Out Of The Blue
OUT OF THE BLUE
ARC © 11/11/15
What a special gift I received today at church. It was so, so unexpected.
It’s been a decade since violent assault on my life.
My daughter bought lovely home in neighborhood where I could be walking distance to favorite and needed places: church, library, park, shopping. The last stab wound I remember before sinking into unconsciousness was in my right eye…rendering it blind.
So, high ho, off to church I go Monday through Friday leaving the house at 5:00 A.M. to walk the 1.2 miles to the large lovely cathedral for 6:00 A.M. mass. I usually arrive at 5:30 – time enough to do the Stations of the Cross before commencement.
I love people. It’s natural for me to immediately extend my hand with a friendly hello introducing my name. If opportunity presents itself for a little more, then I do a little chit chat too. In those beginning days when we first moved here, the trauma and shock was still being processed on a day to day basis. The wonderment of me being alive was like an aura transcending me. So, it was not just as a means of introduction but also witness as I would announce breathtakingly my miracle renascent life: thanking God moment to moment and giving formal thanks the best way I knew how.
Admittedly though, I wasn’t a newcomer to daily mass. It was a constant in my late teenage and early twenties. Then there was a long hiatus that renewed when I started to work with the homeless and received a crash experiential course in recovery. Wow, did I need help. Daily mass became my succor in a world of helplessness and despair…one that called me.
For almost fifteen years I worked with them, developing considerable intellectual and in vivo expertise. Thus, when the opportunity arose to open up an additional refuge in home state, I leaped at the opportunity. It was this time period exactly a decade ago that I was in operation in a home that nonprofit borrowed my children’s legacy estate trust monies to begin. Everyone from nonprofits to churches to businesses to social workers was alerted and the information was clear. The goal was to focus on homeless veterans but all would be welcomed. The first week was complimentary food/shelter; thereafter, $100.00 per week donation. Usually relief services or SSI was available to help. ARC, the nonprofit I founded, did not receive government nor grant subsidy: relied totally on self-labor efforts and Samaritan tax-deductible donations. Arrival was the dawn of November, 2005. Mid December Social Services brought three men to the home. After a few days, one attacked another who got away, and then evil came after me. 42 stab wounds; I was in a coma for two months.
I had many metaphysical experiences. The one most meaningful was hearing my mother’s voice calling me and saying one word: NAMES. When I got my wits together months later, I realized she was telling me that `they’ hear my prayers. I am very well known among family, friends, associates for a lengthy prayer list that lists names personal and generic in nature.
So, it was with great humility that I would meet new people, tell them the phenomenal miracle and get their name to add to the prayer list.
What, of course, is even more noteworthy that now as a disabled septuagenarian, my memory eradicates a little bit by bit, but my prayer list is strong and healthy.
So, when I met Michelle, it was with pleasure I added her name. There was another special factor to her. She sang. I sat always way in the back of the church close to the bathroom as I have always had an incontinence problem. But, although my parents had beautiful voices as did my siblings, I was lacking. I could carry a tune and did o.k. with Christmas carols, but for the most part, it seemed I was missing `key tones’. I accepted it; would hum along and mostly enjoy listening to others venture forth with beautiful harmony.
Michelle was one. Well, this went on for a month or so and then suddenly, she wasn’t there and I noticed she had changed from sitting way at the back to the middle of the church up front. This was unusual for over the beginning first weeks I realized there was a corps of regulars and we all seemed to have our designated spots. We were eclectic…50% seniors, 40% working, and 10% young: men, women, White, Latin, Filipino, Black, and Asian.
So the years went by: a few months back, suddenly there is a man with her. I took a moment to go up to her and she introduced her husband.
Well, suddenly, yesterday, she is sitting in back again. I was delighted and of course, smiled, and said hello.
Sure enough she sang. So this morning, when I saw her again, I went up to her. Her eyes were closed. I tapped her lightly: Michelle, thank you for singing; I so love hearing your voice.
There is another reason to thank her…you see the rest of us, about six around me never sing either. They don’t even hum, like I do!
