Dinner at Tiffany’s

There are times when a series of events occur that lead to a magical experience that I cannot possibly call “random.” There is obviously a spirit intention behind them. Such was the case the night my husband Larry and I had dinner at Tiffany’s.

Larry and I had decided to drive up the coast a bit to take a look at a paper shredder he wanted to buy. It was a good shredder, but the on/off switch had broken, so its owner was selling it for $10. Since Larry could fix such things and we needed a new paper shredder, we decided to take the 20-minute drive as an adventure. It wasn’t so far away, we just hadn’t particularly gone in that direction before. Larry had made a 6:00 appointment, so we decided we would go out to dinner afterward.

We bought the shredder, then consulted our GPS for nearby food. We saw there was a chain restaurant for which we had a gift card, so we decided to go there. But there was a thirty-five minute wait, so we decided not to stay.

We then saw on the GPS list that there was a restaurant close by called St. Larry’s and decided to go there just because it had Larry’s name in the name (we later learned, that very night, that St. Lawrence is the patron saint of chefs). But when we arrived at the address, the building was empty.

Now what? Our bodies were starving and wanted food now. As we were driving to St. Larry’s we had passed another restaurant in the same shopping mall with the sign “Tiffany’s — Perpetual Breakfast” and had commented on the sign with smiles. It was right there, so we decided to try it. We had been wanting to go to a “real” restaurant and have a “nice” dinner, and Tiffany’s was a family restaurant, but we were hungry, so…even though they served perpetual breakfast, we thought they must serve dinner too.

The restaurant was full, but no waiting for a table, as patrons were finishing their meals and another table opened up almost every minute. We were seated within minutes in a booth, just as we prefer. I watched throughout my meal and the restaurant was always full, but when another customer walked through the door, a table would immediately open up.

The menu was immense, with many tempting and unusual and creative choices that went far beyond the usual family restaurant fare. Prices were reasonable and, as it turned out, portions were huge. Almost every dish had the regular portion and a “smaller” option at a lower price. As we were waiting for the waitress, I heard her at the next table carefully talking with a woman about which sauce she wanted on her meatloaf. She could have the mushroom or the marinara offered with that dish, or if she didn’t want either of those, she could have the brown gravy that comes with the potroast. What?!??! Usually restaurants don’t want you to change anything, and here they were encouraging mix and match between dishes!

When the waitress arrived at our table, she helped us, as newcomers, choose from the dishes we were considering so we would have the right sized portions. And no complaints when I asked for my Greek salad without anchovies and pepperocinis. She wanted us to thoroughly enjoy our meal and have what we wanted! As a spirit, I felt completely honored and respected and delighted that the waitress could see me as an individual and want me to have what I wanted, rather than the mass-produced meal on the menu. (And, of course, my meal arrived exactly as I had ordered it and it was delicious.)

In addition to splitting the huge Greek salad with citrus-marinated grilled chicken, Larry and I decided to depart from our usual diets and order the homemade chili over mac and cheese to share.

As we were waiting for our meal, a senior woman came in with her husband. And just at that moment, the booth behind ours opened up. The woman was standing right there, but her husband had already started walking to another booth. I said I would watch her booth and not let anyone sit there while she went to get her husband.

While walking back to her booth, the woman suddenly stopped at our booth and said, wistfully, “Oh, you’re holding hands! That’s so nice to see!” Like she would really like her husband to hold her hand. We told her we had been together twenty-two years and she said, “You must have something really magical to still be holding hands after twenty-two years!”

The waitress brought our homemade chili over mac and cheese, placed it in front of me, and then went to the next booth. I could hear this woman ask, “What is she having? I want that!” I leaned over and whispered to Larry, “She wants what I’m having because she wants her husband to hold her hand.”

Sure enough, when the waitress brought the homemade chili over mac and cheese, this woman said, “I ordered this because that’s what she had,” pointing to me, “and they were holding hands!”

We were just having so much fun with the wonderful food and the friendly people, so unusual in a restaurant. There was just a happiness that was unusual to see out in the world.

