The Creamery

This is a great story, or at least I think it’s a great story probably because I’m the one who experienced it. I seem to go back to this story quite often, just as I did the other night. In doing so, I find that reminiscing can take you right into that energy, the same one that was present at the creamery.

On the northern California coast there was a building, an old creamery, and honestly it had been used for many different things such as metal forging to make horse shoes and other metal things, and even as a storage place. At the time I was there it was being used for woodworking. Our friend had his shop there and he was a custom cabinet maker.  

That’s how I ended up stopping by with my husband one day to visit our friend on the way home from the post office. The town of Manchester is very small, typical coastal town and we lived a few miles up in Irish Beach.  

Ron heard a vehicle pull up and slid the door open. With a big smile, he invited us in. We hadn’t seen his new place since he’d moved out of his garage, and with all the people talking about his beautiful handmade work, he was getting busy. I sat down in a chair by the old wood stove, as it was winter and it was wet and cold. The coast was always cold; totally different in climate from Southern California. Up there in the north it was wet, cold, and the wind blew most of the time. 

As I sat there and Ron showed my husband around the shop, I began to feel my senses piqued. My senses were all very alert and I thought to myself, What the heck is going on here? 

I took a deep breath and sat back away from the stove when in my ear I clearly heard a whisper that said, “Why are you here?”  

I sprang up, and knocked over the chair I was sitting in. Ron and Fred came running back in.  

What’s wrong?!” they asked. 

“GHOST!” was all I could get out of my mouth. 

Suddenly a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, dressed in a 1700s white dress with a high collar was standing there with her head tilted to one side, looking at me like, ”What’s wrong?” I’d scared her, and the men too.  

Ron said, “I KNEW, I KNEW IT!”   

I looked at him and hissed, “Shhhh!” with one finger against my pursed lips. I said leave, “Leave now.”  

Ron started to ask why and looked back and forth from me to Fred, searching for an answer. Fred just took his arm and left.  

That place was so full of one very active spirit, and many other residual energies. When they left, it was kind of dark, but there were hanging light bulbs here and there that helped illuminate the area. I saw a man come out from the back room with his leather apron and tools to forge steel. He had dark hair that was cut short and parted on the side, and a dark mustache. I approached him but he did not acknowledge me; ah residual energy loop. There also were children playing and singing that would come and go. 

Then there was the lady with the long blond hair, who sat right next to me in the other metal chair. I started to speak to her, and just as I was going to ask her what her name was, another lady came out of the wall with a package in her arms and plodded across the building, going right through the opposite wall. I kept hearing, “Pay your bill.” This was a circus!

The ghost next to me could not understand why I was there. She kept saying, “You don’t belong here.”  

I thought, What?! Why don’t I belong but Ron does?  

And then she answered me. As I write this now I start to laugh, as I was very inexperienced at this. She said she knew Ron, and that she liked to watch him work. I thought again, Well, what about his wife? She answered, “No, I like it when he is here.”  

You have got to be kidding me; this woman … this spirit, this beautiful spectre … had a crush on Ron. Just about that time the door slid open and Ron and Fred came walking in with hot chocolate, both smiling.  

“Everything okay?” he asked.  

I said, “I don’t know, but you and I need to talk. What the heck is going on here, Ron?”  

Ron started to tell me the story of how there was a woman in the 1700s who ran the creamery, and how she ran it herself. She was the first woman around those parts that had ever done anything like that. The descendants to this lady still owned the land and the house in the back. 

I described to him what she looked like, and he said, “Yes, I have a picture of her.”  

I was flabbergasted! “What? How?” I asked. 

He said, “The family. They all knew she was here, so I asked them about her. I’ll get the picture.”  

Fred and I just looked at each other. It was almost like Ron was transfixed with her. He practically came running back in, exclaiming, “That’s her, right?” 

I just stared at the picture. My mouth dropped and I finally gasped, “Yes.”

She was beautiful. And there was something about her; she was sweet and kind, gentle, but yet strong and proud. This was her creamery. I asked about the iron works, and yes, it had at one time been used by two or three men who did forge work there. He had also heard the children. At one time during a flood in the ‘40s it was used as a school. I kept coming back to her, Rebecca, though. I told Ron that she liked him, but not his wife.  

“I kinda figured that out, because when Laura was here to help or bring lunch, she always felt weird and didn’t like it. One time she tripped and fell to the ground, and then she just stopped coming down here,” he said.

