Dreams Never Die

My body suddenly grew warmer as I felt a wave of positive energy coming towards me.  I glanced up to see an elderly woman approaching my table at the mini-fair that the Psychic Research Society of Kansas City was presenting on Thursday, July 26, 2018.  The woman must have been in her late 70s or early 80s, I assumed, as she sat down in the chair opposite me and introduced herself as Kate.  I smiled and shook her hand as I gave her my name.  Then we began the session.  I offered Kate the card deck to shuffle, and then instructed her to intuitively pick three cards that she believed would best represent her current life and personality.  As I slowly turned over each card and gave my impressions, Kate responded with joyful insights, especially when I suggested that she should start keeping a journal.

“Oh,” Kate exclaimed, “I love to write.  Just last year, I finished writing a book.  It all just seemed to come to me in one rush.  Guess what it’s about, Jamie.  Guess what it’s about!”  But before I could even respond, she leaned towards me and said, “Space ships, Jamie.  I wrote about spaceships!”

“That’s wonderful, Kate,” I responded enthusiastically.

And then Kate excitedly told me, “And I’m finishing a poetry book now.  Yes, I’m writing a book of poetry.”

“That’s so wonderful for you, Kate,” I smiled.  “Even according to the cards you are very talented and have amazing insight.  This is a great time for you to be creative.”

“Yes,” Kate agreed, “my family told me I should try getting my writing published when I was 91-years-old, but I didn’t feel right about it.  Then, at 92, I said no again.  At 93, I started to think about it.  Now, several years later, I decided it was time.”

I stared at Kate for a moment and didn’t say a word.  I was absolutely stunned.  Did she honestly just say that it was now time…several years after she turned 93?  I wondered just how old this woman was but didn’t want to appear impolite by asking.  And besides, I suddenly realized that age didn’t make any difference anyway.

Okay…but I still have to admit, I was in total awe of this amazing woman with the incredibly bright, sparkly eyes.

After talking for a few more minutes, Kate gracefully stood up from the table and said, “I think this moment should end in a hug.”

“I definitely agree, Kate,” I answered as I got up and we shared a deep, loving hug.  Kate walked away from my table then, and I continued reading the cards for several more clients.

When the fair ended at nine o’clock, I was putting away my cards and cleaning up my table when I once more felt a wonderful sense of energy surrounding me.  I looked up to find Kate approaching me again.  “I think you and I really made the best and most solid connection tonight,” she said as she giggled happily.

This statement made me smile.  I was happy to know that this beautiful, awesome, ninety-something-year -old woman felt connected to me.  I put my arms around her, and we once more hugged closely before saying good night.

On the drive home, I thought about all of the amazing people I had read for over the last three years.  I have had people break down in tears in front of me.  I have connected them with family members.  I have heard their most intimate dreams.  I have tried to calm their deepest fears.  And they, too, have taught me how to love and how to feel more connected to souls, God, and the universe.

And now, lovely Kate had taught me to never stop dreaming, never stop setting goals, to always take each day as a true treasure, to always connect with others and love deeply, and to never ever give up on living.

To write poetry and publish your first book in your 90s…Wow…Just how cool is that…

 

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The Randomness of My Life

I was reading back over my blogs the other day and released that there’s not really a theme. Was I supposed to have one? I noticed that most bloggers write about a certain thing–fashion, food, travel. But I can’t seem to focus. I can’t seem to choose one thing. I realized then that my blogs are just as random and unorganized as my life.

It made me think of a writing assignment I was giving a few years ago. What was the best year of my life in a 5-year span? I still don’t know how to answer that. Nothing actually stands out in my mind. I have never climbed Mount Everest, sailed around the world, or performed a heroic feat that saved another person’s life. Maybe I didn’t know what to write because I couldn’t think of a specific moment that turned my life around. I have never married. I don’t have children. I have never won the lottery. My life instead has been very different. It has been a day-to-day process. It has been a continuous unfolding of insight and understanding. I see my life as being an endless progression of trial and error.