When we went to the register to pay, the chef was there and we complimented him on the food. He chatted with us at length and said he cooks everything the way he wants to eat it and everyone loves it. I could tell there was love in the food. It wasn’t restaurant food. It was food like I would cook at home.

We so loved our experience at this restaurant that driving home we timed how long it would take to drive back. Eighteen minutes. We often drove longer than that in other directions. We could drive back. In fact, it was only five minutes beyond other places we frequently shopped. We made a clear and definite intention to go back to Tiffany’s as soon as possible.

Love expressed in action, open communication, kindness, thoughtfulness, creativity, honoring individual choice…these signs of sprit were present in abundance. And as spirits, we felt right at home. There’s just no way we could have physically known we would have this experience there, yet we “circumstances” led us away from other possible choices, right to a place that is in alignment with what we are as spirits.

But there’s more to this story.

The following morning, Larry took apart the shredder and found that it needed more than a switch–the entire motor was shot. So we didn’t end up with a shredder after all. It turned out that going to buy this shredder had no other purpose than to be the first step in the sequence of events that led us to Tiffany’s.

Then later in the day Larry and I went to a storage auction. While at the storage auction we learned that immediately after that storage auction the same auctioneer was doing another storage auction…right down the street from Tiffany’s! We intended to go back to Tiffany’s, and here was an opportunity do to so the very next day! We know our intentions work, but this was faster than we expected.

I just want to note that we have lived here in Florida for almost eight years and have never ventured to this area, except to drive through to points beyond. And now, events aligned to bring us to the same restaurant two days in a row.

Now, I also have to say that I have an ongoing intention to find great restaurants and they are few and far between here. But that night, everything came together and we had a memorable meal that went far beyond the food.

Two Eagles Flying

Years ago, about 1970, I encountered the spirit of an old Indian chief. I was  hiking near an Indian reservation in far northern California, near the town of Hoopa. Some friends of mine owned a small piece of land right near the reservation and I was up there visiting with them.

The chief, Two Eagles Flying, was amazed I could see him and communicate with him. Many of his own people no longer saw him or took his advice. Two Eagles Flying communicated with me mostly in picture form. He simply showed me pictures of things that had happened to him and his tribes.

These Indians near Hoopa were in fact his adopted tribe, since the death of his own tribe who lived on the Plains until about 1900.

Here is some of what Two Eagles Flying made known to me that day.

Two Eagles Flying was chief of a small tribe of about seventy-five Indians living on the Great Plains. He was a good chief, he led his people on many successful hunts. He dealt with wisdom with the members of his tribe who got into difficulties with each other. He was happy and his tribe was surviving well.

One cold winter about 1850 many members of his tribe got very sick and some died (it looked to me like smallpox from his pictures of the disease). Two Eagles Flying felt powerless against this new illness. His medicine man Big Drum had no effective treatment or cure for this disease. About one-third of his tribe died that winter. Many others got very very sick but did survive, eventually.

Towards spring, when the snow was beginning to melt, Two Eagles Flying became ill. He became angry. No illness was going to stop him from being chief and looking after his tribe!

Nevertheless, after about two weeks of illness, Two Eagles Flying lost his body to the illness.

Without his body, Two Eagles Flying went to his medicine man Big Drum to confer about what to do now that his body was dead. Big Drum let him know that nothing important had changed. Two Eagles Flying was still chief and he could still look after his tribe as before. He just needed to find new ways to communicate to his tribe, now that he had no body.

Only Big Drum and a few others could directly see the pictures that Two Eagles Flying used to communicate with. He would need to find another way to communicate to those who couldn’t see his pictures.

Two Eagles Flying spent much of his time hovering above his tribe, observing. Eventually through much practice he became very adept at forming the clouds into images of what he wanted to convey to his tribe.

He would cause a white puffy cloud of a moose or a deer to appear slowly over a moose or a deer near his tribe. The hunters began to look to the sky for information about where to hunt and what was there. Two Eagles Flying felt proud that he was still leading his tribe well, even after his body had died.

From Two Eagles Flying I learned, again, that that death of a body does not necessarily end everything. Spirit goes on.

An Infinity of Roses

Today is 28 February 2010, exactly two weeks after Valentine’s Day.

