Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. ~ Edgar Allan Poe
Occasionally I have been shown things, and I do not know why. Dark things. Terrible things. A single vivid fragment, or perhaps some sharp-edged pieces that cut my hands as I try to puzzle them together into a picture that makes sense.
I always tell my clients there are two things I don’t do – past lives and dead people.
But that isn’t strictly true.
While I do my best to make my work the work of Light – of helping people to find that Light within themselves, of illuminating the path so others can walk without stumbling – sometimes… sometimes… my work is the work of darkness.
When I was younger I didn’t understood why the dead would contact me, or what they wanted me to do. I am no medium and it was never that conscious clear connection from a loved one who had passed peacefully over to the other side. It was always this mishmash and jumble of emotions, images and body-slamming horror. I usually didn’t know who I was seeing, or what I was seeing. It was just fragments.
Awareness and understanding can be painfully slow when you don’t have much to go on.
It is rare that I experience this process as a vision – like one might watch a movie. No. I live it. As if whatever happened is happening to me. I feel it in my body. I feel their emotions as my own. I live it over. And over. And the whole while, strangely, as part of me experiences this terrible thing, another part of me bears witness.
Often this barrage has happened unbidden while I’ve been asleep; intruding on my usual dreams like a news flash on television might bring your attention to a recent disaster. Once or twice it’s come during a meditation, or in the midst of the most banal of activities, such as pegging out the washing, or buying groceries.
It’s also been triggered when I’ve been shown photographs of people, places, and crime scenes.
Sometimes I can do nothing to turn it off. The experience follows me through my waking and sleeping moments, as I try to go about my normal life.
At first I thought I was shown these things because the person’s soul didn’t understand that they were dead, and that they needed to be guided back towards the Light. You know, the sort of thing that Jennifer Love Hewitt does in Ghost Whisperer.
But it’s not that at all.
It isn’t for the soul who has passed. It’s always for the people left behind. The ones who love them – the ones who will grieve the dead. The ones who still need to know what happened.
For them, no matter how terrible, knowing is always better than not knowing.
It’s only ever fragments I receive. Shards of a shattered life. But they pierce the veil of darkness with the great Light of their love. It is love that reaches forth from the darkness, that stops the dead from moving on until their loved ones know what happened, until they know what the truth is.
Sometimes a fragment is all you need to complete a puzzle, unlock a riddle, solve a mystery… And if I can help with that, then it’s all worth while.
