Death and Dying

butterflyDeath, like a butterfly, comes on wings of beauty. It is a ray of light that carries you to glory. But dying…dying is a vulture that devours the body. It swoops in like a raptor, ripping you from your life. — Tricia A. Sullivan

That’s a poetic way of saying that death is not ugly or harsh. Death is quiet and full of beauty. It is the dying that can be harsh.

Dying is different than death. Dying is the affliction that causes the physical body to shut down and die. Death is the transitioning of the soul from physical life to afterlife.

You might be dying of cancer, which is painful; yet, your death, when it occurs, can be filled with joy or loneliness—whichever you choose. You can die from any number of afflictions—illness, trauma, poison, murder, accident, old age, or even nature’s tantrums. But your death can be calm, tumultuous, lonely, joyous, frightening, sad, filled with regret or hope, or any way you choose. Both death and dying are chosen by you (at least, most of the time). There are some exceptions, and an imbalance of energies (aka, karma) is usually involved; but, overall, we each choose the manner in which we die and the way in which we experience death.

It seems like such a fine distinction—between dying and death—but it is a distinction that can affect the entire experience. For instance, perhaps you wanted to experience being murdered (yeah, I know, who would choose that? Believe it or not, most of us do choose it in at least one life). So, the cause of death (the dying) is supposed to be a quick gunshot to the head; while, the death itself (the transition from life to afterlife) is supposed to be filled with joy for having taken the bullet to save someone else. However, the person who agrees to be your murderer makes the killing more painful than it needs to be; perhaps, wounding you several times before killing you. So, now your death also has fear, pain, and maybe even regret for having acted bravely instead of the joy you originally planned.

The way you die can color the whole death experience, changing it, twisting it, or (sometimes) making it even better than you planned. For instance, you may have opted to take an overdose of pills because you believed that no one cared about you. Therefore, you planned on a death filled with the same type of loneliness and depression that you had faced in life. However, the person who finds you, holds you and cries for you as you’re dying, and you realize that someone cared. This may make your death (your transition to the afterlife) more joyful and less traumatic because now you know that someone really cared about you.

Dying and death are usually planned as a unit, which enables each person to create a full experience for themself. However, plans can change, needs can vary, and other people’s choices can interfere. That means you may need to re-evaluate your original plan and try something else. And, while death escorts can step in and help, most souls prefer to just accept the experience as is (changes and all). After all, that’s what life (which includes dying and death) is all about…experiences, with all the unpredictability and fickleness that goes with them.

So, the next time you speak of dying and death, remember that they are two distinct steps in the overall experience we call life.

 

A Pleasant Place to Visit

farleighfieldIn Farleigh Field by Rhys Bowen

Summary:   Farleigh Place, the ancestral home of Lord Westerham and his five daughters, now also houses a division of British soldiers, changing the way they have to live. When a soldier with a failed parachute falls to his death on the estate, questions are raised and suspicions are aroused. The soldier’s uniform and possessions aren’t what they should be and MI5 operative and family friend, Ben Cresswell, is covertly tasked with determining if the soldier was a German spy. The assignment also offers Ben the chance to be near Lord Westerham’s middle daughter, Pamela, whom he furtively loves. But Pamela has her own secret: she has taken a job at Bletchley Park, the British code-breaking facility.

As Ben follows a trail of spies and traitors, which may include another member of Pamela’s family, he discovers that someone near to him has an appalling, history-altering agenda. Can he and Pamela stop them before England falls?

Recommendation: Yes

Review: For me, this was an interesting glimpse into World War II from the British perspective. While it’s focus was primarily on the upper-crust, it also included a number of everyday citizens, since the setting was mainly the estate of Farleigh Field and the nearby village and neighboring estates.

The writing evoked Britain in each word and action; yet, as an American, I had no difficulty understanding and empathizing with the characters and their plight. It was an engaging story with well-developed characters. The author has an easy voice to listen to and a warm, welcoming writing style.

