I wrote this thirteen years ago yesterday. It was years before I could reread it, and so much has changed in my life since then. I've never been able to change this, though. It could use some editing and polishing, but I've just never been able to do it.
I don’t think I’ll be watching TV tomorrow. I’m just not up to it this year, and I think I can spend my time in better ways.
Those that know me personally know that I’m "blessed" (cursed?) with the gift of empathic mediumship. I don’t just see dead people. I "feel" them. I know the thoughts and emotions they felt while they were living, and I know their thoughts and emotions after they passed. I also know their physical sensations.
And that’s the hard part.
I’ve learned the fine art of psychic shielding. I had to. It was either protect myself or go nuts. I chose the former, but I sometimes suspect the latter has occurred in spite of myself.
But I jest. (Or do I?)
I can usually tell how a person died by the sensations I feel in my body. I can tell when someone is sick by the same method. I know when my sons are ill and when they only think they are. I do the same with family and friends, and I do the same with complete strangers. It’s so hard to walk by a person in a grocery store, have this horrible pain shoot through my chest, and know that they’ve got heart trouble and probably won’t live to see their next birthday. I want to walk up and tell them to give their dreams a chance, go for happiness, tell their family how they feel about them, and do it all while they still can, but I walk on by. Most people wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was nuts, or they’d worry themselves into an even earlier death. It’s not for me to share.
I used to work in a hospital, and I loved it. Knowing I’ve helped someone almost gives me a high, and my gift seemed to give me a special bond with my patients and their families. They were always so appreciative and grateful because I just seemed to "understand." But the physical toll became overwhelming after a few years, and I had to leave. I just couldn’t deal with that much pain, physical and emotional, around me every day. I could shield it for so long, but, just as anyone would, I’d get tired, and I couldn’t block all of it out then.
I’d hurt. Oh, how I’d hurt. Every joint. Every muscle. Every organ. I can’t even begin to describe it. But it takes its toll. So I gave up something I loved.
September 11, 2001
That day took its toll on so many. I did as most and watched it all live on TV. I felt the "great disturbance in the force," as a movie character once described that sensation I’m now so familiar with. I can’t imagine how it must have felt for those that were forced to live through it first hand. That’s too much for even an empath to comprehend.
I felt called. I fell in love with New York City the first time I set foot on her streets. I’m not sure if I could live there, but I do so love it when I get a chance to visit. And that day I knew I HAD to go back just one more time.
Hubby attends a conference there each June, and my older son and I tagged along this summer as usual. I spent weeks preparing – daily meditations, talks with my spirit guide and strengthening my shielding techniques. I spent hours hoping it was enough.
I call it "work mode" when I drop the shields, and I don’t work without a "ground," someone to act as a physical lifeline back to this plane. A ground feeds me energy when I need it, and working literally drains the energy from my body. Sometimes it can happen so quickly that I sort of lose control. I feel an almost mind-numbing cold, and I begin to shake and shiver so hard that it can resemble a seizure. At that point, I’m so low on energy that I can’t break the psychic bond so I become sort of trapped. Fortunately this doesn’t happen very often, but it’s a chance I take. So I keep a ground pretty close.
Hubby happens to be the best ground I’ve ever found. He’s a natural, and the fact that I love and trust him so much just strengthens the work bond between us. I’ve yet to get myself into a situation that one touch from him couldn’t bring me back from. But I have to admit that I wasn’t sure if even he was enough to pull me back from what I might experience at Ground Zero.
There’s always such an energy in New York City. It’s almost palpable, and I can feed off it. Maybe that’s why I feel at home there. But it was different this June. There was energy, but the city also seemed weary. The weight of the world was squarely upon her shoulders, and it took its toll. I can’t blame her for feeling a little tired after all she’s been through.
We ended up at Ground Zero almost by accident. We fully intended to go, but I guess I was waiting until I was ready. When would that be?
We took the subway down to South Street Seaport, and I loved wandering around there. I allowed myself to go into work mode, and I met a few spirits. They shared with me, and it was fun. I like to meet the good ones. Some of them almost seem surprised and happy when they discover you can communicate with them. I’ve met some very nice people that way, even if they are dead.
We just started walking after that. We talked about catching the uptown subway at Wall Street, so we sort of headed in that direction, enjoying the sites of downtown on a weekday evening. People rushing, always rushing. Where are they going? Black limo after black limo pulling out of an unmarked building. Who could they be for? Some young men were filming an amateur movie. One of them was trying to get a good start on his skateboard and then jump a side street, while the others filmed and kept an eye out for traffic. We watched for a bit, and I lost count of the number of attempts he made. How did he keep from injuring himself?