For Valentine’s Day, my husband Larry gave me eight white long-stemmed roses. They had very long stems–nearly three feet.

We went to the supermarket to buy organic eggs on the day before Valentine’s Day. When we walked in the door we were greeted with an abundance of Valentine flowers, and right in front were three buckets with long-stemmed roses: white, pink, and red.

“Ooooooh!” I exclaimed immediately. “White long-stemmed roses! I want these for my Valentine flowers!”

I glanced at the price tag–they were priced per rose–and back at my husband. “How many do you want to give me?” I asked, ready to be perfectly happy to have just one.

“Ten,” he said. “Pick out ten.”

Delighted, I began to choose the ten best roses of the bunch. But as I was choosing them, I turned to Larry and said, “No, I don’t want ten, I want eight.”

“An infinity of roses!” he said, picking up my thought exactly. And an infinity of love, I thought silently with a smile.

The roses were buds that first day, but soon opened into eight perfectly-formed flowers.

They have been sitting on my desk for the past two weeks–these eight perfectly-formed roses–keeping me company as I write. And they haven’t wilted a bit. In fact, they have been growing little sprouts at many of the nodes where the leaves meet the stem. Today there are more than a dozen sprouts among the eight roses. Each rose is sprouting, and there are buds at almost all the nodes that are about to sprout.

I have had many cut roses in this lifetime, but never have they lasted two weeks and never have I seen roses sprout. Larry has never experienced this before either, but as we said when we bought them, “an infinity of roses…” As a spirit I could see the intention inherent in that statement at work.

When the flowers finally fade, as all material things do, w are going to cut the stems and root them, and grow more rose bushes. These special flowers obviously want to reproduce and we are going to participate in helping them continue their lives on into future generations.

An infinity of roses indeed.

A Short Vacation

I once took
A short vacation
Away from
My chattering mind.

There I found
The peace and quiet
I’d been searching
So hard to find.

Restful, renewing
And reached
Without any long ride.

And mine to reach
Any time I want
When I so decide.

On my next vacation
There’s one bag
I’ll leave behind.

The bag that holds
The chattering of my mind.

Decent Exposure

As a spirit I’ve learned that I have powers way beyond what is expected in our modern culture. That I don’t fully experience them yet is not that I don’t have these powers, but that they are being blocked by decisions I myself, as a spirit, have made the past. I have observed this over and over in my life. When a past limiting decision is hidden in my mind, it can wreak havoc in my life, but when I become aware of it, the past decision simply disappears, opening the way for more awareness and ability as a spirit.

Often these past limiting decisions have surprising twists in their manifestations. Here is one example.

I have been a writer most of my adult life. I know I have many readers and have done a lot of good in the world, but I have often felt that if my work were more widely known, it would do more good. I’ve done things to promote, but often I’ve felt that no matter what I do in the physical universe, I seem to be invisible. There was a point where I gave up marketing entirely, as it seemed to be useless.

I also noticed that I was reluctant to make myself or my work known. I didn’t know why this was occurring, just that it was.

And then, in one week, I received two emails with huge opportunities to communicate more broadly and make myself and my work known. They weren’t directed specifically to me, they were emails I received because I was on mailing lists. As a spirit, I noticed these emails, opened them, recognized the opportunities, and said, “I need to contact these people and make myself known to them.” And I did. Within hours there were positive, expansive benefits from having done this.

That I contacted these people and made myself known to them without any hesitation whatsoever was actually shocking to me. I know that as a spirit I have a natural ability to reach out and communicate, but it had heretofore been blocked to some degree. In this lifetime, it had always been difficult for me to approach people I didn’t know. It was hard for me, for example, to introduce myself to someone at a party. I would see my friends just strike up conversations with the person standing in line next to them at the grocery store, or compliment a stranger on a nice dress. I had an aversion to cold calling to make sales, even for my own business. I once forced myself to cold call five New York literary agents and had the wonderful result of having all five of them want to represent me, but even after this success, I was still reluctant to cold call.

And then, suddenly, without thinking, I was just able to see the opportunity and seize it by sending off emails introducing myself.