Although, the story read more like a mystery novel rather than an action/adventure spy novel, I was fine with that. It was moderately paced, with enough clues and romance sprinkled throughout to keep me intrigued and satisfied.

There were no major twists or surprises, but there were some interesting insights into history that I had never considered or known before. For example, when reading about the intense darkness that several of his characters encountered when trying to walk to their home at night, I wondered why they just didn’t use a flashlight. The author, evidently anticipating such questions, explained that using any type of light was banned, because it could be used by German bombers as a target. However, some of the characters did use flashlights with black filters or clothes over the lenses. It was these types of details that truly brought life to the story.

The only downside to this book was that I wanted a second one. Several of the secondary characters had story lines that could (to my mind) be broken out and turned into books, and I would welcome the chance to read them.

So, if you’re looking for a pleasant, well-written, historical mystery to read, this is a good choice.

 

My Haunted Childhood

Fhost1_1440x900

My childhood home was haunted…or at least we all thought so.

When I was about twelve or so, my family and I became convinced that our house was haunted. We had been living there for at least seven years with no ghostly manifestations, but right around my twelfth birthday everything began to change. Books jumped off shelves when no one was near them. Doors slammed even though there was no wind. Papers blew off desks and tables although the windows were all closed, and footsteps were heard climbing the stairs to the second floor, but when we looked, no one was on the steps. Radios and TVs became filled with static and snow, and electric or battery-powered clocks and watches either slowed or stopped (and sometimes, even went backwards).

It was my father who began noticing that these events most often occurred when I was around—especially the interference with the radios and TVs and the problems with time and clocks. But it was my mom who put it together. Maturing child + playful ghost = poltergeist. What else could it be? Since she was the one who had read all the books, we took her word for it; after all, she was the only “expert” we had. Therefore, what we had was a poltergeist, not a garden-variety ghost or goblin.

So, every few nights this poltergeist would thump its way up the stairs, stopping when it got to the second floor hallway. While every day my mother put up with being unable to listen to the radio in the mornings, and I would pick up the books and papers that ended up strewn about the various rooms. After a while it became so common place and routine that we no longer gave much thought to it when objects were moved or misplaced, when we heard strange noises, or when electrical appliances didn’t always function properly. It was just the way things were in our house. That is until the day the new neighbors came to visit.

My mother was a stickler for presenting the proper face to the world, and that included inviting new neighbors over for a friendly “get-to-know-you” chat. So, here it was a beautiful Sunday spring afternoon, and instead of playing outside or sitting in my reading tree with a book (one of my favorite pastimes) I was stuck inside trying to be nice to the new neighbor’s boring son. Listening to the stilted conversation of the adults, I could tell that even my father found these new neighbors stiff and pretentious. I watched him as his eyes glazed over as the pompous man droned on and on about his important job, and his expensive car, and his notable connections. My father was never impressed by that type of thing. Although my mother was (impressed by just those types of things), I could see that even she was having a tough time warming up to these people.

Suddenly, the piano, which was also in the front room, jangled discordantly. As startled gazes sped to the simple upright piano that held down the front corner of the room, tea cups rattled as guests hurriedly placed their services on the nearest table. My dad gave the guests a quiet, crooked smile, while my mother nervously made suggestions about the wind possibly causing the noise or the cat (we didn’t have) possibly walking across the keyboard. Although the neighbors nodded, they seemed unconvinced, and suddenly had another engagement that they needed to get to.

As the guests hurried to leave, I studied the piano and for the first time an inkling of understanding began to seep in. The poltergeist had never touched the piano before, but about the time that it had jangled to life, I had been wishing that the people would leave so I could at least practice my music. Wondering if what I was suspecting was true, I scrunched up my face and stared at the piano until my eyes watered. The closing of the front door, as the guests scurried away, broke my concentration. I turned away to see my dad put an arm around my mom and reassure her that it was okay, and that our reputation in the neighborhood would be fine.