 Rebecca did not need to cross over; she was crossed. She was beautiful and full of light, she just enjoyed coming to visit her beloved creamery, and I guess Ron. Probably also had a connection to the family who still lived there through generations. He proceeded to tell us that he had feelings about this and felt like it was home, and familiar. I asked him if he felt scared since most people are scared. He said, “No, its very peaceful, inviting. I love working here, but Laura doesn’t like it.”  

I would say that he stayed there probably a year or so, and then found something else closer to the house. I wondered about the new people renting the creamery and if they’d experienced anything, or if the men experienced anything. Maybe Rebecca was in love with Ron, maybe he reminded her of a long lost love. I’ve always wondered. 

When I think back to that experience, I can see her. Instantly I’m back standing in the middle of the wooden floors with naked light bulbs lighting the sparse space and Rebecca flowing all around in her lace, high-collar blouse and long skirt, her long hair down and glowing so beautifully.

Edited by

Jody Freeman

off the shelf publishing : https://offtheshelfediting.com

Thank you for reading

with love Renee

1990

Compassion, Love, and Patience

I really didn’t have a firm understanding of compassion. Of course, I had practiced it here and there. While working in rural Montana in a small bed facility, I was assigned several people to take care of, get to know and love. It was there I learned the true meaning.

I started after school. The real learning began with training on the job. I learned to care for them physically, the usual daily care routine. I also learned respite care: care of the dying. I preferred those patients the most. They would not get better nor go home. Whether alone or with a loved one, they would die here. Some had no family. I became the closest thing that they would have to a loved one as they transitioned to death.

I was trained by a drill sergeant whom was strict and direct. I can still see her walking down that hallway, making sure she had taken care of everyone and they were in bed. As tough as she was, she was kind and loving. Sarge would always remind me to have empathy, and try to understand what it would be like for me. 

Think about what it would be like to have all freedom denied to you, just because you got old or sick, or dying.

I learned to give last rites, to prepare the body after death. To prepare any family of the death. Also, to talk to the one dying. I remember standing there and saying, “I can’t do this, I can’t.”  Sarge would say, “Oh yes, you can, and you will. Be honest, be brave, and carry on. Not for you, but for them.”

I swear it seemed that everyone there in that small bed nursing home was special. They all had a life, they were once young, had careers, people that they loved. They had a life. Now they were at the end of that life.

Some were ready to die. Most were not. But when faced with the truth of what was happening, they were so amazing in how they dealt with it.

I will never forget Merna (not her real name). The sheriff had brought her to the facility. Merna had been found under the wooden porch on the front of her house; she had been there for days. Her husband had died about a year ago and she lived alone. She was very poor, living only on social security. No family.  

She decided to walk outside to hang up the laundry, just like she had done for so many years. The sheriff said that as she was walking out, she’d fallen over something and could not get up. She lived way out on a tiny dirt county road. Merna still used on old outhouse that was on the property. She crawled under the wooden deck because she couldn’t get up to walk. She had really hurt her hip. 

Merna laid there for 3 nights, in the cold dark and in pain. The only reason someone found her was a man was hunting and heard her screaming. He made his way to the little house, more like a cabin than a house, and found her.

When Merna was brought in, she had already been to the hospital. So, they sent over her things that she’d had on. She was one of mine. I started through her things to see if they needed to be washed, and what didn’t need to be washed was quickly put away as directed by her fingers pointing and some yelling. 

I noticed her bra and panties; I had never seen such things. The bra was made from scraps of fabric, little pieces, and the straps were worn out. The clasp had long been replaced. Still, the bra was beautiful, with all that work, and the different colors were all hand-sewn. The underwear was the same. I didn’t say a word, and asked if I could wash them for her. I found her so pretty, with gentle gray eyes and long white hair, yellowed some at the ends, braided into pigtails.  

I heard her whisper, “I don’t care.”  

My heart just swelled, she was in so much emotional pain. I placed them in the laundry bag with her dress and shoes. The shoes were dirty and filled with newspaper to cover the holes in the bottoms. They were ready to be thrown away. She would just stare out the big window in her room, and not talk much at all. A tear would roll down her face, and I could tell she was at the end of hope.

I understood.

When I got back, I did a full body assessment and talked to her. The orders from the hospital were clear. She needed to eat, extra calories, lots of water and rest. Also, we needed to keep an eye on her feet, as there was some frostbite. Her vitals looked good. She was in her 80’s. I was perplexed.

