You will find, my love, that you will not need to seek these lessons out, you are on a special journey and you will find them knocking on your door.
Scott, Channeled Writing
In looking back over the long and winding path of my spiritual journey, it is now clear that I was constantly moving forward even though it often felt otherwise. Scott’s passing had set into motion for me an intense process involving loss and growth, longing and fulfillment, death and rebirth. At the time, buffeted in turn by devastating lows and highest peaks, all I could do was live out the experience. Neither my destination nor the ultimate reason for my journey was at all clear to me, and I often experienced the unfolding moments of my life as discordant and unconnected, fragments made meaningless in their isolation. One quiet afternoon a curious thought popped into my mind that struck me with its strangeness and intensity. It’s difficult to really describe, but it was felt as a “completed thought,” a message that seemed quite different than my typical mental blah-blah-blah. It said
“All loose ends come together.”
“That’s strange,” I thought to myself, “what is that supposed to mean?” It suddenly occurred to me that I was receiving from within a message of healing. There are no loose ends, I realized. We and all that surround us are part of a greater plan, elements in a divine unfolding. What we now perceive to be loose ends are in fact the “divine slack” essential to letting that plan become manifest in its fruition. Somehow, in a way now beyond the limits of our perception, everything was in its proper place and serving its role. “Nothing is exactly as it seems to be,” I thought, “and everything has its meaning.” The message was larger than I could comprehend, but somehow deeply reassuring. Just let go and trust, it quietly whispered. You may not know where you’re going, but you are walking on a path of love. How can you not get there?
It is also clear to me, in looking back on the path, that breakthroughs often occurred when I least expected them. My journey had taken me into some uncharted territory, some dark valleys of the spirit, but it seemed I could go nowhere Scott was not. Time and again I had felt the grace of his love when I needed it most, white light easily penetrating the clouds of my hopeless gloom. Had my painful wanderings in the shadow served some unknown purpose, helping to prepare me for each breakthrough that lay ahead? I noted that the intensity of my contact with him seemed to increase when I traveled out into the world, venturing away from the home we’d shared. Were there deeper meanings to be discerned in the patterns of contact I had begun to observe over the course of time? Was there an important key hiding here just beneath the surface? What was Scott trying to tell me?
Though I could not be certain about the answers to these questions, my intuition left me absolutely no doubt that nothing about our contact had been accidental. I had been provided with each additional key precisely as I was ready to receive it, but there was more to the story. I felt that the timing of each experience itself reflected a divine intentionality, one founded on love, and quietly offered its own lesson. “Here is the light,” he’d communicate while I was deep within the darkness, or “Here I am” at moments I felt sure he was either completely lost or elsewhere. Beyond their substance of reassurance and education, the style of his messages quietly coaxed me to drop my limiting preconceptions, to open up and recognize the holiness of the everyday. “This too,” he quietly assured me, “is part of God’s plan. You are right where you need to be. Just walk your path, live your life, and I’ll be with you.”
The next such unexpected moment of breakthrough occurred in the most unlikely of settings, a raucous and somewhat surreal New Year’s Eve party celebrating the arrival of 1997. I had not planned on even attending the event, having had more than my fill of partying during the season, but wound up going with my friend Michael and his life partner, Keith. “Why don’t you come over for dinner and then go with us?,” Michael had invited. “I just don’t know,” I responded, hesitating, “another party…” “Come on,” he insisted, “we’ll have a good time. Also, it’s for a good cause.” My dear friend knew how to push my buttons. The party, to be held in an elegant old Spanish-style home on Miami Beach, doubled as a fund-raiser for a local political organization promoting equal rights for lesbians and gays. “O.K.,” I smiled, “What the hell. You got me.”
Later that evening, among the crowds in the home, I still wasn’t sure exactly what I was doing there. I had a drink or two, enjoyed seeing a few close friends in a festive frame of mind, and wandered around the home and grounds. As a novelty, the party was organized around a “fortune telling” theme, and four “psychics” using tarot cards, palmistry, etc. were present upstairs to give free, short consultations. By the time of our arrival a long list of partygoers had already signed up for each session, and were awaiting their turns and just hanging out up and down the stairs. On a whim, I decided to add my name to the list. Why not, I thought.
