Made in Heaven

Have you ever read a book or seen a movie that haunts your memory even years afterward?

I have. 15 or 20 years ago, I saw a film on TV that somehow stuck with me. Although I couldn’t remember much about this film, it has somehow burrowed into my memory and refused to let go. Periodically, I would remember a scene from it—not clearly, just in a vague sort of way; just enough to make me wonder where the memory came from and why. I could go for years without thinking of this film, and then—pow! That niggling piece of memory would creep in and set me wondering again.

Finally, now some 20 years later, I decided to track down this film and find out why my memory has been clinging to it for so long. Why it has been teasing me with vague recollections of it for so long. So, with my husband’s help, we located a Q&A site online and I typed in as much as I could remember about the film. It wasn’t much—I had no idea who the actors were, when it was made or shown, or what the title was. All I had was a very vague idea of what the plot was. So, I typed that in and asked if anyone recognized it and, if so, to let me know what the name of the film was or who the actors were.

It didn’t take long for people to start giving their opinions and ideas as to what movie I was looking for. While the majority of them weren’t even close (giving me film names such as Bewitched or City of Angels) one answer clicked with me. They said the title of the film was Made in Heaven and that it starred Timothy Hutton and Kelly McGillis.

My husband and I looked the film up in IMDB and the synopsis was close enough to what I remembered that we began looking for a copy that we could rent to see if it truly was the film I remembered. The problem was, the film hadn’t been very popular, so most places no longer had a copy of it. Now I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get a chance to view this film again and find out why it had lingered in my mind for so long.

We found a couple of places that had the film available for sale on VHS tape–it had evidently never been popular enough to get transferred to DVD–but I didn’t really want to buy it, because I still wasn’t 100% sure that this was even the right film yet. As I debated as to whether to buy a copy or just give up on figuring out why this film had been bugging me over the years, we made a run to the local library. Just for the heck of it, I decided to check their Video/DVD section while we were there.

Lo and behold there it was in all its VHS glory. With a swipe of the library card, we now had a copy of the film. Now we could find out once and for all if this truly was the film that had been haunting my memory. So, last night, popcorn in hand, we plugged in the movie and sat back to watch.

Right off we could tell that it wasn’t going to be a great movie. The cinematography was poor, the editing made the film choppy, and the acting was mediocre at best. However, I recognized that this was the movie I had had flashes of for 20 years, and I was determined to find out why (despite the film-student-quality of the movie) why it stuck in my head.

20 minutes into the film, I found my answer. Amidst the dross, here was some Truth. Evidently, the script/story writer had actually spent some time on the transitional and astral planes. Although, the movie referred to it as “heaven”, it was definitely the same places I had traveled to, and the same places that most of us refer to as the astral and transitional planes. The movie had guides (in fact, Kelly McGillis was a guide), and the inhabitants of “heaven” spoke of “…thinking about where you want to go, and going there…” (on the transitional plane, if you think about where you want to be, the reality of it is created around you. You don’t actually “travel” anywhere, as much as the reality just comes to exist.). There also had some very good representations of the areas of learning that exist on the astral planes, as well as the areas of ideas, and areas of creativity.

Having spent so much of this lifetime moving between the physical plane and the transitional and astral planes, I had recognized the Truth of these scenes the first time I saw the movie, and so the memory of the movie had continued to plague me until I watched it again. Now, watching it again, I saw the Truth in these scenes and was even more struck by how accurate they were.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a movie if it didn’t go off with ideas and concepts that were strictly physical plane and try to overlay them onto their concept of heaven (concepts such as marriage, sex, child birth, homes, families, jobs, etc.) Those are all concepts that don’t apply once you leave the physical world, but this was a movie, after all, so I let it slide. I figured, that perhaps the main character was creating these situations and things because he missed the physical plane (after all, it is a movie;-)

As I said, it will never be a great movie, but seeing how much Truth was buried inside that film made it worthwhile for me. And it’s not a baaad film, but if you’re watching it for the love story or the acting, I’ve definitely seen better. However, if you’re watching it because you want to know what’s next, then Made in Heaven has some beautiful pearls hidden inside of it for you.

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So, what is your life’s goal?

If there was one goal in my life, it was to teach. As a child I wanted to be Laura Ingalls of Little House on the Prairie, working in a small, one-room schoolhouse. However, by the time I was ten, I realized that what I wanted to teach wasn’t the basics of reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic. 

Between the ages of 10 and 14, I really wanted to help others develop their psi talents. But how do you go about something like that? As a 10-year old I was completely baffled by that question, after all, I had never heard of a school where you could study the skills of reading auras, hearing others’ thoughts, or remote viewing.

