by Tessa Lynne
I can give you some idea of how this is possible, so real to us. I am told that our spirits meet on some unearthly plane, attached still to our physical selves. They need that attachment to experience what is not possible on a spiritual level and to bring to us the immense power of their love and desire. I am at a loss how to describe it—dare I say holy?
I will share some of what I have been told. Our first fleeting sight of each other was in the fall of 1971. You had just become a father, and I was planning a December wedding. You glanced my way after I dropped my books in the first floor hallway of the admin building. If only I had played the helpless female looking for someone to rescue me (not my style).
Two years later, the same building, do you recall wanting to meet a young woman, asking about her, being told that she was married? Our brief exchange was interrupted at hello, but I have never forgotten the sickening, sinking feeling I experienced as you walked away from me.
Michael, what follows was agony for me to hear. I know your pain as you read this. We would have each left our spouse, married, and had another son. Vince would have lived with us from the age of eight. And then, I told you about my daughters, how dear they are to me; it was their destiny, and ours, that we share this life, what I mourn as our greatest loss.
We had a final chance in 1983 when you registered for one of my courses. In my six years there, it was the only fully enrolled class with so many last-minute cancellations that we had to drop it. I am told there was a spirit-world intervention, made to prevent several deaths as people traveled home. I was considering divorce at the time. When I thought of leaving, my inner self soared—the same part of me that now so eagerly takes flight to you.
Good morning, my love. How do I write, engage the part of my brain that knows words? I want only to savor our experience of the night. I told you of the beautiful stone anchored in the center of my being—you reached me there. I don’t know what a man would experience. I think, mere man, that you must be jealous of a woman’s capability. I am filled now, content. Do you see on my face the glow of our love? Leaving you, I meant to seek some distance from the intensity of last night. Foolish me. If I wanted distance, why did I return to my bed and draw you close again? It was you that I wanted, to linger with. I feel you still. Michael, I adore you.
My dearest Teresa, I have spent the last several hours attempting to fill my need for you—a bottomless pit of desire. I know it to be the complete union of our souls, our hearts, our beings. My lunch is here. I must keep up my strength.
I get annoyed now at intrusions I used to welcome. I know this will settle into less intensity; we will talk about the weather and other mundane aspects of our lives, like can we agree to put the cap back on the toothpaste. For the time being, can we not relish it and cherish the intensity and damn the intrusions? I must leave you, my love.
Your letter was here when I returned. I have sat deep in thought, trying to put on paper what is in my heart. Where was once my heart is a deep void—it has been ripped from my chest, so great is my pain. Stay by my side tonight, my love, as you have been these past few hours. Hold me, my sweet, for I will surely cry myself to sleep in your arms.
I can sense your body wracked with quiet sobs, welling up from the deepness of your soul. When I asked if you wanted to know everything, I should have warned you. I knew it was our children that would most torment you, as it does me. I have not felt you close.
Did I tell you too much? My sweet Michael, it is the part of you that feels this loss so deeply that I most love in you. I was finally able to reach you as night turned to day. Did you feel, when your pain had subsided a little, the peaceful presence that surrounded us? We are being helped to heal this sorrow.
Beloved of my soul, I am not yet ready to leave this life, this world. Will you wait for me? I am told that your illness was not destined—you have already turned the tide. If there is a chance we can yet be together, in every sense, do you want to pursue it? I will be close to you through the night. With so much in my heart, I am yours.
I couldn’t write this morning, and I am still having great difficulty trying to find the words to describe how I feel, or, more accurately, how I don’t feel. I am numb, void of anything but an overwhelming grief for our loss. I have not eaten today—such is the bitterness on my tongue.
Forgive me, my darling. I was deceiving myself when I said I was devoid of feeling. I am feeling so much I can’t sort it all out, but I can’t believe how incredibly selfish I have been to have thought only of my own pain. Sweetheart, you are my reason for waking every morning. I am so sorry that I wasn’t given the opportunity to watch you grow heavy with my beautiful daughters in your womb—the pain is so intense. Last night, my anger prevented me from knowing you were near. I cursed my Lord and have since prayed for His forgiveness. I couldn’t finish your letter after learning of our lost life.
Come to me tonight and lift my heart. We will weep together and find strength in each other. Let me search once more your beautiful stone, that I may find solace in the center of your being.
My love, you are still here with me. Last night, when I was free to return to you, I reached out—to absolute emptiness; you were nowhere to be found. Then, early this morning, I held you in my arms again. These past hours have been filled with a sweet love that is easing the pain, healing our sorrow.
I have referred to my sources. I call them angels but they are not from that realm. Zachary appeared to me first and is closest to me spiritually. Amelia told me of you and is our messenger; she is often close to you, as is your guardian, Bethany. One more, Eli, is kept informed of everything and gives guidance to the others. I am enclosing a poem by George Eliot—we are surrounded by “The Choir Invisible.”
“May I reach that purest heaven, be to other souls the cup of strength in some great agony, enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love…be the sweet presence of a good diffused, and in diffusion ever more intense.”