Well she opened her eyes, and suddenly stands, hugs me and hands me a package next to her telling me: I made this special for you…I love how nice you were to me in the beginning.
Well, I swear – you could have bowled me over – just like that, out of the BLUE…a BLUE beautifully knitted ski hat.
What beginning? Had she been new to the church too? And what in heaven’s name would make her suddenly want to acknowledge it?
All day, the early morning memory has delighted me. It’s going right up front there in my `magic moments and memories’ parade!
It is those moments that validate for me Pierre Teilhard de Chardin’s Noosphere and Carl Jung’s Collective Unconscious. It is the divine synergistic renascent creative mystery that I believe transcends and enriches our universal kith and kin.
I know nothing more about Michelle except she looks around thirty with long dark wavy hair. She has a beautiful smile and panache flair for coordinated dressing, probably works for she changes dress to Friday casual. She is married, and sings beautifully.
And she gave me one of the best magic moments and memories ever!
I had originally composed this writing with the title: Michelle when I realized that if I kept on, and added up to 5,000 – it would be worthy of Amazon Kindle publishing standards of a minimum of 2,500 words and this memoir piece is currently around one thousand. So, I’m changing the name: Out Of The Blue, and adding more incidents like this one.
Miguel is one: he came to me `out of the dark blue of the night’.
Another coma experience was seeing an Asian Couple looking at me as I lied in a hospital bed. In the coma, I knew I couldn’t talk – didn’t find out until after I came out of it that I had a throat tracheotomy. The couple wasn’t verbally talking either. They were simply looking at me in a beatific way.
Awhile passed and I asked them `mentally’ why they were there? They responded in kind that it was o.k. for me to `let go’. Then I realized they were like escorts for me to cross over. I said no, I wasn’t ready. They glanced towards their left where there was a high table with a book on it. They said my name was in it. They were reassuring me it was o.k. I responded no again. It would be giving up and I had to stay. They responded with a smile of understanding and kept standing there. Not too long afterwards I had the impression that there was a fire in a nearby building. I tried to rise to raise an alarm but I couldn’t. I implored them to help me rise. They calmly looked at me and said that sometimes help could not go forward…it had to be. I seemed to realize that they were once again reassuring me that this was the way it was to be. Their serenity eased my alarm. They stayed awhile longer; then they were gone.
There was another `crossing over’ experience.
This time I am on a raft, and someone is behind me with a long pole guiding the raft towards a mass of land. It was twilight. I could hear familiar joyful Italian culture music. As I got closer, I saw lights and banners and long picnic tables under billowing canopies. Then I saw people on the shoreline…closest was my brother, Emmanuel. He was beckoning to me, big smile on his face. A banner had “Welcome Home” and my childhood name. It felt so joyous. But as I got closer, I started drifting back. I don’t know if the person in back of me was doing it or not. It felt more like a magnet pulling me back. My brother called…wait and said names of others there…but, the raft kept retreating. I know I felt poignant sense of loss before drifting off and away again deeper into the coma.
There were other experiences but those were the primary ones about crossing over. When I came out of the coma two months later, it took me a very long time to process it all. The actual memory of what happened did not immediately come back until my son stimulated it a week later. I will never forget the look on his face when he first saw me. By that time, I knew I was in a hospital but it was so surreal. I saw pictures of loved ones on the wall but there was no comprehension on what they were doing there and in a strange way it was like I didn’t know them. It seems now in telling this the best way to describe it must be what amnesia is like. I don’t have to relearn anything like language, but I have to relearn memory of who, what, where, when, how. So at my son’s first appearance I did recognize him as my son, but not the depth and dimension of our lives.
So, when I asked him: was I in an accident; again he had a surprise look and said gently…Mom, you were attacked. And then, that night came hurling back in full vicious horror…and I was enveloped in terror. Thank God, he was there. He soothingly reassured me that there was nothing now to fear; and he told me most of what he knew about that night.
Since that night of `shock awareness’, a decade has gone by – ten years of humility and gratefulness for my life…and, like the name of the nonprofit I founded, I truly am A Renaissance Creator. So, so much has happened, but this essay is primarily about the `out of the blue’ experiences.
