After the increase of messages from Spirit in May 2010, I began ACTING on those messages more in June. The messages were still increasing in frequency, but they also started to include promptings and advice, rather than just commentary. I started to “sack up”—as my husband so eloquently calls it—and act on that advice. I even offered my work and my life to the Divine, and (somewhat accidentally) to healing others. To my delight—and amazement, I must admit—the results were very positive.

This month contained so many messages and so much learning that I’ve broken the chapter up in two parts. This is part 2. You can watch the YouTube video of this second part of chapter 19 using the following link, or read it below.

 

 

19. June 2010

Friday 18 June 2010

Had an urge today to carry sunstone. I will, but wanted a refresher course on the powers of sunstone, so I could know WHY I should be carrying the sunstone. Found quite a bit of good information, including this:

Sunstone exudes an inner light that bursts forth and practically shouts, “Look at me!” … Sunstone will ask you to bring what’s inside… out. Working with this stone, that is noted for helping expand one’s consciousness and creativity, can help you determine not only what your special talents are, but how best to bring them forth and use them for the benefit and good of all. …

Excellent at banishing fears and phobias of all sorts, Sunstone removes inhibitions and releases feelings of unworthiness. It is also believed to be able to clear away any lingering and unwanted entities or energies that may have attached themselves emotionally or physically to another. Independence and freedom are definitely highlighted in the attributes of this stone.[1]

So I suppose this is to help balance out the moon “work” I did last night and to protect against and/or banish any “negative” energies or entitites that I may have picked up as a result of my working last night. Also, probably most important, is getting rid of that feeling of unworthiness I have. Although it’s not truly unworthiness that I feel, I think—more a feeling of unpreparedness or “not quite good enough”ness.

 

Saturday 19 June 2010

Just had a conversation with several … of my healers/guides. I learned that right now, I am mostly accompanied by healers, that they are assisting me. They work on many levels and change according to my needs, I think rather like a team of specialist physicians, for a rather crude approximation.

I have had a main Between-the-Worlds guide who has been with me through much of this spiritual journey of mine. When I asked why this guide came into my life, I received the answer, “Because you called.” I cried at such a beautiful answer. Because I called. I don’t know when, or how, but during this process at some point, I called out for help, and my Between-the-Worlds guide came and helped make it possible for me to be able to speak with my guides and spirit companions without always having to meditate. This guide has been the one helping me find the trust in myself—though I have had to do the work. The guide has only been the one pushing and prodding me in the right direction, “giving the assist” when necessary. Because of the Between-the-Worlds guide, I have been able to bridge the “phases” or planes of reality—at least a couple of them. The Between-the-Worlds guide, as I understand it, often is there to assist after a death—to help the soul adjust (but not as I’ve read about in my reincarnation books, the guides are telling me). This one, as the name suggests (a rough translation for my brain), helps those who communicate between the “worlds” of spirit and physical, spiritual and mundane. I believe it was my Between-the Worlds guide who “appeared” to me as Jesus a few months ago, though I did not ask for confirmation [of this].

I asked how many guides were with me when I was having my conversation and was told there were 6 with me at that time. Two “main” guides—one of whom was a healer—and four kind of “waiting in the wings.” I don’t know if they were there for the entire conversation or turned up near the end. I rather felt like they trickled in, drawn in by the communion going on in the room. I did issue a standing invitation, after all, for any friendly, helpful spirit to help. I don’t know if these 4—and/or all—were there out of curiosity or moral support or were really working, but I thanked them, just the same. I felt honored, privileged, to have so many with me.

I asked them if they would mind if I … record[ed] this, to write it while they spoke with me, for I read today that you should keep a journal of interactions with your spirits/guides to refer back to as you develop the ability. And me—well, I like to come back and verify that what I remember as happening was really what happened. Even now, I feel the presence streaming in through my crown chakra. The divine communication link is open, and it is amazing. I wonder how much of this is a result of last night’s ritual and how much is simply a culmination of everything I’ve been working through the past few months. But it’s not really measurable, I know.

I feel incredibly calm, accepted, safe. I wish I could also say content, but alas, that emotion eludes me these days. Perhaps one of these days I will find it again. I hold out hope for it. (They laugh softly at me. I’m not sure if it’s pity or ironic laughter. Perhaps I’ve never been content and simply fooled myself into thinking I was before. Nevertheless, it is something to strive for…never be content until you are content? Heh.)