These lines, especially, remind me of those who assist us, our invisible choir. We must open ourselves to their presence.
I can’t focus on anything but my need for you. Something a little frightening occurred just before you left me, but I am not sure what it meant. A few minutes later there was another strange event, a more positive one. I will need to give it some thought.
I have been looking back twenty years to the time I was in graduate school. Don’t keep me guessing. Tell me what you know. I have had some glimpses of what might have been. Are Callie and Kenna blonde? I have an urge to write in my journal.
What an idiot I am. Your letter was there. The warden, as I call the head nurse—think drill sergeant or Nurse Ratched—has poked her head in to say they are coming soon to do my IV therapy. I must leave this for now, but my mind is bursting with questions.
Can anything be more loving and tender than the hours I spend in your arms? I don’t understand who has this knowledge or why we are privileged to it. Is there nothing we can do to share what is left of our lives? That is a stupid question. You have so much life ahead of you—it seems that I do not.
Yes, I have felt the Light surrounding us when we are together, the same as you describe it, a version of what I knew in my near-death experience. Is it our angels? Have they come for me? If knowing a love so beautiful is the beginning of my death, then let me die a thousand times.
Ne manqué pas de revenir me voir—do not forget to come back to see me. You are such a delight. I love the way you take me in hand so gently, but firmly. How is it possible for you to communicate both your intent and your action so unambiguously? I know exactly what you are doing and why you are doing it. You amaze me, as do the possibilities our love has shown itself capable of transforming into reality.
It was not easy for me to read the first half of your last letter, your feelings so sweet and loving. I knew they would change to heartbreak when you learned of our lost life. I have since felt some easing of your pain, a change in our time together; we now find solace more than
sorrow.
Back to the past—I started university in 1968 with a major in foreign languages. I had reached the point of reading French literature (which I still enjoy) when I realized I was not likely to become a peripatetic world traveler. I switched to journalism and then to psychology, graduated early, spent two years in Colorado, and came back in time for our paths to briefly cross in 1973. If we had met in 1983, it would have required no soul searching to change our lives. I haven’t had a serious relationship since then. A few men I dated talked of a future together, but I couldn’t settle for an offer of security and enough attraction to kindle a small spark. I knew there was something, someone, more. I knew that you were waiting for me.
I agree that we must enjoy the intensity while we can. It would be natural for it to lessen as the days and nights go by. Were you in the woods with me today? We were laughing as we walked through the last of the falling leaves. I hear occasional words but more often have a strong sense of what you are saying, how you are feeling. Our life together would have been such a delight—we can still have that.
My darling, your words bring me both comfort and enlightenment. Our invisible choir—are they from our past, are they ghosts? I shouldn’t joke about this, but it is all so incredible. No one would believe me if I told them about you.
Did we walk together hand in hand? Two young lovers full of each other’s presence—laughing, talking so easily, leaves cushioning our path—how good we are together. I wanted to find a spot to lay your body down and prove my love to you.
I knew it had to be at university. I also started in 1968, after a two-year stint in the army. I was quite idealistic back then, enlisted before I could be drafted, got into communications as I had want-ed to, and spent eighteen months in Vietnam. Please don’t ask me about that time. I won’t talk about it.
A few years later, I did notice a young woman in the admin office, through that little window where we ordered transcripts. She was working at a desk, blonde hair falling to her shoulders, and then got up to bend over a filing cabinet, wearing a short skirt (now you know what a cad I am). Do you remember Pearl? She told me you were married and warned me off. Did you ever go to the Blue Goose? I tended bar there and lived in an apartment nearby.
Sweetheart, I must say au revoir until the morning. I made a promise to a young man, Ethan, age fourteen, that I would play him a game of pool. He has been here a week and his family couldn’t be here today. Come to me tonight, my love, and hold me—just hold me.
L’amour de mon coeur—you are the love of my heart. I have been trying to recall words and phrases in a beautiful language we have spoken as lovers long ago. Our first lifetime together was in the late 10th century in Paris. You were an artist and I was your woman.
Yes, I was with you Monday evening, and I felt the same tender closeness. Will you tell me what happened just before I took leave of you? A few hours later, I was aware of a definite presence and distinctly heard the words “personal power.” Then the lyrics of an old song, “Eli’s Coming,” were playing in my head. Amelia confirmed my assumption. “Yes, Eli was present that night to both you and Michael, to assess the effects of the last two weeks and to leave each of you a message: you must believe in and access your personal power.”
My love, when I asked if you would wait for me, I meant in this lifetime. I was told in October that our destinies could not be restored. It appears now that they might be. It would be a gift, a blessed gift—one not to be expected, much less taken for granted, but possible. When we sense the Light surrounding us, it is a special blessing, the presence of the Creator, in whose service our angels are working. It is not to do with your death; it can have everything to do with your life. You can channel their energy and use it to enhance your own healing powers.
