An Intriguing Unusual Paranormal Encounter
I had often told Mary that she was my muse. Being around her inspired me to write love poems and the fact that we had a psychic and spiritual connection made our link even stronger. It was not long after we split up that I made another breakthrough; except this time my new muse was not living on this dimension that we call the third-dimension. One day I was especially feeling lonely and sad and missing Mary. I took a walk in the woods and recalled how we used to spend so much time in nature. We'd sit on a fallen tree and hold hands for long spans of time without speaking. Sometimes little forest critters would scamper about and stop and look at us. Often they would come right up to Mary and she would coo and touch them. Mary had a way with animals. There was no doubt about that.
The next morning I woke up at six a.m. to the sound of a voice in my head that said, "We have met before. It's time for us to reacquaint ourselves."
I jumped up and looked about. Nobody was there. "I don't live out there," the voice continued. "So stop looking for me out there."
"If you insist," I said, kind of amused. Maybe a new spirit guide is coming to me."
"Oh, I'm a lot more than a spirit guide. You can bet your bottom dollar on that."
"And you can speak the slang and jargon of our English language to boot."
"Of course because you and I are very connected. More on that later. Now close your eyes so I can show you my face."
"Now that sounds like a contradiction, does it not?"
"Not at all. I just told you I am not out there."
I found myself automatically closing my eyes. The image of a woman with long dark hair, an oval shaped face and piercing emerald eyes appeared. I don't think I had ever seen a woman so beautiful.
She laughed. "Well I suppose that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. When I'm done with you beauty will take on an entirely new and more profound meaning. More on that later. For now I want you to just take out a pen and some paper. It's time to put those snippets and sentences and create a verse."
"Sounds good to me. I've been hearing bits and pieces in my head for days but could not get anything conclusive down."
"Now you can for I shall help you."
"Thank you," I said, and wrote the following verse:
Bow down before the altar at the feet of love.
Surrender your worries, your fears, your cares.
Let the mistress of the heart soothe you.
She will wipe away your tears when life pulls at you,
so fiercely, rocking you on stormy seas.
Call out to the Lady of the sacred temple,
she will rescue you immediately.
Go forth to the sacred altar
She waits only moments more.
You must make the choice to invite her
or she closes her heart's door.
She is not your enemy.
She is the granter of your hopes and dreams.
Go now and receive her embrace her.
The lady of the sacred temple calls to thee!
"Thank goodness I got the words down this time," I said, feeling dreamy and placing my notebook on my nightstand. "The Sacred Lady of the Temple," I said out loud a few times. I wonder who she is? Is she this person who was talking in my head awhile ago? And where does she come from? I pushed the curtain back to look at the full moon. It seemed to be smiling at me. "The man in the moon," I snickered. "What about the lady in the moon? Whichever one you are, you certainly are a beauty," I said, gazing with wonder.
I went to the mirror and looked into my eyes. They were hazel and piercing. I wonder if the eyes are the window of the soul. "Soul," I whispered, moving closer to see my eyes more clearly. Could I see my soul if I looked long enough? How can you see the soul? How can we really tap into the vast reservoirs of our essence? Could that verse have come from my soul? or from this person talking in my head? Did you give me this verse?" I asked, wondering if the spirit, or whatever it was, was still around. Enough of this I thought as I got dressed.
I had a blueberry pop tart and glass of milk then headed out. I patted the dash of David, my 2005 Ford Taurus, as I turned on the ignition. "Hello, fellow. How goes it? You've sure been a good car, never breaking down on the road. Wonder if it's because I talk to you and rub your dash?" I laughed. I fastened my seat belt and then looked into the mirror. The image of a dark haired lady with piercing black eyes looked out at me. "What?" I cried out in astonishment. "Who are you?"
"I am flame. I am fire. I bring in motion the heart's desire."
"That's pretty intense. Then I smiled, "Nonetheless, I could use a little fire since my life is rather boring these days. Who are you again? Surely you have another name? Probably something very exotic, right?"