“It’s gonna be a while,” warned the man in charge of the long list, nervously looking at his watch as he crossed off another name. “And I’m not sure how long they’re gonna keep on going.” The hour was approaching midnight. “Whatever,” I said, “No big deal. I’ll just go get a drink.” I walked over to the bar, casually ventured outside to enjoy a brief chat with my dear friend Alex Douglas as we sat together on the wall outside the home, and finally wandered back inside as nature called. I found a long line filling the hall outside the sole downstairs bathroom, and resigned myself to waiting. A light rain had fallen earlier that evening and the elegant tile floor on which we stood was dirty and soaked, its slick surface covered with muddy footprints. I knew the bathroom had been used that night to its capacity, and that the sight awaiting us was probably none too pretty. All in all, I thought to myself as I waited, this is pretty disgusting.
Then, just to pass the time, I casually asked the man ahead of me in line if he had signed up to see any of the psychics. I had simply made the remark to break the ice, but he gave me a serious response. The tall thin blonde man, appearing to be in his 40′s, turned to me and looked me in the eye. “No way,” he quickly replied. “I’m doing some real work with some talented mediums, and this kind of ‘joke’ stuff can really mess you up. It can interfere with your energy, and set you back.” “Really,” I responded, intrigued. “You know, I’ve been blessed myself with having had the chance to work with a truly gifted psychic, this woman in Pittsburgh who’s helped me to communicate with my dead lover. She’s made a real difference in my life, really helped me to heal.” The man stared at me intently for a moment, thoughts apparently racing through his mind, as he considered my unlikely words in this unlikely setting.
In that split second he was deciding whether or not he could trust me, whether he could freely speak his heart to this stranger. Looking into my eyes, I saw him decide that he could. He introduced himself as Mike, offering me his hand. In the next couple of minutes, before his turn arrived, we shared a brief but intense conversation about matters of the spirit. He mentioned that he was doing some exciting work in the paranormal with a number of people, including a guy who lived in New Mexico named David, and briefly explained the outlines of his spiritual search. Finally, seeing that his long-awaited time for the bathroom was at hand, he asked “Listen, do you have a card? I’d really like to get you some information.” “Wait a minute,” I replied, “let me see.” After patting a few pockets, I found a slightly wrinkled business card and handed it to him.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said pocketing the card as he parted. I had enjoyed the chance encounter, but didn’t make much of it. Within the next day or two the meeting seemed to recede into dream, abetted by the late hour and the drinks I’d had. Upon my arrival back at the office, however, I found awaiting me a neatly typed letter on Mike’s business letterhead. Although momentarily puzzled by the fax, my memory was refreshed by its first sentence, “It was a pleasure meeting you on New Year’s evening.” In the short letter he shared with me the names, specialties and telephone numbers of three people he had found most helpful in his exploration of the paranormal, and invited me to call him if I was interested in further discussion on the topic.
The first name on the list was a man named David, identified as a “Futurist/ Mentalist,” with a phone number in New Mexico. I remembered that Mike had mentioned him during our brief conversation, and played with the idea of giving him a call to set up an appointment. Why not? For whatever it was worth, hadn’t the Universe dropped this opportunity directly into my lap? It might turn out to lead nowhere, I realized, but the connection that had been made was simply too bizarre to ignore. “This is just too Celestine Prophecy,” I chuckled to myself, recalling the book’s message that nothing was coincidence, that we were provided with one key after another if we were open to receive them. I had found the story hokey, far too contrived to easily swallow, but was nevertheless struck by some of its ideas. The Celestine Prophecy was just a book, not purporting to be other than a fictional vehicle for the author’s messages. But this was my life!
The next day I called Mike to thank him for taking the time to follow through and write me the letter, and sharing the information. “I’m thinking of calling that guy David,” I told him in the course of the conversation. “Do I need to make an appointment or anything?” “No,” Mike replied, “he’s a really great guy. Just go ahead and call him up. I already told him I gave you his number.”
I could not then know it, but I had yet again been handed a precious key to my unfolding spiritual journey. The following afternoon, I placed a long-distance call from my law office to Alamogordo, New Mexico.
Stumble It!