I guess the sites distracted me so that I hadn’t put my shields all the way into place because just as we crossed the street in front of the Stock Exchange, I got blindsided. I was hit in the back by a pain so intense that it knocked me off the sidewalk and into the street. At the same time I was hit with the realization that someone had once stepped off that very spot and been hit by a car speeding through the intersection. I don’t think that person survived.
I lost my composure and most of my thoughts then. With my thoughts went my shields, as has happened before with sudden, unexpected intrusions. That’s when I realized how close we were. We kept walking. Wall Street practically runs into Trinity Church. And we were there before we knew it.
The Parish of Trinity Church was founded under a charter of King William III of England in 1697. Captain Kidd, yes the pirate, is said to have lent his runner and tackle to hoist the stones for the first building, and its cemetery is the final resting place of Americans such as Alexander Hamilton, William Bradford, Robert Fulton, and Albert Gallatin.
Trinity feels good to me, not because it’s a church, but because of all that has happened there. Yes, I can feel the sadness of one too many funerals, but that’s not the strongest emotion alive in Trinity. What I feel there can best be called Unity. So many have come together there. Diverse backgrounds, diverse nationalities, diverse cultures, diverse races, it didn’t matter. They united for a common goal.
Trinity helped me regain a bit of myself that day. We walked on.
Liberty Street was upon us before I knew it. My older son and I stood there a couple of years ago and watched the madness of downtown Manhattan at rush hour. How can I describe the scene so that everyone can get just a hint of what we saw? Stampede? Yeah, that’s pretty close. People weren’t just hurrying to catch subways, trains and ferries; they were flat out running in some cases. And there, in the midst of the hustle and bustle, the flashing overload of color, the cacophony of voices, cars and blaring horns, the organized chaos, was the oasis of Liberty Park, where men sat in the shade of beautiful trees and enjoyed a quiet, calculated games of chess. Children played; a woman on a bench enjoyed a book. It wasn’t a large park, but it was such a beautiful contrast. Such a peaceful one.
It’s gone. Now it’s a parking lot – a command center – full of trucks, trailers, equipment and dust. Lots of dust. It’s fenced. It’s flat. It’s just gone. I thought I was in the wrong place. But there was no mistaking what was across the street.
Or what wasn’t. I think I went numb.
Once again I flashed back two years – flags, a fountain, a huge globe, looking up at buildings so tall they made me dizzy. People, lots of people. So many languages. So many people.
It’s gone. It’s fenced. It’s not even flat. It’s a hole.
Ground Zero
We approached slowly, quietly. With reverence? With shock? With horror? Maybe with all three. I’m not sure. It’s almost impossible to remember that first impression. So much had been cleaned up, and yet it was still so overwhelming. How did the first rescuers on the scene handle what they saw in those moments just after? How are they handling it now?
Hubby hadn’t told me prior to the visit, but he was concerned about how I would react once we there. He told my older son that one of them had to be at my side at all times. My older son isn’t as good at grounding as Hubby, but he’s fantastic at recognizing when to help/get help.
I seem to remember experiencing tunnel vision as I approached. I couldn’t turn my head without seeing my husband or my son, and despite the fact that I usually feel cold or at least chilled in situations like that, I felt a warmth or protection wrapped around me. That meant my spirit guide was very close as well.
I touched the fence, lacing my fingers through the chain links. I remember the way the metal felt against my forehead, cool as metal will be and yet warm from the June sun. I didn’t drop my shields. I didn’t allow anything in. I didn’t need to. The tunnel vision remained, but the hole before me was gradually replaced.
I walked up and down the sidewalk with my family and complete strangers. I straddled two worlds. I was aware of the current, and I was in awe of the recent past.
I won’t share some of the things I was shown. Those images are best left indelibly etched into my mind and the rescuers’ memories. And I won’t share what I felt physically. Those pains are best forgotten. I will tell you other things that were shared with me.
One woman told me how proud she was of her son – he’s attending medical school, and she gave me something -- Peoning Hwa. I had no idea what it meant, but if I spelled it correctly then I believe it translates to peace in Korean.
One man spoke of his family and the great love and affection they had for each other. He hoped his death wouldn’t change that somehow and make them bitter toward the world.
