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Switch to Forum Live View Two True Stories: Steven and Leslie
7 years ago  ::  May 30, 2011 - 11:26PM #1
Posts: 19
Two true stories that I hope some of you enjoy:

Two Apologies: Stephen and Leslie

Our neighbor Stephen was an athletic, vibrant man in his early thirties when he suddenly "died" from a swift and fatal illness.

His  house was on the other side of our back fence, so we saw quite a lot of  him while he lived there. He and his wife were very sports-oriented,  and they probably played every team sport I had ever heard of. He was  healthy and muscular, and enjoyed being strong and physically fit. To  balance this, he was sensitive and thoughtful, baked pies and cookies,  cared for his houseplants like a mother hen, and was - in a very  appealing and charming way - quietly fun loving and somewhat shy. Of  medium height and build, he had a boyish look about him, with his fine,  light hair and wonderful smile - his sweetness was both endearing and  unusual, especially in a man of his age.

We spoke over the fence,  or visited each other for an evening, or did various house projects  together. He and his wife helped us lay down a new roof for our carport  and we helped them build and paint a shed in their back yard.  Unfortunately, I chose a color for the shed that everyone else hated; it  matched one of Stephen’s ties. We ended up repainting the shed a  different colour, amid much banter and laughter. On a more serious side  of being and life, Stephen could always be counted on for various  projects and emergencies. For instance, the time I was left holding a  falling mulberry tree in the backyard. It was summer and all our windows  were open, so I called out "Stephen, Stephen, help - the tree is  falling over and I’m standing here holding it up. And it’s heavy..." And  I heard in the distance "I’m commiinngg ...."

We often had  discussions on the ego and its various traps, and the inner workings of  the self and its world. One day Stephen quietly mentioned that he had  investigated yoga and other disciplines of this nature when he was in  his twenties. I offered to teach him how to meditate, and invited him to  come to the philosophy classes and meditations held at my house.  Stephen expressed a desire to learn meditation and to come to the  classes, but somehow something, some activity or inner resistance,  always seemed to intervene.

After living next door for a few  activity-filled years, Stephen’s life and marriage began to unravel. We  would sometimes meet outside, by his front garden. Even though still  soft-spoken, I could see the depth of his inner turmoil and struggle.  His almost unlined, young face seemed uncharacteristically furrowed and  serious, as though he were now grappling with untried and difficult  emotions for the first time - almost like a child still too innocent to  comprehend the disappointments and inevitable pain of life. After some  thought, I gave him a prayer to say - the Mercy Prayer of St. Faustina.  The coming Sunday was the Day of Mercy. I told him that Christ Himself  had promised St. Faustina that whoever said this prayer at the Hour of  Mercy each day, would have their prayers answered - if their request was  good for their souls and the souls of others. The Day of Mercy came  only once a year, and certainly his prayers would be answered if he  prayed on that day. He thanked me, and I later learned that Stephen had  prayed and meditated in his own fashion, that Sunday afternoon between  three and four p.m..

Some months later Stephen found a very  special woman. And one day in the garden, he told me that they planned  to marry within the year. I rarely saw him now, for he had moved some  towns away. The last time I saw him, his last words to me were : "I’ve  never been so happy." and he smiled his quiet, young smile. He was full  of hope for the future and the joy of his new life, when he was suddenly  and tragically, from our point of view - called to other realms.

This  struck others as a senseless tragedy, a young man of such vitality and  worth suddenly taken away by a rare and fatal illness. In this case, I  was more happy for my friend Stephen than sad at my own loss, because I  knew that he would immediately go to a very high realm.

A few  days after Stephen’s death I was standing in the living room, on my way  to the kitchen, when Stephen appeared to me in the woodpile by the coal  stove. He was very transparent, mainly Light. I could barely make out  his form. He was speaking very quietly and earnestly, and he said he was  sorry that he had not come to our meditation and philosophy classes  while he was on earth. He said "I wasn’t ready." - and then after a few  more words that I could not hear, he disappeared.

His  apology was very unexpected and surprising. His not coming to classes  seemed like such a small thing, and certainly nothing to apologize for.

Some  years later, in earth time, I was looking at a photograph of Stephen  that his ex-wife had given me, which I keep on the music rack of the  upright piano in the living room. It was a large photograph of Stephen  at a pumpkin farm, pulling a little wagon full of pumpkins and dried  corn, looking into the camera with such a sweet and unguarded  expression. That night, when I looked at the photograph, he gave me a  big, radiant smile - and I was inwardly led to understand that he had  recently been told that he would soon be transitioned to an even higher  realm. I looked inside and found the realm, and it was a beautiful one. I  smiled back and sent him my Love - and my best wishes for the journey.


Intelligent  and articulate, attractive and spiritual - my friend Leslie was a  beautiful person and carried much Light. When I think of her, the image  of her smiling and laughing first comes to mind, and that image hangs,  lingers there now, even as I write this.

In our many interactions  over the years, I learned to admire and respect her. I always enjoyed  Leslie’s ready wit, and her incisive observation of life and its events  and meanings and those who participate in the seemingly endless  intertwinings of destiny and desire that we call life. If one could  imagine a person who lived a complex yet simple life simultaneously, a  person who could be both serious and fun-loving, who ran through life  like a speeding bullet and yet loved stillness - then one might be  thinking of Leslie. My last meeting with her on earth was in Woolworth’s  parking lot, looking at flowers. And my last memory of her is a radiant  smile.

Leslie "died" while in her mid-forties, after a long  illness. I was still too injured to visit with her, but towards the end  of her last illness I sent her a large vase filled with bright and  summer-coloured flowers. My last verbal message from Leslie was a  grateful "thank you" for the bouquet.

Until I met her in the garden, a few days after she left for other realms.

She  was standing in the holly bush near my piano studio - well, our  visitors from other realms are unembodied, and on another vibrational  level, they don’t need to be careful of where they stand - Stephen  actually appeared in the woodpile near the coal stove. And my friend  Leslie was very, very transparent, mainly Light; I could just barely  make out her form. She was speaking to me, and I could hear her, but it  was not clairaudience - the sound was not outside myself, nor was it an  inner voice. I was hearing her speak in her own realm, and she was  apologizing for something insignificant that she had said or done. It  was so insignificant, that now I cannot remember what she said, only  that it was an apology.

I do remember being very surprised, and  wondering why she had come to see me in this way. I would not have been  surprised had she appeared in the holly bush and told me all about her  realm, whom she had seen, what she had done - or if she had just come to  say ‘hello’ and had watched me work in the garden.

Up until  these two meetings with Stephen and Leslie, which followed each other  fairly closely in our earth time/space frame, I assumed that when we  left for other realms - we left for those realms with a new perspective  and a new, better understanding of our earthly existence - and then  thought no more about it, we moved onward and upward.

It had not  occurred to me that we would first revisit our friends - or I suppose  enemies, if we have them - on earth, and try to make our reparations  here.

I was very touched by both these meetings. From our earthly  view, at least from my earthly view, neither of these apologies was  necessary. It showed me how transparent those realms are, and that what  is expected of us there is far beyond the expectations and natural  abilities of earthly existence - unless one is perhaps a saint. So much  is hidden from our view here, even our inner view is so clouded and  veiled. Transparency while still on  earth is not an easy thing to achieve, perhaps an impossibility. But  these two meetings instilled in me the wish and intent - and the means -  to at least try.

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