In my post of May 7, 2012 (Vision Board), I wrote about the abundance placed before me by my Angels in the form of a brand-new BMW. When taking possession of this amazing vehicle, the salesman took some time to acquaint me with many of its features. One feature is the connection of the vehicle with one’s cell phone through a Bluetooth interface. He punched buttons in the car, chose settings on my iPhone and voila! hands-free cell phone connection.

Delighted with this technological marvel, I soon learned to enjoy and appreciate the many conveniences of being able to speak to someone without having to dial up (a real no-no when driving), hold a little box to my ear, and punching buttons. This feature quickly became a favorite.

Then one day, soon after my return from a road-trip to North Carolina, the feature died. Suddenly, the car did not recognize my cell phone anymore. What could have happened? I called the salesman who had been so helpful earlier to find that his information was not helpful for the present. He said that the problem was most likely with Apple, that something might have been downloaded onto my iPhone that caused a glitch. In fact, he said, I was the third one to report such a finding in the last week. This disturbed me. If Apple had downloaded new software or updated something in the phone, I had no prayer of reconnecting my phone and my car. Yet how could Apple have done such a thing when I had not been on the internet with my phone, except for resetting some passwords? I tabled the subject on my mental shelf of “needs further information”–a place in which my questions have stewed and percolated for as long as 30 years before receiving answers. Interestingly, although I was disappointed in the salesman’s reply, my mind was open, thinking that some solution would come from somewhere. In the meantime, I went about my business, a little sad that my car and my cell phone were no longer on speaking terms.

Time comes and goes. It is now several weeks later. I wake up one morning with the fleeting residual of a dream so tenuous, it was almost just an impression. The impression with which I awoke was that everything was just fine with both my car and my cell phone, it required just one touch to set everything aright. Bemused, I wondered how things would turn out, since I had no clue how to go about acting on this obvious message from the Other World.

As it happened, I found time to visit my BMW dealership on another matter, involving the controls on my radio. While in the car, I told the salesman about my phone no longer being connected to my car, as it had been earlier. Absorbed, he took the phone from my hand saying, “Well, let’s just see what’s going on. There’s no Bluetooth icon showing. Let’s look.” Finding the correct window on the phone, he slid the Bluetooth function with just one touch and voila! the car again recognized my phone. Open-mouthed, I looked at him in amazement and did not tell him of the message floated through my mind, tenuous as a willow-the-wisp, and only barely perceptible. I just thanked him profusely and remembered the keystrokes to turn the Bluetooth function on and off.

Dear Readers, I wish I could tell you how and why I receive these messages, some of which seem so trivial, nay, banal. In the scheme of things, why would my Angels, who, in my humble opinion, have much more pressing matters to attend to, go to the trouble of floating a whisper of a thought through my mind in a dream, tagging it with the assurance that all would be solved in the mystery of the iPhone not being recognized by the car? Why would this particular message be more important than ideas for ending world hunger, for example? Thus far, I have no answers to any of these questions. For now, I continue to practice my spirituality and stay open to any and all messages from the Other Side, messages that seem to come infrequently, always in a timely manner, and always with the solution to my current insolvable problem and/or thorny situation. As always, your Angels urge you, also, to practice your own spirituality by staying open; avoiding critical thinking; acting on your intuition, gut feelings, and hunches; and listening at every opportunity so that you, too can reap the rewards of abundance, peace, and prosperity. Heaven is at your service, just one touch away.

Having moved to my new location at the beginning of October, I was staying with my friends until things were settled with the house I wished to buy. They were so kind as to give me my own room and bathroom, in addition to the run of the house. Sleeping arrangements were comfortable, and my accommodations were without reproach for my entire stay.

One night I had retired as usual, lying in bed on my back, with my left leg bent a little at the knee. As I lay there in a mellow mood, awaiting sleep, I felt a pressure against that area, just above the knee joint. From the soft pressure exerted against my thigh, I ascertained that whatever was producing the pressure was about the size and shape of a large grapefruit, softly firm. Startled, I opened my eyes to see…….nothing at all. There was nothing there against my leg. Reflecting on all of the impressions I received while in my dozey state, I concluded that this little creature was non-human; one not capable of thought, save that of instinct; and was not a threat. Rather like a soft pet, snuggling contentedly against a superior creature. The way this little melon ball snuggled against me indicated a total lack of fear and a familiarity with larger, more intelligent creatures. Indeed, it had actively sought out and snuggled willingly against creatures of my kind, i.e., humans. It had done this before, liked it, was not afraid in the least, and desired the contact. It only departed (immediately, I might add) when it realized that I was fully back in my body. At no time did it desire to invade my body, as was the case with the hermit-crab-like entity. It just wanted to snuggle.