"I am called Dresda and I am the mistress of the heart."
"Mistress of the what?" I said, looking around to make sure none of my neighbors were watching me have a conversation with myself in my car. I moved closer to the mirror.
There she was staring at me; it looked like there little stars in her eyes. We have met before, Michael."
"Are you the one who woke me up this morning talking in my head and did you give me that new verse I wrote?"
"Maybe, but we also have met before this morning," I heard.
"Well I have to admit that you do somehow feel vaguely familiar, Dresda. Where have we met before? Please be so kind and tell me."
"We first met some ten years ago when you were doing your psychic training with Mary. While you were meditating one day, I came to you and spoke the phrase: "I am Flame. I am Fire. I set in motion the heart's desire" mantra and I told you who I was."
"I must have forgotten that although I recall Mary and I had quite a few psychic experiences and we saw a lot of things in our meditations."
"Yes, and you will recall other things when it is time. Nothing is forgotten. It's all stored in that wonderful subconscious mind that Creator has blessed everyone with. After today I don't believe you will ever forget me again."
"What does that mean?" I asked. But Dresda disappeared. I wondered what this beautiful Dresda wanted to convey to me.
I thought about Dresda and the verse all day. That night I arrived at the museum ten minutes before eleven where I am a night watchman.
"You're early," teased Karen, my co-worker.
"Early bird gets the worm."
"You may get it but you will never hold it for long," she chuckled. "what's your batting average on being early? About once a month?"
"Something like that."
"It really doesn't matter. You know I'd never report you as long as you don't make it more than fifteen minutes. And you never do. You always make the waiting worth my time."
"Now do I?" I replied, grinning.
"Certainly. Our little talks mean a lot to me even if they are little talks."
I do have to work, don't I? It's fine to be a writer but manuscripts don't feed you or pay the rent."
"Maybe not, but they sure do feed my soul, and if you stick with it, your writing will one day pay your bills. You are a good writer Michael and you are going to make it. Never doubt that. I feel it deep in the very core of my soul."
"At least I have one fan, eh," I said, tapping her cheek and winking at her.
"Two. My mother has been reading your stories and poems and loves them. You need to be more aggressive about your marketing. Why don't you find an agent and let them do all the work while you sit back and write, half of which you do here," she laughed.
"It's not that simple. You're supposed to have one book published so they know you are good enough for a publisher to take you on. And without an agent many publishers won't even look at your ms. So it's kind of a catch 22 situation. But I'm thinking about looking for one nonetheless. If I got an agent that would give some time for other things, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed," Karen said, winking at me.
"Behave yourself," I reproached her playfully. "Art is a jealous mistress. She would never let another woman compete with her."
"Well I would sure like to give her a little competition. Has your muse inspired any new poems lately?"
"Yes," I said, taking out the verse I had written earlier.
"It's beautiful. The words are so very enchanting. For me it conjures up images of pagan goddesses waiting in temples for their men. What do you think about it?"
"I'm not sure. I did have a strange experience after getting in my car which may be related to it."
"A strange experience," Karen laughed. "Since when do you have a strange experience, Michael. They come in the plural for you. I'm all ears. Tell me about it. I guess I ought to let you take your rightful place behind the counter, shouldn't I? Wouldn't want to upset the paintings. Those two Madonna's over there might jump right off that palette and slug me. After all, eight hours is long enough to have to look at anyone's face, even for a painting. Let's trade places just in case a security guard comes by."
I placed my backpack behind the counter in the corner then took out a green tie from my coat and slipped it on."
"Naughty. Naughty," Karen chided me.
"Long ties choke me."
"I don't blame you and who's here to see you anyway except a few security guards and maybe another auditor or two. Now tell me about your strange experience."
