LOVE IN THE AIR

Several years ago now—I resisted the gym, which, I must say I thought was strange, but there was such a pull to be outside.  It had been coming—but this particular year—I couldn’t go back to the stuffy atmosphere and stationary workout equipment I knew so well. Something strong was calling me, so I went with it. I called it Gaia. I needed to walk—to feel the fresh air and sit by the beach. To commune with the palm trees and sand, the unique tropical birds and big bright green iguanas who watched me, silently; weird moveable eyelids and their prehistoric nature all became part of my experience.  And then one day it became routine. Every morning for almost two years I walked the neighborhood. In the process—I said hello to new faces and others became familiar on my walk each morning; soon I had old friends that I passed each day waving to and greeting with a smile. I watched the neighborhood change as houses were put up for sale and new families moved in. Other houses were remodeled, and their new beautiful renovations updated the quiet streets. Lawn and maintenance crews were always present somewhere along the way like standard fixtures. So were the police, waitresses—and the businesses of Lauderdale by the Sea and the community in which I lived; it was all mine.

And, then there was Richard. He worked as a maintenance man at one of the big elegant condominiums on the beach. Normally, most mornings when I passed by, he was out in front with a hose—washing the side walk. I said hello—and he smiled—and said hello back. Occasionally, as I got to know him better, we would chat for a few minutes. Never very long—as there were cameras everywhere he would say—and he wasn’t keen for trouble.  So, most mornings—it was a wave and a hello and a smile and a cordial wish for a good day. We all have people in our lives like this—and I enjoyed his smile and energy as much as he enjoyed mine.

And then, like the tide—I was called back to the gym. And, I would now only walk occasionally. Months later—while walking “my route”—Richard was out in front washing the sidewalk like always. I said hello—and he said, “where have you been?”  I told him I had gone back to the gym—he said he had missed me, asking for my number.

To my surprise, he called me. We met at Starbucks a few times to talk. I gave him one of my books. I learned he was a gifted musician and music was his passion. He was divorced. He had two children. He had been born in Jamaica. I shared my story too. But, most of all Richard was just sweet. He had a contagious smile and caring eyes. And, probably one of the nicest people I knew. Our friendship grew—and he would drop over to the house from time to time. He played his CD for me one day—and his voice and talent were amazing. I’d make him coffee if he’d had a long day—and we continued to talk about life; never shallow conversations. Our friendship was real and honest. I guess that’s what made it so special. When I was out of town and hurricane Irma was barreling in our direction—it was Richard who came over and hauled in all my stuff in and prepared my house for the storm. That’s who he was.

On October 29th he texted me at 8:09 am. The text said . . . “Good morning”. “Thinking bout u.” I respond back—“Good morning! How are you doing?” “im good can i stop by”. “What time?” I replied. “Now” he texted back to me. (I was in the middle of breakfast for my LAL students who live in my house—and still hadn’t had my coffee.) I texted him. “Later?”, I asked? “Ok i will try.” But that day went like a flash and we did not meet.

On November 5th my cell phone rang. It was a 305 area code and a number I didn’t recognize but I answered it anyway. “This is Richard’s friend Noel”, the caller began. “Richard died last night.” I paused, “Richard Friesland I asked?” “No Richard Harvey”, the gentleman replied. What? I paused drawing a blank for a nanosecond as my brain searched for meaning. “WHAT?” I said again. “How did this happen? When?” I was shocked—and told Noel—I needed a few minutes to process this untimely news. Richard was 43 and had young children. “How could this be?”, I thought to myself.

I talked to his brother Ian several times—he sounded just like Richard. I attended his funeral two weeks ago.  It was a celebration of his life! But, I miss him today. Without realizing it, he had impacted me in a very subtle and profound way. His brother said he talked about me a lot. I guess I had impacted him too.

As I reflect  on our friendship—I guess you never realize how somebody’s going to impact you—or what meaning they hold in store for you. And, how this “chance encounter” would affect me so deeply today.  I feel him around me. I “hear” his voice and laughter. I wonder if he is one of my guides now? I feel that he is. (My friend Annie confirmed this is in fact so.) And wonder now, if that is why I had such a pull to walk pulling away from the gym? I know there are no coincidences or accidents. I also know that there is no such thing as an inappropriate death.