I fell asleep without incident and awoke refreshed the next morning. Seeing my hostess, Jean, at breakfast, I debated a moment whether to mention the melon ball, then quickly decided for it. I told her the story of how this softly firm ball had pressed itself against my inner thigh, but quickly disappeared when I became fully conscious of it. Not even batting an eyelash, Jean listened attentively, then said, “Oh, I know all about that. It was on my back a little while ago”, whereupon she told me her interesting story.

Some short time earlier, Jean was lying on her stomach in bed, preparing to sleep. She felt a soft bump as something landed on her lower back. She has a small dog, Lilah, a Maltese and Poodle mix, who regularly sleeps in the same bed, so Jean thought Lilah had jumped on her. When Jean turned her head, however, she saw nothing on her lower back. Moreover, Lilah was lying on the rug, not even on the bed. Jean said that whatever had landed on her back felt as to be about as big as a large grapefruit and that it was soft, yet firm. She felt no threat or fear from it or toward it. Indeed, she said it felt like a friendly pet.

After hearing this, I could only say, “Wow”. Not only was my story corroborated, but Jean had felt exactly the same thing I had, independently, several months later. Neither of us could place the identity of this melon ball, but both of us agreed that it did not have intelligence as a human has, nor was it a threat in any way. It was just like a big, grapefruit-sized pet.

I have no real explanation for this phenomenon. Apparently Jean’s house is “haunted”, perhaps not in the same way that deceased humans can haunt a house, but that something not in our physical world lives there is abundantly clear. It is no threat to anyone in the house, it just wants to snuggle. Perhaps it snuggles with the dog when humans seem too large an obstacle to tackle. If any of you, dear Readers, have experienced anything of this kind, I would love to hear about it, along with your thoughts regarding your experience.

Having become a bit more settled in that Angel-induced whirlwind state which I jokingly refer to as “my life”, I am in a position once again, dear Readers, to transmit communication from the Other Dimension, our true Home. This one has to do with my glasses.

The Thursday before Halloween, my friends and I took part in a Ghost Walk in the city of my current residence. Before leaving for town, I took along a few select items, including my reading glasses in their maroon, faux leather case, placing them in pockets of my fleece. Since the particular pocket where my glasses were could not be secured with a zipper or in any other way, I took care to carry the fleece such that nothing would fall out of that pocket. Preparations complete, we set out on the Ghost Walk, walking all over town to the various venues where activities took place.

We walked to the Masonic Temple for a delicious barbecue supper; to the cemetery for spooky ghost stories; to the Opera House for a wonderful Olde Tyme review of songs and dancing. We walked along the train tracks in the center of town and talked to the man charged with operating the crossing signals when a train was approaching; we ambled to another review, where beautiful, unapologetic African-American women with the physiques of opera stars belted out one tune after another until even the rafters rang.

The evening festivities began to run down around 9 pm, so we drove home. At home, I reached into my fleece pocket to find all items intact except, no glasses. I couldn’t believe it. I had been so careful to keep that pocket upright, making sure that they didn’t fall out. Now, everything was intact, except for my glasses. In the midst of my brooding and regretting, a flash came before my inner eyes. The flash showed the front of the Opera House, with a clear picture of my glasses in their maroon, faux leather case. “Ridiculous!” I thought. “I could have lost those glasses anywhere while I was traipsing all over the city for four solid hours.” Annoyed and sad, I dismissed the flash totally since the glasses could easily be replaced with another pair from CVS. The maroon, faux leather case was another matter, however, since maroon, faux leather glasses cases from the ‘60’s were not in such ready supply. Resigning myself to my bad luck, I tried to put the incident from my mind.

The next evening, we went on part II of the Ghost Walk, which started with a lovely supper served up by parishioners dressed like monks in the basement of the local Methodist Church, a basement which had been transformed into catacombs. From there, we walked all over town again, as we visited beautiful old homes where ghostly figures regaled us with tales from days of yore. At around 7 pm, I found myself in front of the Opera House. I looked at the door and contemplated asking the staff if anyone had turned in a pair of glasses in a maroon, faux leather case. “Naw,” I thought, “what are the odds that my glasses would be there? I could have lost them anywhere. What’s the point?” But I had mentioned going to the Opera House to my friend, Jean, and she encouraged me to inquire. In addition to her urging, I became curious to see whether the flash I had received had been correct.