I began again my daily mass schedule…walking 1.2 miles each way to local cathedral. My day begins at 3:00 a.m., I leave the house at 5. Not soon after I started, I got spooked. So, I prayed…please, if you want me to go, I can’t be frightened. It didn’t take me long to be aware of what neighbors left for work at this time; and what cars drove my walk route. We’re creatures of familiar habits. But, one corner was a prominent walk-in and drive through doughnut coffee shop. It was well lit but obviously attracted others, not just people from my neighborhood. Outside was a bus stop where there always was one or two waiting. I got into the habit of yelling out: Good morning, God Bless You. The familiar response, you too, were gratifying to my ears. When you turn this corner an apartment complex is passed and then there is a long stretch across from a park where I had heard a person was found murdered. This was not a good thing to know. When you turn the next corner, it too parallels the park; and across this street is my hospital. I say mine because that very first year, I was admitted several times from one various problem after another. It was almost funny. I had only been in a hospital twice before this happened…giving birth to two children. Now, a hospital was becoming a familiar place.
So I prayed: please help me. Give me the courage I so need; I don’t like feeling frightened. A few days later, suddenly out of a side street, came a young girl walking quickly. I was startled and yelled out my greeting. She turned: pleased smile on her face and responded in kind. I said my name and asked hers. Christie…well, that was all I needed. I’m convinced it was a sign. I said: I come this way daily; and have never seen you; where do you go? Oh, I work at the nearby grocery market. How is it that I’ve never seen you? Oh, I don’t know; I guess we just miss each other. Well…that was eight years ago. I’ve never seen her again.
Another interim passed and once again, I felt frightened. Suddenly, I was yelled at from behind…boys on bicycles at 5:00 a.m. in the morning! So, the prayers again accelerated regarding my safety. A few days later, I saw a couple across the street…they appeared elderly. I waved/yelled my greeting; they did the same. Then they were there the next day, and the day after. Where were they walking too so early in the morning?
By the end of the week I had to know. I crossed the street…they were the couple from my coma! I was so shocked…I introduced myself; they said theirs with a big smile: Paul/Tune. Where are you going? To the park…we meet others…we exercise. I found this unfathomable. And there they were, day after day, after day. We would shout our morning greetings across the street at each other. They reminded me of my childhood couple at the end of the street whom, of course, were on my prayer list.
It was my first grown up job at age 14 when I was allowed to have a work permit. It was at a department store in the city. I would dash out of my house down the street to the bus stop. At the end of the street was an old couple who used to sit on their front porch with smiles on their faces and wave as I went by. I used to do the same. I always seemed to be in a hurry. It wasn’t until the winter months when they would still be there that I finally stopped and exclaimed: Why are you out here in the cold. Their answer: to see you and your smile; you are sunshine to us.
Well it really bowled me over; and it brought to mind my mom singing: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. She had a beautiful voice. Of course, she sang it individually to me and all my siblings, but I remember it especially for me.
Paul and Tune were my sunshine couple; safely reassuring me as I went by.
One of the most difficult feelings for me after everything was processed was the angst of what if it was a loved one being attacked…would I have frozen for them like I did for me? It was quite humbling to realize that I had in the past felt so cockeyed sure of myself because as an independent woman who often soloed I had taken the prerequisite courses of self-defense, considered myself a `tough’ person to deal with if threatened or intimidated. I had facilely boasted that I might go down, but they would be the worse for it. Oy vey!!! I must admit that I did have a few experiences that warranted this false bravado.
I was an older adolescent washing the dishes in the kitchen in back of the house when I heard my sister’s cry. I dropped the dish and ran through the house and out the front door to see her running from a gang of girls on bicycles. We lived in a blue collar neighborhood that had distinct borders for schools: ours was enveloped by a dominate Catholic church/school with a few blocks radius. She had crossed the line for a cleaning job. We both had jobs outside the home like that. Hers that day was an apartment above a mom/pop store.
