud, albeit to myself, in public. And I was singing a song I hadn’t thought of in ages; Let the River Run by Carly Simon. Next thing I knew, I felt what I believe to be a flying insect, swoop by, brush against my lower lip, and speed away. I remember clearly thinking, “It’s almost as if that insect just kissed me!”
Personally, I'd like to believe this meant I had been forgiven for the role I played in the earlier insect encounter.
It clearly felt like an open and shut case of Kiss and Run ;)
Just sharing :)
Startled and operating solely on instinct, I leapt out of the tub and lost my hold on the bar of soap. Once I found the soap (which had traveled quite a bit of distance), I turned my attention back to the shower. There, crawling across the floor of the tub, desperately trying to escape the running water, was the rather large unidentified insect I had seen a few days before.
Background: Several days prior to the aforementioned scene, I had walked into the bathroom to find this insect perched on the wall. As I looked at it my first thought was, “That’s a very large insect.” I don’t have a smart phone so I couldn’t take a picture to research what it was, and honestly, even if I had a smart phone, I don’t believe I would have used it to play National Geographic Insect Photographer. On the heels of the, “That’s a very large insect” came, “Normally, I would find a way to catch you and let out. But you’re really quite too large for me to deal with right now, and I’m not very confident that you’ll make it easy for me to catch you and release you into the wild suburbs of Brooklyn. So, I’m going to walk away with the hopes that someone else who lives in this house will help you in whatever way s/he can.” And so I walked away.
Later that evening, I cautiously entered the bathroom and after a painstakingly deliberately slow search, found no signs of it. The next time I went in, I did the same thing. Inevitably, my concern at finding the insect waned with every visit I made to the bathroom. But as I now watched it struggling to escape the water from the shower, a part of me admitted to knowing (akin to a sixth sense) that it had never left the bathroom.
Epilogue: I recount this experience as a reminder to face, head on, that which can be faced in the moment, instead of leaving it to someone else. Had I been braver about making an effort to help the insect escape the house two days ago, I wouldn’t have had the experience of our reunion a few days later.
I am sad to report that the unidentified flying insect ended up in a watery grave. I was actually quite upset at not being able to help it and went as far as to say a prayer for it.
Later that morning, I was waiting on the subway platform to make my second connection to take me to work. I had been singing to myself. I hadn’t done that in a while—singing out loud, albeit to myself, in public. And I was singing a song I hadn’t thought of in ages; Let the River Run by Carly Simon. Next thing I knew, I felt what I believe to be a flying insect, swoop by, brush against my lower lip, and speed away. I remember clearly thinking, “It’s almost as if that insect just kissed me!”
Personally, I'd like to believe this meant I had been forgiven for the role I played in the earlier insect encounter.
It clearly felt like an open and shut case of Kiss and Run ;)
Just sharing :)
The Gift in the Situation
I went to church this morning. I set up camp close to the end of a pew, spoke to God and the Company of Heaven from my heart, and then took my seat, waiting for the service to begin.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man coming into the pew. Without giving it a second thought, I turned my body so he could move past me and acquire a seat. As I did this, I looked up at him, and he smiled. But instead of crossing in front of me, he sat down next to me, usurping my coveted position as closest person to the end of the pew.
He was an older gentleman and a quick assessment of his energy came back as affable. So I smiled back at him and then turned my attention towards the front of the church. This movement afforded me the opportunity to clearly see all the pews with end of seat vacancies. I counted at least 4.
As I was about to begin questioning, “Why me” in my mind, I remembered the sparrows, and the starlings I had seen on my walk over to the church. It occurred to me that I had happened upon them and had been cheerful at noting their presence. In fact, whenever I see birds (and most outdoor animals), I tend to feel like they were sent to wake me up from being in my own world and many of the encounters leave me smiling or sending thoughts of love and a greeting as I pass them by. Well, this thought triggered another recollection—part of the conversation I had with God when I had first entered the pew. I had specifically thanked Him for all the people He brought into my life and said I trusted that they showed up to teach me/gift me something.
So, thinking back to the man sitting next to me, I began to list the gifts in his showing up and the manner in which he showed up. On a basic, physical level, there was the gift of awareness-- he reminded me to be present to the presence of others. On a spiritual level, he helped me to exercise my clairsentience (I had sent out energetic feelers and felt his kind and gentle energy in return). On an emotional level, he gave me a chance to feel some light and love through the mutual exchange of a smile. And on a mental level, he reconnected me to my thoughts about bird encounters, as well as to the prayer I had said earlier.
In some ways, the aforementioned serve as added bonuses. They made it possible for me to make peace with no longer sitting at the end of the pew. I had happily missed the potential 45 minute (length of service) internal roller coaster ride I like to call, grumbling. I have been on that ride a few times before--yes, even while at church. It’s not a ride I’d recommend to anyone ;)
Just sharing:)
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man coming into the pew. Without giving it a second thought, I turned my body so he could move past me and acquire a seat. As I did this, I looked up at him, and he smiled. But instead of crossing in front of me, he sat down next to me, usurping my coveted position as closest person to the end of the pew.
He was an older gentleman and a quick assessment of his energy came back as affable. So I smiled back at him and then turned my attention towards the front of the church. This movement afforded me the opportunity to clearly see all the pews with end of seat vacancies. I counted at least 4.
As I was about to begin questioning, “Why me” in my mind, I remembered the sparrows, and the starlings I had seen on my walk over to the church. It occurred to me that I had happened upon them and had been cheerful at noting their presence. In fact, whenever I see birds (and most outdoor animals), I tend to feel like they were sent to wake me up from being in my own world and many of the encounters leave me smiling or sending thoughts of love and a greeting as I pass them by. Well, this thought triggered another recollection—part of the conversation I had with God when I had first entered the pew. I had specifically thanked Him for all the people He brought into my life and said I trusted that they showed up to teach me/gift me something.
So, thinking back to the man sitting next to me, I began to list the gifts in his showing up and the manner in which he showed up. On a basic, physical level, there was the gift of awareness-- he reminded me to be present to the presence of others. On a spiritual level, he helped me to exercise my clairsentience (I had sent out energetic feelers and felt his kind and gentle energy in return). On an emotional level, he gave me a chance to feel some light and love through the mutual exchange of a smile. And on a mental level, he reconnected me to my thoughts about bird encounters, as well as to the prayer I had said earlier.
In some ways, the aforementioned serve as added bonuses. They made it possible for me to make peace with no longer sitting at the end of the pew. I had happily missed the potential 45 minute (length of service) internal roller coaster ride I like to call, grumbling. I have been on that ride a few times before--yes, even while at church. It’s not a ride I’d recommend to anyone ;)
Just sharing:)
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