With surprising trepidation, I approached a young man in the lobby, asking him whether there was a lost-and-found section and whether anyone had turned in a pair of glasses the evening before. He replied that if glasses had been turned in, they would be on the piano at the front of the theatre, but, unfortunately, an act was currently in progress and could I come back at 7:30 pm after the act was over. “I could be anywhere at 7:30 pm,” I thought to myself, thinking that I probably wouldn’t be back at 7:30 pm. Still, there was that little, niggling curiosity. With these conflicting thoughts, I left, unsure what would happen, but reasonably certain that I would not be back, because my glasses probably were not there anyway.

We visited several more houses, then the sweet tea hit bottom and suddenly the facilities seemed very necessary. Interestingly, only the Opera House had public facilities, so back I went, accompanied by another friend. Idly glancing at my watch, I noted that the time was 7:32 pm, very close to the time recommended earlier by the young man. Going up to one of the staff who happened to be in the lobby, I inquired whether anyone had turned in a pair of glasses. “Let me ask him what he did with them,” she said. I was aghast. Had the flash been correct? She went outside and found the same young man who had spoken to me earlier. Without a word and only a glance at me, he walked into a room and returned quickly. In the hand he extended toward me was a maroon, faux leather case, containing my glasses! “Someone found these on the floor last night and turned them in,” he said. Goose bumps ran from the tips of my hair to the tips of my toenails—even my nipples had goose bumps. The flash had been totally and completely correct. Instantly, I knew that this must be conveyed to you, my dear Readers, to urge and encourage you to stay open to Angelic communication, and even more importantly, to trust it.

I am still aghast at this incident, each time I think of it. How trivial it seems that I would be given an Angelic flash over such a small item as a pair of glasses in a plastic case. Not only a flash, but a flash in color and in exquisite detail: the front of the Opera House with its glass doors and green/gold lettering, along with the case containing the glasses floating in mid-air, superimposed on the vision, but not so that it obscured the words, “Ye Olde Opera House” (my Angels expended considerable effort to insure that I saw the flash clearly and missed none of the fine details). We can become conditioned by our religious training to think that Angelic matters only deal with big things and important people. Given this kind of conditioning, we don’t really believe that Angelic messages deal with little people like us and our little affairs. The flash given to me vividly brings home the message that each and every detail of each and every one of our lives is so vitally important to our Angels that they willingly go to no end of trouble to help us achieve positive outcomes. It is written that we are loved so much by Heaven that every hair on our heads is counted. Believe it, dear Readers. Stay open to guidance, and the wonders that can be in your life will be revealed to you.

Today’s topic, vision boards, deals with a subject that I had firmly decided was pure wishful thinking, totally without merit. My first and only encounter with the idea of vision boards was long ago on a random episode of Oprah, in which she rhapsodized about setting up a board, pasting on it pictures of all of your dreams, wants, and desires, then sitting back and watching them manifest themselves. Pure hokum, I thought, and promptly put the idea of vision boards out of my head. Well, my Angels foxed me again. Inadvertently and unwittingly, I created a vision board, set it up in the perfect line of sight, instinctively adopted the correct mind-set, and succeeded in manifesting something that I had considered impossible, in a time-frame out of my wildest dreams.

It all started as I was translating into English the first volume of an extremely popular Hungarian fantasy series (sort of “Harry Potter” meets “The Lord of the Rings”). One of the characters in the story is a sporty, little, red, bewitched car by the name of Rouge Red. My friend, Béla (see also Archives, August 31, 2010 Erzsébet the Nutrition Angel and September 1, 2010 Erzsébet at work), and I used to laugh and joke together that once the book was published, I would buy a hot little red car and call her “Rouge Red”. Also in fun, he made the most outrageous claim that she would be a Mercedes Benz, because everyone knows that published authors are a rich lot. No, I told him, Rouge Red is definitely a BMW. We would continue in this vein, being as outrageous as possible, and just laughing our heads off. Great fun.

