Signs

by Laura Lynne Jackson

  We settled in and got started. Somewhere around the middle of the reading, Julie’s father came through. I told her he was there with a dog.

  “He is showing me a peach,” I told her. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say about this peach, but that’s what he’s showing me. I don’t know—maybe Georgia? Like a Georgia peach?”

  Julie got visibly emotional.

  “Georgie Girl,” she said. “That’s my childhood dog.”

  Julie’s father told me he had information about a different dog. He even gave me the dog’s name—Alfie.

  “Your father wants you to know you made the right decision about Alfie,” I relayed. Then I hesitated for a moment and clasped my hands together. “You know what I’m going to say…but your dad wants you to know that you did the right thing. You bought him a good chunk of time, but when it’s his time, your father and Georgie Girl will be there waiting for him.”

  At this point, Julie was a weeping mess. Julie’s dog, a fifteen-year-old Tibetan terrier named Alfie, had had risky surgery just a few days earlier. That’s why she was initially resisting the reading with me that day. She was raw—and worried about opening the emotional floodgates. And of course she was worried about what she might learn about Alfie’s health in the reading.

  Her dad’s message proved true. The surgery had turned back the clock for Alfie, who recovered quickly and regained his youth and vigor. In fact, he lived a good life for two more years, but then his health began to decline.

  So Julie took him to the downtown vet who’d known him since he was a puppy. “I wanted to know if Alfie was in pain and if I was being selfish in keeping him alive,” she later told me. She sat in the waiting room with a heavy heart, with Alfie lying at her feet. While there, her eye was drawn to the lost dog flyers posted on a bulletin board on the wall across from her. She got out of her seat and went directly to one poster, for a missing Shiba Inu. “I had the thought, I wonder where this dog was last seen, and traced my finger across to that information. The address was the building where my mother had grown up in Brooklyn.” Julie texted a photo of the flyer to her sister. “Check out the address,” she wrote. Her sister responded, “Incredible—right down to the apartment number!” Julie hadn’t even noticed that detail—#1A, the very apartment where her grandparents had lived for nearly fifty years. When Julie was a little girl and the family would visit her grandparents, Georgie Girl would bolt out of the car, run up the steps of the building, make a left, and sit outside the apartment door with her little tail wagging.

  “I understood it immediately,” Julie later told me. “I was there at the vet because I knew we were reaching the end, and here was an unmistakable sign that echoed what you had told me in our reading. When it was time for Alfie to cross, Georgie Girl, my father, and even my grandparents would be there to receive him.”

  * * *

  —

  Now that a channel of communication had been opened between Julie and her father, he would push through occasionally when we had a meeting or a scheduled call. One day, we were on the phone, discussing the upcoming publication of my first book. At the end of the call, I asked her, “Is today some kind of special day? Your dad has been hanging around me today and he’s saying there’s going to be some sort of celebration, a party?”

  Julie paused—I could tell she needed a moment. “Today is my father’s birthday,” she said. “February second, Groundhog Day.”

  Julie had a special relationship with her father, who had crossed over some twelve years earlier. “I was his sidekick, his wingman,” she explains. “His business was not far from my school, so every day he would drive me to and from school. We got to spend all of this time together, morning and evening. He was solid as a rock—hardworking, reliable, energetic, always in motion. He was as handsome as a movie star, and all his customers adored him.”

  Julie was in her thirties when her father passed after a long illness. “He never complained; he had such grace. It was like his soul underwent a kind of burnishing, and he found a deep contentment with his life. It was terrible to see this man who’d been so athletic and capable become physically constricted. But what was beautiful about him before his illness became even more beautiful.”

  A few months after our Groundhog Day call, Julie was at her weekend home in a rural part of Long Island. It was Father’s Day, which in the years since her father’s passing had become a day that brought up bittersweet feelings. She was doing dishes, looking out the window across the yard toward a farm that is adjacent to the property. Suddenly in her peripheral vision, she spotted a small brown creature emerge from a wooded area and pause in the middle of the yard.

  “Come in here and look at this,” she called out to her husband and son in the next room. “What is that? A weird-looking cat? Is it a beaver?”

  “It looks like a groundhog…maybe?” her husband said.

  “Google it—what does a groundhog look like, anyway?”

  Her son googled it and pulled up a photo of a groundhog sitting up on its hind legs. “Yep, that’s it.” They looked back to the groundhog in the yard, who’d obliged and struck the exact same pose as the groundhog in the photo.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “It’s Father’s Day.”

  * * *

  —

  A few months later, a friend from college was visiting Julie and her family for the weekend, and she told him the story of the Father’s Day groundhog sighting. She added that I encouraged people to ask for signs from the Other Side—her friend had lost his father years earlier, too—and not to worry about it being too specific; the Other Side can handle specific. While she talked, Julie gazed out her kitchen window, half hoping the groundhog would miraculously appear again. But, she thought, that would be too much to ask.

