Our whole experience together was dream reality was metaphor and yes I have left you with a very rich legacy
Scott, April 1996 Channeled Writing
The shift in my perception was gradual, but definite. In the weeks following my return from Seattle, I came to walk my path with a new awareness and openness. The world around me may not have changed, but I saw it through new eyes. Trying my best to strike a working balance, neither desperately seeking deeper meanings or messages nor closing myself off to them, I simply paid attention. My friend Jordana loaned me a book she had loved and given to her father, Blue Dog. “I think it will really speak to you,” she said, and it did.
The book beautifully illustrated a tale of spiritual love between its author, Louisiana artist George Rodrigue, and the small dog he had loved intensely. Left broken-hearted by the death of his beloved companion, full of longing and seeking communion, Rodrigue had been pushed to new vistas in his art in the process of re-establishing contact.
Though the object of his affection may have been canine rather than human, the commonalities of our experience seemed to far outweigh our differences. Primarily, we had each lost our hearts here on Earth, had taken from us our surest companions, and slowly become open to the spirit through the struggle for meaning that followed. Driven by the love burning in our breasts, we had each found ourselves in new relation to the spirit and sought relief in the “safety valve” of artistic exploration and freedom. The love we still felt within called upon us to “let go” in order to once again find, to seek a new balance and learn to relate to the objects of our heart in a new way. Rodrigue’s primary passion, like mine, had become the invisible, promising a new link to himself. Like me, he had dedicated himself to finding that bridge between Heaven and Earth, finding in the process his reason for being and pushing further his artistic limits.
Each soul must travel its own journey, its own purposes to fulfill, but I found many aspects of my own experience reflected in Rodrigue’s tale. He too had embarked on a journey of the soul, feeling his way along as he went, and finally found communion with the spirit he so loved. Flipping through the book, I was stunned to see the following words in large print, filling up a page: “And I wondered when we would meet face-to-face, and not as through a glass darkly.” Triggered by that expression of pure spiritual longing, I immediately recalled the words of the first channeling reassuring me that the eternal mystery continued, Oh how you burn for me and that’s OK but trust me you’re now seeing through a glass darkly as once was said, then thought back to the message forwarded by Jeff and Denise. “He wants to reach you face-to-face of the purpose of removing your doubt.”
As I studied that page in the book, a realization began to dawn on me. Here was an expression of a bottomless longing between two souls each for the other, a pure desire promising to span the gap between Heaven and Earth by sheer force of will. Suddenly flashing back to the first words of the first channeling, I just want to touch you so bad, I received a flash of insight that the ongoing communication between Scott’s soul and mine, its unfolding joys and frustrations, was certainly a two-way street. “Those words,” I realized, “could just as easily be said by Scott as by me. He wants a breakthrough as much as I do.” Under ordinary circumstances, I understood, soul easily communes with soul and human strives for communication with human. But ours was a “mixed” relationship, each of us coming from vastly different perspectives, inherently fraught with challenges and obstacles to communication. Yet no barrier existing on either side had been able to stop him from trying, or to prevent him from succeeding in initiating dialogue.
Still unsure of the reason underlying Scott’s heroic efforts to reach me, I had no doubt of his commitment or passion to do so. And that made me love him all the more.
Around the same time, I experienced a couple of dreams exploring the theme closest to my heart: communication with Scott. Though the dreams excited me, they also reflected an ongoing frustration with the difficulties inherent in our situation. In the first I sat down, pen to paper, somehow aware that he was present and paying attention. I became thrilled with the realization that Scott could read the words as I penned them. I then spoke to him, though I could not see him, and knew that he could hear my words. Finally, excitement mounting, I walked down a hallway and saw his profile in a room at the end of the long hall, talking on a pay phone. When I blurted out with pure joy, “Honey, I can see you!,” he quickly vanished. Though I got the strong sense he was still present, I could no longer see him.
I awoke from the dream feeling blessed, but uncertain about its meaning. We were certainly in communion, through feelings, spoken and written words. But why could I not see him, really be with him as I longed to? What was the message here? In a similar dream a couple of weeks later, I had been overjoyed to find myself in Scott’s presence, sitting across the table from him in a restaurant. I leapt up and ran to him, kissing him hard on the mouth. Within a moment, he had either walked away or disappeared, again leaving me alone. I did not feel abandoned, somehow, but was pointedly reminded of this distance between us, a repeating theme.
If we were meant to commune, why could he not remain with me in the visual sense? Why was he so tantalizingly close, yet finally beyond my grasp at the crucial moment? Why could I not fully and simply enjoy his presence, once again seeing myself warmly reflected in his loving eyes? Why could we not give and receive at a level approaching that we had shared in life? Even in the dreams’ paradise of communication, it seemed, the cruel dragon of separation reared its ugly head. Was I being gently reminded to be open to relating in new ways, that we were not meant to be together as we had been during Scott’s lifetime? Or was I simply not ready or prepared for that experience? I did not know.
A couple of nights later, I had another dream about communication that I couldn’t help but awake laughing about. The phone rang and I picked it up, and it was Scott. Though I was ecstatic at the contact, part of me hesitated because I feared it might not really be him, that someone might be playing a cruel hoax. Seeking verification that this was indeed him on the line I began barraging him a series of ridiculous questions, my lips pursed firmly in concentration. “What was our home address?,” I asked, and he correctly answered. “What was your birthday?” After a sigh, he correctly answered “September 27, 1959.” Thinking to myself “Wow, this could be the real communication that I crave,” my excitement mounted with each correct answer. Nevertheless, I relentlessly plunged ahead with my line of questions. I needed more “proof.”
“Who was your health insurer?,” I demanded. He seemed to pause, then answered correctly “Humana.” Check; correct! Finally, in the last and largest insult, I asked “What was your social security number?” He did not answer. (I don’t blame him!) Communication between us had been broken, and he was no longer on the line. In the dream I was unsure whether it had actually been Scott on the line, or whether he had finally just hung up in sheer exasperation at my questioning. Imagine calling long-distance only to receive such treatment!
Though I found the dream somewhat humorous, its absurdity carried potent meaning for me. My beloved had initiated contact with me, and I had squandered the opportunity for communion by clinging to my doubt. With Scott on the other end of the line, ready to talk, I had effectively built a wall between us with my questions. His present readiness to communicate, it seemed, had been harpooned by my fixation on the minutiae of the past, my need for “proof.” In the dream, caught up in the foolishness of my approach, it almost seemed as if I had unconsciously tried to keep him at bay. Clearly expressive of the tensions I carried within me, my rational/ empirical orientation and my legal training clashing on the one hand with my deep desire for spiritual communication on the other, the dream vividly illustrated my dilemma.
I was a man between worlds, uncertain of my footing. The dream left me to wonder. “If it is true that communion with Scott is what I most crave, as I profess,” I wondered, “why am I not able to leave my doubts behind, to really open up to the experience?” It disturbed me to realize that my attachment to doubt, the savoring of the pain of separation, was apparently deeper than I had realized. Though embarking upon a journey of faith, and well along my way, I looked within and found trust lacking. If push came to shove, I wondered, would I be willing to rise above my limits, to let it all go, in order to seize the possibility of once again knowing communion with my beloved as it was meant to be?
I fervently hoped so. A big part of me hoped that I had no choice.
To: Chapter 38
Stumble It!