Merna, after about 2 days, told me she was going to die. I said, “You’re too strong to die, and you’re really good.” She always just stared out the window, toward the mountains and the trees.  

I would read to her and try to talk, and even play music. She would get a small smile as she looked at me, and then turned and stared out the window again. She didn’t want to talk, or listen to a book. Nothing about the news. She wanted to die. Everyone tried to talk with her, more doctors and assessments. The truth was Merna wanted to go. 

A week later, I came into the room to prepare her for the day, and she was gone. Do not resuscitate order (DNR). 

I prepared her body, with gentleness, and said prayers while I waited for the coroner to come. I thought about her life, wondering what her husband was like. I hoped that she’d had a good life. I wanted her to be at peace.

I went in her room to pack her things, and I picked up the bra of many colors and shapes all sewn so beautifully. I turned to put it in a bag, and there she was, standing by the window. She didn’t look like she did when she was here; she was glowing with light, her skin looked so sparkly. Her eyes were clear and still gray, but with a blue tint. She was smiling, and my eyes filled with tears. But the room was filled with love, and light. I could feel her. She was gone. Home she went.

Why she showed herself I don’t really know, maybe because of all the times I’d tried to talk with her. I showed her respect and love. In return, she let me feel that joy and happiness of being set free. I see Merna and all the other wonderful, amazing people that I took of care in those years, in that little rural nursing home. They were my teachers. Each one teaching about death, and dying. Teaching me about compassion and love, and patience.  

Everyone has a story.  

    With Love,

Renee

You have probably heard the expression “residual energy.” it is a term all empaths, psychics, and mediums become familiar with. It is often used when describing the energy remnants left behind in objects, places, or buildings by the people who have gone before.  

There is energy everywhere and in everything. We are energy. Source god is energy, angels, and other energies of people. Even emotions are energy.

Buildings, cars, homes, places, and  objects hold these residual energies. This energy does not have to come from someone that has died; it can also be here from people who are alive. This is what I’m fascinated with, the energy that people are picking up that is residual but that is current.  

Another interesting part is layer upon layer of energy—of this residual energy—that can bombard someone. After time passes, there is a build up of energy.  this is why we cleanse areas when there is a lot of activity. This activity is not interactive, meaning you cannot interact with the energy or ask questions of it.  Talk, ask, and prod all you want, but it will not interact with you.

The same build up can happen with your own energy; layer upon layer of psychic info that if not cleared can build up in the energy bodies around the human body.  This leads me to a suspicion of possession, and other difficulties that some people find themselves in.

Not only do we have thoughtforms around us, but we can also find a lot of residual energy around us that is not ours, where as thoughtforms are ours.

How can residual energy be current? Very easily. On several occasions, I have heard my husband clearing his throat and even coughing … but he is not here, he is gone. There have been several occasions where my husband has heard me calling him yet I am a hundred miles away.

My son picks up on me calling him when I am the store. He can hear me talking when I’m not home. He is an empath. He gets all freaked out, but the energy is still just energy.

I’m not haunting him, subconsciously. This is his sensitivity to his environment.

We are both alive, but yet our energy is in the home.  When this starts to happen in our home, I know it’s time to clear the area. When I do this, I notice it to goes away until at a certain point, begin to build again.

With almost every reading I do, I always ask if they hear their alive loved one. And to my surprize, a lot of these people keep hearing their loved ones whom are alive. What is going on? Most people are psychic and don’t even know it. This is energy, but its left over or embedded within the home. Being sensitive, being able to pick up on this, is actually easy.

Interesting how energy works, how it records exactly what is happening in the home, but usually connected to emotion of some sort. I hate to admit it is the fact that it drives me crazy to hear my husband clearing his throat constantly and coughing.

I have been in places that I have never been before and picked up on energy, and the loop that runs of embedded, recorded-type energy. I cannot interact with it, but I can see the person and feel the emotion.  

This has implications also for psychics and mediums giving readings. You can add to your readings with this information if you can tell the difference between a residual energy and a current psychic energy. An example is you ask your client, “Is their drug abuse in the home, is someone using energy?” and they say, “No.” Well, it could have been even before they lived there. In essence, you can sense the whole history of a place, thing, or building. This could be helpful in different circumstances.