I glanced again at the piano, wondering if mom would mind if I did my practicing and that’s when the piano plunked out half a chord. My mom jumped a little, then sighed. As she began picking up the cups and dishes, she suggested that maybe if I practiced a little that the poltergeist might quiet down again.

Needing no further encouragement, I scooted over to the bench and slid in front of the keyboard. As I started running scales, I let my mind wander. Understanding as to what a poltergeist really was began to come together for me like some weird jigsaw puzzle. A poltergeist wasn’t some phantasm, like a ghost or ghoul, that was linked to me and so using my energy to haunt the house. A poltergeist was the result of my unfocused emotional energy. I had “powers” (that’s how I thought of it…as if I was some sort of super hero), and I wasn’t controlling them.

Although, it seemed that these occurrences were random or happening due to some outside influences, they were really just responding to my own emotional needs and “outbursts”. Unable to express myself in any other way (such as when those neighbors were visiting), my emotions expressed themselves through my abilities. Even the thumping on the steps was my own emotionalism letting go. I’ve always had very vivid dreams and during that period of my life, parts of the dreams actually “came to life”, that’s all.

Now that I’ve grown up (although, sometimes I feel more childlike than ever), I look back and see how easily those odd events during those few years could be misunderstood. But as much fun as it was to think that our house was haunted, the only ghost was me.

 

“War and Peace” is a Better Choice

GirlWithNoNameThe Girl with No Name by Diney Costeloe

Summary:   Thirteen-year-old Lisa has escaped from Nazi Germany on the Kindertransport. She arrives in London unable to speak a word of English, her few belongings crammed into a small suitcase. Among them is one precious photograph of the family she has left behind.

Lonely and homesick, Lisa is adopted by a childless couple. But when the Blitz blows her new home apart, she wakes up in hospital with no memory of who she is or where she came from. The authorities give her a new name and dispatch her to a children’s home.

With the war raging around her, what will become of Lisa now?

Recommendation: No

Review: I love history and I adore reading good, well-written stories about history; however, this book was neither good, nor well-written. While at the online bookstore, I read the prologue and was fooled into thinking the whole book would be as well done. It wasn’t. Not only were the characters one-dimensional and poorly developed, the author couldn’t even maintain a character’s point of view for longer than a minute. It changed at random moments; sometimes mid-paragraph, and, several times, even mid-sentence.

While the premise was promising, the writing failed to fulfill that promise. I tried to push myself to keep reading, but it was difficult when there was no connection to the characters, and, thereby, no connection to the story.

I finally gave up at page 50. That the author actually wrote another 430 pages astounds me. But what astounds me more, is that people actually persevered and read the entire thing. I say, save your time and effort for something much more pleasurable…”War and Peace” would be an easier read.

Synchronicity (yes! again)

I’m always looking for ways in which science and spirituality intertwine, and evidently this book helps illustrate one of those entanglements.

ellisnelson

Super Synchronicity: Where Science and Spirit Meet by Gary E. Schwartz

synch2

As soon as this book came out, I knew I had to read it and I’m glad I did. I’ve written about synchronicities before and they are sometimes very active in my life, and at other times- not so much. But always, there is this curiosity. After years of shaking my head (wondering if I was crazy), all the time my close family members laughing and rolling with it far easier than I did, I’ve come to accept them. I value the experiences, I laugh with the Universe (and the Universe has a glorious sense of humor), and I miss those coincidences when they lapse (do they lapse, or am I not observant enough?).

Along comes Harvard educated scientist Gary E. Schwartz, author and professor at the University of Arizona and the Director of its Laboratory for Advances in…

View original post 392 more words

Transitioning, again

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I’ve been tran’zing again lately, and not easy ones, either. These transitions have been quite stressful. So stressful in fact, that I’ve been waking up almost more tired than when I went to bed. Usually, I look forward to sleeping and dreaming. Primarily because my dreams normally help me solve some problem or answer some question from my day-to-day life.