Another man regretted that he’d never teach his son to play baseball, but he said he great faith in and respect for his wife. He felt she’d teach him to play if his grandfather couldn’t. He wanted them both to find as much happiness in it as he’d known as a boy.
One firefighter (Danny?) spoke of loving his job, how good it felt to help someone. I especially related to him, and I’ll never forget that smile and salute he gave as he turned to leave.
The parade went on, with endless messages about family, friends, lives past. All of them left me with one thought – don’t remember how I died. Remember how I lived or what happened after. All of them seemed very aware of what came afterward, of how New York City, and America, banded together and pitched in. And how they remained so until every last person was brought out of that rubble.
I was told to remember the bonding, the unity, the communication, the effort, all that it took to bring them out. And I will.
And now that I’ve rambled my disjointed way through this, I’m sure I won’t watch TV tomorrow. I’m considering taking a personal day from work and spending some time with my son. I’m not sure if I’ll volunteer at his school or if we’ll just spend the day together doing mom and son stuff. Either way, I think it will be a good first step in teaching him something – that bonding, unity, communication, and effort produce great results.
What if everyone did that? What if we all took the day and spent it with children, caring for them and about them, teaching them? It would be a wonderful step toward peace, and would there be any better way to memorialize all that was lost on September 11, 2001?
And maybe, just maybe, we could prevent anyone else from ever experiencing something like that again.
Peace and Blessings to All.
September 10, 2002 On Thinking of
Tomorrow
I don’t think I’ll be watching TV tomorrow. I’m just not up to it this year, and I think I can spend my time in better ways.
Those that know me personally know that I’m "blessed" (cursed?) with the gift of empathic mediumship. I don’t just see dead people. I "feel" them. I know the thoughts and emotions they felt while they were living, and I know their thoughts and emotions after they passed. I also know their physical sensations.
And that’s the hard part.
I’ve learned the fine art of psychic shielding. I had to. It was either protect myself or go nuts. I chose the former, but I sometimes suspect the latter has occurred in spite of myself.
But I jest. (Or do I?)
I can usually tell how a person died by the sensations I feel in my body. I can tell when someone is sick by the same method. I know when my sons are ill and when they only think they are. I do the same with family and friends, and I do the same with complete strangers. It’s so hard to walk by a person in a grocery store, have this horrible pain shoot through my chest, and know that they’ve got heart trouble and probably won’t live to see their next birthday. I want to walk up and tell them to give their dreams a chance, go for happiness, tell their family how they feel about them, and do it all while they still can, but I walk on by. Most people wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was nuts, or they’d worry themselves into an even earlier death. It’s not for me to share.
I used to work in a hospital, and I loved it. Knowing I’ve helped someone almost gives me a high, and my gift seemed to give me a special bond with my patients and their families. They were always so appreciative and grateful because I just seemed to "understand." But the physical toll became overwhelming after a few years, and I had to leave. I just couldn’t deal with that much pain, physical and emotional, around me every day. I could shield it for so long, but, just as anyone would, I’d get tired, and I couldn’t block all of it out then.
I’d hurt. Oh, how I’d hurt. Every joint. Every muscle. Every organ. I can’t even begin to describe it. But it takes its toll. So I gave up something I loved.
September 11, 2001
That day took its toll on so many. I did as most and watched it all live on TV. I felt the "great disturbance in the force," as a movie character once described that sensation I’m now so familiar with. I can’t imagine how it must have felt for those that were forced to live through it first hand. That’s too much for even an empath to comprehend.
I felt called. I fell in love with New York City the first time I set foot on her streets. I’m not sure if I could live there, but I do so love it when I get a chance to visit. And that day I knew I HAD to go back just one more time.
Hubby attends a conference there each June, and my older son and I tagged along this summer as usual. I spent weeks preparing – daily meditations, talks with my spirit guide and strengthening my shielding techniques. I spent hours hoping it was enough.
I call it "work mode" when I drop the shields, and I don’t work without a "ground," someone to act as a physical lifeline back to this plane. A ground feeds me energy when I need it, and working literally drains the energy from my body. Sometimes it can happen so quickly that I sort of lose control. I feel an almost mind-numbing cold, and I begin to shake and shiver so hard that it can resemble a seizure. At that point, I’m so low on energy that I can’t break the psychic bond so I become sort of trapped. Fortunately this doesn’t happen very often, but it’s a chance I take. So I keep a ground pretty close.