How does this record the energy? As energy workers and deeply spiritual people, a lot of us have the realization that the energy is spinning atoms, willing  to create whatever you want, and when these atoms come to us in the air that is energy of source, they are pure. We cloak them with our energy, negativity, or positivity. Atoms are a recording device, sort of to say.

When we come into a place, it is cloaked (the atoms) with the leftover energy of people, animals, or whatever has been taking place. Batta-boom, you’re feeling it or reading it.  This is one of the reasons I use light to clear; it changes the atoms back to a purer light, and hopefully transmutes the energy back to purity.

This also can be comforting to some people, as it’s not negative, it’s only energy with the signature of someone in it. For loved ones who are still here, leaving residual energy is part of the grief healing that is set forth naturally. Our loved ones who have transitioned to the other side will leave their residual energy for us to comfort and heal us. The majority of time, we can hear and see our loved ones. This does bring comfort. Mixed in with visitations and signs from our loved ones, you can truly see how we are loved and cared for.

I also make a note here, that at a certain point of their transition to the other side and how well we are moving through the grief, they pull their energy themselves.  Not always, but most times, and there is a definite change in the energy around them. This shift and change usually occurs about the sixth month mark of their departure back home. Not always at six months, sometimes not for years.

When you’re home alone and you think you hear your family member, that you know is not there, remember it’s just residual energy.

When we moved into our home, I kept seeing a black family. I felt their emotions in each room. I would see the wife and then hear her crying. I felt sadness and a loss. We’d bought our home in a short sale; they had lost their home, and all the emotions that are wrapped into it from losing the home you love were still present.

I confirmed that it was a black family with the real estate agent, and then cleansed/cleared my home. Didn’t see them or feel them anymore.

You can see how this energy is very much alive. So remember, it doesn’t matter if alive or transitioned, energy is energy, and if you’re sensitive, you too can see and hear people who are alive but are not physically there at the time.

Layer over layer, time over time … clearing is important. This energy with its layers—depending on what is/was going on—can create chaos. Lots of noise, emotions, and fears.

Clearing can be done with light, and sage, and even just incense. Yes, that’s one of the reasons when moving into a home that was pre-owned or not, you should think about clearing it. You can do it yourself!

One time, we were visiting a house that was being built. It was Sunday, no one was there, and I saw the construction guys. One drove a red truck and had a thermos with a San Francisco 49ers sticker on it. It’s that simple. The energy was from the men working there. Maybe he had something happen, as I felt strong emotion connected to this one part of the house. Later, I learned a man’s wife had died and he found out about it at the job site.

Energy is everywhere as I said earlier; it is alive and vibrant, spinning and recording our energies.

Thank you for reading!

Renee Descartes, the French philosopher, said that evil demons could keep us under a veil of illusion. What Descartes did not realize was is that we are the demon, believing and feeding into the illusion.

We are the controller of us, of all the different parts of the illusion of ego.

Dreams are a direct link to our consciousness on different frequencies of dimensions. In dreaming, we are connecting to this dimension.

The dream I had nearly thirty years ago was a lucid dream—meaning that I knew I was dreaming and I could interact within the dream.

This is an account of the dream, in all its detail and its meaning:

I became aware of a landscape in muted orange and light browns. The air was thick. There were mountains, but they were barren. The ground was barren. The feeling was ominous.

Next, I saw train tracks leading through a realm where nothing grew, and a black, vintage steam engine train puffing toward me. I was above it in the air, held still and quiet. The noise of the steam engine drew closer and closer and as it did, I became aware of myself and that I was dreaming.

When the train was right under me, I went into it, and appeared inside a beautiful train car.  The walls were black with velvet patterns of red. I stared at those patterns, and then my eyes moved to the brass lamps on the walls that emitted a beautiful golden color in the room. The carpet was red with blues and greens that seemed to be alive, and the bench-seats were all black; even the cushions matched the flooring.

I sat down and as I looked up, a man smiled at me. He sat directly across from me. Through the picture window, I could see that the outside was still desolate, and orange and brown in color.

The man was dressed in all black, including his jacket, vest, and pants. His dark curly hair framed his face. His dark eyes were so deep and enchanting. He was looking outside and would not look at me. I sat quietly, unable to feel my feet even though I could see my legs.

I took a deep breath, and let it out. The train was rumbling along, writhing along the steel and wooden tracks as they stretched and creaked. I also noticed the reflection of the outside on the inside; colors reflected on shining objects inside the train car.

He finally turned to talk to me, and smiled. “Do you know why you’re here?”