***

Dreamt this afternoon of entering a room and finding a toad and a large snake. The toad just hopped around, but the snake, as I and someone else were feeding it … leapt at me. It scared me, as snakes normally do in my dreams. I think in the dream I thought it was striking me, but it was really leaping for the food, as once it had the rats we [had been carrying and] threw down, it ignored us.

Normally, I wouldn’t give it too much thought, but the toad is a first to show up in a dream of mine, and that it showed up in the same room, right next to the snake, is strange. And this snake wasn’t fierce like the “mean” ones I often dream about. So I’m trying to find information on animal symbolism. The snake’s fairly easy, as it shows up a lot and I’ve dreamed about them before, but the toad…that one’s a big challenge.

[Snake represents polarity; duality and the search for balance; intuition; transformation; awareness; healing; protection; rejuvenation; hidden knowledge. Also connection to the shadow worlds, moving in rhythm with natural forces; the practice of finding loving harmony between the physical and ethereal, to calmly ease into personal balance with the universal cosmic balance.]

Those who are drawn to the snake (and vice versa) are gifted at perceiving life through an uncommon lens. Other characteristics of those who are connected to snake energy include:

• A natural ability to balance energies (you’re likely a gifted healer)
• Diplomatic and eloquent in areas of speech and writing
• Dynamically intuitive (often knowing other’s thoughts and emotional states without trying)
• Impulsive, but not without careful consideration – this may sound paradoxical, but those with the snake totem know what I mean here. [2]

[Toad represents feelings that make us uncomfortable, and the biological processes of reproduction and transformation. The tadpole-to-toad process represents conception and birth.]

I find frog information everywhere, but all the stuff about toads seems to be canned. …

With the toad symbolism, I’m leaning more toward rebirth (spiritual), and turning my bad experiences into something good, even though I’m going to have to face the uncomfortable feelings again (and again and again…).

In the dream, I saw the toad first, then opened the lid to a container and saw the snake (fairly certain it was a cobra, as I caught a glimpse of what I thought was a hood). Combined, I think, the two are showing me that I will be a force for healing others, but I do have to “man up” and face my issues. …

• Frog or toad: Moving forward in leaps, possibly amongst long periods without apparent progress
• Making progress in ways that don’t appear to move directly towards a goal, such as through trial and error

 

Tuesday 22 June 2010

Playing a game on Facebook … I [saw some pictures] … all having to do with newborns. … I hadn’t paid much attention to [them before], honestly. … But the crib … caught my eye because it looked so similar to the one that Dad and I spent so much time looking for … last [year]. … We spent hours trying to find the right plans for just the right crib for Daddy to make the crib for my … baby, and he never … got to start on it, because just after the plans arrived, we had the miscarriage.

Honestly, this memory doesn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, and I’m surprised. But then again, I’m also surprised that the memory came up—it was one day, maybe two, out of my entire life, and it wasn’t much special, except that I was looking at pictures of cribs to decide on plans.

And now, strangely enough, I feel kind of sad that I don’t feel sadder about that memory and the loss [of] the missed opportunity. How strange…feeling bad because I don’t feel bad.

***

“Strange” thing tonight. …

Since Mike has gone to bed, I’ve looked out the windows on the south side of the house a couple of times and seen the moon surrounded by clouds. The moon is nearly full, and so bright that I can tell that the clouds hem it in on all sides. I’d watch for several moments and notice that the moon was not being covered by the clouds. The first time, it didn’t seem all that strange, but the second time, it really did, because there it was again, almost like it had been the first time I’d looked out—the moon, with clouds almost touching it, but not quite, forming a triangle around the moon.

I stared and stared, and finally, I realized it was meant for me. There was a message there somewhere for me. As soon as I realized that, the clouds seemed to move in quickly, quickly swirling over the moon and obscuring it from my sight.

So I looked up the moon’s meaning in the [Gilded Tarot] book. …

What I picked up was, essentially, this is a time of growth and change, nothing stays the same. (Yeah, okay, everything in my life always says that, and that’s the nature of life.) “It may be that you need to let go of something—a bad habit, a negative thought pattern, a destructive relationship, or an old hurt that is holding you back and stopping you from developing as you need to. You must change your attitudes; you are causing yourself pain. You cannot live in the past, but must continue to grow and face the future.” (Yeah, okay, I really do think I’m getting over these hurts, but I don’t think they can be considered “old” hurts, as they’re only a few months old and I’m living with them still. Perhaps it’s simply that I’m causing myself pain or don’t have the right attitude? But what attitude is that?)

