What fascinates me most is what came into my life before June 25th and how it fits into what happened afterward.
Rather than the miraculous events having been an indication of me being some kind of “twin soul” to Michael, it feels more like a cosmic statement of how this being has much to say, and can draw other spirits to him to ensure that the message gets out. When we understand the effortless nature of tuning in to each other, we are free to understand ourselves and others so much better. And when we understand that love doesn’t mean possession of the beloved, we can let go of the “need” to own a spirit. It is entirely impossible to own a spirit. I don’t wish to own anyone any more than I wish to be owned.
I was more than saddened upon hearing of Michael’s earthly death. I felt a deep sadness for his children, and I felt sad for my own daughter, who had formed a spiritual attachment to him that I didn’t yet understand. Strangely, I felt that more than just a person had died – much more. I mourned that he had not been able to convince everyone beyond the shadow of a doubt, of his innocence. I wished he could have felt the relief of total vindication before he had said goodbye to this life. It all seemed so unfair. The first thing I said out-loud was “Did he kill himself?” because despite my trying to forget the dream of him, it had (more deeply than I realized) connected me to his sorrow. Still I felt his intense love for his children and knew he would not have purposely left them.
My daughter had loved him so, as a spirit mentor and guide, when other adults in her life had bitterly disillusioned her. She’d fallen in love with his song “Heal the World” at 2 years of age, and grew up tuning into his music and heart since that moment when she’d seen him performing at the Superbowl. She had stood up to rude classmates and teachers while defending his honor. When visitors had made snarky comments while looking at a beautiful portrait of Michael that she’d had in her room, she had finally gotten tired of the comments and taken down the portrait. She did this to STOP the comments, not because she was any less sure of Michael’s innocence.
I think my conscious awakening to Michael’s spirit began as my 18 year-old baby girl carried that big portrait back up the stairs to her room on June 25th. The look on her face said it all.
I remembered her expression when my father had brought the portrait to her in 2002, freshly drawn by him in charcoal and pastels. She was eleven. It was a surprise for her. My dad loved surprising people with his beautiful work. I also remember holding her hand as the verdicts were read in the 2005 court proceedings. Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty…
I remembered that 3 days before his death, both of my children were caught up in watching MJ videos and short films. Out of the blue they had both been drawn to him after not outwardly paying attention to anything Michael-related for years. Suddenly they were compelled to tune-in again. My son, younger than my daughter by 7 ½ years, innocently asked while they pored over Michael’s music again, “Is he still alive?” This question of his still surprises me. And though I knew they should be in bed at that late hour, my motherly instinct took a back seat to the joy of seeing my kids’ excitement for Michael’s work again. June 22nd was so much fun for them. I let them stay up and watch “Thriller” on my computer. They were having such a great time together and it warmed my heart.
Tears came to my eyes as my daughter carried the portrait back to her room. She was sad, but she was angry too, angry that anyone had ever said a cruel word about Michael. There was a beautiful conviction in her eyes. He represented kindness, compassion, originality, and an ethereal sweetness that she hadn’t seen in many people. He was much more than just a Pop Icon to her. I started to understand. But I had a long way to go.
I felt the sadness of his own children, those who had called him Daddy. My heart went out to them. I don’t remember at what point in the days after Michael passed, that I confided my dream to my daughter. She didn’t think I was crazy, as I had feared. She had gone through her pain and come out stronger and more determined somehow. The connection to him didn’t end on June 25th for her, but seemed instead to grow stronger.
On July 7th, 2009, as I tried to relax during a hair appointment that had been set on that day weeks in advance, this amazing spirit decided to pay me another visit, only this one while I was awake. I had grabbed a book from my shelf at home to have something to occupy my time at the hairstylist’s. The name of the business was “Black and White Salon.” One of the owner/stylists’ names began with “M” and the other with “J.” I regularly saw “J” for my appointments, and he was doing my cut and color that day. I was getting texts from my daughter while at the salon. I hadn’t wanted to leave in the middle of the Memorial Service for Michael, but I knew my family was recording the whole thing for me. It tore at my heart so deeply when I had to get up and go to my appointment. I thought I was just feeling my daughter’s feelings and empathizing with her. That was heartbreaking in itself, but it seemed like even MORE than just this.