  She went upstairs to make the beds and looked out the window. Two cardinals, a couple, were sitting on a branch directly in her line of sight.

  “I’d see them around from time to time,” she says. “I called them Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal. They reminded me of my grandparents, who were married for fifty-four years. I acknowledged them and said—out loud, because no one was around—‘I’m so happy to see you two, I’m always happy to see you, but today, you know what I would really love? I’d love to see the groundhog again.’ ”

  Julie finished making the beds, walked back downstairs, and went to clean up the breakfast dishes. She stood at the sink and looked out the window. The groundhog was there, waiting for her.

  She was afraid to move. She stood stock-still, watching the groundhog make its way across the yard, taking its time, until it disappeared into the bushes.

  Though she was a believer, as she’d told me in our first meeting, after the second groundhog sighting Julie was reluctant to ask for her sign on demand—she was afraid the groundhog might be a no-show and she’d be disappointed. But over a year later, after coming through a difficult time, she thought, I wish I knew that my father was with me now that I’ve made it through.

  Later that day, she went out for a run on a wooded country road. On her way back, she saw a small, brown creature amble across the road about a hundred yards in front of her. “I couldn’t tell if it was a cat or a raccoon or what,” Julie says. “I started running toward it, but before I could reach it, it crossed the road and darted into the trees.”

  Oh well, she thought.

  But when she approached the place where the creature had crossed, she saw that it wasn’t entirely wooded—there was a small clearing just on the other side of a thicket, and there in the clearing was the groundhog, waiting for her. “I seriously gasped,” she says. “We looked at each other for a moment or two—and then it scampered off into the woods.”

  Julie ran back home at record speed, with a bright-yellow butterfly flying overhead, accompanying her. She was elated—“the world felt like a benevolent place” is how she describes it. She
couldn’t wait to tell everyone what she’d seen. “I felt the groundhog was an unequivocal message from my dad that he was aware of what I’d been going through and that he was with me. I got over my fear of disappointment. I asked, and he answered, just when I needed it most.”

  21

  HOW TO CO-CREATE YOUR OWN LANGUAGE

  WHEN I read for people, I move myself to a quiet place and consciously shift my energy into a state of total receptivity. I call it opening myself to the Other Side. In a way, I empty myself out—I stop being Laura Lynne—so that I can be a better messenger for our Teams of Light. Everything that comes through me originates on the Other Side; I am simply the vessel.

  Getting myself into this state was not always easy. Growing up, I didn’t understand the nudges I’d get from the Other Side; in fact, I was scared of them. I didn’t want to know anything about people, alive or dead, that I shouldn’t have had any way of knowing. It took me a long time to understand and accept my gift, and even more time to learn how to use it. Eventually, I got to the point where I could control the flow of information from the Other Side, so that I wasn’t swarmed by it twenty-four hours a day.

  As I trusted more and developed more, I began to learn the secret language of the universe. As I’ve mentioned more than once, I came to understand that this language is available to us all—it belongs to us all. And I’ve come to understand that it is part of my journey to awaken others to this possibility. What follows are a few guidelines to help you co-create your own special language with your wonderful Teams of Light. I hope the stories I’ve shared with you thus far have helped to prepare you to take the first step of opening your mind and your heart to the Other Side.

  QUIET, PLEASE

  I recommend that you begin this process by giving yourself ten minutes of quiet time. Not ten minutes on the sofa with the TV on, or ten minutes with your cellphone in your hand. I’m talking about real quiet. Meditative quiet. The kind of quiet that allows you to clear your mind and shift your energy and disconnect, as much as possible, from your everyday life.

  Start by finding a quiet place to sit. That might not be as easy as it sounds—believe me, I know; I’ve got a husband, three kids, two dogs, and a cat. Close your bedroom door. Run a hot bath. Sit on a cushion, sit cross-legged on a yoga mat, or lie on your back, palms up. If there’s noise seeping into your quiet place, put on some soothing music. Try to create the most serene and undisturbed environment you possibly can.

  In fact, if you can set aside these precious quiet minutes every day and stick to it, you will begin to learn how to shift your energy and enter into a different state of consciousness by virtue of your intention. It’s like what we talked about when we talked about dreams—we’re trying to shut down our logical brains. We want to free our consciousness from our bodies. We want to quiet all that frontal-lobe chatter that is often called the monkey mind.

  We want to get to a place where we can hear—and connect with—the Other Side.

  So find your quiet place. Get physically comfortable. Close your eyes. Take long, deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Bring your attention to your breath. Inhale, exhale. Gently push away stray thoughts.

  If you feel you need an image to quiet your mind, picture a beautiful shining lake filled with shimmering light just above you, then allow the light to flow down into the top of your head, filling up your body from your feet to the crown of your head. I call this bringing in the light.

  Do this for a minute, then another minute. Do it until you lose your sense of time. Stay in this peaceful, quiet place. Don’t do anything other than savoring the stillness.