I keep a journal of my wins as a spirit. At the top of the page, I choose one word that describes the essence of the win. I don’t always know what the word is as I begin to write, but it usually comes to me as I write. And so it did.

The word was exposure. And right behind it, in less than a split second, was the thought, “I’m not supposed to expose myself.”

I looked up the word “exposure” in the dictionary. The very first definition was “the condition of being presented to view or made known.” Exposure is to make known. The very root of the word is to put something out into a position.

But there were more definitions that have negative connotations:

• the condition of being unprotected
• the condition of being subject to some effect or influence
• the condition of being at risk
• disclosure of something secret

And especially, indecent exposure.

I looked at this and saw that in my mind there was a confusion about a word. A word! A single word! This one word has connected to it a positive meaning of “to make known” and negative meanings having to do with protection, being subject to the influence of others, being at risk, secrets, and bodies. But all these definitions were jumbled in my mind.

By looking at all these definitions as a spirit, I could sort them out and make new, life-enhancing decisions about the subject of exposure. It’s good to make myself known, I can choose protection where needed (like wearing a coat in the snow, but not on a warm day), I can choose to be affected or influenced or not, I can take risks or not, I can choose to disclose something secret or not, and I can choose when it is appropriate to share my body and when to keep it covered. I went from being confused about exposure to having understanding about exposure, and with that understanding I gained the power of being able to choose the exposures I want, and reject those I don’t want.

The thing that was so amazing to me about this was that I was holding myself back in life—not making myself and my good works known—because of mental confusion about a word. One word! Just one word!

As a spirit, I know I have good things to communicate. So now, I’m going to go expose myself…

Closing A Door

I have had the same job for many years now. I am a nurses aide. I am witness to many souls last moments on this earth. As such I know there are lots of forces at work when someone passes. Animals can usually sense the passing also. In nursing homes with pets the pet will stay with the one who is leaving next. I think it is to give them love and peace in their journey.

My father had a heart attack  the day I was taking him home from a car accident he and my mother were in weeks before. So I arrived first.  As they brought him in I got a second to talk to him. Like most people I did what no one should. I said, “Dad please don’t leave me. I am not ready for you to go.”  His answer was hard for me to hear but I am now glad he was so blunt. He said, “Just  deal with it. I hurt too much to stay any longer.”  We were both crying.

My sisters arrived just after that and the Dr. said he maybe had an hour or so. So say our goodbyes. I was the last one to hear is voice. For that I will always be thankful. Although his words hurt they were truly my father is all his glory. A straight shooter and a man of his word.

The Doctor was wrong, though, he lasted almost a week. My younger sister (my fathers favorite) never got him to say a word. However my other sister made him cry when she relived stories of him in the last few years and how cranky he had become. I saw the tears flowing. No one else noticed. I saw his pain for the things we would remember him by. I Just want to state here, hearing is the last thing to go. Even in a coma count on them hearing you. Be careful what you say. Not only is it the last we will hear from them in this life but the last they will hear from us. Our words are just as important as theirs.

My fathers last words will always ring in my head but unlike my sisters I remember the man who held my baby daughter so gently while he showed her the birds outside. The man who cried when my dog died. The man who came running to rescue me time and time again. And not the man who died that day is such pain and torment.

I feel him visit me from time to time when things are hard on me. I take comfort in his love. We are spirits in a body and not just bodies with a mind. Take heart when they leave if they are short with you. My father was preparing me for the fact he couldn’t stay and I needed to stand up and help my sisters get through it. He knew I would be the one they looked to. He was right, it all fell on me. I love you dad. And miss you more than I can say. I understand why you said what you did.

The Piano

I was born into music. Looking back, knowing now that the source of music is spirit, it seems only fitting. My mother was a classical pianist and singer, though my father knew of neither talent when he married her.

My grandmother had a piano–an old upright on which my mother had learned to play–and from the moment I was able, I would crawl up on the piano bench and try to play. I have a photo taken when I was very small that shows my hands placed on the keys in perfect position.

When I was six years old, my father bought my mother a piano–a five-foot Knabe grand. She would play and I would sit next to her on the piano bench, or under the piano, and soon she began to give me formal piano lessons. I learned to read music as soon as I learned the alphabet. Within the year I was able to read, play, and memorize Mozart’s Sonata in C major.