"It's nothing, really. I just let my imagination run a little wild. After I wrote the verse, I looked in the mirror before dressing, musing about the soul. I forgot about that experience once I realized it was time for work. In my car, before starting it, I looked in the mirror. There was the image of a long dark-haired lady with piercing black eyes who said her name was Dresda and that she was the mistress of the heart. Mistress of the what? I asked, taken aback. She said that we had met before (I wasn't about to tell her about mine and Mary's psychic work) and then she disappeared. That's all there was to it."
"Humh," said Karen, moving closer to me. "Can I be the mistress of your heart?"
"Not tonight dear, though your perfume is really nice," I whispered. "Seriously, do you think I am losing my marbles."
"Oh, just a couple maybe, Michael. Then again you are always losing things. Fortunately your sanity is stored away in a nice little corner of your brain, so there's no danger of you losing it. I'd say forget about this Dresda lady."
"You are probably right."
"Maybe if you'd make a little more effort to go out with real women, your subconscious mind wouldn't have to conjure up imaginary ones. Hint! Hint!"
"You think so. When I finish my novel I may just take you up on that not so subtle invitation."
"Subtlety was never a virtue of mine," Karen teased. "Okay it's nearly eleven-thirty. This is our longest little talk ever." She reached for her purse and said "write fast, Michael. You should be able to finish a few scenes tonight. This place has been dead today. I suppose everyone is away on vacation."
"I love the quiet times here at the museum. I wouldn't trade them for anything. Not even if my salary were doubled."
"I envy your free time, but since I'm not a night person your job would bore me terribly. But someone has to stay here and watch over the paintings at night. Goodnight, Michael. Maybe this mysterious lady will pay you a visit later."
"I doubt it, Karen. She probably has better things to do than show up at this museum."
I took out the snickers bar from my pocket and bit into it while walking to the employee's frig to get a coke. "Coke, the real thing," I sang, wondering how many cokes were consumed in one day around the world. Suddenly, I heard a noise which sounded like footsteps a few feet away. "Who's that?" Nobody answered. "Don't tell me there's a rat in here," I said, walking in the direction where the sound came from. "Almost midnight," I said, looking at my watch. "The magical hour for everyone, people and spooks included.
I hummed the words to the old song "I'm Gonna Wait Til The Midnight Hour," as I turned on the light in the area I thought the noise came from. It was the Madonna corner as Karen liked to refer to it. "Did you hear anything, ladies?" I asked, looking up at my favorite Madonna painting which had always enchanted and mystified me. There was something about the eyes that reminded me of the image I had earlier seen. "Are you Dresda?" I asked, moving back a few inches. It seemed that the eyes moved. "Just my imagination," I said, glancing at the adjacent painting. If you look at any painting long enough, it seems to be looking back at you. Maybe that's why people don't like to be looked at intently. Could it somehow put them in contact with their soul? "There I go again about the soul," I said, gazing at the other corners looking for any visible sign to verify the sound I had heard. "I guess whatever it was scurried away. Just the same I'll mention it to Sam. He will want to check it out. The last thing we need is some rodent scaring people away.
I returned to my area, dimmed all the lights except the ones above me, and took out paper and pen, hoping a new story would come to me. I had written two scenes when Sam the night custodian brought me a steaming cup of coffee. "You look like you could use this, Michael. I noticed your head drooping over. Nobody but me would probably know if you were sleeping on the job. This silence is enough to make you fall asleep. What are you working on?"
"A story about a woman who is pursued by her son's math teacher."
"I hope it's an agreeable pursuit," Sam said, snickering.
"I think it is. It's the principal who's going to be the bad guy in this story."
"You'll have to tell me about it when you finish it. Enjoy the coffee, and try to stay awake," he chuckled. "You never know who may pay us a visit."
"That would be a welcomed change, wouldn't it? I like working here as a night watchman. I just wish there was something to watch besides those dames in the Madonna corner. By the way, I heard some sounds there earlier. Sounded like some rodent was scurrying around."