So, this past February, my elderly BMW (which I had purchased 8 years ago for a pittance as a used car and which now had nearly 200,000 miles on it) ran into a wheel-bearing problem, so I took it to the dealer for service. Usually when I wait for my car, I just sit down in the waiting area and read, because it would do me no good to browse the showroom. Those cars are all shiny and new, but with those price tags, they might as well all be on the moon. For some unknown reason, though, I decided to look around in the showroom this time, unrealistic price tags or not. My eyes fell on a 328xi in vermillion red and I was immediately in lust. Not only love, but lust. Never in my life have I lusted after a car and here I was, hopelessly, helplessly, irrevocably in lust. Immediately I knew that I had met Rouge Red in person. Except that I didn’t have a spare $42,000 in my pocket. Besides that, even if I had had that much money to spend, I wouldn’t spend it on a car, because of the depreciation factor. Still, enthralled, I looked her over. She was perfect: size, color, interior, accessories, you name it, she had it, and it was all perfect. I felt like Dorkness falling head over heels for a supermodel. Sighing, I acknowledged the impossibility of my desires, gave her one last, longing look, and sat back down to wait for my elderly car to be fixed.

Despite not a snowball’s chance in Hell of ever having this little red car in my possession, I did some research on this model BMW and began musing. Just for fun, I also looked up the Blue Book value of my 1999 323i, which came to the grand total of $2,000. That was a bit of a shock, but it gave me a good laugh. My elderly BMW (which I loved driving) was worth way more than that to me, and I gave it not another thought. Over several days, I told some of my friends and co-workers about the car and just generally gushed about it. We all agreed that it’s nice to have a dream and left it at that. But my Angels did not leave it at that. A few weeks later, BMW marketing sent me a packet containing their new offerings for 2012. Included in this packet was a 4X6 glossy photo of a representative car of each of their models. One of them was, you guessed it, a photo of a red 328xi. I laughed out loud. How funny, I thought. Here they even send me a photo of Rouge Red, just to tease me. Throwing away all of the ads, I kept the one photo and put it in a prominent place in my keeping room (kitchen). Each and every time I went past it, I alternately drooled and laughed.

I had a great time telling this story to my friends and co-workers. In the meantime, I began to wonder just how I could have this car in my possession. The best idea I could come up with was to contact the dealer in two year’s time. Perhaps the price would have dropped significantly by then, and I would have a better chance of affording it. A 50% price reduction would sit well with me, as that would put it in the same price range as a Toyota, Honda, or Subaru. Again, though, these thoughts were just idle fancy, for I had truly accepted that having this car in my possession was an unrealistic fantasy. And I was OK with that. Despite my lust, I accepted that I could not afford this shiny machine, no matter what my lust told me. Heaving the sigh of unrequited love, I went about my business.

April came and time to take off the snow tires. Again taking my car to the dealer, I sought out Rouge Red in the showroom. She was gone. It’s just as well, I thought, and settled down to wait. Soon, the service manager, who I have known for many years, came out to discuss my bill with me. Just in conversation, I mentioned that I had looked up the Blue Book value of my car and was shocked at the figure. I told him that it was worth way more than $2,000 to me. We laughed, then he asked me whether I had seen the BMW ads on TV, $328/month for a 328xi. He explained that I could lease that car for 30 months for $328 per month. He told me about another customer who, like me, had an elderly BMW with 210,000 miles on it, and she had leased a car. He said that both he and his girlfriend had also each leased one. “Where else could you get into a $42,000 BMW for that kind of money?” he asked. “Nowhere”, I answered. The thought was intriguing, but I still dismissed it. It still seemed like a pipe-dream to me. Telling him I would think about it, I paid my bill and went home.

The next afternoon, my phone rang. It was a salesman from the BMW dealership, calling me at the recommendation of the service manager. This was amazing. I felt as if the Universe was cramming this car down my throat, no matter that I was not particularly interested. This salesman answered all of my objections satisfactorily. It seemed that BMW could accommodate even the fussiest potential customer. I agreed to meet with him the next day, and then it was all over. My credit application was accepted, they found me my Rouge Red (with a moon/sunroof, no less), and I am now in possession of this impossible dream, leasing it at a price I can afford, with the option to buy it after 30 months for approximately $25,000. I am still in shock.

In shock, I called one of my longtime friends to tell her the story. At the end, she simply said, “vision board”. When that didn’t make sense to me, she told me that pasting pictures on a board, looking at them frequently, and keeping one’s mind open is the fastest way to achieve the results of one’s desires. She, herself, had manifested her horse, Bay, in this manner. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Something I had completely dismissed as bogus had just resulted in giving me something I had desired, and in an inordinately short time. Of course, now I am all afire, with no end of ideas for my new vision board.