Over the years, my interest in playing the piano waxed and waned. When I was sixteen, my mother bought a seven-foot Baldwin grand piano with the concert-grand keyboard and had it adjusted by a technician who had been trained at Steinway. So it played like a Steinway concert grand. It was a magnificent piano. I was so inspired by this instrument that I began practicing eight hours a day so I could really play this piano. And I gained the level of ability that I wanted.

When it was time to go to college, I became a music major and actually supported myself for a time as a professional classical pianist. But working professionally–and being forced to play (if I wanted to eat) what those paying me wanted me to play whether I liked the music or not–took all joy out of my music. I became a writer instead and eventually sold my seven-foot grand piano with the concert-grand keyboard and most of my music. Then I met my husband Larry, and because he showed no interest in classical music, I quietly just stopped playing entirely and pursued interests we could share.

Ten years later, in 1997, I met a man I had known in another life, and we became friends. It was actually pretty funny. Our names were very similar and we both drove the same model car–even the same color! And, like me, he had also studied to be a concert pianist, but then did not pursue his dream.

“I too studied classical piano,” I replied. “But I don’t play the piano any more out of deference to Larry.”

“What!” he said. “Did you hear what you just said?!?! You don’t do something you love out of deference to your husband??!??! How can that be?”

“I don’t think Larry likes music,” I said. And then I realized I really didn’t know if Larry liked music or not, I just assumed he didn’t because he never played music on his own origination.

So I went home and asked Larry if he liked music and he said he loves music. As a spirit, my desire to make music reawakened, and I began to consider that I wanted a piano.

For Christmas, Larry and I generally went to his family for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, and then to my family for Christmas dinner. In 1998, though, Larry’s parents went to Hawaii for Christmas. So we spent Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the day after Christmas with my father and his second wife and her parents, and her son and his wife and her parents. My father’s wife was a singer who had trained on scholarship in Vienna, her son played the french horn, and his wife had sung professionally in clubs in San Francisco and New York City. So the potential for making music during this season of merriment could hardly be contained.

After Christmas Eve dinner, it was suggested that we all sing Christmas carols and that I could play the piano. Despite the fact that it had now been eleven years since I had even touched a piano, I was able to pick up the carol book and sightread the simple arrangements with ease. When we had sung every carol, with several parts of harmony, I was asked to play duets on the piano and accompany a baroque horn concerto. Finally, I was asked to play alone. Immediately what came to mind was that I wanted to play Beethoven’s dramatic Pathetique sonata. This was ridiculous! The Pathetique requires strong technique and a piano bigger than the little spinet I was playing. But someone ran to get the music, and put it down in front of me. When I struck the opening c minor chords, it was like I, as a spirit, suddenly was the music. It wasn’t about playing the right notes or the quality of the piano–the music itself poured through me.

Later Larry told me that he had been enjoying listening to the music throughout the evening, but when I played the Pathetique, he cried because it was so beautiful that his heart ached, suddenly realizing that he wanted beautiful music in his life.

When I finished playing the Pathetique, it was the general consensus in the room that I needed to have a piano and I agreed. The next two nights were also spent in musical revelry. I was so inspired to play, that on Christmas Day I brought my box of piano music to my father’s and played their grand piano all afternoon while the Christmas dinner was cooking. My father, who generally sat in front of the television in his wheelchair, wheeled himself into the living room and listened attentively for several hours. His wife’s father, who had had a stroke and was mostly blind and deaf, sat silently in his chair until there was a considerable gap in the music when he surprised everyone by suddenly asking for more piano music. He could hear it!

Something shifted in me during those three days. I was able to let go of the trauma music held for me and instead began feeling music as an expression of joy—as a plaything of the spirit. It became clear to me that it was time for me to have a piano, that it was time for me to express the music I am here to express as a spirit. It did not seem immediately apparent to me how to buy or otherwise obtain a piano, or where I would find a space in my tiny 750-suare-foot house for it, and as other events took precedence in my life, I forgot about it.