"I'll check it out. Nice chatting. Funny how you mention the paintings in the Madonna corner. Sometimes when I'm cleaning over there I get the feeling I'm being watched. Guess it's just art magic which makes those eyes seem to look at you no matter which way you turn. Being here all night is enough to make the imagination wander, doesn't it? Go to run on now. See you later."
"Thanks for the coffee, Sam."
"You're welcome. Good luck on your story. I know you won't stop until it's finished or the sun comes up, whichever occurs first."
"I'm obsessed with writing. Could always be worse. I suppose I could be addicted to sex, drugs, booze or valium."
"I'd prefer the first one you mentioned," Sam said, snickering as he walked away.
I took a break from my story at two a.m. and did some paper work. "If Matthew knew I did the paperwork in less than two hours he'd probably fire me. He doesn't need to know that my mind goes three times faster than the average person." I was completing my last tally of last month's museum attendance when I heard the soft foot steps and scurrying sound again. My head jerked forward and my heart thumped wildly. This time the sound shifted as though it were coming from the ceiling and the walls. I was going to beam on the bright lights in the Madonna corner but something made me refrain. "This is bizarre," I said, moving away from the corner. "Could there be more than one rat or little critter in that room? I took a small flashlight and slowly headed towards the Madonna corner. There was a coolness there that I did not feel up front in my work area. "What is this? It must be at least ten degrees cooler here," I said, beginning to shiver. I better check the thermostat. I walked to the control and looked. Seventy degrees. "Well it sure doesn't feel like it." I slowly made my way back to my area.
Then something made me stop and made me stop and look at my favorite Madonna. I gazed at her a long time without looking away. The coolness I had felt began to dissipate. "Whoever painted you must have felt a deep love for the lady of his dreams." I wonder if you were inspired by a real live woman. You look so real. Suddenly a glowing golden light encircled the painting. I was frozen, unable to move. I turned my head around. No one was near. "Come on, Sam," I stammered. "Where are you when I need you?" I tried to move my left leg but it was totally inert. "What is happening to me?" I cried out, hoping someone would hear. The golden light began encircling me as well. My head felt light-headed and I thought that I would faint. I remained still, helpless to the invisible force which was keeping me in place. Staring at the painting, I said in a joking tone, "If I've offended any of the paintings, which I don't think I have as I admire them all, I humbly apologize. This is pathetic," I said, frowning. "I'm talking to a ghost or ghosts I've not even seen yet. Maybe heard but not seen. And since when do ghosts hang out in paintings? Seems rather boring even for a ghost." After a few more moments of silence, I had the urge to take a few deep breaths and visualize myself being free from whatever force field this was. I thought of Luke Skywalker trying to harness the 'force' in his Jedi training. I willed the force field to drop and I could move about again.
"That was kind of spooky," I said out loud. I looked in front of me at the Madonna painting and instead of seeing the Madonna I beheld the image I saw earlier in my car. "It's you," I blurted out, jumping back. The image disappeared. I closed my eyes and still saw her image. This was very strange. She was smiling. Then she disappeared. I opened my eyes and she was not there. I advanced until I was standing inches from the painting. I lightly gripped it with both of my hands. "What would Sam say if he came in and saw me gripping this painting? Would he think I was trying to remove and steal it? This is my own projecting. I'm the one who wonders what I'm doing here and with good reason.
I heard a mental whisper in my mind. My thoughts were racing so madly I could barely make out the voice. "Maybe I'm starting to hear voices in my head and am losing it? What is happening to me?" I said, looking upward, rubbing my sweaty forehead. I removed my hands from the painting and took out my handkerchief to wipe the sweat off my face. The painting looked okay except for a tiny glow I thought I saw in the eyes which resembled the golden glow which had earlier encircled it. I was tempted to run out of the room, grab my backpack, head out the door and never come back to the museum. But I knew I could not. Something was going on here and it was not my imagination. I was not sleeping and I was not dreaming. What was up? I had to find out.