Again, dear Readers, your Angels have chosen me as the guinea pig so that through my own experiences you can profit and gain in abundance, both materially and spiritually. The environment needed for success with your vision board is, first of all, a vision, idea, desire. Obtain a picture of it. Look at this picture often. Next, adopt the correct mental outlook for success. This appears to be an open receptiveness, with no urgent requirement for immediate fulfillment. Keep it loose and sweet; don’t grasp and grab (these attitudes will result in failure). Leave it up to your Angels to know the correct time for delivery. Finally, just sit back, marvel, and enjoy as your heart’s desire arrives on your doorstep.

Once in a while, direct evidence comes showing that, indeed, the greater world really, truly exists. Such an experience came to me not long ago, and I am thrilled to share this with you, dear Readers. One of my co-workers, Sue, told me this story that totally gave me goose bumps.

Just recently, Sue’s mother-in-law had collapsed suddenly from a stroke and was taken to the hospital. While there, she lay in a coma, unresponsive. One of her adult children, who had been born with Down’s syndrome and had lived at home all of his life, visited his mother in the hospital. At his visit, the mother, although in a coma, began singing “Over the Rainbow” with her handicapped son as the rest of the family stood nearby, aghast.

While in the hospital, Sue noticed a particular smell surrounding her mother-in-law, which seemed to emanate from her breath. Despite the excellent mouth care given by the staff, Sue’s mother-in-law’s breath had a particular odor, which, Sue says, she had smelled on her father, as well, as he neared the transition that we call “death”.

The day that the mother-in-law died, Sue was in the car with her husband. Turning her head, she suddenly smelled her mother-in-law’s breath. Surprised and shocked, Sue turned to her husband: “Did you smell that? It’s your mother!” The husband concurred; he had also detected that particular smell. Not much later, Sue’s brother-in-law, the son, also detected the smell, which was a shock to him, since he does not believe in any of this “hocus-pocus”.

In questioning Sue closely, she told me that she had smelled this particular odor first when her father began to fail. Up until then, he had exuded no particular odor, but as he took a turn for the worse, Sue began to smell the odor. As with her mother-in-law, Sue’s father “appeared” to his family through their sense of smell. Sue and her mother were sitting in the kitchen, talking, when suddenly Sue spoke up: “It’s Dad! I can smell him!” Then it was Sue’s mother turn. She also smelled the odor, which quickly faded.

The mother-in-law passed, but she had another trick up her “sleeve”. A funeral was planned. Sue went to the funeral home to pick up the small prayer cards that are traditional in some services. One of them fell to the floor. She picked it up and read it. At the bottom of the card were the words “somewhere over the rainbow”. Confused, she called the funeral home, asking how it happened that those words were included at the bottom of the card, when no one had ordered it. The reply was that those words could only have been included if someone had requested this inclusion—but no one living had.

This story is intriguing on many levels. First, of course, it corroborates the fact that none of us “die” but continue intact into the afterlife. Not only that, but for some reason, many who have passed feel a strong need to communicate with the loved ones left behind, to reassure them that they are not gone, but are just in a different reality. Secondly, the sense of smell is not one that I have ever associated with messages from the “other side”. For myself, I have had the experience of seeing a strange whiteness that began emanating from someone’s body a few days before that person made the transition. This experience was so unusual that it took me quite aback. I was working in a long-term care facility. One of the residents was a dynamic elderly man, who had recently had a stroke, but was recovering. Nothing kept him down. If he couldn’t walk, he rode in a wheelchair. If something was out of his reach, he devised a way of reaching it anyway. Nothing was keeping him down for any reason. In the midst of this amazing recovery, I happened to walk past his room. The door was open and he was sitting in his wheelchair, eating. His body was in profile to me and his face was clearly visible. As I glanced in, he appeared to emanate a whiteness from within. He did not glow, just emanated whiteness. The vision was so strange that I stopped momentarily, trying to understand what I had seen. When no explanation was forthcoming, I continued on my duties. Three days later, he died. Subsequently, I noticed this whiteness on several women, who also died a short time after the color was visible on them.

The odor Sue and her family was able to detect on their loved ones is the first I had heard of this phenomenon. Apparently, our loved ones are quite capable of determining which sense would be most useful in alerting us to their continued existence and tailor their communication to us with this thought in mind. My experiences have been only with sight. Sue’s have been only with the sense of smell.

Whatever method of communication deceased loved ones choose, their ties to family show how much they still care and how much they seek to reassure the ones left behind. As we hone our ability to receive from the spiritual world, we, too, become the recipients of untold blessings.