Those that know me realize that 2018 hasn’t been what I’d refer to as my year. Instead there’s been a lot of losses and sadness. I was taught in home, school, and church to not complain, though. “Be grateful for what you have because someone always has less.” Not that it is untrue, because it’s very true, but by not releasing the sadness can cause damage too. I have a tendency to become quiet and withdraw when things are tough. I reply with “I’m fine” in a very convincing manner even when I’m really not, but who wants to hear someone else’s problems anyhow? I do it with strangers, but also with family and close friends. The resentment builds up because I want someone, anyone, to realize that I’m not fine and to try and fix it – or fix me so that I can fix it. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s the things made for Disney or a Hallmark Movie, and yet I continue hoping someone will swoop in, see, and take the heavy burden. The burden continues to grow like a landfill – and stinks like one too.
I was talking to my husband in the car the other day when I told him I wish I had someone to talk to – “Someone like me, but I don’t trust anyone,” I sighed. “Maybe I should go to a counselor, but I know what they’ll tell me too.”
“How about your guides?” my husband inquired.
“I think they’ve taken a hiatus from the hot mess of me,” I confessed. “I can’t blame them. It’s been a year. I’m done with me too. I would like me back as well.”
It was that night I woke up in a visit/dream state to an energy in man form. I knew immediately that He was God. My whole being was filled with a love I’ve missed dearly. He embraced me and I allowed myself to bask in feeling protected, loved, and blessed. The energy was a lightly colored black man with long salt and pepper dread locks and a matching colored beard. His eyes were a soft brown with deep laugh lines.
“We need to talk, Kristy,” He gingerly said, gesturing to take a seat at a small wooden table.
I sat, awaiting a judgement.
“You know those stories you tell in your head?”
I knew we all did the story thing. Any time we have an argument with anyone many of us set up a scenario. We script our responses to the fight and spend our energy and time thinking the worst – creating a story.“Those stories come from evil. Evil wants to spur and grow hate. The worse the story, the more the hate.”
“And you can’t love and hate at the same time, right?” I replied.
“You can’t. So many are hating right now. So many are making assumptions and seeing the worst in everything,” He paused. “The worst in everyone. You can’t hate something and spread love. Those stories that get created are dangerous. They infiltrate every cell in the body. They tell people to kill themselves – that they’d be better off. They tell people to stop loving others or that others aren’t worthy of being loved. They tell people that they aren’t worthy of being loved. They tell people to hate.”
I realized then that I’d been lost in my stories. So much energy and energy spent on anger and resentment – re-telling stories in my head instead of manifesting and spreading love.
“Each one of us has a gift, you included, and that’s what I want to talk about.”
He then spread out a piece of paper that looked like a blueprint and on it was a plan for me. He went through a list of things I needed to do. He showed me the things that weren’t working. And then I woke up. I woke up in tears, but good tears. And when I re-told my visit with my husband and daughter – I cried again.
It’s funny, really, because I did have someone to talk to. I had someone to listen to me, and offer advice. I had someone to carry my problems when I didn’t feel I could carry them anymore – I was too busy telling the stories in my mind that I forgot that God was there. He hadn’t given up on me. He also hasn’t forgotten up on you either.
So whether anyone believes that it was God, or a higher energy, or my higher self, or my imagination – it jolted my spirit.