Where we left off in this story makes me thoughtful as I look back on it. The day started with the spirits drawing my attention to something that needed to be taken care of. When I noticed there was a story, I was compelled to write, very easily drawn away from the task on hand. I was almost grateful for the back pain I have had this week as an excuses to type instead of do the dishes that are sitting in the sink waiting for me to be interested in them. At the end of that day (that I wrote about ghosts, angels and the girl in peices) I realized I had spent the day writing about the girl in pieces but not tended to her. What was I thinking? Does this correlate with my life somehow? I see the problem or maybe the riddle that needs extra attention to untie. Instead I am running around the riddle, as if it is not there…. talking about the package it is in. That brings me to late that night; I looked at my son and with a bit of shock at myself, and said “the girl in pieces is still waiting for me!”
As powerful and profound as these explorations always are. I procrastinate sometimes as if it is a more difficult job than it actually is. I lay down on my bed that night and invited to me the boy spirit that had come the night before. With a brief apology for taking so long, I asked how I can help. He explained that he was an involved party. That he had been watching her for a long time. Knowing that she needed help, but not knowing how to help her wake up from her obsession with what happened to her.
Here I will explain a little of the process I use to determine how to help. How to get the spirits attention long enough to break them out of their frenzy and bring them back to themselves. It has been a trial and error experiment over the past few years to learn what works. I have learned bringing the spirit to a completely white room helps the truth be reveled with more ease. I ask for help from the other side from family members that have already passed. The familiar faces sometimes will snap the divided spirit into themselves. I have seen countless times a crazed spirit literally brake down in tears grabbing onto a loved one like they just realized they were drowning and could be saved. It is an amazing thing to witness. I ask to be shown the information about their death to help me understand why they are stuck. This part it the part that is the most interesting for me. You will understand when I tell you the girl’s story. It is always surprising and always different. Some may say that I have quite an imagination. This may be true, but I believe the stories are true. It is a very spontaneous“watching a movie”” type process that most always makes sense at the end of the story. I am quite excited to tell you this story because the ending, for me anyways, was very freakin cool!
The first step I took to help the girl in pieces was ask to be shown what happened to her. I could see a vague picture of her. Around 30 years old, night gown, long blonde, well kept, the boy told me she was doing research. He stressed that what she was working on was very important. The next thing I saw was her being “dumped” into something that was big and metal. There was men, 2 or3 literally pocking at her body with rods or sticks. Like they were trying to fit her into something. I felt that she was not alive in this process. The men were going through this process with purpose; I felt they were hiding her cut up body.
She is very angry. She had a good life, snatched out of it totally unexpected. Her being put in the container, she pushes on me that she was not alive at this point. This is where the lesson starts to unfold. She stood by while they were hiding her body. Unable to stop them, unable to hurt them like they had already hurt her. She felt stolen, her life shoplifted and then dumped in the trash like the wrapper of a candy bar just stolen by a teenager. No remorse or regrets. For her, she was nothing but emotion. So much anger, it was like a laser beam at the moment of the insult. She locked on to her assailants and the angel that was there to escort her to the other side stood by invisible to her. She was blinded to everything but what happened. She tells me her anger kept her riveted to this spot. She focused all o her attention on her assailants instead of Azrael the angel, her peace in the moment of transition failed, forcing her to stay here. I ask her to focus. She just wants to go back to her comfortable state ofchaos and blame. I can see the dance of energy between her pieces, the men and her. She has driven groove in the fabric of time and only she can release herself. I ask for a loved one who has past to come help her out of her fugue. I am visualizing the entirely white room. It is like a blank canvas where anything can happen. Her Grand ma appears. Iwitness a sudden crushing together of family. The girl in pieces finally crumbles into her grandmothers arms. The sigh of relief is palpable and obvious; her attention has transferred away from the tragedy to the warmth of her grandmothers arms. As I approach the room. I can see she is still upset. There seems to be green vines everywhere. She sits down onto the white floor. More complete. By complete I mean all the pieces came together. It was not a picture of actual pieces, but a deep sense of collection, as if a giant magnet collected all the tiny pieces of metal shards and suddenly it made a complete solid form. I see as a solid person now, flowing blonde hair, a beautiful soft sweater and scarf. This vision lasts only a few seconds. Then she stands and turns with this obvious attitude that “I am done here.” Then the picture is like a movie, moving by itself. The vines recede away from her in the white room, leaving a stark difference in the room concerning the contrast of color and constriction. She gives me an expression that resembles an attitude that states “I am done here.” Then I see her close a curtain like you would see in a dressing room. She stands straight, obviously she has made a decision, reaches up and holds the material in her hands at the top near the bar and closes it, as if it is the end of scene two. In a strange way I can still see what she is doing even though I am behind the curtain. Quite unexpected to me she walks straight into the jungle. She was doing research and her mission was not complete. Unfinished business keeps her from the light. Now she is focused on the next thing. The young boy says “Thank you for releasing her, she has very important work to do.” Her spirit says her being stuck in her “looking back in anger” for so long was such a waste of time. The torment of looking backwards at the pain has prevented her from finding her goodness. Azrael looks at me and states “Job well done.” It was the release thwas needed, not the integration of her with the light of crossing over. The peicesof her body are still lying on the floor of the white room. They still
sit there unclaimed. I go back periodically over the next few days to see if the pieces are still lying on the floor, like already opened unclaimed baggage. They are always there.
Four days later I ask ” Can the pieces of the girl talk to me?” I am told they are just remnants. The past that has been let go. The only reason they are still there is someone gives them purpose. I witnessed the intention in her stride as I watched her back leave into the forest. I look upon on the past remains like they are still going to give me important answers. What they signify is the need to let go. The past only has power over us if we give it power. The remains are tangible, physical and messy
because someone is saving them until they speak their secrets. I am told they need to let them go. They represent the past that is devastation and binding, needing to be disposed of with no reside left behind. I watch as the remains burst into flames and burn until only ash is left. Next an opening appears in the floor, at the same time 2 beings appear to sweep all the ash into the trap door in the floor, and then it closes. The room is empty.
When I started to write this a few days ago, I thought this was the end of the story. What I came away with and what wanted to share with you was simple. Don’t keep your eyes focused on the past. You will attach yourself like suction cups to glass, only able to see in one direction, backwards. This stops you from dreaming of, creating and loving your present/future, stuck instead in the hate, rage and wanting revenge. The moral of the story seemed to be, let go of the past no matter how devastating and live your life (and death) in the moment. Amnesia just may be our friend when it comes to holding onto the negative happenings in our past.
As I write this I see a solid form dressed in dark clothing, brush by my right side, like a shadow. I know it is Azrael. I hear him
say….”This is not the end.” I involuntarily bring my arms up to hug myself, quenching the gooseflesh. He is only reinforcing what I already know. There is much more to this story.
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My name is Christina Laughton. I live in the country in NC. I have made it a long standing practice study ways to achieve health and peace in life through allowing your true self to be seen. I have fostered many unusual abilities such as seeing, hearing and sensing the usually unseen. Then finding the understanding of how to apply this to your life, to bring a balance to your mind, body and spirit. When in alignment with yourself you will always bring healing to all parts of your life.
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