Communication from the other side of the veil – Is it real? Can we communicate with our loved ones?
I first met Carol Morgan in 2009 at the first Parent-Child Reunion Retreat in Sun Valley Idaho, for women who had lost children, where I was a facilitator. Carol and other women attending the Sun Valley Retreat were introduced to and taught the skill of channeling. During this retreat, as Carol learned how to channel, she intuitively knew Mikey was right there with her, giving her signs and guidance every day, and she was anxious and excited to learn this new tool. Carol’s determination to learn this new skill at the retreat and in the early days after returning home inspired us all, and her attitude of “Come hell or high water” helped her achieve much success. The organizers of the 38th Annual Conference for the Academy of Spiritual Consciousness Studies connected with Carol and invited her to share her story at their annual convention, held in Scottscale this past July, 2014.
At the conference, I loosely participated with moral support on the sidelines as Carol Morgan delivered her pendulum communication presentation along with her son Mikey, there beside her in spirit. (Mikey, Carol’s 20 year-old son, had died unexpectedly in a freak jeep accident on a camping trip in the Colorado Mountains in September of 2007.) During her presentation in Scottsdale, she laughed and played an emotion-filled and touching clip from John Denver’s My Sweet Lady. She confessed a Morgan family tradition (and a secret the boys kept from their friends): “Yep, we loved to sing at the top of our lungs with the old John Denver CD playing – speakers blaring in our car – as we zoomed up Interstate 70 into the Colorado Rocky Mountains for vacation. The song My Sweet Lady was very specific to my situation,” Carol said, “and was the very song Mikey used to connect with me very soon after his passing,” she said beaming with her contagious smile.
The following day, a 50-something woman with short dark brunette hair wearing a vibrant red summer sweater (I’ll call her Doris) stood in front of Carol Morgan with determination. Doris had attended Carol’s presentation the previous day. “I came back to tell you,” she said to my friend Carol, “that I didn’t believe you were actually talking to Mikey yesterday afternoon.” Doris continued with enthusiasm, “But last night, after your presentation, I left the hotel to get some dinner, and ended up in a near-by restaurant and bar providing live music. The band had taken a break, and I sat down and ordered a drink. Minutes later, the guitar player walked back on stage and gazed out at the mellow audience before him.”
“What happened next would have gone unnoticed by all except me, as the musician opened with the John Denver song, ‘My Sweet Lady’.” She continued the story. “Stunned, I put my drink down and lifted my eyes to the ceiling. Okay Mikey, I said silently to myself, I believe you – this is possible – you are sending signs and talking to Carol, your mother, through the pendulum. Yes, I believe you! I am convinced!” She continued her story: “I approached the guitar player and asked cautiously, ‘Do you play that song much?’ Actually,” Doris confessed, “he told me he hadn’t planned on playing it at all!”
Yes, communication from the other side of the veil: real and available to those open to the possibility; when you begin with intention, allowance and belief, miracles really do happen!
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
I have been called intuitive, psychic, clairsentient, and an unconscious channel. I believe there are no accidents, only synchronistic moments. Some we acknowledge and others we fail to recognize. So, was the case when Joe pulled into my driveway one Friday afternoon.
His boss had sent him to replace my antiquated hot water heater which had given up the ghost and declared that to me by the leaking water in my garage, this Rheem was complete. It had given service to my home for decades and it was time to move on to appliance heaven, on my watch. And with my blessings I prepared for a replacement. New energy perhaps? In any case, Joe, a forty something plumber with dark curly hair and a heavy northeast accent, wearing a bright red shirt, stepped out of his truck and surveyed the situation.
He got to the task very quickly, but needed my approval for a new ball valve shut off handle and uttered something about having to turn off the water to the house which brought me into the garage and into conversation. I stood there briefly, my attention turning to the project at hand and moments later was engaged in the details of the new installation.