Oh, I’d heard of the paranormal programs at the colleges like the one in Raleigh-Durham, but they didn’t teach people how to use their paranormal or psychic abilities, they just studied people with abilities to try and figure out whether the abilities were real. I already knew psychic abilities were real, after all I had been using them my whole life.

By the time I reached my 20’s I knew that what the world called psychic talents weren’t what I needed to teach. After all the so-called psychic talents were nothing more than cording to someone and reading one or more of their auric layers. (Read Auras and ESP.) That was a common practice done by everyone – most just didn’t even realize that they were doing it.

No, what I really needed to teach was a way for them to gain the peace of their inner truths and wisdom. So many people had bits and pieces of the puzzle, but so few really knew how all those bits and pieces fit together. While I never considered myself an expert, by any means, I knew that I held some of the answers merely because I could “see” beyond the physical world that we all lived in.

At my various jobs I would feel myself drawn toward certain conversations that were going on during my break periods. It wasn’t that these conversations were particularly odd or different—they were rarely discussing anything paranormal—but somehow I knew that my little bits of knowledge, what I thought of as my inner wisdom, could help them with their everyday issues.

So, somehow I would find the courage to jump in and offer my bits of wisdom regarding life after death, angels, or even why someone continued to go out with the same type of creep all the time.

Now, you have to understand, that I’m a very reticent person, and I don’t interact with other people very easily. Therefore, for me to simply drop in on a conversation, especially one taking place between several people that I only knew in passing, was extremely unusual. Yet, the urge to “instruct”, to speak up, was so strong that it would encourage me to step beyond my normal reluctance and share my insights.

No special language was used. There were no discussions of baby souls versus mature souls, or how karmic imbalances might impact the life, because these people either wouldn’t understand or accept those terms. No, it was just using everyday language and real life examples to explain to them what I considered the common sense of living.

Occasionally, I would find a few people (2 or 3) who were more aware, and we could actually converse about things of a more esoteric nature. We would delve into the question of karma and alternate realities, or why some situations and people seemed familiar, and a thousand other topics of interest.

While that was more satisfying than the first type of discussions, it still wasn’t quite enough. No, I still felt that overwhelming need to teach, and what I was doing wasn’t enough.

I started working at a company that actually had access to several Internet newsgroups. (This was at the time when the Internet was comprised of newsgroups and posting boards—at the risk of dating myself—instead of the chat groups, web pages, or blogs of today).

During a break at work, I checked out some of the different newsgroups. For the most part, I didn’t stay long, because most of them just didn’t seem that interesting to me. However, the last one I logged into was the dreamer’s newsgroup. Suddenly, I felt at home. Here were people discussing their interpretations of different dreams, something I could do in my sleep (so to speak).

I began to spend most every lunch hour in this newsgroup usually answering questions and interpreting dreams. While others continued interpreting dreams, too, my explanations always seemed to be more accurate and I soon had quite a little following.

After about a year, one of the members of the little dream group asked about an entity named Michael. Although this had nothing to do with dreams, the response was huge. Nearly everyone had read the books by Yarbro (including me), and those that hadn’t, soon wanted to.

Now I finally had a group I could exchange my knowledge with and without having to couch the information in terms of everyday normalcy. I could talk about the differences between sages and warriors, without someone thinking I was talking about one of those role-playing games.

Finally, we started our own newsgroup, and I found that my noontime discussions were becoming almost more important than any work I was assigned. I would race to complete the work just to make sure that I had plenty of time with my group. We discussed every aspect of Michael’s philosophy and even introduced other teachings and information to the group—from Seth (by Jane Roberts) to Edgar Cayce, to Nostradamus, and a multitude of others.

As technology improved, a website evolved, and the readings and “conversations” continued. I had finally found my classroom—it existed in the virtual world of the Internet. My “students” wandered in and out of the classroom as they wanted, and it was fine, because I knew that whoever needed to find me, would.

I’m still teaching, and I’m still using the Internet as my “classroom”, but now I’m using a blog and email to share my insights and information. Also, my teachings have taken on a different tone—it’s the tone of review, but the review is as much for me as for my “students”, because as I share my information with others, I gain further insights. As I share myself with others, I feel myself blossoming and growing, too.

So welcome, …pull up a chair, and tell me what’s on your mind?

Did you hear that?

Sometimes the problems with being “in tune” with yourself and your universe is “knowing” too much about what’s coming.

