It was early on a Saturday morning in mid-September, nineteen-ninety-three when the telephone rang. I answered it quickly because my household was still asleep and I didn’t want to disturb them. My mother had come to visit the night before and we’d stayed up rather late.
“Are you coming?”
I found my long time girlfriend’s shaky voice and question confusing. Had I told her I’d pay her a visit and forgotten? That seemed unlikely since she lived several hours away in my hometown. A visit with her included at least one overnight stay. Surely I would have remembered making arrangements.
It wasn’t until I’d questioned her about what she meant and I heard her anguished statement to her husband, “She doesn’t know!” that my intuition kicked in and I knew. I knew at least part of it.
One of my boys was dead.
“Which one of my boys is dead?” I demanded but got no reply. I asked the question in a more authoritive tone and got my answer.
It was my oldest boy. She’d barely whispered his name but it rang in my head like she’d used a megaphone.
What happened then was like a dream. I dropped the phone and fell to the ground. The next thing I knew I was above my crumpled body and looking down from the corner of the room. I must have screamed at some point because within seconds my always-at-my-house and very devoted boyfriend, my visiting mother and my ten year old daughter were entering the room.
My focus went on my mother. She reacted to the sight of my body on the floor in a way that concerned me. I was certain her legs wouldn’t hold her. It was clear she was going to go down right next to me. The only problem with that was that the angle her body was falling would have caused her head to hit the cabinet that I’d barely missed when I went down. I inherently knew her temple would be pierced by the pointed corner of the cabinet and I could quite possibly lose my mother as well.
My desire to prevent her from falling into that cabinet must have been what it took to will me back into my body. The sensation of re-entering reminded me of driving through a blizzard with tiny snowflakes slamming against the windshield and obstructing your vision. I don’t recall what it felt like to re-enter, just the flashing of light as I did it.
I leapt to my feet and caught my mother just in time to redirect her collapse onto my sofa. My legs held me only long enough to assist her and then I fell down onto the cushion next to her. My entire body was trembling. Unable to walk, I crawled to the phone. My girlfriend’s wails greeted me long before I’d retrieved the receiver from where it lay. This happened in only a matter of seconds, but it seemed like so much longer.
We immediately made the long, tortuous drive to the funeral home where my son lay in state, having been released from the hospital morgue just shortly before we arrived. I insisted on seeing him. They had his twenty-one year old body zipped up in a body bag because he’d died from a shot gun wound to the head and the funeral director felt it was best for me not to see the damage. He was probably right. Instead, I gripped his body from head to toe, feeling his long strong legs and lean arms and chest. I needed proof it was my son in that all consuming black bag.
It was when we stepped out of the little room he was being kept in and into the funeral director’s office that I got the proof I was seeking. I heard my son’s emotion filled voice as clearly as if he was standing next to me. He kept telling me that he was sorry and he wanted to come back.
For days after his funeral, over and over again I heard him call to me, “Mom, I want to come back!”
I finally could take no more. I shut down all of my psychic faculties and went to bed for almost 30 days. This was a time that I couldn’t have been more grateful for my boyfriend’s support. He stayed full time at my home and took care of my daughter and myself while I slept, occasionally woke to eat something that he insisted I eat and then slept some more. Toward the end of this time I roused myself enough to come to the aid of my daughter who lay beside me one night to express her fear. She kept seeing visions of my deceased son in her room and walking in the hallway outside of my room. She was terrified. I stood firmly in the spot she claimed to see him most often and in a firm, motherly tone told him how much I loved him but he could not stay and walk the house any longer because it frighten his sister. He needed to move onto the light. After that I managed to rouse myself out of bed long enough to begin functioning in the world again. It was at this time that I realized the pleading had stopped and my son was gone.
Ten years later, in June of two-thousand-three, I lost my other son. Although I was horrifically traumatized by the sudden and unexpected loss of my boy who was a mere twenty-five years old, I handled the situation very differently than when my first son died.
Since my second son had died in his sleep from vomiting and choking on it, his body was viewable. I was spending a few days with my girlfriend at a lake a few hours away from the hospital that held my son in their morgue. We immediately made our way to the hospital morgue and prayed over his body. The scene must have been an unusual and touching one for the nurse who escorted us to the viewing room because she broke down in tears while observing from the corner of the room.
Having been ordained as an interfaith minister by then, I performed part of the funeral service for my son. It wasn’t until we were leaving the cemetery that the human mother in me broke down and cried over my horrific loss.