The description of the card also mentions the bat, which is a sign that one needs to sift reality from illusion and know the difference between a true lesson and wishful thinking. If this goes back to my belief that I have been promised that my vision will be restored, I’m having a hard time understanding how that is hurting me. I’m still living my life as though it won’t be restored, though having faith (though it sometimes flags) that my sight will be restored. If it’s my health, again, I’m not sure. Right now, I just don’t know what this belief or wishful thinking would be. Hoping for a baby? Again, I was told I’d have a child, though I don’t know now if it meant I would bear the child or adopt or what. I’m trying to make peace with the possibility of never giving birth. In all things, I’m holding out the hope and the faith but carrying on as though they may never happen—not because I don’t have faith, but BECAUSE of the faith…

I carry on each day, hoping for the change, the improvement. So maybe that’s the problem…I’m not living each day for its own experience. But even before, nearly every day was lived in hope of better things to come, wasn’t it? Hoping for a child, hoping for Mike to have a job. … But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’ve always been looking forward to things to bring me happiness instead of finding happiness.

But that’s not quite right…deep down, I’ve always been ultimately happy with my life, only right now, I’m not. And right now I’m not, because I feel isolated sometimes, and overworked…neither on its own is bad, but the two in combination are “dangerous” for me. So, the ultimate lesson, the sign the moon was bringing? I’m not sure. Here’s more from the book:

The Moon is a fortuitous card for writers and artists. It indicates bringing ideas from the subconscious to manifest as works. … Artists call on their most painful experiences to inform their work, and writing down or drawing your problems may help to expiate them. Spiritually, this card calls on you to pay attention to what your dreams are trying to tell you. This is an excellent time to develop your psychic skills. You will be more intuitive than usual and should trust your instincts. …

(Regarding the journey of “the fool”/Odin): “The fool is engaged in the outward spiral of his initiatory process and has been following the pale light of the star as his guide through the labyrinth. …On a magical level, the moon influences and represents the collective sea of the unconscious that contains and feeds all the experiences of humankind, communicated only by symbol and legend. The fool realizes that though his journey has been an individual one, it is reflected in the journey of all souls. His own experience has contributed to the evolution of humanity as a tiny part of the whole.” (Something I’d believed for a long time, we are all important, but Becca had to remind me of a couple of weeks ago—my experience has contributed to the evolution of humanity as part of the whole. And my part is still to be bigger. I have more to do.)

 

Wednesday 23 June 2010

[An episode of an old TV show I watched] yesterday … helped trigger me crying myself to sleep…one of the characters and her husband were trying to get pregnant, and when she told him [she was pregnant], the looks on their faces…they reminded me of that fantastic look on Mike’s face when I showed him the positive pregnancy test last summer. So tonight, I’ve watched a few more episodes, and [the couple experienced] a miscarriage. [The episode covered] all the issues I’d experienced emotionally from the miscarriage—worry about not being able to have another, upset at not being able to give my parents a grandchild (though the father told her that she was far more important to him than the idea of having a grandchild…I know that’s how my parents feel), dealing with the father’s emotions at the miscarriage, thinking of the unfairness of the world that I couldn’t have a child when I wanted one so badly when other people have them who “don’t want” them.

The show is good for me on many levels, and it has helped heal me, strange as that may sound. There’s a community of friends who care about each other, and it feels like a real-life community, much like the one I grew up in. … Of course, one could say I’m using the show as an escape, and maybe I am, but I am also able to find a deeper meaning in it and benefit from it…reflection and recuperation during withdrawal.

 

Thursday 24 June 2010

As I look outside and see it growing lighter, I think of these beautifully muggy early summer mornings and driving in them. And I realize that what I miss most about the driving is the FREEDOM. Not the freedom to go … wherever I want (though that, too), but to be on my own in a car, with the rules being my own. When someone else drives, the radio has to be just so, and the windows are usually up and the A/C on, and we’re disconnected from the world outside, in the bubble of solitude. But I miss driving at 30 or 40 miles an hour, the windows down, so I can smell the dew-filled air, feel the close press of the humid trees, the open farmland while having a little bubble of undisturbed air in my car. I miss rolling the windows down and smelling the corn growing in the field, hearing the birds singing, the wind whistling, whatever. Just, experiencing so MUCH at one time.