I’ve been involved in several major (to me) auto accidents, and a number of ones that aren’t so memorable. However, they all had one thing in common for me—they way in which I knew they were coming.

For most people, car accidents are just that—accidents. For me, they’ve always been events that I’ve known were going to happen.

So why not avoid them, then, you ask? Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried enough times to realize that I couldn’t run from something that I had obviously helped to orchestrate.

For some reason, for some inexplicable reason, I set up a series of “lessons” involving vehicular collisions. I’ve finally come to terms with that aspect of this. What I don’t understand is why for months prior to the actual accident I have to “hear” it approaching.

It’s always the same, and it always leaves me unnerved—no matter how many times I go through it. Part of me will decide that an auto accident is needed, and the arrangements are made (evidently months in advance). I will then start having nightmares of car accidents. The screeching of brakes locking and tires skidding across pavement, followed by the rending and tearing of metal and the shattering of glass. Then comes the musical tinkling of glass and metal as the pieces bounce onto the tarmac.

Oh, it’s not every night—thank goodness—maybe only three or four nights a week. Then after about a month, the dreams stop. But now the “auditory hallucinations” start. I’ll begin “hearing” car crashes—while I’m sitting and reading, or brushing my teeth, or even watching TV. At first it’s so soft and so subtle that I rarely even notice. Then it starts to build, growing just slightly louder with each occurrence. By the end of the second month it’s grown to the point where the sound is all around me, and when it happens it blots out everything else.

By the end of the third month, there are ghostly images to go with the sounds. And by the start of the fourth month, everything has stopped. Completely and totally stopped. Then it’s such a relief to have the images and noises gone that I get lulled into feeling safe.

Thus, by the end of the fifth month, when you’re in your car and you are sliding across three lanes of traffic while wondering if this is the end of everything, you are completely surprised and unprepared for “The Accident”.

It sounds strange, yet so many times I would let the “warnings” slide. After all, whenever I tried to avoid the incident, it refused to be avoided, so why pay any attention to the “signals” coming through.

For example, several years ago, I needed a new car. My current car was making us crazy with its continuous balkiness. My job entailed a four-hour round trip drive and my car was constantly breaking down halfway there or halfway back. The towing fees alone, could have fed a small, third world country.

For months I had known I was coming up on another car accident—this one involving a small, blue car. Well, that was simple to avoid (I thought), I just wouldn’t buy a small blue car (my current one was a mid-size maroon car).

We finally decided on a make and model and the dealer said we could come get it the next day. However, when we showed up, the silver car we had thought we were getting had somehow become blue. With the maroon car currently not working and the cost estimate to fix it (yet once again) enough to buy a third world country, we found we had only two options—take the blue car or go without transportation for several months until another car could be brought over to the dealership for us.

Exasperated, yet desperate for transport, we took the blue car. However, in order to defeat the coming accident, my husband and I traded cars. He drove the little blue car and I drove his silver one. I was sure that this would circumvent the upcoming event.

Everything was going great. It had been two weeks since the last “manifestation” of the phantom accident, and, still driving my husband’s car, I thought that I had finally beaten the pattern. All day I was happy, feeling like the demons had finally been chased away. I got in my husband’s car and headed for home feeling better about driving than I had in a long time.

I was cruising down the interstate when seemingly out of nowhere, a small blue beemer cut me off. As it clipped my passenger side front fender, I found myself across the line and into the lane next to me. The huge pickup truck didn’t have time, or room, to swerve, and it charged into my car pushing me back into the path of another car who pushed me off the road, where the car flipped over before landing in the ditch.

Lying in the emergency room, I had to laugh at myself. I had done so much to beat the “premonition”, thinking that it was me in the small blue car. But that wasn’t it at all. Sure a small blue car was the key to the accident, but only because it was the one that started the domino effect.

So now when I start hearing the sounds of a car wreck sneaking up on me, growing louder and closer, I simply try to prepare for it, rather than trying to run from it. Now, I drive a bit slower (ahhh, but I like my speed), make sure my seatbelt is always on, and I say a lot of prayers.

What Shape is Your “House” In?

The physical body is the form we wear while here in the reality we call life. It is made by us, for us, and everything we do to it affects us—the entire being that we are. Having a body is like owning a house, and just like a house, if you don’t take care of it, it will fall apart on you. There’s no landlord to call, because you’re not renting. So, if the windows are broken (you need glasses) or the plumbing backs up (gastric distress), you need to do something about it.

It doesn’t matter if you paint the outside of your house (make up and/or clothes) or whether you keep the lawn trimmed (hair cuts). What matters is how well you maintain the house itself.