In August of two-thousand-twelve I received a phone call while working out of town that my mother had passed away. It was the intention of the family to have her body cremated. I insisted they wait until I arrived back in town before they moved her body from the hospital morgue and I headed for the highway. Three and one half hours later I was standing in the viewing room of the hospital morgue in the company of my daughter and the hospital deacon. I asked her to pray with me over my mother. She placed her hands on the crown of my mother’s head, I placed my hand on her stomach and my daughter stood behind me next to the hospital security guard as we began to pray. The deacon’s eyes grew wide and she voiced her surprise as she felt my mother’s head vibrate while we continued to pray. My mother’s entire body vibrated only slightly, but it was enough for a sensitive like me to feel. Apparently it was enough for the deacon too.
Satisfied, I thanked the deacon and the security guard for allowing us to go in and pray as we had and my daughter and I left the hospital. The family could cremate my mother’s body now. Our prayers had helped her separate from it.
I wrote and the obituary for my mother, arranged for its placement in the local newspaper, and performed her funeral service as well. This time there were no wailing tears of anguish. This time I knew better.
The purpose of my sharing this with you is not to incite sympathy for the loss of a loved one. It is to point out the progressive difference in my reactions and actions to the deaths of those I loved. I attribute this progression mainly to my being tutored and educated by my Spirit Guide and Master Teacher, Urla-Ra and the Council of Twelve of which he sits at the head. I learned that although the death of a loved one can often leave an empty void in your life and sadness over that void, realizing that death is not the end and that there is life after life can be comforting and reassuring.
With the planetary vibrational shifting that has been slowly occurring over the last few years and the mass exodus of souls from this dimension as a result, more and more people are finding themselves having to cope with unplanned and unexpected changes in their life that includes the loss of a loved one. It is my intention for this book to share with you the insight and wisdom that I have been privileged to receive over the last twenty years, as well as information channeled specifically for this book, in respect to life, death and spirit.
Before I begin my journey of sharing with you the insight and information that has been provided me over the last two decades, I feel it is important to spend just a little more time on my source of this information. For, although they are not of human flesh, they are very, very real and deserve the recognition and acknowledgement I intend to give them.
The Council of Twelve is a group of beings from multiple dimensions who sit and assist not just mankind, but the Universe in general. As luck or chance or destiny may have it, my personal Master Teacher Guide also happens to be one of the beings seated at the head of this Council. Master Teacher Guides are not always at the head of a council such as this, but it just so happens, mine is. The vibrational name he chooses to be called by is Urla-Ra. The others of the council also oversee and monitor myself and my students, but they are not my personal master teachers. These beings are as follows: Lady Avalyn, Telia, Marc, Jayda Nu, Catherine, Anuj Ra, Star, Lady Honey, Myne, Horus, and Jobe. Lady Avalyn, Telia and Marc are also at the head of the Council. I have been blessed and privileged to have experienced channeling Marc on more than one occasion.
These Council members come together from various backgrounds and vibrational dimensions with the sole intention of working for the good of the Universe. This includes the activities, health and welfare of our planet and its inhabitants. Through various methods they assist with the growth, development and advancement of all life; in particular, that of mankind. It is important to understand and be clear on the fact that although the primary focus of my information is on mankind, other inhabitants of the earth and earth itself, this does not mean that the primary focus of the council is on these things. They serve the Universe, which includes all planets and life within it. It is because my Master Teacher Guide happens to be on the council that I have been blessed with such a strong and personal connection with them. I guess some would say that I “lucked out”.
I have been sharing what I have learned with my fellow man for over twenty years. Some of my classes have been held in the privacy of my own home, some in a spiritual center that I owned or someone else opened and developed, some via the internet and distance study, and some at the college level. I enjoy watching people grow and blossom into more of who they inherently are very much. Another thing that I enjoy equally as much is creative writing. This is probably because I receive a tremendous amount of assistance from prolific and talented writers on the other side of the veil. I never have, nor will I ever profess complete credit for any of my works. That would be cheating.
In the spirit of joy and higher spiritual learning, my talented writers and incredible teachers on the other side have agreed to collaborate with me. In a unified effort we intend to provide the answers to the questions most posed to me over the years. It is most unfortunate that I have never been made privy to the true identification of the authors whose words I channel. If I had their names to credit I would delight in doing so. It will have to suffice that we know the identities of the teachers who share their knowledge and wisdom to those very special writers who in turn, share the art of putting it into reading material with me.
copyright 2014 Lena Sheehan
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