Before his “graduation from earth school”, his young nephew awoke from a deep slumber—walked into his Mother’s bedroom and said, “Richard can’t stay. He’s got to go.” Two days later Richard was gone from a undiagnosed kidney infection.

I know that there was a love between us that was unexplainable—an undefined intense soul connection—that I for one didn’t understand. Maybe he did?

I think it is important with all the division and fighting, and angst in the world right now—and in the United States in particular, to create a unity with others. At the end of the day—we are all the same—all from the creative source—all with divinity inside. We must throw away the idea of separateness and embrace our Love for one another; one Human Being to another. This much I know is true. I think Richard did too.

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My Father’s Death

Dear Fellow Travelers and Beloved Souls,

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Me, holding his horse as a young colt.

As most of you know from my Facebook post, on July 6th, I unexpectedly and suddenly lost my loving, gentle, and kindhearted  father.  He was 84.  The obituary in the paper began  . . . the gentle giant. . . I never saw him that way, but many did with his 6’6” stature. I just knew him as ‘Dad.’ The services were Monday, July 13th—the day after my 58th birthday.

At the funeral services many different ideas and beliefs surfaced as we all directly faced the question of death and mortality.  I realized this as a spontaneous mini-exposé in front of those gathered,  speaking at the microphone that my father would be back. I would know him, I continued,  this time playing on the playground, laughing and joyful—perhaps as my grandson—and we would recognize each other when I saw his eyes; the windows to the soul. Life is a continuous circle with —no beginning and no end.  We are eternal and forever and as old as the cosmos. In esoteric circles it is accepted  that we most often reincarnate in karmic  (old term) or akashic groups.  As close family and friends gathered in the small Weller chapel together; we witnessed, his journey as Charles complete. And those he touched were tearful as we said our good-byes; big or small, he had touched us all.

Who was he? And, who are we? Each milestone always begs questions, bigger questions from us all, does it not?  I share what resonates; it may or may not with you—but this is my truth.  God doesn’t change; we do. Try it on.  Does it make you feel better?  More at peace?  Or does it shake your belief system?  Make you uncomfortable?  It is not meant to; these ideas are meant to bring peace.  Remember these are just words and thoughts—nothing harmful or anything to fear—ideas, that’s all. 

If we look back in history, we are aware of other belief systems that at one time were true—only to be replaced by updated ideas and new systems of belief.  Two of my favorites are when we as humanity believed the earth was flat, or that germs did not exist, only because we could not see them; they were there all along.  We think differently today.  Is this multi-dimensional view simply the next step in an evolutionary process of human consciousness and acknowledging the god within?  Perhaps a  growth, expansion and awareness of our individual divinity?  That we are the light?

Could it be as simple as putting down our elementary school primer—and graduating to a high school or college text?  I ask you to ponder this possibility.  Of course, there will never be any proof until we take our last breath and our own journey across the veil transferring our energy to our real state—our home; the great central sun.  A metaphor I like.  Great because it’s about our angelic magnificence.  Central because it’s inside us and everywhere. Sun, because we’re light and part of the creative source we call god. What a grand vision. We must each use our own discernment—even stepping back from what our intellect “knows.” These ideas come with a deep knowing and intuitive understanding about  our ‘temporary state’ here on the earth plane—certainly part of a much bigger picture than we could possibly imagine or possibly fit into our small linear 3-D brown corrugated  box on the earth plane within the multi-verses we have occupied.  Each life we live brings its own story, lessons, “tests”, wisdom and compassion. Entangled together like a collected ball of yarn with many colors and textures, our reality more akin to a grand and classic Shakespearean play.  Knowing when the curtain goes down, the one with the knife in his chest gets up and bows with the rest—going on to the cast party afterward to celebrate the success of the play.  Death is like that too.