Many things can affect you and your body, some that you have no control over, or so it seems. After all, is it your fault that the air is full of smog and you can’t breathe properly? Perhaps not completely, but did you do anything to help decrease the smog? Or perhaps you feel that you have no control over the amount of noise you’re subjected to because you live in a big city. However, there are ways to avoid the noise—and moving into a suburb is only of those options.

Now, in some cases you may endure an injury that you truly didn’t have any way to avoid. While rare, accidents do occur, how you take care of yourself and allow yourself to heal plays an important part in how the overall you feels and recovers.

Your body is more than just a temporary shell—it is always a part of you, of the essence that is you. Because even when you die, the energy that you used to create the body you used, is merged back into you so that you can create another form for another life. So, how you feel about yourself and how you value yourself is reflected in how you treat yourself.

Now, my own body has taken some abuse, and many times I feel much older than I am because of the aches and pains. You see. I’ve been in quite a few car accidents and while some may have been avoided, none of them were. While some were chosen directly in an effort to learn a lesson or to set something in motion, others were simply the result of my chief feature—impatience. By allowing impatience to lead, I made some foolish choices, and the results culminated in either auto versus auto, or auto versus bicycle. Either way, my body has taken a lot of physical stress and abuse due to these “accidents”, so now, each time I overextend myself now, it takes longer and longer to recover.

However, it isn’t just my body that suffers, it’s my overall being. Because when my body is that worn out, my energies feel depleted, and my mind is unable to focus or think coherently. So, all-in-all, I simply need to let the whole being rest for a day (or maybe 2 or 3).

It’s hard sometimes, because I’ll get immersed in a project—like putting in a flower bed, painting the living room or removing wall paper from the bedroom in the house we just bought—and once started, I hate to take a break until I get it finished. However, by pushing myself like that, I find myself needing days, sometimes up to a full week, to recover.

Indiana Jones makes the comment, “…It isn’t the years, it’s the miles…” and I agree. If I hadn’t battered my poor body in all of those car accidents by always being in such a hurry, I wouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up now. After all, the things I do aren’t really all that strenuous; it’s just that my body has been so broken and battered, that my energies don’t always flow properly anymore. Therefore, it takes twice as long as it should for me to recover from doing anything.

For more information on health, healing and the physical body try Michael on Health and Healing.

Can you hear it…?

Lately, I’ve been trying to cope with the silence of my dreams. With my dreams being mute, I feel as cut off as anyone who has ever experienced a major blackout. There is no light, no information (no radio or TV), no communication (no phone—landline or cell), just empty blackness and silence.

Each night I have gone to bed asking for guidance, some message, some insight or information that would help me figure out how to cope with some of the situations in my life, and each night my response has been an overpowering silence.

All my life I’ve used the same process of asking for insights, and while there have been times when the answers weren’t welcome, or my emotional state was too chaotic to let through a response, I’ve never felt such an overwhelming blank silence before.

I feel as if I’m facing the world with a disadvantage. It’s as if I have cotton wadding stuffed in my ears, pads over my eyes, and a gag over my mouth—at least in relation to knowing about my own life. When it comes to everyone else, I still have all my abilities; I can still “see” everything about their lives, “hear” all their inner voices and cries, and I can still offer them understanding, wisdom, and hope.

But while I’ve provided others with insights, assistance, and guidance; while I’ve helped others work through their issues and life challenges by creating scenarios for them on the transitional plane, and while I’ve planed back and forth helping others say goodbye and finish up their physical lives, there’ve been no messages for me. There has been nothing to help me figure out how to deal with the issues that have been cluttering up my own life,

However, in the midst of all this silence I have made some observations (and just maybe that was the reason for this…just maybe it has helped me discover some small truths for myself). What I have found is that most people who either do not, will not, or cannot listen to their dream voices, continue to wander through their lives, usually hoping to encounter someone who can show them the way, someone who can help them through the maze called life.

Because wandering through the darkness is scary, many people seek out someone to help them, to guide them through the darkness. There are any number of people out there willing to “help”; people who say they are “connected” to or with the “other side”; people who say they are able to show you the way you need to go, people who can speak for your missing dream voice, people with a message.

However, when I really listened to the messages coming from most of these “helpers”, what I discovered is that their communications do not extend beyond the surface of the physical world. If their dreams are speaking to them, they aren’t listening. These people are only trying to fill the silence around them with noise, and for many, that noise is a welcome relief to the silence they have been hearing. So, they follow the noise, and they listen to the message. But soon, some of those that welcomed the noise, begin to realize just how shallow this communication is, and they move on. Others, too afraid of the silence to let go, cling to this noise as to a lifeline.