Within seconds she was to the house and there was no thought as I charged into the pack. Within minutes, they were all down. I think there were six. A few were crying. I was grinning.
I thought it was totally unjust that soon after a mother appeared with her daughter. I was the one in trouble. Never mind that I had a broken thumb and I was defending. Years later, I remember the incident with pride and chagrin. The part that embarrasses me is that I was grinning.
My women role models when I was young were quite strong beginning with my mother and aunts. There was a feistiness to them; a spitfire quality. This was juxtaposed with Notre Dame Nuns who truly ruled their domain.
Thus, in those recovery years, when I had `tough’ street and ex-cons, I felt neither fear nor intimidation.
And it was this attitude that was totally shattered in one night faced with evil wielding knives, stabbing simultaneously taunting me.
Now, I felt like a wuss. Worse was the feeling that if someone was in danger and I was there too, I would be helpless to defend. I had tangible anxiety over this particularly when it came to thinking that I wouldn’t be able to help my daughter if she needed me.
With lots of self-hypnosis meditation to help me in healing physically and emotionally, I also used vivid imagery to overcompensate for this lurking apprehension. Finally I had a nightmare that had us both in danger and I rose up thwarting it all. What a relief!
So, although my moxie was coming back, it still was no way near days of old.
Then one morning as I came to the main road suddenly across the street, out of the blue dark night, came a large man wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up. My first thought was Paul/Toon. I knew he would startle them. I quickly ran across the street and without an `How do you do’, immediately demanded: Who Are You?! The startled look on his face was truly genuine. In a gentle voice, he replied: I’m Miguel, mam. Where are you going? To the 24 Hour Fitness. And with a duh … I said: there’s no 24 hour open around here. Yes, Mam, he said…it is right around the corner. My senses calmed; and I apologized and said: Miguel, I have friends coming down the street so I’m going to walk with you and introduce you so they are not startled. And that’s what I did. Of course I said my name first.
For a week or so Miguel continued his route, almost daily at the same time so now I felt I had three guardian angels walking me part way.
And then just as suddenly as he had appeared, he wasn’t there anymore.
Years went by. On the weekend I go to nearby park – nature church – and do one mile around beautiful trees and lush greenery. There’s a devoted group who go daily; we pass each other with smiles of hello. This past Mother’s Day, I passed a young girl who yelled out: Happy Mother’s Day. I was thrilled. She represented so many of my `surrogate children’ whom I have been Mom too. Just as I was leaving, out of the blue, I heard my name called. I turned. There was a tall man. I usually recognize people, but I didn’t. I smiled and said…sorry, I seem to have forgotten you? It’s Miguel. I didn’t recognize him in the light without the hooded sweatshirt. What joy! We hugged. He said he was still there in same neighborhood, but work hours had changed, so he wasn’t able to go to the gym as he did before. He loved how I told him without exaggeration that he and his were in my daily prayers.
Another `out of the blue’ return happened again for there was also a couple who I used to meet coming back from church. It’s the same: I introduce myself and get their names: Regina and Charles. The hellos went back and forth for a few months, and then gone. And once again, just like that, out of the blue, they’re back.
And one last time for this essay. At the last turn around the park that borders the last side street which is very isolated, I got uneasy again a few months back. A black car with lights out headed towards the end, saw me. I could `feel’ the ugliness within. I quick dashed back to the hospital on the corner and hurried to the bushes by the entrance to watch. Sure enough, car drove slowly past – I could see him from my covert position looking for me. So, once again, prayers: please, I need help, reassurance.
A few days later `out of the blue’ a young man came down the street – in uniform. I did my thing…Carlos…young cadet studying. He now is a new angel.
How I thank God for metaphysical spiritual mystery ambassadors that greet me `out of the blue’ throughout my life’s course.
If you’re reading this out of the blue, my prayers are daily for my universal kith and kin – you/yours always. God Bless.
3,660 words
ARC
Amazon Kindle Publication
Out Of The Blue is dedicated to my volunteer archangels, angels, saints, holy souls: family, friends, neighbors, associates, and universal kith & kin.