I replied, “No.”

He then smiled again, and I could see the reflection of the outside in his dark eyes. I could also see my reflection within his eyes … it looked like light.

He asked me a question, and as he did, he leaned forward toward me. “You must make a choice.” A long silence followed as he moved gently back and forth with the swaying train. “You must choose, this is the time. Do you choose light or darkness?”

He told me there was no in-between; which would I choose? What would I serve? He then smiled and his face morphed into a grotesque creature. I felt danger. I could feel my heart pumping, and I said to myself, You’re in a dream.

I started to float above the seat. I became light; I was so bright that he hid his hideous eyes, and I said strongly and passionately, “I choose light. I serve the light. Leave me be. I have chosen and you have no power over me.”

With that, the train exploded into white light, and I thought, Well I guess I’m dead. I landed in a place that was light, floating in a liquid light with burst of gold and blue, pinks and greens. I saw the most beautiful light, and it became clear and moved closer. I felt the strongest sense of joy and love that I started to cry.

Even though I was floating, I got down on my knees and started to pray. I was so thankful and felt such a oneness that I was bursting at the heart. Then I woke up in bed. I could feel my heart, and it was full of love and heat from the experience. Oneness, with everything.

Through this whole experience, I was detached. I wasn’t afraid; I was curious. I wanted to know what it was, where it was. I had no fear. I knew I was okay and aware.

The only feeling that came into play was when I was in the light.

It was like being in liquid light, pure love, so connected.

It seems our paths are always as clear as we can accept at the time. Where it is asked and we answer yes or no, the path gets a little clearer.

This can happen on a large scale or a small scale. We make choices all day long, to either serve love, or serve our own lower ego. That’s what he was; it was me, my lower self-serving ego. We are who we battle with. That is what some call the devil or a demon. In all truth, it is a surrender to the ego side.

We are the center of everything, we have a choice. Every day starts anew; we can choose

to serve love or serve the illusion of fear. We can choose to buy into the illusion.

“Those that look outside dream, those that look inside Awaken.” — C.G. Jung

I chose love.

Merle Haggard drove up to our service station in Redding California.  I was sitting in the office, doing my paperwork; it was a Sunday, and I’d gotten stuck working.  The familiar ding of the tire rolling over the air-filled hose alerted me that someone wanted full service.

Out I jumped from the office, and as I approached the vehicle, there stood Merle Haggard, leaned against the front of his 1960 convertible Cadillac, white with red interior. He wore shorts with his cowboy boots, a tank top under his unbuttoned shirt, and a broad cowboy hat.

“Hi, darlin’,” he smiled as I came out.

“Hello,” I said. “What would you like? Premium, regular, or the expensive stuff?”

He laughed and started to sing me the answer, then went on about the gas station on Highway 5, the girl with the curly hair and burly husband.  He smiles and added, “Premium, please.”  He was too charming and had a peaceful feel.

I was seeing things, but the timing was not right.

Then I checked under the hood of Cadillac. He smiled, and I chuckled.

He said, “I can do that.”

I replied, “Stand back, mister!” and he laughed out loud while I checked the oil and the water, and topped off his washer fluid. He sang the whole time. Merle was happy. I was happy. He kept smiling as I checked the air pressure in the tires; he was getting a kick out of it, I guess because I was a woman.

“Who owns this gas station?” he asked.

“I do. Well, along with my husband.”

“Is that the big man with a beard?”

“Yes,” I laughed.

Apparently, he had been here before. He looked down at his fingernails, took in a breath and said, “Come up to the club and listen to some music, you and the big guy. Later, I’ll have a party on the houseboat. Dwight Yoakam will be there, along with others, my family. Bring the big guy if you’d like.” he flashed a huge cute smile.

I giggled like I was sixteen and said, “Sure.”

This was Merle; not only was he a local, he was a great guy, easy going and fun.

Well, of course we went up to the Silverthorn on Shasta Lake. Beautiful place, and the music and the people were amazing. The big guy and I, we danced and drank and I even bought Dwight Yoakam a beer. He was really very friendly, even coming back to sit with us a while. I told Dwight he needed to stick with the story-telling lyrics. Yeah … I was tipsy and feeling pretty good.

Merle came by and with Dwight sitting there, and said, “Hey, come on, we’re going to the Shasta Queen. Let’s go!” and off we all went to the houseboat, called the Shasta Queen.

