A Message From My Mother

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, Remembrance – A Love Story for our Time

A Message From My Mother

It was the day after my mother’s 83^rd birthday, less than a month after my return from Egypt. She had transitioned to the nonphysical the prior year, and I felt her absence acutely that day. I wanted, somehow, to reach her.

I felt an impulse to listen to channeled meditation music recorded decades ago by Sanaya Roman. The track I chose was Ascent to Heaven. I clicked on it and sat back in my chair, closing my eyes. I breathed slowly and deeply while gently holding the intention to connect with my mother in my heart.

It took me several minutes to relax, allow my mind to be still, and merge with the music. Then, to my surprise, I saw a woman I’d known as Miss Sharon when I was a child. She was a dear friend of my mother who made her transition, suddenly and unexpectedly, when she was in her 40s. Her passing was a devastating loss for my mother. Miss Sharon was a free spirit who understood and inspired my mother as no one else did at the time.

I felt a surge of delight at seeing her beautiful face again, smiling and serene. She indicated telepathically that she would take me to my mother. In effortless synchrony with the rhythm of the music, we began moving upward, slowly and gently.

Miss Sharon was a masterful guide. She could sense when I needed to pause and allow my energy field to come into harmony with the ever-more refined frequencies of light and color through which we moved. When I started to feel light-headed, we would rest on a perfectly timed musical plateau that seemed to have been designed for precisely that purpose.

With each plateau reached, I felt more expanded…more ready…more reverent. We were in sacred territory.

And then, on the final plateau, Miss Sharon faded from view. I waited, trembling in anticipation and barely breathing.

Suddenly yet gently, I was engulfed in a cloud of energy that took my breath away. My eyes welled up with tears as I struggled to remain centered. The immensity of love I felt in that divine, energetic embrace was beyond anything I’d known or even imagined.

It was my mother.

She wanted me to know that her love for me was eternal.

And she wanted to show me something.

First, a bird’s eye view of an enormous stage. Nothing was on it – no sets, no props, no screens, no microphones. Everyone in the large audience seemed to be tingling with joyful yet respectful anticipation of what was coming.

The scene shifted. I was standing quietly behind the curtain, stage right, waiting for the cue to walk onstage.  It came not from a spoken line or the wave of a stage manager’s hand, but from within. I felt a clear impulse to step forward. And so, I did.

Slowly, I walked toward the center of the vast stage. There was someone walking toward me who had entered from stage left, directly across from me. His pace mirrored mine, and we met in the exact center of the stage.

We joined hands, and I felt an unfamiliar kind of electricity coursing through me. It was both enlivening and comforting at the same time, and oddly pleasurable. We were clearly very special to each other.

After a moment of connection, we turned to face the audience, our arms around each other’s waist. He held me very close to him, firmly yet tenderly. We smiled.

Then we felt it: precious, powerful waves of appreciation flowing from the audience to us, through us, and all around us. We were bathed in that glorious energy, humbled and honored, our hearts bursting with love. Our joy radiated effortlessly outward to bless them in return waves of thankfulness.

It was exquisite, extraordinary…and more than a little overwhelming.

There had been no performance, no presentation. No one had paid to be there. It was a spontaneous gathering for the sole purpose of sharing and amplifying love.

As we returned to the bird’s eye view, my mother spoke:

“You are living into a life far beyond what you can imagine.”

The scene began to fade as my sense of Self expanded into a vastness I cannot describe. I felt my mother’s all-encompassing love once again, poignantly and powerfully, and knew our time together had come to an end.

Accompanied by miraculously timed shifts in the music, I descended back into my body, seated in a chair at my kitchen table. I did not move right away. I doubt I could have.

I just…breathed. And wept. And wondered.

Who was that man? I never saw his face. I never heard his voice.

But I felt him. I felt us.