ARC © 11/11/15
What a special gift I received today at church. It was so, so unexpected.
It’s been a decade since violent assault on my life.
My daughter bought lovely home in neighborhood where I could be walking distance to favorite and needed places: church, library, park, shopping. The last stab wound I remember before sinking into unconsciousness was in my right eye…rendering it blind.
So, high ho, off to church I go Monday through Friday leaving the house at 5:00 A.M. to walk the 1.2 miles to the large lovely cathedral for 6:00 A.M. mass. I usually arrive at 5:30 – time enough to do the Stations of the Cross before commencement.
I love people. It’s natural for me to immediately extend my hand with a friendly hello introducing my name. If opportunity presents itself for a little more, then I do a little chit chat too. In those beginning days when we first moved here, the trauma and shock was still being processed on a day to day basis. The wonderment of me being alive was like an aura transcending me. So, it was not just as a means of introduction but also witness as I would announce breathtakingly my miracle renascent life: thanking God moment to moment and giving formal thanks the best way I knew how.
Admittedly though, I wasn’t a newcomer to daily mass. It was a constant in my late teenage and early twenties. Then there was a long hiatus that renewed when I started to work with the homeless and received a crash experiential course in recovery. Wow, did I need help. Daily mass became my succor in a world of helplessness and despair…one that called me.
For almost fifteen years I worked with them, developing considerable intellectual and in vivo expertise. Thus, when the opportunity arose to open up an additional refuge in home state, I leaped at the opportunity. It was this time period exactly a decade ago that I was in operation in a home that nonprofit borrowed my children’s legacy estate trust monies to begin. Everyone from nonprofits to churches to businesses to social workers was alerted and the information was clear. The goal was to focus on homeless veterans but all would be welcomed. The first week was complimentary food/shelter; thereafter, $100.00 per week donation. Usually relief services or SSI was available to help. ARC, the nonprofit I founded, did not receive government nor grant subsidy: relied totally on self-labor efforts and Samaritan tax-deductible donations. Arrival was the dawn of November, 2005. Mid December Social Services brought three men to the home. After a few days, one attacked another who got away, and then evil came after me. 42 stab wounds; I was in a coma for two months.
I had many metaphysical experiences. The one most meaningful was hearing my mother’s voice calling me and saying one word: NAMES. When I got my wits together months later, I realized she was telling me that `they’ hear my prayers. I am very well known among family, friends, associates for a lengthy prayer list that lists names personal and generic in nature.
So, it was with great humility that I would meet new people, tell them the phenomenal miracle and get their name to add to the prayer list.
What, of course, is even more noteworthy that now as a disabled septuagenarian, my memory eradicates a little bit by bit, but my prayer list is strong and healthy.
So, when I met Michelle, it was with pleasure I added her name. There was another special factor to her. She sang. I sat always way in the back of the church close to the bathroom as I have always had an incontinence problem. But, although my parents had beautiful voices as did my siblings, I was lacking. I could carry a tune and did o.k. with Christmas carols, but for the most part, it seemed I was missing `key tones’. I accepted it; would hum along and mostly enjoy listening to others venture forth with beautiful harmony.
Michelle was one. Well, this went on for a month or so and then suddenly, she wasn’t there and I noticed she had changed from sitting way at the back to the middle of the church up front. This was unusual for over the beginning first weeks I realized there was a corps of regulars and we all seemed to have our designated spots. We were eclectic…50% seniors, 40% working, and 10% young: men, women, White, Latin, Filipino, Black, and Asian.
So the years went by: a few months back, suddenly there is a man with her. I took a moment to go up to her and she introduced her husband.
Well, suddenly, yesterday, she is sitting in back again. I was delighted and of course, smiled, and said hello.
Sure enough she sang. So this morning, when I saw her again, I went up to her. Her eyes were closed. I tapped her lightly: Michelle, thank you for singing; I so love hearing your voice.
There is another reason to thank her…you see the rest of us, about six around me never sing either. They don’t even hum, like I do!