Michael, how great is your faith in yourself and in our love, in a power and a purpose beyond our scope of understanding? You can use your faith as a guiding force. I wish this prescription came with a guarantee or a set of instructions—you are the key. Energy expended in self-blame cannot be used to heal; laughter, love, even tears, can heal; guilt, fear, and worry cannot, or hate, but I do not sense that in you. In the healing spirit of Love, I am yours.
These damn interruptions are driving me crazy. I have had more than usual today because I am running a slight fever. How can I tell them it is the afterglow of a feverish night spent in your arms? You set my soul on fire. Describe for me what you see, feel, experience, so I can know that we are real.
I will tell you part of what happened Monday evening, the strangeness of it. I have felt it before, during my near-death experience. It was a presence that spoke to me of my personal power. I believe it was telling me that whatever I desire is within my power to achieve. How can I deny that there are other-world forces guiding, sustaining, and assisting us?
You have the fallen leaves. Can you smell the earthy fragrance of the woods? I stepped on the path and you were there with me. My love, it is all as real as the leaves you have held in your hands. When will we stop questioning? Yes, I do question, just as you do. I have known our angels longer but they speak to me, and deliver your letters to me, through a patently human form.
Our angels are not ghosts but spiritual beings who are more advanced than our spirits. Zachary and Amelia are near the Master level and Eli is at the upper reaches of it, nearly a Sage. Pascal used an analogy—of a branch that can’t comprehend the tree as a whole—to express the limits of our understanding of the spirit world. What I do know is this: the depth of our love, our power to reach out to each other, and that I have experienced the presence of our angels. Michael, this is a journey we can take together—with the help of our invisible choir.
13. Encounters with the Light
11/05 – 11/07
Teresa, I know you are waiting for an answer to your last letter. Your handwriting tells me how strongly you feel. My darling, I have already beaten the odds once, and I am looking forward to my next remission. I almost felt I was being scolded, and then I realized you spoke out of your great love and concern for me.
Yes, the Light is a source for me. My near-death experience was one of a separation of my soul from my body. I watched the medical team as they attempted to save the life lying before them—and then I realized the body was mine. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, love, and contentment. The Light was first a path that beckoned me, and then it surrounded me. It is the absence of color, yet it is all colors, intense and warm. I wanted to be with it, stay with it. Then I saw my mother. She said, “Michael, go back. Vince needs you—it is not yet your time.”
I looked back and could see my son sitting beside my bed, overcome with grief. I nodded to my mother and said goodbye, and then it was several days before I woke up. My darling, I will do whatever is within my power to remain on this earth. I will fight for my life with you.
Michael, already I miss the comfort of your arms. My sleep last night was restless until I felt your presence. You may have gathered that I am quite independent—by necessity as well as by nature. That does not prevent my needing someone to lean on, to be lovingly taken care of, sheltered in your embrace.
Do you have a clear image of the young woman you met in 1973? Don’t forget to age her twenty years. I am no great beauty, but I do have my moments. My hair is medium length, dark blonde now, and you accurately saw my dark blue eyes. I usually wear casual clothes of cotton, linen, or silk in size six or eight. No fake nails or even polish and not a lot of makeup, but always on my eyes. My lips have been called kissable, my legs have aroused comment, and, by the way, I never put the cap back on the toothpaste.
Your experience of the Light is familiar enough to me that I can understand why the choice to return wasn’t an easy one for you. I mentioned the client I refer to as Sally. About three years ago, I received a strong message that I should guide her to a source of strength. I believe now that it was Eli who spoke to me then. The next day, I waited for Sally to begin our session, to set the agenda. She
told me of a similar experience, puzzled at what it had meant, and said she wanted to access that source. I used guided imagery to help her, but she found it difficult, described a path filled with obstacles. She persisted, found faith in herself and in her worthiness, and then the path ahead was clear. I didn’t suggest what she would find—I hadn’t been told—and I knew it was important that she discover it for herself.
Sally came to what she first described as a light, later as the Light. “It was the strongest of lights, but it was not a harsh or blinding one. It was like a cocoon that encompassed me and made me feel safe. It welcomed me and surrounded me with warmth and support. I now have the resolve to go on.” She asked questions of the Light, but was frustrated with the enigmatic answers that left her to come to greater awareness through her own efforts. Michael, like you, Sally did not want to leave that loving presence. Each time, the Light would say, “You have been replenished; it is time now for you to return.”
I observed Sally reach her hand outward and upward, her face uplifted. Then I saw her face suffused with awe and her physical being transformed—she was clearly in the presence of something extraordinary. I can still picture the rays of light, as visible then as if I was seeing them myself. This was long before Zachary revealed himself to me as Sally’s guardian, but he recently explained it to me. “The Light is an emanation of the Creator that appears to individuals according to their need. This opportunity required that you first recognize, and then act upon, the message you were given. If you had ignored it, the message would not have been repeated.”
Zachary added that “The Light provides a welcome to spirits and a pathway for them to follow on their return to the spirit world. For the living, it is a means for the Creator to communicate with your spirits. It is not usually seen but is experienced as a feeling of inner warmth, of comfort and protection.” It is what I feel when we sense the Light surrounding us.