As I sat there letting my highlighted hair “cure.” I began to read a page in the book I had grabbed just before I ran out the door to my appointment. The book, in case anyone ever wants to check this, is entitled “Wesley’s Gift” by Mona Rae Miracle. She is Marilyn Monroe’s niece, and I loved her book written with her mother “My Sister Marilyn,” so I searched for anything else she had written and found this one. I had read over 40 pages and then had set it aside for months. This day I thought I should read more, and it called to me for some funny reason.
As I sat in the chair at the salon, opened the book and began to read, I had a knowing flood over me. I just knew I would see Michael’s name on the next page – WHY? The book was not about Michael at all. It was about a man who had many cats and many challenges with his family. There was a picture of the goddess “Bast” on the cover. What did this have to do with Michael, and why did my heart tell me I would see his name in this book??? But there it was. Page 51… Michael Jackson. The man in the story had named one of his black and white cats “Michael Jackson.”
Okay. That was weird. I looked around to make sure that no one was staring at me, feeling all-of-a-sudden as if there were lights flashing over my head. I needn’t have worried. Everyone was going about their hair-salon business as usual. No one was looking in my direction. Then I heard a familiar tune come over the salon sound system. They always played their own mix of songs recorded on CDs. It wasn’t a radio station. The song was clearly “Beat It,” yet it was by a different artist, not Michael’s original version. Still, it was a Michael Jackson song playing in the salon at the same moment that I was reading his name in this book that I had randomly selected to bring with me. I surrendered to the moment, and whispered, “Michael. I hear you. I’m listening.”
It was one of the most stunning ways I had received a spirit message up to that moment – so direct – so clear. It didn’t leave me wondering as to who it was from or why. I knew he wanted to make contact.
Later that evening, after I’d watched the part of the memorial service that I’d missed, my mind started to dwell on the dream I’d had in 2007. What did his question mean? Later that night I cried alone in a dark room. I silently promised to him that I would do what he’d asked in the dream. I understood that the dream was truly his spirit reaching out to me. I couldn’t accept it or understand it at the time of the dream. I asked for his forgiveness, but felt that he wasn’t blaming me for anything I hadn’t done. It had been leading to this, there was nothing I could have directly done before.
I remember feeling so understood in the darkness of that room, in the midst of my tears and aching heart. I felt somehow safer than I’d ever felt in my life, purely communicating with a being that I felt so close to in a deeply spiritual way. I understood that to feel safe for me, was synonymous with feeling understood. I realized for the first time that to feel understood for Michael, also meant feeling safe. When someone understands your heart, the world seems like a wonderful dream. It seems as if you can do amazing things, accomplish so much together. It is like living in a house where everyone speaks a language foreign to you, and then suddenly someone who speaks your language moves into the house.
Spirit family. I didn’t know I would meet others who also awakened to Michael’s messages on or near June 25th. I felt that I had to re-write my Nina’s Story book, knowing now that it was Michael’s spirit that had been tapping me on the shoulder for years. I was excited about communicating with him at this new level of conscious recognition and felt that there were more specific messages that needed to be in the book. There was a new sense of urgency, but I had no idea of all that I would go through leading up to publishing the book. Betrayal, death of a family member, major surgery and the lessons these experiences bring were still to come. But my focus was on the urgency of finishing a book.
One very important step was finding the key person with a special knowledge of the kind of writing that captures and holds people in its spell. How else would I be able to do justice to what I considered a sacred task that I’d been given? In November of 2009, one day after my daughter’s 19th birthday, a magical set of circumstances unfolded that led me to the home of Wendy, where I was taught the “deeper magic of writing,” by Peter himself. (Okay, not THAT Peter and Wendy, but I LOVED the irony of their names).
Copyright © Heaven Leigh 2013