Soul Watcher

In that moment of disconnecting from the body, the clarity returned. We could be with each other, equally sharing the Knowing. Memorizing it to carry forward.

We designed the fulfillment of the our goal through many lifetimes to gain enlightenment, not just for ourselves but also others whether they remembered or not. And soon it would be time for us to join again, permanently, if we could just get you to come through this next time in connection with your remembering.

Then all to soon it was time for you to sleep.

So quickly the knowing gets murky. But, of course that is the way it is. We take our chances when the will is stronger than the seeker within. The will blocks direct communication. It has to make the choice to open to the seeker. I could only let you sleep and return to my Light studies until you were ready.

I remember when first we met this time around. You in the mist, curled like a little seedling, dreaming of this world, then letting it lift you until it fell away. Yes, even then a part of you was ready to leave. You began floating along in the warmth of the darkness.

I wanted to tell you then, how things would be, but I knew you would have to find out for yourself.

It was my job to protect you and guide you. And you were in no state to be approached with the Knowledge. I wished I could tell you. But you had to re-discover it for yourself.

Most every one has an idea that includes the sense of the protector, the messenger, the guardian angel. So many times you saw masculinity as divine. It was natural that was what you expect me to fulfill.

I was just your soul watcher as you had been mine. I took the form you needed... we needed... to join as one in the end.

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Note: Digital art by Elizabeth Munroz

If You Could See Me Now

Perhaps there is nothing supernatural about death.
Perhaps there is.

Some believe that when it is over, it is over. The body dies, there is nobody home.

Some believe that the soul or spirit of a person leaves the body and moves on to another place. Heaven, or the next life, or some ghostly realm or into the ether as molecules, or ???

Obviously, we don't have all the answers. For me, it comes down to personal choice of what I want to believe, regardless of what someone else tells me that I should believe based on their interpretations.

Found a website some time ago where a woman wrote a letter or poem to her sister. It is a Christian oriented site and it is beautifully done. The song accompanying it is, "If You Could See Me Now" by Kim Noblett, and the lyrics are the first part of the web page. The second part has a letter written to the caregiver of the woman who died (I think).

I like the part that says:

"Speak often to me, for I am just a whisper away and I will hear and answer you."

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Dedicated to three beloved people who passed away last month, and their bereaved families.

On the Book Shelf

If I were a book, I'd be sitting pretty on the bookstore shelf. As people walked by, I'd wish they would stop long enough to get a glimpse of me. Out of all the other books competing for attention, once they see my intriguing title, they'll pull me off the shelf and judge me by my cover. It's a  fine cover, dazzling the eye and enchanting the mind. As they flip through my pages, I would feel all warm and fluttery. Take me! Buy me!

I would gasp in delight if I were taken home and placed in a prominent location. Yes, over there. Right on top of that stack of books by the bed. I'll be waiting in anticipation to be read.

If I were a book, I wouldn't want to be too heavy. I'd like to be lightweight. I'd be like one of those books the reader can't put down and continues reading while walking from bedroom to kitchen in the morning. I'd get to smell coffee while being propped up against the toaster with a sunbeam enhancing my font.

As a book, if I am a good one, a fast read, one of those books you can't put down, and read all night fighting off sleep, if I am one of those books, then, my life will be over soon, unless I am passed on to another delighted reader. Oh, how wonderful to be held in someone's hands, to have the reader's full attention, to make them laugh, to make them cry, think and ponder, just because I exist!

When the very last page is read and my cover is closed once and for all, I know the excitement of my life will be finished. I suspect I will end up on the third shelf on the right side, next to "The Life of Cleopatra". She might snub her nose at me. But, on the other side "The Zen of Nothingness" might be interesting if I can find the Roshi. I think, without an engaged reader, I would simply fall asleep from boredom, collect dust, perhaps go into a trance never to awaken, and pass into the beyond where all good books go.

I'd like to believe that books reincarnate. When I'm asleep on the shelf never to be touched again, I'd like to imagine I've been published and entered a book store once again, all shiny, with another great title, enticing cover, and pages inviting an eager reader to pick me up and take me home. Perhaps this time around I'll a fascinating historical novel.