In his life as Charles, my father was a poet and author. He was a horseman.  He was a father to four children—a husband—a son—and a brother.  He served his country. He loved his garden roses.  Red was his favorite color. He delighted in meeting others and hearing their stories.  He loved cars.  He loved to laugh.  He loved his family— fascinated in discovering his ancestral linage.  He loved to wear ties and his collection was vast and varied; fun and meaningful to him. He delighted in history, quirky humorous movies and the Washington Huskies, never missing an opportunity to don his purple and gold in his later years.    But, that is only part of our story.  It is a story of our linear bias and human mind.  It is a story that we tell ourselves and it has purpose.  But what if it was far grander than our human eyes could see?  What if this was all about learning and growing? The planet of free choice and discovering the magnificence inside and our god piece, raising the vibration and the consciousness of our planet? What if this is a catalyst for even more growth and learning; not only for us here on earth but for our cosmic family—in a mission of love?   What if it could open our eyes to something bigger—if we are only willing to look?

I know he is around me. I feel a glow around my heart.  There has been an transference of energy and he exists simply at a different vibration; he views my colors now.  I wish I could see his colors—but that is not my gift as Cathrine. Einstein taught and left us the iconic phrase ‘energy cannot be created or destroyed.’ Therefore, even science acknowledges he is around me always in that quantum multidimensional state, which restricts our full understanding of our grandness in our limited human form and perception of our multi-dimensional state.

There is a store in my neighborhood. Jezebels, carries many wonderful and unique cards. The words on one brightly colored note complete with hand-painted pink silk-screened roses and vines caught my attention one day.  “When we are born, we are crying and everyone else is smiling.  When we die, we are smiling and everyone else is crying.”

When I am sad, I think of this.  I think of all the wonderful memories we shared as Father and Daughter.  “You had a special relationship with your Dad.” my cousin wrote in his condolence card.  We did.  I hadn’t realized it was so visible to others; energy is that way. So is love. The last gift he left me was a birthday card; he loved cards.  As he lay in the hospital, my birthday was a week away.  Did he know he was not going to be here to share cake and blow out candles?  He sent his wife home to retrieve his cards; he selected one for me.  A young girl and her horse; that was me.   The early memories we shared were remarkably simple: trips to the feed store—getting hay—repairing fences—doctoring horses—the farrier—Dairy Queen.  Those easy simple times that meant the most to me as the years passed.  I told him so. He kept me sane I confessed.  The happiest memories of my childhood—and the freedom I felt at the “Barns.” Perhaps it was the same for him too?

I feel a glow around my heart.  I know it is him.  He is always with me.  We are eternal and forever in both directions. We have traveled many times before.  He graduated first.  One day it will be my turn.  We are not finished.  We have work to do on earth.  And, he will be back.  I know he feels me too and ‘hears’ this message.  I can talk to him anytime. Thank you Dad, for all the loving, simple, laughing and compassionate moments. Next time, DQ is on me!

Inspired Wellness Within

Cathrine Silver, HC, AADP

CathysilverHealth@gmail.com

Biological Decoding, Family Constellations, Hypnosis, Nutrition, Spiritual & Grief Counseling

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This Much I Know Is True—Signs From The Otherside Of The Veil.