I began to see a woman behind Merle, smiling and waving. We got on his three-story houseboat, and oh my gosh, the water must have conducted some serious energy because it was like a show. There were so many there; some felt old and looped in energy but his mother was there, too. She wasn’t a loop; she was looking and waving at me.

She kept saying, “Flossie, Flossie, Flossie,” over and over.

I was getting dizzy, the energy was intense they Merle, his friends, and Dwight started playing and singing.  The spirits on that boat were so outta this world.

I don’t really know how it happened, but I caught Merle in the small hallway that led to the bathroom. First, I have to say, it was totally not right to what I did. I have high standards, but at the time, I was just beginning to read people and wasn’t aware that I shouldn’t have approached him the way I did..

“Merle,” I said, the words spilling from my mouth. “Your mom is here with a whole bunch of other people. This boat is a floating spirit box.” He laughed.  “Your mom is Flossie and there is an old dog with her.”

His eyes widened, and he said, “What does she look like?” and from there he listened.

Very quickly it came out of my mouth, about his mother his dad, and the dog, then I moved on to the energy of the houseboat. He smiled and laughed, and I could have sworn he had a tear in his eye. He said I was a “magic lady.”

Needless to say, the sun came up, and the boat grew quiet; whatta night that was.

To be very honest, I didn’t appreciate this at the time, I didn’t really know Merle Haggard’s music. My husband did, and my mother did. I did, however, love Dwight Yoakam. I wasn’t intimidated by Merle. That made it easier to read him, and it came on fast and furious. I swear it was that houseboat.

What fun!

It wasn’t too much longer after that night that we went to Montana. I loved Redding, but off we went , back to our roots, where everything changed.

I had heard that Merle died, and I just knew I heard him say “magic Lady”  I know I did.  I believe that I did.

thank you

with love

Renee

edited by https://www.offtheshelfediting.com/

Jody E Freeman

Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 1 John 4:8 (NIV)

Many years ago, I was married and had four children out in the middle of nowhere in Montana. I was thirty-three years old and working two jobs to help to support our family. My husband suffered from PTSD due to his time in Vietnam. He was depressed, angry, and not there mentally.

I took it upon myself to help as much as I could by working at a nursing home, and also working at a gas station at night. Even so, the propane tank (our heat source) was empty, and there wasn’t much money left after the payment on the house and the thirteen acres we had on the Jefferson River was made.

I’d heard the local church helped families in need and so I went down to talk to them. We definitely needed help. Montana winters didn’t care if you had the money for heat; eighty degrees below zero was not uncommon with the wind chill.

With tears in my eyes, I let it all out. No more being proud, or trying to make things work when there simply wasn’t enough money to do so. They kept the tank filled for three months, and that was a relief. I brought food home from the nursing home for the kids, as they would rather give it to me than throw it away. No one went hungry, and we were warm.

One day in the twilight as the sun was setting, I felt incredibly sad. Working two jobs with four kids to feed and raise had worn me down. I went out by the river on the bank in the quiet, and just stared at the flow of the river, peacefully meandering along so naturally.

I remember feeling beaten down, and asking why I wasn’t good enough. I felt like I was a terrible person. I guess years of being told that I was worthless had taken its toll and I was so tired. I always thought I never deserved love or happiness. There was so much torment in me, flowing from inside and out. I loved my kids so much but couldn’t even take care of them. I was at a low point, and the torture I was putting myself through was sinking me even lower. Suffering seemed easy for me. I stayed there and cried all by myself, thinking maybe things would be better if I were just gone.

While crying, I saw a light on the river begin to move; as it started toward me, I thought maybe it was just my tear-filled eyes playing tricks on me. I wiped my tears away, but it was still there, growing bigger and bigger. As it came closer, I noticed it was blue and white, with a man in the middle of the beautiful, amazingly brilliant light, with indigo blue on the outside of the white. I saw that it was Jesus, with his long dark hair and beard, blue robe, and dark eyes.

His booming voice asked, “Why do you think you are not worthy?”

I clearly heard the voice, and saw the face and the colors. I looked at the sphere, rubbed my eyes, and cleared the tears away again.

He then asked, “You are not worthy to be loved?” I shook my head to say no, and started really crying, when he smiled and said, “You are worthy, because you are love. We are the same. I am in you, not outside you. You are worthy of love, as a child of God.”