How could I explain anything like this to Matthew, Sam or Karen? Not that I wanted to explain anything to anyone. Part of me just wanted to get away but another part of me wanted to stay. My curiosity was so aroused I knew that I had to see this through. I put my handkerchief back in my pocket and slowly moved closer to the painting. Just chill out. Just because you have no explanation for this unusual experience event doesn't mean that one does not exist. I just have to hang around long enough to solve the mystery.
I had the urge to place my hands on the side of the painting again so I did so. What would Karen say? That I am becoming so desperate for female attention that I am resorting to wooing a painting. Would she be right? No, just because I'm 48 and don't date does not mean I am abnormal. I'm dedicated to my writing. There will be time for dating later.
I looked around again. Everything looked fuzzy. Maybe I've entered a trance or some non-drug induced altered state of consciousness, I wondered. I remembered a lady telling me once that things are not as they appear; that if people make the effort they can grasp reality in its more expanded essence. She said that there is more to everything but most people are not capable or spiritually or psychically opened up enough to perceive it. "Expanded essence," I whispered, looking at the painting. "So is it true that what we see is not what all there is to see?" I asked out loud, almost expecting an answer from the Madonna whose wry smile had always mystified and haunted me.
"Open your mind and heart and see," I heard in my mind. I wondered if this was coming from my subconscious or if some being could be communicating with me? And perhaps I would never know but my curiosity was highly aroused. I even managed to lighten up a bit and find humor in the strange situation. I looked back at the Madonna painting and said, "I suppose Karen would be jealous if she knew that I was talking to a phantom Madonna. I wondered what Sam would say if he walked in and saw me standing in front of the Madonna painting staring at it. Maybe nothing. He knows how much I love it. Then a small golden glow once again reflected from the painting's eyes.
I noticed that the glowing light disappeared when I became preoccupied with my thoughts or when I spoke. "It's getting late. It seems I've been standing here in front of this painting for at least an hour. There is more work to do before the shift ends, and I wanted to finish that new story. "Relax and chill," I told myself. "It's not everyday you have a Madonna painting communicating with you." I know that sounded crazy but something very extraordinary was happening and I had to see it through. What was happening to me I wondered. A beautiful woman who does not live on this dimension wakes me up this morning and tells me we have met before and that when she is done with me beauty will take on a new and more profound meaning. And now one of the madonna paintings is coming to life. I think I need a good stiff, and very strong I might add, drink. I knew I was procrastinating due to being anxious and nervous. I needed to do what the voice suggested and open my mind and heart. Whatever that entailed. I concentrated upon quieting my thoughts and being silent. The glowing light reappeared. I continued to keep quiet and entered a meditative frame of mind. The light slowly brightened and soon enfolded the painting. I stared, not knowing what to expect but was very excited nonetheless. Moments later the image of a beautiful woman appeared. It was the same woman I had seen early this morning and in the mirror of my car. "It is you, Dresda," I stammered. "You are back."
"Hello, Michael. It is I, Dresda."
"Did I really see you this morning and in the mirror of my car?"
"You most certainly did."
"This is a little hard to swallow and take in, Dresda."
"I know and I have infinite patience. What you need to know is that you have been reaching out to me on other planes and dimensions. There is much more to your wonderful being and essence than your conscious everyday mundane realm and what you are consciously aware of. There is so much more to your life experiences than your human mortal self can begin to imagine. The truth is that you exist on many realms and dimensions at any given point in time and in actuality time does not even exist. Neither does space. That is why I can pass through time and space and pay you a visit. You and I are of the same soul family. We are companions and explorers on many realms and dimensions. Much of your soul is not even present in the ego identity that you know as Michael Dennis. Parts of your soul are active and busily engaged in activities and having wonderful adventures with many other beings on many worlds. You are going to start becoming more aware of them on a conscious level. If you were to have a minute glimpse of the full vastness of your soul, it would overwhelm you. I come to you as Dresda, the mistress of the heart and speak my motto: I am flame. I am fire. I set in motion the heart's desire because it is your heart's desire to know yourself more. And no, you were not dreaming, hallucinating or fabricating anything. I was speaking to you. In time you will become very adept at discerning the many voices that will be speaking and communicating with you telepathically which is far more efficient and effective than the spoken word I might add."