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I have been called intuitive, psychic, clairsentient, and an unconscious channel.  I believe there are no accidents—only synchronistic moments.  Some we acknowledge and others we fail to recognize.  So, was the case when Joe pulled into my driveway Friday afternoon.
His boss had sent him to replace my antiquated hot water heater which had given up the ghost and declared to me by the leaking water water in my garage, this Reem was complete.  It had given service to my home for decades—and it was time to move on to appliance heaven on my watch.  And with my blessings I prepared for a replacement. New energy perhaps?  In any case, Joe, a forty something plumber with dark curly hair and  a heavy northeast accent, wearing a bright red shirt,  stepped out of his truck and surveyed the situation.
He got to the task very quickly, but needed my approval for a new ‘ball valve’ shut off handle  and uttered something about having to turn off the water to the house which brought me into the garage and into conversation.  I stood there briefly my attention turning to the project at hand and moments later engaged on the details of the new installation.
An unseasonably hot sunny South Florida day,  I leaned against the door jam by the entrance to the laundry room door observing the progress as he worked, sweat poring off his forehead talking in light conversation as he wiped his brow and began to work his magic with the copper pipe fittings.  The subject had turned to more serious matters.  Joe shared he had been in an serious car accident five years earlier and spent ten weeks in the hospital—including 10 days in a coma.  “they didn’t even tell me for two months,” he said with anguish on his face.   I tried to hide my confusion, my mind scrambling, to carefully piece the story together.  He carried the scars on his arm—a plate on his shin—and halo marks on his skull.  He also carried something even more sobering than the visible scars and that was the death of his brother from that fateful,  sorrow filled night.  As much as he tried—he could not put those events out of his mind—emotion welling up, he turned away facing the new heater.
 “Do you feel your brother around you?” I asked causally placing my hand on the corner of the dryer.   He turned around and looked at me, copper fitting in his gloved hand.  “No—well maybe sometimes”.  “You know I’m Catholic.” As if to say, I’m not allowed to believe in those things.  I smiled.  “Do you think he’s all right?”  I nodded. “My brother was a great brother”.  He continued uninterrupted, “protected me through high-school.  We even lived together.  He watched out for me.  I miss him.”
So, unfolded a deep conversation as the water heater installation progressed, and so did the ideas and beliefs upon which he was raised, in a safe round about way—we talked about his brother and Grandfather’s death;  the sides of his box came down just a little Friday afternoon. Beyond reason.  Beyond logic.  Beyond proof. He had outgrown his box, he knew there was more.
 I don’t have to tell you Joe will never be the same after his experience—but now he was looking for the “why” in all this.  Life he felt was a struggle everyday.  I sighed.  “What if your brother loved you so much, that you and he had an agreement that he would go first?” I said.  He looked confused. “What if this is about opening up to something bigger—that cannot be denied?  What if he is still helping you?  Watching out for you and guiding you? What if he is with you right now?” It is strange he confessed, that I ended up here this afternoon.  “The laundry room is actually quite crowed,” I said smiling. Your Grandfather is here too.  How do you know that, he asked.  “Because, I answered, there is an agreement that a little piece of them stays with you– with us—just like you will stay with your loved ones when you leave your physical body.  But—you’ll be back.  I promise.  Just like he will.”
He will give you a sign if you ask, I assured him.  “Perhaps a song on the radio or a license plate just when you think of him –a coincidence too uncanny to be accidental.” I continued,  a sign on a truck or a coin.  “Coin?” He said turning around digging for something out of the back of his van.  “Yea—it will be something” I said.   “It would be a dime”, he declared.   Now it was my turn to be surprised.  As much as I feel and “know” the synchroncities never fail to surprise me.  The day before—I had been out running errands, and stepped out of my car– looked down and found a dime—heads up.  In the moment, there was something in me that knew it was a message; the feeling was there, but the meaning unclear.  I picked it up.  I can’t explain it in logical—left brain terms, for those that need explanation because it exists in that quantum state, but  I remember saying to myself, “I wonder what this means?”  Today, I had my answer.  “Hold on Joe, let me go grab the dime out of my car.  It is in the cup holder; safe.”  Still facing up, I handed the silver coin to him.  Joe looked at me, smiled and slid it into his pocket, he returned to his work.
We continued to talk about his brother’s death—memories of his grandfather—his son and his family lineage.   I know Joe was supposed to be there Friday; so did he.   I know why I had kept that dime safe.  It was to let Joe know that his brother was right there beside him. Never really gone.  He needed to hear that. I assured him that his brother was fine when he asked.   There is “no sting” in death for the one that passes.  It’s only us—left behind—missing them.  Sometimes guilt, anger, or sadness—torn—and confused and often wondering depending on our belief and our relationship–and circumstances.
I ask you to discern this message.  Maybe it resonates—maybe it doesn’t; either is okay.   This is about healing.  It is about love.  It’s about giving permission—and being open to the answer.  Because, death, our loved ones, and what we make up about all this is far more important and bigger than suffering.  God does not want us to suffer.  These are contracts and potentials that we agreed upon before we incarnated here this lifetime for our growth and wisdom far more immense than our 3-D reality allows us to behold.  I know there is grand purpose and we will reunite once again when we meld back into wholeness of source which in human terms is undefinable.  But the human soul—not really human at all– is there beside us always.  We just have to be open enough to look—and keep our heart open enough to feel—because they are there.  This much I know is true.
For interesting read that I loved,  you may check out Carol Bowman’s book, Return From Heaven.  You may also want to consult a grief recovery specialist in your area or begin with the book: Grief Recovery Handbook by Russell Friedman & John W. James.  Or email me at Cathysilverhealth@gmail.com if I can help you.
“Inspired Wellness from Within”
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Making Snow angels