I’m sure most of us can think of at least one dream that has helped us resolve some issue or some question. I’m speaking of the types of problems or questions that prey on the mind, that keep you tossing and turning until suddenly you wake up one morning just knowing exactly what you need and want to do. You may not remember the dream details that prompted your decision (and some people will claim that never dream at all), but sometime during the night you gained the insight you needed to make the best choice for you at this particular time and place in your life.

However, the “dreams” I’ve been having lately are tran’zing dreams. (Tran’zing is what I call the traveling I do between planes—the physical plane and the astral planes; primarily the transitional plane, the astral plane closest to the physical.) Tran’zing dreams aren’t really dreams, though they do occur at night while my body is sleeping. But these are actually memories – little snippets of memory from places I’ve been and things I’ve done or said while my body slept.

Tran’zing is actually a type of out-of-body experience. The energy that is you (sometimes called essence, sometimes called a soul), travels at night. But even though it leaves the physical form and goes off on its own ‘adventures’, it still remains connected to the physical body. Because of this connection, the physical mind receives input as to what the soul is doing, seeing, and saying. However, not everyone is willing to accept this input. Some will block it completely (the same way they block all dreams). Some filter it so that it becomes very dreamlike and unreal (the information their mind receives is so far outside their frame of reference, that they eliminate those parts that they can’t accept). And others (like me) remember enough to know what we’ve been up to each night.

For many people, though, playing on the transitional plane is too frightening and so they adjust the information to something acceptable. This is fine; it’s the way everyone adapts and grows. As each person grows, life after life, they will filter this information less and less, until, like me, they barely filter it all.

What does that mean? It means that most of what I do when tran’zing is often remembered by me once I awaken. It also means that any problems I encounter, any stresses that I put on myself when out of body, are felt by my body even though it is sleeping. So, while I’m home asleep, I’m also off gallivanting around, which means I sometimes wake up unrested.

When I’m tran’zing, I’m helping other people cross between planes. Some of these people are dying, so I escort them from the physical plane and their dead or dying bodies to the astral planes where they can decide what it is they want to do next. Sometimes, I escort a soul from the astral planes to the physical. It might be they have a new body waiting for them, or it can also be that they have wandered where they don’t belong. (It’s not unusual to encounter ‘accidental travelers’ — people who have through the use of drugs, fever, or other non-intentional means — have ended up in the transitional section of the astral plane.)

Other times, I transition myself or others to the astral planes where we work on emotional lessons that we can’t do while in the physical world. It might be that someone chose to resolve an issue through violence, but they now realize how foolish that was. So, with my help they cross to the astral levels and we recreate the situation and they try to find other resolutions. This can take one night, or many, but each time I bring them across, I create the situation, I supply the participants, and we play out the scene until they feel they understand the full consequences and ramifications of every choice and every possible resolution.

All of these come through to me while my body is resting, and these super-emotionally charged activities drain me, so when I awaken in the mornings I feel as if I’ve had no sleep. But despite the stress, despite the tiredness that comes from all these midnight wanderings, I relish the opportunities to help all of these people. I relish the opportunity to transition ‘home’ and visit with my astral family.

In fact, as crazy as it sounds, I look forward to the day when I can transition and stay there. Then I can help people all the time, and not just during my sleep periods.

 

 

Shared Death Experiences

psychopomp-3d-dls-8pxls-2A friend (Thank you, Ellis) shared an article with me about shared death experiences. These are events in which people are contacted by someone they know (friend, relative, business partner, etc.) at the friend’s or loved one’s moment of death.

The article gives several anecdotal examples of this phenomena interspersed with opinions from different ‘experts’ expressing both pros and cons as to the authenticity of such experiences. The article is (to me, anyway) extremely fascinating and reaffirming.