I looked around and there was no one there; just me, Him, and the sound of the river. Then I felt it: pure joy and love. For the first time ever, I felt a deep, deep love. He kept saying, “You are worthy.” I could feel him inside my heart; that color of the sphere that He was in was in me, in my heart. I cried with joy and amazement. I knew something had happened and it was big. My life was going to change. This was real. It had always been real. Why did I ever doubt it?

The sphere was gone inside me but the feeling remained. The night was closing in. I laid back and I felt it, inside me. This is going to grow. You are going to grow. I picked myself up and walked back to the house. I was still stunned, but a joy filled me.

After that time by the river, my life was never the same. I was stronger. I was beginning to believe I was worthy, that we are all worthy. I understood that it had to start with me.

This is inside us all. When we turn inward to love and forgiveness of ourselves first, we open ourselves to love others freely, through the eyes and love of Source God. We gain wisdom through love, forgiveness, and internal spiritual empowerment.

I think I saw Jesus because I have always loved Him. When I was a small child, I thought I was married to Jesus and wanted to be a nun; I wanted to go home, but thought I wasn’t worthy enough.

Over the years, I have learned about love in all its forms but the most important form is to love ourselves. I can look in the mirror today and truly say I love that beautiful spiritual being looking back at me, and that we are one.

With love Renee

edited by:https://offtheshelfediting.com

Jody E. Freeman

As a Medium, I’m fortunate enough to be a part of some of the most amazing readings where wonderful things happen. These readings can be life-changing, and what can come through to the client and myself can change the perspective of both of us. Each reading holds a lesson waiting to be learned.

I want to share the importance of readings and the lessons for all of us in those readings.

A client came to me for a reading. Her husband had been killed in a motorcycle accident by a drunk driver. He’d missed the stop sign, swerved and slammed head-on into her husband. He was gone and she was in so much pain.

The appointment was set. Before readings, I usually receive information through visitations, messages, and images. I kept getting that I really need to pay attention, and to tread lightly.  At the time I wasn’t sure what this was all about.

The morning of the reading, I began reading the energy around her, and then this silence started and I saw two men. I heard again, “Tread lightly.”

The drunk driver responsible for the death of my client’s husband came through. Her husband and the man were standing together arm in arm, both smiling away. The one who was responsible for the accident came forward, and said he was sorry to have caused so much pain. He then began to show me his life in pictures and emotions. He’d been an alcoholic for a long time.

“I couldn’t get away from it,” he told me.

For years he’d suffered in an alcoholic daze. He died one year after he’d caused the death of my client’s husband; she didn’t even know he was dead. The two had come together in forgiveness, but there was something more.

There was a knowing for the both of them. It was deeper than even forgiveness.

They had known each other before. I was suspicious, as the symbol for me that there is a soul connection is the interlacing of arms. When I see that, I know then they’re from the same soul family. If they know each other but stand apart, it means they know one another but not on a soul level.

This information gave the client a new way at looking at the death, as well as her life. She said this changed her forever.

I’ve done many other readings where the person  killed and the person to blame (both deceased) came through, arms interlaced, smiling and showing the connection, confirming their soul connection. I am not to judge the readings; I am simply to bring it into this dimension so the client can understand what the message is.

In readings where the spirit gets closer to me, I’m shown the emotional connection. If they get down on one knee or both, it is forgiveness work they’re looking for, not for them but for their loved one. Readings are always about the loved one left here to deal with the grief.

How do I know that this is a soul connection? In most of these readings where the two are together, they show me in their soul bodies and the connection to a soul family, also called the monad. This becomes a deeper inter-connection and I can see the process. It may at times look like a giant grid, with lines gathered in certain collections like bundles. This is where, on a soul level, the work is deep and runs through the same family, sometimes in generations. Sometimes not, but you can see when it does. This is pretty clear. Remember, it’s a domino effect; one sets off many, as in relationship to learning and growth.

This appears to me as golden wires of energy going back to the core of their expression, weaving through past, current, and future lives. It feels very different than just a normal mediumship reading. This has clairvoyant imagery, a deeper way of seeing. Clear seeing. Strong lessons on what the bigger picture is, what our relationships truly are. We are multidimensional beings of light!

We incarnate on this planet with a soul family in a smaller sense, and then, I truly believe we are a soul family on a larger scale and that we are all connected, every single soul on this planet.  Spirit told me once that the toughest lessons we learn are from the ones that love us the most.