"I set in motion the heart's desire," I said softly, gripping the frame more firmly. "You are saying that you know my heart's desire?"
"Of course. Dresda knows the heart's desire of all artists and especially those in her soul family. One of the many roles I play is that of muse. I inspire much of your writing. I am also an Initiate, and Priestess of the occult arts as are you as well. Part of my job will be to remind you of what you already know."
"Are you the one who gave me the verse this morning?"
"Yes. The mistress of the heart speaks in many ways. She exists on many levels. I can inspire and implant ideas in your fertile creative mind which become poems, stories, and other writings. I can also maneuver energy on your third dimensional plane of existence. That noise you thought was a rat scurrying about was a little trick of mine to get your attention and bring you over to the Madonna corner. Michael, I wear many faces and speak through different voices. I can appear and speak to you in the dream state, the non-dreaming state and all stages in between.
"I can and have also visited you in many time frames and life times on many planes and dimensions beyond this earth." Then she softened her voice. "And, even far beyond this earth on other planets, solar systems, galaxies and universes. Some of those lifetimes have been on what you call 'parallel' worlds and universes and I might add that not all of those lifetimes were as a human. The soul willingly volunteers to experience a myriad combination of lifetime experiences so that it can work its way back to source, creator or the godhead or God as some call the source. It might surprise you, Michael, but on the evolutionary cycle back to source, you have lives in the mineral, plant, and even animal kingdom as well in various shapes and forms in other worldly bodies."
"Really? For some reason I am not surprised. Many years ago a young man hypnotized me. At one point he asked me was there ever a point in time where I descended my consciousness to such a dense level that I had no awareness of my being. That sure sounded like a strange question. I never totally lose awareness when I am put under like some people do. Part of me is always aware of what is being said, or at least parts. In response to Steve, just as if I was telling someone what time it was, I said, "Not even when I was a rustling reed floating on the water did I ever fully lose awareness of my soul." That answered surprised and haunted me for a long time.
"I have since become exposed to some of these concepts in my metaphysical studies and readings so they no longer seemed so far-fetched. In the Convoluted Universe Book III by Hypnotherapist and Past Life Regressionist, Dolores Cannon, explores this very concept via hypnotic regressions where clients, when under, said they had experienced life times, as minerals, plants, animals and other worldly beings. "So, I'm not crazy," I blurted out loud. "I'm not crazy." In that same hypnosis session I said that I had been a cat, and I could actually feel what it felt like to be a wild free feline. I even moved my arms and body in cat like gestures which my hypnotist found interesting as he put it."
"There is another lifetime you have had as an animal that was crucial in your soul evolution. We will save this story for near the end of the book. Save the best for last kind of thing to insert some humor. I think that children would be more receptive to it and why wouldn't they? Children are usually much more receptive to spiritual truths and teachings than adults. Truth resonates to them on a soul level."
"I also find it fascinating how children like to pretend they are different animals and even school and college and professional ball teams have animal mascots and team names. It's like on a soul level they know we are far more connected to the animals than we might think."
"Yes, and on an even deeper level they know they have been animals before and the deep memories lead to the creation of rituals, myths, and stories to give expression to their soul memories."
"I recall in my last book Morning Coffee With God. The character, Mr. Divine said in the chapter "Fantasy possesses elements of truth" that what we call fantasy is far more factual and truthful than most of us imagine. To call fantasy fiction is a fallacy."
