Getting in touch with my guides and recording the stories of spirits such as Sarah was an exciting beginning as my developing psychic abilities began to finally bear fruit. I sensed a long line of souls waiting to tell me their stories so they could have closure. This is what I wrote in my journal then:
If the dead could speak, what would they say?
Well, right now they are lining up in my office and the hallway beyond. They are excited and waiting for their chance to speak. I smile at their anticipation and in my discovery that I can help them. I wonder if I should be overwhelmed and someone says no, I shouldn’t. “We can help you too,” They say. “You’ll know you’re no longer alone. Ever. We can help you deal with your fears, like in an elevator”. I wonder if perhaps the opposite is true, that maybe I feel claustrophobic in closed spaces like elevators because I feel like they’re crowding around me in a suffocating way…but part of me doesn’t really believe that. Part of me is elated at the thought that I will never have to be alone and that maybe they CAN help me deal with my fears. My new friends, every day men and women who lived on this earth and passed away with something left unsaid.
Here’s what one of the spirits had to tell me:
I am responsible for your headache. Sorry about that. I was an important man with important things on my mind. I felt weighed down by them. So many people depended on me. So many people looked to me for answers. To make things right. But I didn’t have the answers and I couldn’t make things right. It was too much to bear. It was an act of selfishness, I see now, because by killing myself I put myself out of misery but things were only worse for them. What was I thinking? I don’t know. Not about easing their pain or situation, but easing my own guilt. I took too much on myself and paid a heavy price. At the same time, others did this to me too. At work, the big managers would blow their money on their playboy style, and when there wasn’t enough left to pay their bills, they’d come to me and expect me to make it OK. But I couldn’t. At first I rose to the challenge and I worked ridiculous hours to work miracles to patch things up. But then as soon as one crisis was over, they’d go back to their fiscally irresponsible ways and another crisis would come right up only worse than before. It was a house of cards I was playing with. And when they all came tumbling down, I was blamed. Not their profligate ways. They, who never listened to either my advice or my warnings. I’d saved them so many times and they had the nerve to blame ME for the failure of their business. It was too much to bear. I had worked so hard for them doing my absolute best. I’d been proud of my accomplishments in such impossible circumstances. But instead of praise, I was ignored and then blamed for the ultimate failure.
My intense activities trying to save their skins made me neglect my own family. I hardly knew my kids and my wife and I barely spoke anymore. I thought it enough that I brought home a regular paycheck in these difficult times. It was the one thing I did for them. And when that stopped, what use would I be to them? Or anybody? So I took my own life. I hanged myself. I regret it of course, now, but at the time I wasn’t thinking clearly. Anyway, I’d like to tell my wife and 2 daughters that I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it again, I would do things differently. I would have spent more time with them. I would have found a less ambitious job but with more stability. We can’t go back, though, only forward. Still, I would get them the message if they could. The youngest daughter, she took it more heavily. The older one was a practical sort and went right out to get any job that she could to start bringing money in. She kept them going though it was a difficult black time for them throughout what you call the depression. Irene was her name. A strong woman and I’m so proud of her. Isabelle was the younger. She wanted to marry but they couldn’t afford to. I don’t know whatever happened with them.
Colleen suggested that I try to connect with one of the daughters, so I did. This is what Irene said:
My life was harder than it had to be because of you
They were tough times for everyone.
I saw things I never thought to see and hope I never will again.
We hardly knew you anyway.
You were always at work.
Even when you were home you were thinking about work.
Still we were so proud of you.
An important accountant in a big company.
When you took your own life
You took some of ours with you.
Even though we hardly knew you
You were our father. You were our family.
We would have fought for you
We would have supported you
We could have helped you through it
If only you had trusted us enough
You’re lack of trust and faith in us, your family
That is what cut so deep.
That’s the pain I took with me.
I appreciate your seeking us out now.
I understand that perhaps it was like a sickness that
Distorted your vision, seeing enemies where there were none
Or at least not seeing love and support when there was plenty.
Be at peace father, and I too will let it go.
What do these stories mean? I don’t know. Some will say it’s creative writing (fiction) rather than channeling. And they could be right. But it doesn’t feel like creative writing when I do it. I’ve dabbled in fiction since I was 14. I need to work hard—-thinking and planning. These readings pop into my head effortlessly and I’m racing to get it all down. Deep inside, I feel I’m channeling. Colleen suggested that through serving as a witness I was able to give closure. Maybe it was a new way of helping others outside the temporal dimension. It reminds me a bit of Star Trek’s three dimensional chess: one dimension influences and is connected to another.