It was an unseasonably hot sunny South Florida day as I leaned against the door jamb by the entrance to the laundry room just off the garage, observing the progress as he worked. There was sweat pouring off his forehead as he talked in light conversation. He wiped his brow and began to work his magic with the new copper pipe fittings. The subject had turned to more serious matters. Joe shared he had been in a serious car accident five years earlier and spent ten weeks in the hospital, including 10 days in a coma. “They didn’t even tell me for two months,” he said with anguish on his face. I tried to hide my confusion, my mind scrambling, to carefully piece the story together. He carried the scars on his arm, a plate on his shin and halo marks on his skull which were visible on his forehead. He also carried something even more sobering than the visible scars; the death of his brother on that fateful, sorrow-filled night. As much as he tried, he could not put those events out of his mind. With emotion welling up, he turned away facing in the direction of the new heater with his back to me.
“Do you feel your brother around you?” I asked, casually placing my hand on the corner of the dryer.
He turned around and looked at me, copper fitting in his gloved hand. “No, well maybe sometimes”. “You know I’m Catholic.” As if to say, I’m not allowed to believe in those things. I smiled. “Do you think he’s all right?” I nodded, to encourage him to continue. “My brother was a great brother”—. He protected me through high-school. We even lived together. He watched out for me. I miss him.”
So, unfolded a deep conversation as the water heater installation progressed, and so did the ideas and beliefs upon which he was raised. In a safe roundabout way, we talked about his brother and Grandfather’s death. I felt the sides of his box come down just a little that hot Friday afternoon. Beyond reason. Beyond logic. Beyond proof. He had outgrown his box and he knew there was more.
I don’t have to tell you Joe will never be the same after his experience. But now he was looking for the “why” in all of this. Life, he felt, was a struggle every day. I sighed. “What if your brother loved you so much, that you and he had an agreement that he would go first?” I said. He looked confused. “What if this is about opening up to something bigger that cannot be denied? What if he is still helping you? Watching out for you and guiding you? What if he is with you right now?”
“It is strange,” he confessed, “that I ended up here this afternoon.”
“The laundry room is actually quite crowded,” I said smiling. “Your Grandfather is here too.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“Because,” I answered, “there is an agreement that a little piece of them stays with you, with us, just like you will stay with your loved ones when you leave your physical body. But, you’ll be back. I promise. Just like he will.”
“He will give you a sign if you ask,” I assured him. “Perhaps a song on the radio or a license plate just when you think of him; a coincidence too uncanny to be accidental. It could be a sign on a truck or a coin”, I continued.
“Coin?”, he said turning around digging for something out of the back of his van.
“Yeah, it will be something” I said.
“It would be a dime”, he declared.
Now it was my turn to be surprised. As much as I feel, and “know”, the synchronicities never fail to surprise me. The day before I had been out running errands, and stepped out of my car, looked down and found a dime, heads up. In the moment, there was something in me that knew it was a message; the feeling was there, but the meaning unclear. I picked it up. I can’t explain it in logical, left brain terms, for those that need explanation because it exists in that quantum state, but I remember saying to myself, “I wonder what this means?” Today, I had my answer. “Hold on Joe, let me go grab the dime out of my car. It is in the cup holder; safe.” Still facing up, I handed the thin silver coin to him. Joe looked at me, smiled and slid it into his pocket and returned to his work.
We continued to talk about his brother’s death, memories of his grandfather, his son and his family lineage. I know Joe was supposed to be there Friday; so did he. I know why I had kept that dime safe. It was to let Joe know that his brother was right there beside him. Never really gone. He needed to hear that. I assured him that his brother was fine when he asked. There is no sting in death for the one that passes. It’s only we who are left behind and missing them. Sometimes in guilt, anger, or sadness we are torn and confused and left wondering, depending on our belief and our relationship and circumstances.
I ask you to discern this message. Maybe it resonates and maybe it doesn’t; either is okay. This is about healing. It is about love. It’s about giving permission and being open to the answer. Because, death, our loved ones, and what we make up about all this is far more important and bigger than suffering. God does not want us to suffer. These are contracts and potentials that we agreed upon before we incarnated here this lifetime for our growth and wisdom far more immense than our temporary 3-D reality allows us to behold. I know there is a grand purpose and we will reunite once again when we meld back into wholeness of source which in human terms is undefinable. But the human soul, not really human at all, is there beside us—within us— always part of who we are. We just have to be open enough to look and keep our heart open enough to feel, because they are there. This much I know is true.
Excerpted from the book Riding the Light Beam, How Any Woman Can Find the Hero Inside, by Cathrine Silver