In the land of duality, one of the most important questions we can ask is, “Could you be loved?” In March of 2019, my mom fell off of a ladder and ended up having a couple of mini strokes. This incident landed her in the hospital, and then in a nursing home for rehabilitation. I took the liberty of bringing her some clothing, activity books, reading material, bathroom necessities and other items to make her stay more comfortable. I found myself going above and beyond to ensure she knew I was there for her.
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If you had asked me the previous month if I would be doing this for my mom, I might have punched you square in the nose. My relationship with my mom has always been strained, to put it lightly. Over the years, I allowed much physical, emotional, and mental abuse for the sake of having a mother in my life. My own biological mother passed away three weeks after my birth, leaving my father unable to care for me. They both had Muscular Dystrophy. It was my father’s sister, Martha who adopted me into her family.

I began this round of emotional clearing after having an intense dream about the father of my daughter, Michael. Since I completed this round, I made amends to him personally and it went way better than I expected. At first, I was so nervous, it was hard to breathe, but once I began talking it seemed to flow easily. With the exception of a few months during the worst part of our relationship, we always got along because our personalities complimented each other so well.


Michael has not visited with our daughter more than a handful of times over the years and has firmly insisted that his hatred for me is to blame. The guilt that has arisen from this situation has been an anchor I carried throughout my daughter’s life. She will be twenty-one in January. It is important for you to know a little of the back story of the relationship before you read through the steps. Allow me to briefly explain what happened to harden his and his family’s heart toward me. This is extremely personal, but I am putting it out there anyway, in hopes that it will help others who might read this.

​Given that my first name literally means “dark” in Gaelic, it is no surprise that I am playing such a dark role in this life. As with many of the things I write about and discuss on my YouTube Channel, there are many dots I have connected to form my very own magical puzzle. I believe each human on the planet has their own puzzle out there, and the pieces are waiting to be found.
 
One of the many lessons I am learning is about souls and how they function. One of my guides recently referred to me as a ‘Human of Soul Navigation.” I have extremely powerful communications with the other side of this physical reality, and it has taken time to even be able to broach these topics. I will try my best to connect enough puzzle pieces for you to grasp their meaning, but there are dozens of pieces that I cannot possibly connect for another person. My puzzle is my own just as yours is your own.
 
I guess it could be a blessing that it often takes me a very long time to fall asleep at night. This allows my brain to fall into a delta wave state where I am in between the waking and sleeping worlds. I always know I am in this sensitive state, often referred to as ‘hypnogogia,’ when I begin to see purple swirls in my mind’s eye. I can even see this with my eyes open if the room is very dark. This is when the communication begins from the non-physical worlds and even other physical realities.

​There is much information at our disposal if we pay close attention to our dreams. The Bible, in Joel 2:28, says “And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions.” I am not religious, but I do realize truth where it exists. That is one verse that is so very true. I have had powerful dreams my entire life that have led me to know that the world is not what we are told.
 
I am often surprised to hear people say that they hardly ever dream or that they do not remember their dreams. This is, of course, their own life journey. It is easy to hear of someone who dreams often and dismiss the information as “just a dream.” Let’s all remember the Bible verse I just mentioned. If God is pouring his Spirit unto all flesh, giving us visions and dreams, then why in the world are we not paying more attention to the ones who are experiencing it? I implore you to sit with that question for a moment and see how it feels in your core. 

​Maelen came to live with me on August 28, 2017. He was so tiny; I could hold him in the palm of my hand. I had always wanted a black cat for aesthetic purposes, and he fit the bill. At the time, I wasn’t exactly planning on another cat. I had two cats that meant a lot to me, and both had recently passed away so when my daughter’s boyfriend pulled this little black ball of fur out of his pocket one afternoon, I wasn’t exactly pleased.
 
It didn’t take long for Maelen to become my little buddy. Since there were so many dogs at my mom’s house, he opted to stay with me in the safety of my room. He was definitely a cool cat. Over time, I noticed him behaving like a dog, which I thought was hilarious. He took every opportunity he had to play with the puppies that came and went. I knew he was special and told him so all the time. 

​**This situation was worked through using the Formula of Compassion last year before I started using a laptop to type them. I have copied this from the journal entry and edited it for publication. Some of the names have been changed for privacy reasons. A second entry was made recently due to lingering painful resentments and recurring dreams. That entry will be shared next.

***I am not a licensed medical or psychological professional. The views expressed on this website are that of my own based on my personal experiences. If you are having a medical or psychological emergency, please seek professional help immediately by dialing 911.


June 24, 2018

I remember looking out my bedroom window with excitement to see little Marisa outside popping tar bubbles in the road. I would always run out there and pop them with her. We must have been around five years old when we met and became friends. Sometime after moving two doors down from her and her family, I was told that my mother, Marion, died and that I was adopted.

This news must have devastated me, but I don’t remember the reaction. I recall where I was when I was told but can’t remember many other details. I remember my adopted mom and me being alone in what was called 'the sewing room' while I was being told. The reason this event was not a family conversation eludes me. I can’t seem to remember being upset or crying at all. I guess I blocked it out. I look back on this event now and think that I stuffed the pain deep down into my subconscious.