Seven weeks later, my father was taken to the hospital with heart problems. He didn’t have a heart attack, but had heart “ache”. He was scheduled for an angiogram followed by an angioplasty, but when they did the angiogram, they found that so many of his arteries were so far occluded that to do the angioplasty wouldn’t help. On a scale of 1 to 10, he was a 9.5. He was very close to having a heart attack. His doctors began to discuss triple-bypass open heart surgery, but he was so high risk, they weren’t sure he would survive the surgery.

When I went to visit him in the hospital, his first words were that he had been thinking since Christmas about how I could have a piano. He said he could tell I was a “born again musician.” His wife explained a friend of hers had used that term for people who had been trained early in their lives, but had moved away from music and as they grew older found that they had to once again be musicians to feel satisfied and happy. “It’s a soul thing,” I said and they agreed. We talked about how before music was a profession for me, but now I want it for my own soul expression. Even though neither of them would discuss religion or spirituality with me, we all understood at that moment what we were saying, just as music can communicate that which cannot be put into words.

My father’s solution was that I should get a little electronic practice piano like I had twenty-five years earlier. He suggested I look in the paper and see if there was a used one available. I said I thought perhaps I should go look at the new ones to become familiar with advances in electronic pianos since we had purchased the last one. He agreed, so I went right out and spent the whole afternoon playing electronic pianos. Back in 1972, my electronic piano was more like an electric guitar—it had strings like a real piano, but instead of a sounding board, it had an electronic amplifier. The new digital electronic pianos available today have actual digital recordings of piano keys played on concert grand pianos, played back through sound systems.

The first few I played sounded adequate. I started with the no-frills version—just a full-sized keyboard with volume control. But then I found if you went up the line the bells and whistles included things like different piano sounds, harpsichord and organ sounds, recording features that would allow me to record accompaniments and then play them back while singing or playing the piano solo against the orchestral accompaniment of a concerto.

At the last store I visited, I found a piano that I loved. When I sat down to play it, I didn’t want to stop. They had a book of Mozart there, and I just played page after page. Where the other brands were designed for home use, this piano was designed for professionals. Each key had fifty gradations of tone, digitally recorded from a 9-foot Steinway concert grand. It had an adjustment to make it sound as if you were playing in a room or a concert hall. When I turned on the concert hall adjustment, it felt exactly like playing a 9-foot Steinway concert grand in a concert hall. I could hear the tone reverberating into the depths of the hall. The colors of tone I could pull from the keys was incredible. The action was actually more responsive than any other piano I had ever played in my life. I knew that was the piano I wanted, even though it was twice the price of the basic model I thought my father had in mind.

Based on my past experience, I knew my father wanted to buy me a basic practice piano. I went back to the hospital and told him all about the piano that I loved. It cost twice the amount of the basic no-frills model, and I was sure my very conservative father was not going to pay for anything beyond what was minimally necessary. Though I didn’t say this to my father, as a spirit I decided if I was going to have a piano at all, I wanted the one I loved and the others weren’t worth having. After hearing about the new improved electronic piano technology, my father again sent me off to look for a used one.

The next day I went back to the hospital and began to tell my father and his wife about how I couldn’t find a used practice piano, but we were shooed out of the room so a nurse could draw blood for tests. In the hall, his wife asked me to continue my story and then told me that my father wanted to buy me the piano that I loved, that price was not the issue, he wanted me to have a piano for my soul, that I would love to play. I was stunned. Here I thought he was so unaware of me spiritually, but as I became more aware of myself, so he too became more aware of me and honored me in his own way. It was as if, as his health became precarious, he wanted to make sure I had what I needed while he could still provide for me, and to him, the most important thing I needed was a piano so I could make my own music–a plaything for my soul.

My father gave me his credit card and told me to order the piano. It was delivered the next day, which happened to be Valentine’s Day. I went to the hospital and said to him, “I just got a great big Valentine delivered to my house. I think somebody loves me!” Looking very pleased, he smiled and said, “Somebody does!” Those were the last words he said. He layed in bed quietly while his wife and I talked, then he slipped into a coma. A week later, he departed his body.