"There is a lot in that chapter about fantasy possessing elements of truth and I hope that your readers will check it out. You always had a hard time writing so-called fantasy stories because you knew on some level that they were not fantasy, but you didn't think anybody would believe you. You were also intrigued that there were metaphysical spiritual teachings in the stories and you didn't see how people would get or be able to absorb and accept those spiritual teachings in a fantasy story. Fantasy and science fiction are considered to be created for entertainment purposes. I am not saying that the imagination can and does not come into play with some so-called fiction writing. Some of this does happen. Creative writers can also tap the subconscious mind and tune into past life or even future or parallel experiences and come up with modern settings and characters. But the basic plot of many such stories are actual soul experiences they had. In your case your otherworldly stories were actual soul memories as well as current experiences that you are having with the various beings from various planes and dimensions.
"There is far more going on than most realize. You finally stopped writing your stories altogether because you were so frustrated that most people would consider them fantasy stories. I am glad that you have included them in this revised version of Halfway To Heaven. They are where they need to be. They remind you that you are never alone and that even when you feel alone, part of you knows that you are not. And you don't have to stay depressed in the pit as you call it. Your subconscious and higher self and soul have many stories to remind you how truly loved and how many friends you have on so many dimensions. So does everyone else and this is partly why you are sharing and including those stories throughout this book. There are countless worlds and dimensions and universes to explore. You have done so in many past, future and even parallel incarnations and as you say there is always more to come."
"This is so fascinating. When I close my eyes and drift away sometimes I feel like I am going to a different place. I see things, cities, buildings and people. Some of the people do not look like humans as we know them. At first I thought I just imagined them, but as I had more experiences something told me I was not imagining them."
"No you were not and to quote a beloved master teacher on your world, Jesus, "in my father's house are many mansions. You are stretching your psychic and spiritual soul muscles so to speak. Your soul is expanding which is allowing you to experience more of your total complete essence. We made our initial contact in dream time but now you are becoming so much better at shifting and stretching your perceptions that I am now able to meet you on your third-dimensional world in the day time."
"Could you be considered a ghost or a discarnate spirit?"
"Although your friends would not see me if they were here, I am far from being a ghost or a discarnate spirit. And just because they would not see me does not mean I am not there. Of that you can rest assured. You are looking at and having a conversation with me. This is a totally real and hopefully enjoyable and valuable experience for you."
"I am enjoying it very much, Dresda. Thank you."
"Such encounters with friendly other worldly beings will become more common to you. And to others as well I might add because your planet is undergoing a shift of energy. It is being raised to a higher level of vibration and consciousness. You are a part of all that is, all that has been and all to be born as you wrote in a poem. 'All that is' is seeking to know and experience more of itself in its many expressions and life forms. In a sense parts of you are coming to visit, teach, share, and learn from you. This is what is going on. And there are endless possibilities and beings that make up 'all that is' of which you are a part as is everyone else."
"Well at least I won't have to feel so alone."
"No you won't and you will also become quite a help to people whose dreams are, how shall I say, as intriguing and interesting as some of your own. Many guides and beings attempt to make contact in dream time and often do so. People can learn to train their mind to recall these dream visits and encounters. With practice the psyche becomes more agile and flexible and the soul and psychic abilities begin to blossom. This will allow them to meet with their guides and other worldly visitors in the day time when they are not dreaming.
"This does not mean that you need to resort to these visits and experiments as a means to avoid working on yourself and seeking more understanding to help your struggle with depression and the deep loneliness you often feel. You have written some fine poems to express that loneliness and I want you to explore your human side and how you have struggled and dealt with your loneliness over the years. This is all part of your healing and will be helpful to others as well. From your years of study and background in Psychology, your time in therapy and your work on yourself you have a lot of important and useful knowledge and information to offer. From your personal history and story you have a lot of heartfelt emotional experiences to share which will be of use and helpful to others.
"Well, Michael, I am so thrilled we have made this contact. There shall be many more. For now I must take my leave for other duties are calling to me as you would say."
"Will I see you again?" She smiled and nodded then her image faded and she disappeared. I stared at the painting for a long time. I wondered if this had all been a dream but I knew in my heart of hearts that it was not! I just didn't know if I could convince anyone else of that, and to be honest for a long time I had no desire to make such an attempt.
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