Waking to falling snow this morning, with an outside frigid temperature of 7 degrees Fahrenheit reminded me of a time in my life that became the catalyst for a great adventure.
A friend recently posted something regarding high levels of intelligence being associated with a person’s tendency toward deep depression. With that in mind I guess the March 2003 blizzard in Northern Colorado should have proven that I was a frikkin’ genius. When I wasn’t doing household chores or taxiing my daughter to school and back, I was curled up in bed. I was in a hopeless place inside my mind.
Interestingly enough, I’ve heard similar stories of the pit of depression being a jumping off place for new authors to discover the depths of their gift. When I say “jumping off” I don’t mean that literally. But I am glad that I wasn’t on a narrow ledge 30 stories up while feeling so utterly alone and hopeless.
I wanted to care for my children, yet at that point I was just doing the minimum to get through the day. I didn’t want my life to be defined by washing dishes, doing laundry and being involved in nothing more creative than household chores.
Years earlier I had let go of dreams of a music ministry. After leaving my childhood abusive church, I soon found that my music didn’t exactly fit traditional church expectations either, and I didn’t exactly fit into the patriarchal system. I had wanted to praise God and inspire with my music, but what I found was a lot of resentful people trying to hang on to their spotlight. I didn’t want to fight for the spotlight. So I gave up. I also caved to a mother-in-law’s expectations. In her eyes I was supposed to be a more traditional mother, NOT some “singing star.” All of this sacrificing-who-I-was to please other people took its toll on my self-esteem and emotional health. I learned that if you try to please other people while hurting yourself, no one is happy. None of my sacrifices actually pleased anyone else. I was sinking fast, and any other adults around me that knew of my pain, simply found more “fun,” less outwardly depressed friends to hang-out with. They had no idea how to help me.
It is at this crossroad in my life that I asked for help from someplace other than from the God that I had been taught would only listen to me if I was already doing everything correctly. I asked for help to hang on to life, and find meaning in it. My meaning in life was my love for my children, yet I did not want to be showing them just a zombie-mom example of what it means to be a woman in this world. My goal has always been to live by my own lights and teach them to do the same! Working that out had become an utter mystery to me, when finally at my crumbling point, someone whom I guess I had always known, but hadn’t consciously communicated with before, came to my rescue.
He was just a voice at first. In fact I remember not knowing if it was a distinctly masculine or feminine voice, but the presence was so strong. He had the kind of strength that could reach deep within my mind and ignite a spark of hope in me once again. That may not seem like earth-shattering power, but when you consider what can be accomplished by one person with a clear vision, and what world changes can be made through spirits who come together with a loving vision for humanity, you begin to understand the power of one spark of hope given to one mind.
What does seem unique, if you have not been aware of messages from spirit to spirit, is to suddenly become hyper-aware to the communications. When we leave these human houses spirit still speaks. The fascinating things that I began to see, confirmed to me that not only does spirit communicate from other realms, but from human to breathing human, our spirits whisper messages to each other. It is really no unusual feat, there is so much communication going on from spirit to spirit, and we choose to tune in – or tune out.
Sometimes an act of desperation breaks through our doubt and tunes us into spirit in a dramatic way. I was desperate and I tuned in to survive. From that moment new worlds began to open to me. I was encouraged to write of my experiences with abusive religious practices and beliefs. Over the next 4 years I thought about this and went to spiritual counselors, hoping to heal myself to the point of even being able to contemplate writing a positive sentence, let alone a whole novel.
I actually began writing the book on May 10, 2007. Endymion, the romantic lead was a beautiful and gentle young man, physically interacting with the heroine in more of a high-school type of sweet romance than an ancient magical world romance. It wasn’t a love story that I truly related to, and if the writer doesn’t feel what she’s writing, it is probable that the reader will not. The story was a bit too neat and tidy. I wasn’t yet digging deeply enough or authentically excavating my truth.