When you sit still, you can enjoy one smell or, if the wind’s blowing, two or three, but when driving, every few feet can be a new smell, every turn in the road a new smell, every dip in the road a fresh nasal challenge. And the feeling of the wind whipping my hair, the REAL air—not the stuff filtered through the engine and a couple filters and a cooling system—brushing my cheek, touching my forehead, caressing my arm…these you can’t get simply from sitting still in the wind.

That’s one thing I loved so much about visiting Becca—we were in a car on a hot, humid summer day, driving on country roads through woods—with ALL the windows down. I could smell the damp, the pine needles, the cedar, the moist richness of the woods, the cool patches, the dry dusty patches of road warmed by shafts of sunlight filtering in. And all at 20 or 30 miles an hour, with my hair whipping around my face. I just closed my eyes and breathed it all in, the little slice of heaven on earth.

Freedom. Sensory experience…something I’m so deprived of, sitting in the same house day after day, seeing the same person with no new conversation, no new faces day in and day out. As much as I like to get away and enjoy my solitude, I am truly a social creature. Or maybe just sensory. Maybe I could do without a lot of interaction with people if only my senses could be stimulated by more than this house day in and day out.

Freedom. I miss it so much. But driving, I miss that more. Even if I were only driving once a week, to the store and back, ah, to know I had the chance, to do it…to go anywhere unassisted, unaided, unwatched-over again. I’m cloistered. Supervised. Chaperoned. Or on house arrest.

It’s not all that abysmal, but I just long for a little bit of freedom, of independence…no, that’s not right. I like being intertwined with others, like some of the strictures placed on my life to be beholden to my husband and the people I’m in relationship to, but I miss the choice, the opportunity, to go traveling and CONTRIBUTE to the trip, to be able to suggest a road trip somewhere and not require that someone else do the driving. I miss sharing the load equally. I just miss driving. I miss a lot of things.

I can’t wait until I can see again.

Last year, my goal, my reward, for myself was to go to the zoo if I got below 300 pounds. And funny, now that I’m below 300 pounds and have stayed there, I can’t go to the zoo, because I can’t drive there.

I don’t know…the old saying goes that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. And with driving, I’m not sure where I stand on that adage…whether I prefer having known that knowledge, that love, that freedom for just a while, or whether I would prefer to not know that happiness so I couldn’t now miss it so very much. I guess it seems stupid for me to miss something so mundane, so silly, but I do, and I can’t help it.

***

Just had a flashback to me and Mike sitting in my room at St. Vincent’s back in October. Just that. No idea why it came on, but I wondered how much Mike must have been stressed out, worried about what was happening to me, and my guts clenched up. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to think of September and October of 2009 again without my intestines feeling like they’re knotting all up. I hate that I had to go through that. Even more, I hate that Mike had to go through that. And I feel guilty for making him go through it, for being fat and having this happen, for having a miscarriage and causing this.

Really, most of my feelings of guilt are gone, but my brain still tries to go back to trying to figure out why something happened. Because even though “These things just happen sometimes” is the truth, it sucks. I’m torn between never wanting to remember those days again and between wanting to without feeling terrible and nervous about them. I try to tell myself that the days are over and that the memory of them can’t REALLY hurt me now, but I know what I’m really afraid of is going through it again. Though [at the time] the uncertainty was the worst … not knowing what in the world was wrong, hoping and praying for answers… I don’t recall being all that nervous then, just glad to no longer be in as much pain, and happy for someone else to be taking care of me so I didn’t have to keep trying to think through the pain. So why the anxiety now when I just get a 1-second FLASH of that room at the hospital? Will I ever be able to sit in a hospital without feeling nervous and agitated?

I just still get so scared sometimes, and I don’t know why.

 

Saturday 26 June 2010

This time last year, I was pregnant, though I didn’t know it yet. So much has happened since, and yet so little.