Well she opened her eyes, and suddenly stands, hugs me and hands me a package next to her telling me: I made this special for you…I love how nice you were to me in the beginning.
Well, I swear – you could have bowled me over – just like that, out of the BLUE…a BLUE beautifully knitted ski hat.
What beginning? Had she been new to the church too? And what in heaven’s name would make her suddenly want to acknowledge it?
All day, the early morning memory has delighted me. It’s going right up front there in my `magic moments and memories’ parade!
It is those moments that validate for me Pierre Teilhard de Chardin’s Noosphere and Carl Jung’s Collective Unconscious. It is the divine synergistic renascent creative mystery that I believe transcends and enriches our universal kith and kin.
I know nothing more about Michelle except she looks around thirty with long dark wavy hair. She has a beautiful smile and panache flair for coordinated dressing, probably works for she changes dress to Friday casual. She is married, and sings beautifully.
And she gave me one of the best magic moments and memories ever!
I had originally composed this writing with the title: Michelle when I realized that if I kept on, and added up to 5,000 – it would be worthy of Amazon Kindle publishing standards of a minimum of 2,500 words and this memoir piece is currently around one thousand. So, I’m changing the name: Out Of The Blue, and adding more incidents like this one.
Miguel is one: he came to me `out of the dark blue of the night’.
Another coma experience was seeing an Asian Couple looking at me as I lied in a hospital bed. In the coma, I knew I couldn’t talk – didn’t find out until after I came out of it that I had a throat tracheotomy. The couple wasn’t verbally talking either. They were simply looking at me in a beatific way.
Awhile passed and I asked them `mentally’ why they were there? They responded in kind that it was o.k. for me to `let go’. Then I realized they were like escorts for me to cross over. I said no, I wasn’t ready. They glanced towards their left where there was a high table with a book on it. They said my name was in it. They were reassuring me it was o.k. I responded no again. It would be giving up and I had to stay. They responded with a smile of understanding and kept standing there. Not too long afterwards I had the impression that there was a fire in a nearby building. I tried to rise to raise an alarm but I couldn’t. I implored them to help me rise. They calmly looked at me and said that sometimes help could not go forward…it had to be. I seemed to realize that they were once again reassuring me that this was the way it was to be. Their serenity eased my alarm. They stayed awhile longer; then they were gone.
There was another `crossing over’ experience.
This time I am on a raft, and someone is behind me with a long pole guiding the raft towards a mass of land. It was twilight. I could hear familiar joyful Italian culture music. As I got closer, I saw lights and banners and long picnic tables under billowing canopies. Then I saw people on the shoreline…closest was my brother, Emmanuel. He was beckoning to me, big smile on his face. A banner had “Welcome Home” and my childhood name. It felt so joyous. But as I got closer, I started drifting back. I don’t know if the person in back of me was doing it or not. It felt more like a magnet pulling me back. My brother called…wait and said names of others there…but, the raft kept retreating. I know I felt poignant sense of loss before drifting off and away again deeper into the coma.
There were other experiences but those were the primary ones about crossing over. When I came out of the coma two months later, it took me a very long time to process it all. The actual memory of what happened did not immediately come back until my son stimulated it a week later. I will never forget the look on his face when he first saw me. By that time, I knew I was in a hospital but it was so surreal. I saw pictures of loved ones on the wall but there was no comprehension on what they were doing there and in a strange way it was like I didn’t know them. It seems now in telling this the best way to describe it must be what amnesia is like. I don’t have to relearn anything like language, but I have to relearn memory of who, what, where, when, how. So at my son’s first appearance I did recognize him as my son, but not the depth and dimension of our lives.
So, when I asked him: was I in an accident; again he had a surprise look and said gently…Mom, you were attacked. And then, that night came hurling back in full vicious horror…and I was enveloped in terror. Thank God, he was there. He soothingly reassured me that there was nothing now to fear; and he told me most of what he knew about that night.
Since that night of `shock awareness’, a decade has gone by – ten years of humility and gratefulness for my life…and, like the name of the nonprofit I founded, I truly am A Renaissance Creator. So, so much has happened, but this essay is primarily about the `out of the blue’ experiences.