Sand Angels 1We walked out the door of Early Winters with our Gore-Tex rain gear in hand. The hike had been planned, and our tactics included preparation for the normally inclement northwest weather.  Our destination was a trail head in the Mt. Rainier National Park. Yet ironically, the late fall afternoon was a picture perfect sunny and 80 degrees, as Mitch and I set out and traversed the trail enjoying the bright autumn freshness.  We walked along the well-worn path proudly in our Asolo boots, blue jeans and tee-shirts— Antron-wool jackets tied around our waist; rain gear safely locked in the trunk of our car.  No need for this we surmised.

“Man plans and God laughs.” I would recall my ex-Mother-in-Law’s decidedly and legendary declaration in just about any crisis, or particularly challenging situation.  I believe she tried to make sense out of the unexplainable situation before her—but beyond the knowing handed it over as somehow God’s plan.   Several hours into the hike, and too far to turn back, threatening clouds moved in above us.  A light sprinkle from the grey and darkening sky didn’t deter our optimistic attitude, determined to enjoy our weekend hike, new equipment and getaway out of the city, we headed farther up the trail.

I guess at some level it was “the plan” because we got wet and wetter with a now heavy rain falling and the temperature dropping rapidly fueled by the wind which blew fiercely through the large evergreen trees and underbrush. Soaked and steaming both, we paused under a small overhang and wrung the water from our jackets. It was time to find a place for our small North Face tent and get dry.  Tomorrow was another day I thought, as we fired up our tiny stove for dinner and tried our best to dry our sodden jeans on the now hot rocks near the fire.

We fell asleep that night with the wind and rain beating against the tent, safe in the cocoon of our golden-yellow nylon dome.  I awoke once to surprising silence during my slumber. Reassured, I fell back to sleep confident, the sun-drenched weather would return come daybreak.  However, what greeted us several hours later when we unzipped the door to our tent was a blanket of snow everywhere; silence and beauty, cold and stark. I was astonished and panicked all at the same time.

Everything looks so different covered under a blanket of white; similar to darkness in some ways—except the snow was not going to reveal anything new and familiar as the daylight came.   A sudden 360 degree reevaluation of our situation was necessary.  Our sunny carefree weekend had turned potentially dangerous and, it was time to head out—back home to safety and civilization.

Looking back all those years ago, my weekend hike seemed easy in comparison to the trails I have traversed during my life since.  So often and with the best intentions, we make plans about our future.  Everything seems to be in order when we get soaked and cold and our jeans get burnt on the rocks trying to be dried out or just like the surprise snowfall—nothing looks familiar or safe.  We are lost and fearful or angry–sad or hurt.  Change is like that. A divorce, an illness or a death (expected or not) can give us the opportunity to look at life in an entirely new way, just as that snowfall did on that fateful hike.  At each juncture of the trail, nightfall or snowfall we have the choice to fall up or fall down.

What I’ve learned for myself and what I teach others now is, when you get caught in the snow storm, make snow angels. I am inspired by an inner strength to help others; the necessity for openness and reevaluation and the questioning of old ways and thoughts. For myself, when I could see my circumstances with new eyes and new understanding—I grew in a passionate, positive and transformative ways.

The benefits become a gift of transmuting a loss to a new and fresh star  for you.  If you or someone you know wants to learn how to make snow angels in the warm tropical sandy beach of south Florida, I extend a personal invitation to visit my website where you can explore a signature program I have designed  expressly for you to heal, grow, understand and transform your loss and grief to sand Angels with large wings.

Visit: www.soultosoulretreat.com  ▪ 5 powerful life-changing days filled with love and purpose.

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