 

Sunday 27 June 2010

As I was getting dressed … I was mulling over how to help Mike feel better about our financial situation and life in general, thinking about what I could say to him. I thought maybe he was angry at me, … so I was trying to figure out how to broach the topic with him, or whether I should say anything at all. I was in the master bathroom … and received the message that I am beautiful. I turned away, a little teary-eyed, to dry my hands, and the voice said, basically, “No, don’t turn away. Turn back to the mirror and look at yourself. See how beautiful you are. You are beautiful, even if you don’t believe it. Just look at yourself and know you are beautiful. You are beloved.” I nodded and forced myself to look at my reflection. Finally, my eyes were directed toward my abdomen, and the voice said, “One day, a child will grow there, but for right now, you need to help your husband. Now is the time for your husband.” And I got the urgency to actually walk away from the mirror right then and seek out Mike.

I found him outside, on the patio. … I saw that his eyes were red—crying or nearly crying from worry. … I stood on the front door step and put my arms around his shoulders. For a few minutes, I kissed him, hugged him, tried to comfort him. I couldn’t do much, I felt, but I did what I could. I made sure to thank him for everything he had done that day … and for everything he has done always to support us. I reminded him that we are partners and that he doesn’t have to do everything alone and protect me, but that I appreciate everything he does. I told him that I know I don’t tell him enough … how much I love him and appreciate him, and that I’m sorry for that.

I hope I helped him feel better, with the help of my own spiritual guides. Thereafter, when he was still upset and stressed, I listened to the inner voice, the voice of my guides, of the Divine, to tell me what to do—the actions were contrary to what I would normally do, but I did what the voice told me, as it had helped earlier. … Each day, I try to remember to tell the universe that I am open to its plans, that I will to will God’s will, that I give myself over to that, and I think today, I actually got to see that in action.

 

Monday 28 June 2010

Well, [it’s] my birthday. …

[H]ere I am. … Still no baby, despite a few years ago deciding that if I didn’t have a baby by the time I was 30, I would adopt. But [circumstances] keep that from happening. This is my first birthday since losing most of my eyesight. So, I’m certainly not upset by [getting older], and the implications of that. There are so many other things that I could worry about. But all I do is work and sleep now, and sometimes watch TV. I’m tired of being alone in this house. When I dream now, I dream of the stuff that happens in the TV shows I watch, or I dream of days gone by, because there’s nothing else in my life for me to dream about. I think that makes me sadder than anything else. …

I’m not trying to have a pity party, just marking the passage of time and a birthday milestone. Tomorrow’s always a brighter day.

 

Tuesday 29 June 2010

I used to remember when things happened by thinking of them in relation to what year of school I was in. Then when I went to college, it became a matter of where I lived at the time. That carried through until not long after we bought the house. Then things start to kind of meld together, and I try to remember things based around certain key visits from family members. … Then I was able to remember a few things based on where I worked. …

When I was pregnant, I thought I’d start remembering when things happened based on their relation to my pregnancy and our child’s age/life. Then the miscarriage happened, and I thought that would be the big factor.

But now, now everything is divided into before my vision… and after my vision… Those ellipses indicate [what] I can’t really say about my vision. I can’t say I lost my vision, and it’s a mouthful to say “before my vision was damaged,” not to mention that “before my vision was damaged” doesn’t quite capture the essence of the event. … Before I almost went blind doesn’t quite work, nor does before I lost most of my vision. So what am I left with? It’s still the current defining point in my life, but I have no name for it.

How does one name such an event, an event with such implications in one’s life? It altered my worldview, after all, not just my physical vision. Because of the incident (which wasn’t a one-day thing, but a month, really), or rather, AFTER the incident, I now have a chronic health issue in my IIH, a serious life impediment in my vision and its effects on my life, and thus permanent worries that didn’t exist before the-incident-that-still-has-no-name happened—I will now forever be worried about my headaches, about what will happen if I become pregnant, about how I can properly care for a child when I can’t drive, etc. My life is permanently changed. How do I name a life event like that?

English already has simple, yet profound, titles for other life-changing events: birth, marriage, parenthood. Wow, those three are tremendous life changes and [are] important. They are common, shared among [most] people. But what do you call something like this? On message boards, I sometimes see people note “x years since diagnosis.” That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t capture the event, the illness. The diagnosis was just when doctors finally decided on what to call what was bothering the person, not when the problem started. And “diagnosis” is such a clean, clinical word—it doesn’t capture the profound life changes that happen as a result of the thing that is being diagnosed.

But some of those terms for diagnosis, ah, THOSE are real monsters, like birth, death, and marriage [are]. They’ll stop you in your tracks: heart attack, stroke, HIV. Cancer. Someone hears that diagnosis, and his or her heart drops into the stomach and the intestines feel like they’re trying to crawl out of the body, and the lungs feel like they’ve taken a holiday without finding a replacement to do the work. Nearly everyone knows that feeling of dread, of terror.