I began again my daily mass schedule…walking 1.2 miles each way to local cathedral. My day begins at 3:00 a.m., I leave the house at 5. Not soon after I started, I got spooked. So, I prayed…please, if you want me to go, I can’t be frightened. It didn’t take me long to be aware of what neighbors left for work at this time; and what cars drove my walk route. We’re creatures of familiar habits. But, one corner was a prominent walk-in and drive through doughnut coffee shop. It was well lit but obviously attracted others, not just people from my neighborhood. Outside was a bus stop where there always was one or two waiting. I got into the habit of yelling out: Good morning, God Bless You. The familiar response, you too, were gratifying to my ears. When you turn this corner an apartment complex is passed and then there is a long stretch across from a park where I had heard a person was found murdered. This was not a good thing to know. When you turn the next corner, it too parallels the park; and across this street is my hospital. I say mine because that very first year, I was admitted several times from one various problem after another. It was almost funny. I had only been in a hospital twice before this happened…giving birth to two children. Now, a hospital was becoming a familiar place.
So I prayed: please help me. Give me the courage I so need; I don’t like feeling frightened. A few days later, suddenly out of a side street, came a young girl walking quickly. I was startled and yelled out my greeting. She turned: pleased smile on her face and responded in kind. I said my name and asked hers. Christie…well, that was all I needed. I’m convinced it was a sign. I said: I come this way daily; and have never seen you; where do you go? Oh, I work at the nearby grocery market. How is it that I’ve never seen you? Oh, I don’t know; I guess we just miss each other. Well…that was eight years ago. I’ve never seen her again.
Another interim passed and once again, I felt frightened. Suddenly, I was yelled at from behind…boys on bicycles at 5:00 a.m. in the morning! So, the prayers again accelerated regarding my safety. A few days later, I saw a couple across the street…they appeared elderly. I waved/yelled my greeting; they did the same. Then they were there the next day, and the day after. Where were they walking too so early in the morning?
By the end of the week I had to know. I crossed the street…they were the couple from my coma! I was so shocked…I introduced myself; they said theirs with a big smile: Paul/Tune. Where are you going? To the park…we meet others…we exercise. I found this unfathomable. And there they were, day after day, after day. We would shout our morning greetings across the street at each other. They reminded me of my childhood couple at the end of the street whom, of course, were on my prayer list.
It was my first grown up job at age 14 when I was allowed to have a work permit. It was at a department store in the city. I would dash out of my house down the street to the bus stop. At the end of the street was an old couple who used to sit on their front porch with smiles on their faces and wave as I went by. I used to do the same. I always seemed to be in a hurry. It wasn’t until the winter months when they would still be there that I finally stopped and exclaimed: Why are you out here in the cold. Their answer: to see you and your smile; you are sunshine to us.
Well it really bowled me over; and it brought to mind my mom singing: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. She had a beautiful voice. Of course, she sang it individually to me and all my siblings, but I remember it especially for me.
Paul and Tune were my sunshine couple; safely reassuring me as I went by.
One of the most difficult feelings for me after everything was processed was the angst of what if it was a loved one being attacked…would I have frozen for them like I did for me? It was quite humbling to realize that I had in the past felt so cockeyed sure of myself because as an independent woman who often soloed I had taken the prerequisite courses of self-defense, considered myself a `tough’ person to deal with if threatened or intimidated. I had facilely boasted that I might go down, but they would be the worse for it. Oy vey!!! I must admit that I did have a few experiences that warranted this false bravado.
I was an older adolescent washing the dishes in the kitchen in back of the house when I heard my sister’s cry. I dropped the dish and ran through the house and out the front door to see her running from a gang of girls on bicycles. We lived in a blue collar neighborhood that had distinct borders for schools: ours was enveloped by a dominate Catholic church/school with a few blocks radius. She had crossed the line for a cleaning job. We both had jobs outside the home like that. Hers that day was an apartment above a mom/pop store.
Within seconds she was to the house and there was no thought as I charged into the pack. Within minutes, they were all down. I think there were six. A few were crying. I was grinning.
