I’ve just come back from doing a group reading about 35 miles from home, which means both the prep and the “coming down” afterward happened in the car. That circumstance is actually great — like meditation, sleep, or intense exercise, driving helps get me into the low-resistance state of mind to receive messages. You get them then, too … pay attention if you haven’t already.
The joyous thing I noticed today (there is always something) was that the family, friends, and even a cat who had something to convey to the people coming to the session had come along with me for the ride out there like we were headed to a Sunday brunch. No, I’m not joking about the cat. I don’t even really like cats, so I did extra checking into that one. I also had a fire plug of a man join me for the drive to meet his sister and a gaggle of aunts who could hardly wait for me to tell their niece she was on the right path after a divorce. These souls were aware of today’s gathering and jumped in for the ride the moment I invited them.
It occurred to me that in a group setting, the energy of the spirit presence is different from one-on-one sessions or phone readings just like it is in our physical interaction with each other. Someone’s mother who would have been too reserved to speak out in front of strangers in her physical life was reluctant to come forward in the group reading today and had to be “led by the hand” by a bolder family member. I’ve seen that phenomenon many times, and it is one powerful way listeners recognize that a loved one’s true nature continues to live, albeit in a different state.
The party metaphor is something I choose deliberately to describe connection with spirit presence in a gathering. It’s not séance, not a Ouija session — it’s a celebration. I have a cherished friend, Michael, who left his physical body last summer and continues to turn my head when I need to look at things from a new angle. He helped me understand this extent of pleasure aimed at us from the energetic realm of spirit one day when I was getting ready for a reading with a piece of music I use to shift into spirit language. It comes from a requiem mass, which I grew up hearing in many iterations from many composers as the kid of choral singers. The soaring union of voices in Morten Lauridsen’s version sings the opening message of the Introitus, central to so many human rituals of honoring the dead — Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine (“Give them eternal rest, O Lord”) — and my own union with those who have passed becomes visceral to me. But on this special day, Michael was there bright as day with a happy laugh to tell me something about that music.
“If only they knew … we are in there singing it right back to them.”
And then I heard the music I’d heard countless times before transform instantly into something new. While we are worrying about the “dead,” they are more focused on living than ever. We hold their interest, they sing for our well-being from their new form of utter freedom and joy.
By this point on my journey, I’m conditioned to look for the ways life can flip upside down and thrill us. But this one gave me an extra jolt and still does. Even wondering at the possibility chips away at some of our Big Human Fears — that what we call death could actually be a new chance at life, at an unbound ability to shine light where it might not be reaching. To join any party, any time.