But what happens when the diagnosis is autism, spina bifida, diabetes, Crohn’s, celiac disease, IIH, chronic fatigue syndrome, migraine, fibromyalgia? Bewilderment. Confusion. That’s not so clear-cut. These things can be mild, or they can be disabling. They can be visible diseases, or they can be “invisible.” How does one live with them? How does one think of them as life-altering events? Because they certainly aren’t events but consist of dozens, hundreds of events that can be major or minor, constantly shaping the life of the person with the disease. There are always considerations—travel with enough medicines. Do I take my standard medicines only, or should I take my painkillers with me just in case? What happens if I have a problem while I’m away from home and my doctor? What happens if I’m home alone by myself and something happens? People who were once strong and confident, sure that they could handle nearly anything thrown at them by life, suddenly feel overwhelmed after the onset of such disorders and diseases, or the diagnosis of them in loved ones.

Compounded by these natural worries of the illnesses are the problems brought about by the illnesses themselves—some of them defy all efforts at stabilization, some have cycles, some are stabilized for months, even years, then suddenly, inexplicably, “flare up” and send someone who “looks healthy” home or to the hospital for days, weeks on end, or in and out of the doctor’s office and ER and specialists’ offices. Or the disorders just sometimes “wipe out” the sufferer, so someone who had functional energy one day can barely open his or her eyes the next day. Once-social people, the life of the party, become veritable shut-ins, unable to go out because of the effects of their disease or because they couldn’t sleep the night before or because they fear what might happen, what surprise their bodies might have in store for them, if they get too far from home. Happy people become depressed. People with sharp wits become dull, confused. People with strong vocabularies struggle to find the simplest words.

“But they look so healthy, they seem so healthy,” some might say. It’s not like someone who’s had a stroke and suddenly loses the ability to speak or to move half of his or her body. Or like a pregnant woman who gets sick at the slightest smell of some food because of her fluctuating hormones and increased sense of smell. Or like mourning the loss of a limb after an amputation. … [T]hey can’t find the words, they can’t make their muscles obey, they can’t eat, they mourn for the loss of something that they can’t name—well-being. Health. A way of being that they can no longer find. The people they once were. Family and friends—and strangers, especially—are less sympathetic, for there’s no evidence of the disease. Instead, the person is just “slow” or “being difficult” or “refuses to get over it” or “is faking” or “is abusing the system” or “is just doing it for attention” or “is lazy and doesn’t want to work.”

Only you can know what else you’ve said about the people who park in a handicap parking spot at the store but then get out of their cars and seem to be perfectly fine. We’ve all done it—judged. I’ve done it. Back before this happened to me, I did it. Sometimes I still catch myself saying things. But who am I to judge? How do I know? Because my sight is so limited, I qualify for handicap plates and hangtag, though I’ve put off getting them. Certainly, if someone saw me getting out of a car and walking into a building, he’d never think I needed such a tag. But on days when it’s really cloudy or rainy or snowy or icy, I wish I had one of those tags because I have a very difficult time with contrast and picking my way across a wet or snowy parking lot, and if I could reduce that walk from 300 feet to just 50, I could tremendously decrease my heartrate, my fear, my panic, my companion’s impatience, the time to get to the door and into the relative safety of the building.

All these things become concerns for the person who has a diagnosis, but not an event, as a life-altering “event,” as a “rite of passage”—right down to worrying about what others are saying behind his or her back about him or her and the condition … and the way [the person] “chooses” to cope with that situation, that diagnosis. Many of us have dates we will never forget—turning points in our lives—the day I almost died, my first kiss, the day my first child was born, the day I lost my father, the day my house burned down—but many of us also struggle to pinpoint just where, just WHEN our lives really changed…

 

Notes

[1] http://www.controverscial.com/Sunstone.htm

[2] Original source unclear. This information appears on multiple sites on the Internet, with the text always slightly different, with no original source attribution given.

 

***

Thank you for allowing me to share this part of my journey with you. Please let me know what you think so far and if you want to hear/read more of my story.

If this is the first chapter of my story that you’ve read or listened to, you can catch up by listening to all of the episodes on my YouTube playlist, starting here.

 

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