You see, I’ve been on both sides these types of experiences. As a psychopomp, I’ve been the one who has helped the dead visit their still living friends and family in order to say a last goodbye. And, I’ve been the one who was visited. In fact, as an adult, I’ve had a number of people visit me as they die. But three of them stand out.

One of the most outstanding of the three visits was the Halloween night my mother-in-law came to call.

My mother-in-law was one of the most caring and accepting people, and my spouse and I loved visiting with her. When she became ill, the whole family gathered at the hospital dreading the worst, but hoping for the best. After several days, she seemed to be getting better, and Dale and I headed back home to get some rest, change clothes, and check in with our pets before returning. We were at home for only a few hours, when the dog began acting oddly. He was lying by our feet as we sat at the kitchen table, but he kept raising his head to stare at the foyer. He’d put is head down; then a few moments later, he’d stare at the foyer. This went on for a minute or two, and after peering at the door and seeing nothing, I finally got up and went into the foyer.

I immediately felt chilled, and being late fall, I presumed the door was open. I pushed at the door, but it was firmly closed. I shrugged and was about to return to the kitchen, when I saw her. My mother-in-law stood on the other side of the foyer from me. She smiled and opened her arms as if to hug me. I took a step closer to her, while trying to find enough voice to call my spouse to come. The dog stood staring at the apparition, his head cocked to one side. When my husband joined me, his mother mouthed, “I love you,” and then she was gone.

Soon afterward, the phone rang and we knew it was the hospital calling to tell us that my spouse’s mom had died.

That experience opened my eyes, my mind, and my soul to the recognition that life is more than just what we see in front of us.

The other two visits that I find extremely memorable were from a dear friend and my sister-in-law. Both of these visits came during points in my life when I needed encouragement and support. While both of these visits provided that, they also gave me comfort, peace, and the determination to continue my goal, which was to publish the story of my near-death experience.

My friend was one of the few people who knew of my near-death experience. She was one of the few people who also knew of the other paranormal experiences I had had through the years. We had a shared love of paranormal, philosophy, and science, so always spent hours in long, thought-provoking discussions. When she was diagnosed with cancer, our discussions took on more somber tones. I shared with her all my beliefs of a continued existence based on everything I had experienced and read, and she clung to that like a drowning victim clings to a life ring.

When she called and said the cancer was in remission, we both celebrated. Our lives went on, our heartfelt discussions continued, and everything was as it should be.

Months after her remission diagnosis, I was surprised to look up from my computer to find her standing in the doorway to my sunroom. I had been staring at my computer screen debating the wisdom of writing about my NDE. I hadn’t heard the door bell, nor had I heard her come in. Yet, there she was, all smiles and as radiant as a new bride. Her brown eyes were shining and happy, and she said, “Do it, Trish. Write about it; all of it. ‘Cuz you were right. It is beautiful over here.”

I was so dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to say. Then she said, “Tell my sister, I’m sorry.” I nodded, and she whispered, “I love you, friend.” Then she held up her hand, palm toward me, and a moment later she disappeared.

My experience with my sister-in-law was similar, except all the more shocking because I didn’t know she was ill. She had injured herself in a fall, so was in the hospital. I had completed my story regarding my NDE, but was having second thoughts about actually publishing it. I had just turned off the computer and was turning to leave my home office, when I felt a chill. A moment later my sister-in-law shimmered into view. (And yes, it was a definite shimmer. Very much like a heat curtain that sometimes appears above a very hot road.). She didn’t so much speak to me, as she smiled, and then nodded. A sort of peace fell over me and I just knew that publishing the book was the right thing to do. As that thought flowed through me, her smile grew bigger, and she mouthed the word, “Yes.” She, then disappeared.goingtolight

So, can we and do we share our deaths with others? I certainly believe so. Is there a continuation of life after we die? I certainly believe that, too.

But what do you believe? And why? Have you ever had the chance to say goodbye to someone when they’ve died? Have you  somehow just known the moment a friend or loved one has died?

What are your experiences?