I have walked through the silence this month, searching for my voice. Each time I encountered someone who would help, I stopped and listened to their messages. However, each time I found the noise more grating than helpful, and I moved on.

I found that I much prefer to wait in the silence, because if I wait in the silence, eventually I will hear the voice of my own dreams. I have to listen very closely, because dreams speak softly (most of the time—they only yell if they have to). Therefore, if I fill the silence with noise, I may never know when my dreams are trying to speak to me; I may never hear the messages that my dreams want me know.

And noise doesn’t just come from outside (from other people). Worry, anxiety, fear, anger, angst, jealousy, frustration, all of these and more create noise. When you fill your head and your heart with these noises, the subtle voice of your dreams can’t compete. Instead, you need to wait in silence, the silence of serenity, the quiet of calmness. But how can you find calmness or serenity when you’re worried about losing your current job or finding a new one, or you’re concerned about whether your spouse is having an affair, or you’re frustrated due to family or monetary issues.

When you’re lost in the storm of emotional noise, that’s when your dreams yell. That’s when your dreams will shout and scream to try to make themselves heard. But if you’re not listening, or if you’re being distracted by someone else’s message, then whatever information your dreams have for you is ignored and lost.

You need to recognize that the silence isn’t scary. You need to see it for the opportunity it is and learn to use that opportunity to listen; to hear what it is your dreams need to tell you. Shhhh…can you hear it? I think it’s whispering to you…listen closely now.

(For more about dreams and what they might be trying to tell you, read Michael’s Dream Symbols.)

“Knowing” or Supposing

“Knowing” is a movie starring Nicholas Cage as a desperate father in the last of days. Here’s the premise: 50 years ago a girl has premonitions of all sorts of disasters occurring from her time forward until they culminate in a worldwide disaster. Using a code, she writes up her premonitions and puts them in her school’s time capsule, which is opened 50 years later.

Nicholas Cage’s son receives the envelope with her predictions in them and Nicholas Cage manages to unscramble the code. When he realizes that there are only 4 premonitions left and they will all occur within the next few weeks, he tries to intervene. However, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop any of them. Is it fate, destiny, or God’s wrath?

In despair and knowing the end is near, he lets the angels–or are they aliens?–come and take his son (who is about 8 or 9) and his playmate (a girl of about 10), along with other pairs of kids away from Earth so that they can survive the end of the world. The alien/angels place these kids on a some other planet, and blithely go away, their good deed done, the human race saved. The Earth is destroyed, and all ends happy with the kids rescued.

While interesting, I found this movie wrong on so many levels. It disturbed me badly all night long, yet not for the reasons you would think. My first problem with this movie is why would the aliens (or angels) bother to tell someone about piddly occurrences where 50, 100’s, 1000’s, or 100k’s of people were to die when the whole world is going to die within 50 years? I mean what’s the point? Aren’t the people of these other disasters the lucky ones? After all, they don’t have to go through the end of days, because they’ve already moved on to some other plane of existence.

The second problem and the biggest issue, I have with this film is the removal of the kids. Why take just the kids, and especially kids from technological countries and drop them in the middle of nowhere on a strange planet? They can’t survive on their own. These kids have no idea where or how to survive without PCs, microwaves, and fridges. They also need love and support, but there are no parents for them, nor adults, and no aliens/angels either. They’ve been abandoned on some strange world, left alone to fend for themselves. Those that don’t waste away from fear, homesickness, or emotional disturbances, will probably turn into frightful savages.

This, to me, isn’t a hopeful and happy ending, it’s a nightmare. I feel sorriest for the children. Why would someone think that these poor 2 through 10 year olds could possibly make it on their own on some strange planet. It doesn’t matter if the planet has hostile animals or not, it still has a climate, it still has no built-in fridges or pre-built homes. These are unskilled, abandoned kids…this is cruelty at it’s worst.

If the rapture actually occurred, I would hope that the families would be taken together to supply the love, guidance, and support that the kids would need. And if the rapture is really aliens transporting people off the planet before it’s destroyed, then I would hope that they’d have enough intelligence to realize that just dropping pairs of kids off on another planet is not a solution. Sure, some of the kids might survive, but at what cost?

I would hate to imagine what would happen to those poor kids without someone (even an alien/angel) to soothe their nightmares, ease their anxieties, or kiss their boo-boos.