  I should note that there are times in our lives when we accidentally slip into these altered states without even realizing it. It happens when we perform tasks that are second nature to us, and don’t require much thought. At those times, our brains shift into autopilot. Showering is a great example. We are in motion when we shower, taking care of business, but we don’t think about what we’re doing as we do it—it all just sort of happens automatically. This frees up our brains and allows us to drift into a slightly disconnected state.

  It can also happen when we’re driving on a route that we’ve driven on a million times, or when we’re cleaning a sink full of dishes. Tasks that don’t require a lot of active deductive reasoning.

  I have heard literally hundreds of stories of people who, while taking a shower, connected with loved ones who had crossed. I have had these experiences myself. There is something about the sound of running water that calms and mesmerizes us and allows us to shift our energy. The steady sound of a shower also tends to drown out any other noises, producing a wonderful kind of stillness (not to mention the effect of negative ions, which we’ll discuss in a later chapter). We can feel pleasantly isolated in the shower, or we can feel embraced by the warm rushing water. All of this creates an ideal environment for the Other Side to reach out to us—and for us to hear them.

  I’m not saying you should dash to the bathroom, get in the shower, and start trying to talk to your aunt or uncle who crossed. That is trying too hard, and it’s counterproductive. I’m saying that we should be aware of what flows in and out of our minds when we are in these kinds of accidentally disconnected states. They are wonderful opportunities for the Other Side to come through, and they give us insight into the frame of mind we’d like to be in when we take step one and ease into our quiet time.

  ASK FOR YOUR ORANGE

  Step two is asking for a sign that you want. It’s really that simple.

  Remember when I asked the Other Side to send me an orange, as a sign that I was on the right path? I did that during a quiet moment when I was backstage, and within just a short amount of time I had my orange—in fact, I had thousands of them. So think about what sign you’d like the Other Side to send you, and then just ask for it.

  A few tips. You can ask for a sign out loud or just in your head. You can make it a longer conversation between you and a loved one, or you can simply say, “Send me a green monkey.” You can use some of the same elements that make up the default signs, since those are easier for the Other Side to use—but with a twist that makes the sign distinctive. Or you can create a sign straight out of your imagination.

  Try not to ask for something that is all but impossible or in any way negative. For instance, you might not want to ask to see a jumbo jet land in Central Park. But you can ask to see a shiny airplane in an unlikely place (the response to that could be a model plane in a toy store window, or an ad featuring a plane on your Facebook feed, or a paper airplane suddenly and gently hitting you in the arm). So while you don’t want to ask for something that is truly absurd and next to impossible, you do want to ask for something that is unique and even challenging.

  Another tip: Allow for some time to see your sign. Quite often, people will receive the signs they ask for within three days, but they may come in just one day, or a week later. Don’t expect to see it instantly—the Other Side is truly amazing, but even our Teams of Light can’t make something materialize before our eyes (or at least I don’t think they can). That said, I’ve spoken with dozens of people who’ve actually received a sign within moments of asking for it. Sometimes, the Other Side works really fast. But in general, allowing the Other Side some time is a good way to keep ourselves open to the sign, and make it more likely that, when it comes, we will notice it.

  Finally, ask for something personal. Ask for something that connects you to a loved one on the Other Side. Maybe they collected porcelain dolphins. If so, ask for dolphins. Or ask for something you like that is personal to you. The point is to make it your sign—something that is particular to you and/or your loved one. This will increase the deeply beautiful feeling of love and connection that comes with a sign.

  You can also assign different signs to different people on the Other Side. You could ask your grandmother to send yo
u a pink heart with the word LOVE on it—and your grandpa to send a blue hippo. You can ask your spirit guides to send you the number 555. It’s all up to you to create the language you will share with them. And the more signs you create and establish, the more fluid the language will become. The phrase love you more. The number 333. Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.” A bee. The more signs you create, the more expansive the language will become.

  So maybe we can’t share a cup of coffee with a loved one who has crossed. But we can share a lovely moment of feeling close again.

  All we have to do is ask.

  YOU CAN ASK FOR HELP, TOO

  We aren’t merely limited to asking for signs; we can ask for help, too. The Other Side is eager to help us. And I’m not talking about helping in an abstract way—such as “Help me be a better person” (your teams are going to do that anyway). I’m talking about help with specific things. “I’ve got a really important test today—please help me stay calm and focused.” “My boyfriend and I are fighting—please help me think of what I can say to fix things.” “I’ve fallen into debt—please help me make the moves that will improve my finances.” “I need a parking spot close to the store today, please help me find one.” Specific help for specific problems. Real, honest-to-goodness help. I’ve done this plenty of times myself.

  So if you feel like you’re at the end of your rope and don’t know where to turn for help, turn to your Team of Light. Think of it as a prayer if you’d like. Be specific, and be honest. And ask for the help you need.