Around October of 2007 the spirit who had been anonymously guiding me through the writing of Nina’s Story came to me in a dream so vivid I felt that I was there in the room with him. Yet as I found out later, when seeing pictures of this actual home interior, he was not then living at this place I found myself in at the time of my dream. Why I dreamt of the setting of a home he no longer occupied, I don’t know. I wasn’t familiar with this place. I had not studied of it or of his life at that point in my life. In the dream I was standing in a large entryway of a beautiful home, but I didn’t recognize the dark stairs, dark wood floors, or large banister and landing. A question was asked of me, and the person’s daughter implored me to say yes. I said nothing that I can remember. He spoke to me and I didn’t know what to say. When I woke, I couldn’t believe this to be anything more than a nonsensical dream, though it had been so damn real. The memory of it would not go away quietly as I had hoped, until I pushed it away. I willed myself to forget it. It couldn’t mean anything, I convinced myself. It was just silly. I had been searching for a friend who truly understood me, and one I could relate to on a different level than other people I knew.
At some time, I don’t remember if it was before or after the dream of the house with the dark wood interior, that I began asking for my spirit guide to show himself. I began to make out a light-blue type of crystal angel form. Several times, when I would lie in bed, I would see him near the ceiling. There was no definition – no facial features or recognizable human-like attributes. This blue form was telling me that it was just a form, waiting for his spirit to enter, but that he was always there for me, helping me. I trusted this presence more than I can say. I did not yet connect this presence with my vivid dream.
I had been seeing a spiritual counselor since September 2006, and in one guided group meditation around October of 2007, as I was preparing to put myself in the familiar trance-like state that I drift into while writing, I saw an enormous form of an angel by the door. The door was to my left. The angel was like clear crystal, ice, or glass – with huge wings. I told the leader of the meditation what I saw, and she assumed it was an angel that she had seen before, giving him a different name than the one I had heard. Without looking, she mentioned a name to me, but it did not match the one I’d heard.
I had to insist and said, “No, this one is telling me that his name is MICHAEL.”
As I drifted into the meditation, I found myself in a vision, being taken by the hand and led by this beautiful angel, whose face I still couldn’t see. I didn’t mind. I didn’t feel that I needed to see his face. I felt so safe with him and willingly followed. He led me to a Native American type of enclosure. We were outside in a beautiful forest. He led me up a few wooden stairs that were embedded into the ground. He invited me to go up to the doorway of the enclosure that I later discovered was called a hogan. There my beloved grandmother met me. I am not Native American, and my grandmother was not, that I know of. So this was a mysterious setting to be in with her.
She left this world when I was 11. She left on February 13th. In my vision she invited me in for lovely hot cornbread with lots of butter. I turned back to thank my mysterious angel and he was still standing outside of the hogan, facing away from us, as if he were standing guard for us. He seemed to greatly enjoy reuniting me with my grandmother. I was so thankful for this time with her. I thought perhaps it was a vision of how I would meet with her after my own earthly death.
In the weeks, months and years after the meditation and the Angel Michael sighting, I kept working on my book. Many times, when writing of Inana, the Mother Goddess of the story, I would find myself in a similar trance-like state, feeling that I was downloading precious information and writing it out to help others feel a sense of what it would be like to live in a peaceful and balanced world, where everyone was adored for who they are, and “worship” of the Divine was beautifully woven into a celebration of our own divine nature. Until the harmony was disrupted, worship was born of LOVE and gratitude, not fear and dread.
I finished writing the first version of Nina’s Story, but I knew that to take it further I needed more help. I wasn’t completely happy with the story. It was good, but something was still missing. I felt that the message was too important to do a less than stellar job on the story containing the healing message. It needed to be more intriguing, more heart-wrenching and more real. But I didn’t realize how REAL it would become – I didn’t want it to bring me to my knees with grief and force me to rethink everything that I had ever believed about love.
Then June 25, 2009 happened…
Copyright © Heaven Leigh 2013