That this piano was expensive was not the gift. It was that he acknowledged me as a spirit and gave me a means of self-expression. That he could see the importance of this and provide for me is an affirmation of me that I can still hardly believe as I write this.

I did nothing, nothing to create this piano in my life except to be steadfast in my commitment to live authentically as the spiritual being I am and to play music for and with others with joy. When I recognized my own longing to express myself as a spirit through music, my father came along and provided the means.

Partners in Spirit

It was the spring of 1987. I was in a relationship with a woman named Gina. I liked her a lot and we got along well, but she was only interested in a temporary affair. I was at a point where I was ready for a partner for life and I wanted that. I also wanted a wife who would share my interest in being a spirit. Gina and I talked, and it became clear that we did not have agreement on a future together.

Knowing that I wanted a long-term, spirit-based relationship, Gina decided that the perfect woman for me would be her friend Debra, who had also recently told her that she wanted a long-term relationship. Gina saw Debra and I had a lot in common–we both were interested in nature and spirit, and she just felt we would be compatible. Without telling either Debra or me about her plan to get us together, Gina took me to a lecture Debra was giving so I could meet her.

The subject was nontoxic alternatives to toxic consumer products, such as pesticides and cleaning products. I was very impressed by Debra’s lecture. I learned a lot about how to live in a less toxic way so my actions would be better for the health of my body and the environment. I had not heard anyone else giving out any such information. And it seemed to be widely needed in our society.

I liked Debra right away. Her eyes sparkled and she had a huge contagious grin.

I thought to myself, “I could help this woman get her message out into the world. That would be a very good thing to do. I want to help Debra. We could work together to make the world a better place.”

After the lecture, Gina and I waited until Debra had finished talking to all her admirers, and then she introduced me. Debra had some books she needed to carry out to her car, so with my spirit intention to help her, I carried them for her. Debra let me know that this helpful action was appreciated with a big smile.

Gina and I continued our relationship, but we both knew it would end soon. Though I was interested in Debra, I had a girlfriend already and I knew enough to not have two at the same time!

About two months later, Debra called Gina. She needed her house painted and wanted to know if Gina could bring me over for several upcoming weekends and we could all paint the house together. Since Gina and I both lived in San Francisco and Debra lived out in the woods, I thought it would be a fine idea to spend several weekends at her house. By then, Gina and I were just friends.

The first weekend I just quietly watched and listened as Debra interacted with Gina. I just painted and did whatever I could to help her. Since Debra thought I was Gina’s boyfriend, she just acted naturally around me, talking girl talk with Gina rather than acting like she might on a first date. I was very interested in what Debra was saying and doing. On the second weekend, however, Debra announced that she was leaving on a trip to England in six weeks and might be gone indefinitely. “Oh!” I thought, “I’d better do something to let her know that I am interested in her!” So I did. Gina was very happy to see her two friends have the kind of relationship they both wanted.

We began a deep, loving relationship where we both help each other achieve our intentions to improve ourselves and this world. Debra and I are a team. A team dedicated to improving life on Earth for all who live here.

I knew from the first moment I laid eyes on Debra that I wanted to be with her and work with her to make the world a better place. For many years I simply helped make her life easier so she could do her work in the world. But then, after eighteen years together, a marvelous thing happened! We found the work we are to do together! Our ability and awareness as spirits opened up to a point where we could write about our spirit experiences and share them with others. When we began to do this, we realized that we had a purpose together as a couple and this was it–to make it known in the world that each one of us is a powerful spirit and that as spirits we have certain characteristics and abilities we can use.

Though this is a huge purpose, it’s one we love to work on together. We love writing our spirit stories and reading the stories others send us. We love putting the stories together every week and publishing them so others can read the stories and become aware and inspired to live a more spiritual life. We love talking about how to promote the stories and thinking up other ways to tell people about being spirits.

I made a spirit intention to help Debra and to make this a better world the first day I met her and we are still doing this in ever-expanding ways more than two decades later. And I still carry her books.