My own father showed me this. He was abusive and mean-spirited. When he passed, he tried to talk to me many times; I wouldn’t listen, nor except his presence. He never gave up, reaching out to me until one day, I said, “Okay.”  He changed my life through forgiveness and love, but also by showing me the bigger picture of the soul connection to myself and to my soul family, as well as every human on this planet.

His greatest gift to me was forgiveness and love. I am not trying to play down the hurt and pain from a loved one dying, but there are gifts in the death. People change from a death of a loved one on so many levels, and we are never separated from our them. The spirit that has passed reaches out to us, to lead and guide us through the tributaries of grief. Our loved ones in spirit cheer us on and show us signs to help us believe in life after death, and that there is more.

Readings can give us amazing perspective changes if we are open to them. We need to realize the connections are so much deeper, and we are multidimensional beings, with multidimensional lives. In the pain, there are beautiful loving gifts to learn if we can stay open to them.

Love never ends, and is always creating more love. That is the creative will of Source God, and the creative ability of the universe: to love and through that love, create.

With Love, Renee

A very interesting dream I must say.  This is a recount of a dream from my son.

As the dream began I was sitting on a toilet, and the feeling I had was that the toilet was a sentient being. I could feel the warmth of the toilet, and feeling of love and caring.  I understand that this does in fact sound super silly.  But this was a dream. A very abstract dream, with deep meaning.

As I sat upon the toilet, and felt its sense of wisdom, and love, all the sudden the ceiling opened up and we lifted up higher and higher, and out we went, I grabbed the sides of the bowl to hold on.

I began to get scared, as we were going so high up, and we were leaving earth, but I felt this connection and a deep knowing that it would be fine.

At this point I was becoming aware that I was awake in this dream.  Right away I asked “why a toilet?”  I heard a silent voice in my head whisper- “why not?”

We shot away from earth and then it became dark with beautiful sparkling stars.  The toilet slowed, then shifted from side to side, gently rocking. I could see the milky way, and constellations.  I remember thinking that’s what it looks like for real, just like my astronomy class taught me last year.

Then I felt a presence, a deep love and all-knowing presence.  I gripped the toilet tighter.  I was reassured by a beautiful presence that it was going to be ok.  Not with words, but with this crazy deep touching love.  Not wanting to leap off the toilet in fear, but to stay in this beautiful feeling, to feel this deeply for as long as I could.

I felt joy, and the toilet, seemingly feeling it with me,  did a loop de loop; wow that was fun and scary at the same time.

I laughed like a little boy, and I sensed the whole universe laughing with me, I knew god was there.  I also concluded that I was part of this whole universe, even though I was riding a toilet.

While I was up visiting the cosmos, I forgot who I was. I was just a part of everything. I was just a being. A light.  Being human was not a part of who I was.  being a  part of all this beauty and expanse, color and light, that’s who I was.

Part of creation.

I started to panic, only because I had a moment of remembering who I was, and the toilet flushed and down I went through the layers of space, over earth, then into the atmosphere of earth, and the blue sky, and down above the city we live in, and the mountains, I was home.

Then I woke up.

The dream was over, but the effect wasn’t over, I could still feel it.  The feeling of being out in the cosmos, and the feeling of god. A feeling of transcendence. Like a place where I belonged. A place I’ve always known.  And I longed to be back at that place.

I was confused in a way, of all the things, why a toilet?  We had quite the discussion the next day.  Mom and I laughed and laughed.  In that moment of discussion, I felt it, that joy, and elation.   I felt that childlike joy. If I closed my eyes and opened my mind,  used my imagination, I could almost feel the air blowing through my hair as I zoomed around in the night sky.  Of course Mom said the obvious, “toilets remove the waste” and the flushing part, you need to flush to get back?

Maybe so.

Whatever it meant, I am telling you it was amazing.  I have never felt anything like it.

I wonder what the next dream will be? And was it a dream? Or was it a lucid dream?

Now I have seen most everything, and believe me,  having a mother who is special, I have heard many things in my time. In regards to a toilet flying through the cosmos though? Now that takes the cake.  It wasn’t just a dream. It was a message. And that message can be interpreted in many different ways. If any of you that are reading this have had interesting dreams, I would love to hear from you. Thanks for reading, and remember to keep your mind open, and use your imagination often. With our imaginations we can create beautiful things. We can become more than human. But it’s our minds that create these wonderful places, these beautiful locations that are deep in our hearts, to visit.

It seemed so real.

Thank you again for reading.

Matthew

(Renee’s son)