I thought it was totally unjust that soon after a mother appeared with her daughter. I was the one in trouble. Never mind that I had a broken thumb and I was defending. Years later, I remember the incident with pride and chagrin. The part that embarrasses me is that I was grinning.
My women role models when I was young were quite strong beginning with my mother and aunts. There was a feistiness to them; a spitfire quality. This was juxtaposed with Notre Dame Nuns who truly ruled their domain.
Thus, in those recovery years, when I had `tough’ street and ex-cons, I felt neither fear nor intimidation.
And it was this attitude that was totally shattered in one night faced with evil wielding knives, stabbing simultaneously taunting me.
Now, I felt like a wuss. Worse was the feeling that if someone was in danger and I was there too, I would be helpless to defend. I had tangible anxiety over this particularly when it came to thinking that I wouldn’t be able to help my daughter if she needed me.
With lots of self-hypnosis meditation to help me in healing physically and emotionally, I also used vivid imagery to overcompensate for this lurking apprehension. Finally I had a nightmare that had us both in danger and I rose up thwarting it all. What a relief!
So, although my moxie was coming back, it still was no way near days of old.
Then one morning as I came to the main road suddenly across the street, out of the blue dark night, came a large man wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up. My first thought was Paul/Toon. I knew he would startle them. I quickly ran across the street and without an `How do you do’, immediately demanded: Who Are You?! The startled look on his face was truly genuine. In a gentle voice, he replied: I’m Miguel, mam. Where are you going? To the 24 Hour Fitness. And with a duh … I said: there’s no 24 hour open around here. Yes, Mam, he said…it is right around the corner. My senses calmed; and I apologized and said: Miguel, I have friends coming down the street so I’m going to walk with you and introduce you so they are not startled. And that’s what I did. Of course I said my name first.
For a week or so Miguel continued his route, almost daily at the same time so now I felt I had three guardian angels walking me part way.
And then just as suddenly as he had appeared, he wasn’t there anymore.
Years went by. On the weekend I go to nearby park – nature church – and do one mile around beautiful trees and lush greenery. There’s a devoted group who go daily; we pass each other with smiles of hello. This past Mother’s Day, I passed a young girl who yelled out: Happy Mother’s Day. I was thrilled. She represented so many of my `surrogate children’ whom I have been Mom too. Just as I was leaving, out of the blue, I heard my name called. I turned. There was a tall man. I usually recognize people, but I didn’t. I smiled and said…sorry, I seem to have forgotten you? It’s Miguel. I didn’t recognize him in the light without the hooded sweatshirt. What joy! We hugged. He said he was still there in same neighborhood, but work hours had changed, so he wasn’t able to go to the gym as he did before. He loved how I told him without exaggeration that he and his were in my daily prayers.
Another `out of the blue’ return happened again for there was also a couple who I used to meet coming back from church. It’s the same: I introduce myself and get their names: Regina and Charles. The hellos went back and forth for a few months, and then gone. And once again, just like that, out of the blue, they’re back.
And one last time for this essay. At the last turn around the park that borders the last side street which is very isolated, I got uneasy again a few months back. A black car with lights out headed towards the end, saw me. I could `feel’ the ugliness within. I quick dashed back to the hospital on the corner and hurried to the bushes by the entrance to watch. Sure enough, car drove slowly past – I could see him from my covert position looking for me. So, once again, prayers: please, I need help, reassurance.
A few days later `out of the blue’ a young man came down the street – in uniform. I did my thing…Carlos…young cadet studying. He now is a new angel.
How I thank God for metaphysical spiritual mystery ambassadors that greet me `out of the blue’ throughout my life’s course.
If you’re reading this out of the blue, my prayers are daily for my universal kith and kin – you/yours always. God Bless.
3,660 words
ARC
Amazon Kindle Publication
Out Of The Blue is dedicated to my volunteer archangels, angels, saints, holy souls: family, friends, neighbors, associates, and universal kith & kin.
posted by R. M. Namaste' at
December 05, 2015
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home