The Tulips

All afternoon I had been having this thought that what I wanted for dinner was green bean casserole, you know, the one with the french fried onions on top. I don’t make it the usual way with canned soup, but I make a creamy sauce and pour in on the green beans, top it with those french friend onions in the can, and bake it. We only have it once a year for Thanksgiving, but it’s one of my favorite dishes. And I was very clear this is what I wanted for dinner.

I knew there was half a can of french fried onions left over from Thanksgiving, so when I got home I pulled a bag of organic green beans from the freezer and looked around for the french fried onions. They were nowhere to be found.

“Did you eat the french fried onions?” I asked my husband, Larry.

“Yes,” he replied, sheepishly. “There weren’t very many left, so I just ate them.” But he hadn’t told me, so I expected they were still available.

“OK,” I said, showing my disappointment. I went back to the kitchen, wondering if I still wanted green beans without the french fried onions.

A few minutes later, Larry came in and said, “I could go to the store right now and get more french fried onions for you.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said. “I want to buy some flowers.” The spray of miniature white roses I had in a vase on my desk had wilted that very day.

We drove to the store and found the french fried onions, then went to the flower department. Now this supermarket has an irregular supply of flowers, but this particular night they had an abundance of flowers! All sorts of flowers of all different colors. Larry and I picked out some flowers we liked and headed for the checkout.

On the way to the checkout, not in the flower department, I suddenly saw a bucket of tulips. Now tulips are my favorite flower. I love them because they are so alive. They continue to grow in the vase, their stems lengthening and twisting into this ever-changing, self-determined work of art. And here was a bucket filled with very fresh tulips in five spring colors!

“Tulips!” I exclaimed. “Oh, tulips!” As a spirit I was filled with joy. I handed Larry the flowers we had already picked and started rummaging through the bucket. Did I want yellow or red or pink or purple or white? All the colors, thank you! I picked five bunches and sent Larry to put the other flowers back.

We went home, and after putting all my tulips in a glass vase on my desk,  I made my green beans with cream and pecorino romano cheese and french fried onions and baked it in the oven and ate the whole thing myself and was thoroughly satisfied.

As I continue to become more aware and able as a spirit, life is like this more and more. I intend something, like, “Get flowers” and I what I get is not just “flowers” but a riotous multi-colored abundant bouquet of my favorite flowers. I love this!

The Truth of Being

Last week, after publishing my story “Lost and Found,” my friend Mary sent me an email.

She said, “That was quite a story! Especially since I was just cruising along reading and all of a sudden Larry was up and dressed instead of lying in bed being sick. It’s as though as a second person you gave witness to the Truth of Being. As a spirit, you knew that what you were seeing—what the senses were reporting about Larry—was a lie, and you were able to see the Truth.”

I hadn’t quite thought of it that way at the time it occurred, but her words stayed with me throughout the day. The idea that The Truth is that I am a spirit wasn’t new to me, but my overwhelm with this ongoing flu made it seem that the flu was more powerful that I was. I had been putting way too much attention on this flu, spending way too much money trying to cure it via physical means and allowing it to have way too much affect on me.

Only several hours went by before I realized, “Oh, the Truth is I am a spirit. That is the Truth.” Just as I gave witness to the Truth of Being for Larry, Mary gave witness to the Truth of Being for me.

When I realized this, I had an image in my mind of myself as a spirit that was shaped very much like a giant haystack, except it was white and very sparkling and there was flowing movement all over. Now, I know that as a spirit I have no form or mass, but at times images come to me that represent me as a spirit, and this image was quite dramatic. It was just there for most of the day, towering over any other thoughts. Just I am a spirit, I AM a spirit, I AM A SPIRIT! Like I was being aware of this truth for the very first time. Experiencing this and being delighted.

And then, again with delight, I started thinking, “I’m not a sick body! I’m not a sick body! I’m a spirit! I’m a spirit! I am a spirit and I can just create my body to be healthy.” I was so relieved to not have to put so much attention on my sick body.

After this, I just proceeded with my life with new vigor as a spirit. And immediately things started opening up at a different level. I became aware of opportunities I hadn’t seen before and began to bring even more order to my work. There is just such a difference between being creative cause as a spirit and being the effect of something like an illness.

This is the power of acknowledging each other at the spiritual beings we are.