Maybe I am trying too hard. Maybe I am overthinking the question. Maybe I should think about the happy moments of my life. Maybe I should think of the times that have made me feel alive and joyful to be in this world. I think of my miraculous moments. I have seen angels and other visions. I have helped people heal through massage and energy work. I have traveled extensively around the world. I have gone to several different schools and graduated with honors. I have taught in several different schools and helped others graduate with honors. I have waded in the oceans. I have gazed at mountains shining purple in the sunlight. I have received hugs from family and friends. I have experienced painful breakups of relationships. I have watched friends and family suffer and pass through my life no matter how hard I tried to hold onto them. I have read great books that showed me a different way of life. I have seen great movies that have inspired emotions deep within me. I have listened to amazing music that moves my soul in the same way it moves my feet. I have screamed for victory at sporting events. I have competed in the race of life for an attainable victory. I have tried to be kind, though I know I don’t always succeed when I am tired or stressed. I have taken beautiful photographs and have become frustrated when others don’t see the amazing things that I do. I have been strong at times and shown amazing courageous. I have been shy at other moments and cowered away from perceived threats. I have held babies. I have watered plants. I have cared for pets. I have treasured objects that would have no value to anyone else. I have lived life to the very brink of its existence. I have slept and being lazy on warm summer days. I have eaten great food and then worried about my weight. I have exercised and loved my body. I have hated my body and every one of its flaws has left me depressed and feeling unlovable. I have moments when I have doubted God’s existence. There were days when I have doubted my own existence. There are times when I have been a great believer just because I saw a sunrise or a drop of rain. I have great faith that won’t diminish even on days of sadness. I have great sadness that can sometimes diminish my faith. I have had a life filled with many years of great joy and tremendous sadness. I have had many years that I want to live again and others I would wish to erase from my memory.

So to answer what is the best year of my life, what can I say? Maybe I haven’t lived enough. Maybe I have lived too much. I can’t concentrate on one idea. My life is swirling in front of my eyes as if I am about to pass over into a new existence. When I finally do pass over into a new existence, will I look back on the best year of my life? Will I know then when the best time of my life had been? No, I will only know that I had a life…

My Writing Journey

When I was 16-years-old, one of five poems I had sumbitted to a publishing company was selected for inclusion in a quarterly journal. However, there was one small stipulation. My poem would only appear in print as long as I was willing to purchase 5 copies of the journal. Ignoring my father’s comments that the deal was a scam, I took $60 out of my next paycheck from McDonald’s and sent it to the publishing company. Three weeks later, the journals arrived. There, on page 59, was my poem, which I had written for my mother. One poem–16 lines–with my name printed underneath the title “Songbird.” My grandmother stared at the page for just a moment and then looked up at me. Her eyes sparkled excitedly as she squealed, “We have an author in the family!” I looked at my grandmother in surprise. It was just one poem. One poem on half a page of a hundred-page journal and my grandmother called me an AUTHOR. I turned the word over in my head and thought of the way Grandma’s voice had rang with pride. An author–me? Well, it could be a possibility.

I am one of those people who can’t NOT write. Due to a speech impediment, writing has always been the best way for me to get out my emotions when I stumble over my words. I have kept journals for most of my life. My journals are always very detailed. I record everything—where I was, who I was with, what we were wearing, what words were said. Recording the events of a lazy Saturday afternoon usually takes up twenty pages in my journal. I can spend a weekend in Vegas and write a 100 page essay on it! It’s not just about expression. Jounraling is also my way to hold on to the special moments of my life. I want to record and relive the major moments of my existence.

For example, I want to remember in detail the year I lived in England and the days I spent roaming around Europe. I want to especially remember for the rest of my life what it felt like to backpack alone across Malaysia. I want to recall my shocking reaction to the unusual foods. I want to relive the amusement of the kind strangers who mistook me for Princess Diana one day in the town courtyard. I want to remember the night I was attacked by an amorous baby lizard on a moonlit beach. Details, details, details….

This attention to detail served me well when I worked as a reporter for Hullfire, in Hull, England and The Los Alamos Monitor in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Working as a reporter also helped me become more observant. My personal journal writing became even more intense. It was my sister, Theresa, who suggested one day that I publish my journals. I’m not sure if she was joking or not…I chose to take her seriously.

Two years later, my first book, The Sweetness of Life, was published. From all of my adventures, I chose to concentrate on the journey I took wit my mother. Mom and I set a goal to drive through all fifty states in America. We made it to all but four states before I lost my mother to colon cancer. I will always treasure those moments with my mother as we stumbled around America and discovered more than just the states. My mother taught me a lot about life, love, and death…and it’s all in my journals and, now, in my book. Oh, details, details, details…..

And I really hope now that Grandma is saying to some random angel somewhere in heaven, “We have an author in the family!”