Hubby happens to be the best ground I’ve ever found. He’s a natural, and the fact that I love and trust him so much just strengthens the work bond between us. I’ve yet to get myself into a situation that one touch from him couldn’t bring me back from. But I have to admit that I wasn’t sure if even he was enough to pull me back from what I might experience at Ground Zero.
There’s always such an energy in New York City. It’s almost palpable, and I can feed off it. Maybe that’s why I feel at home there. But it was different this June. There was energy, but the city also seemed weary. The weight of the world was squarely upon her shoulders, and it took its toll. I can’t blame her for feeling a little tired after all she’s been through.
We ended up at Ground Zero almost by accident. We fully intended to go, but I guess I was waiting until I was ready. When would that be?
We took the subway down to South Street Seaport, and I loved wandering around there. I allowed myself to go into work mode, and I met a few spirits. They shared with me, and it was fun. I like to meet the good ones. Some of them almost seem surprised and happy when they discover you can communicate with them. I’ve met some very nice people that way, even if they are dead.
We just started walking after that. We talked about catching the uptown subway at Wall Street, so we sort of headed in that direction, enjoying the sites of downtown on a weekday evening. People rushing, always rushing. Where are they going? Black limo after black limo pulling out of an unmarked building. Who could they be for? Some young men were filming an amateur movie. One of them was trying to get a good start on his skateboard and then jump a side street, while the others filmed and kept an eye out for traffic. We watched for a bit, and I lost count of the number of attempts he made. How did he keep from injuring himself?
I guess the sites distracted me so that I hadn’t put my shields all the way into place because just as we crossed the street in front of the Stock Exchange, I got blindsided. I was hit in the back by a pain so intense that it knocked me off the sidewalk and into the street. At the same time I was hit with the realization that someone had once stepped off that very spot and been hit by a car speeding through the intersection. I don’t think that person survived.
I lost my composure and most of my thoughts then. With my thoughts went my shields, as has happened before with sudden, unexpected intrusions. That’s when I realized how close we were. We kept walking. Wall Street practically runs into Trinity Church. And we were there before we knew it.
The Parish of Trinity Church was founded under a charter of King William III of England in 1697. Captain Kidd, yes the pirate, is said to have lent his runner and tackle to hoist the stones for the first building, and its cemetery is the final resting place of Americans such as Alexander Hamilton, William Bradford, Robert Fulton, and Albert Gallatin.
Trinity feels good to me, not because it’s a church, but because of all that has happened there. Yes, I can feel the sadness of one too many funerals, but that’s not the strongest emotion alive in Trinity. What I feel there can best be called Unity. So many have come together there. Diverse backgrounds, diverse nationalities, diverse cultures, diverse races, it didn’t matter. They united for a common goal.
Trinity helped me regain a bit of myself that day. We walked on.
Liberty Street was upon us before I knew it. My older son and I stood there a couple of years ago and watched the madness of downtown Manhattan at rush hour. How can I describe the scene so that everyone can get just a hint of what we saw? Stampede? Yeah, that’s pretty close. People weren’t just hurrying to catch subways, trains and ferries; they were flat out running in some cases. And there, in the midst of the hustle and bustle, the flashing overload of color, the cacophony of voices, cars and blaring horns, the organized chaos, was the oasis of Liberty Park, where men sat in the shade of beautiful trees and enjoyed a quiet, calculated games of chess. Children played; a woman on a bench enjoyed a book. It wasn’t a large park, but it was such a beautiful contrast. Such a peaceful one.
It’s gone. Now it’s a parking lot – a command center – full of trucks, trailers, equipment and dust. Lots of dust. It’s fenced. It’s flat. It’s just gone. I thought I was in the wrong place. But there was no mistaking what was across the street.
Or what wasn’t. I think I went numb.
Once again I flashed back two years – flags, a fountain, a huge globe, looking up at buildings so tall they made me dizzy. People, lots of people. So many languages. So many people.
It’s gone. It’s fenced. It’s not even flat. It’s a hole.
Ground Zero
We approached slowly, quietly. With reverence? With shock? With horror? Maybe with all three. I’m not sure. It’s almost impossible to remember that first impression. So much had been cleaned up, and yet it was still so overwhelming. How did the first rescuers on the scene handle what they saw in those moments just after? How are they handling it now?
Hubby hadn’t told me prior to the visit, but he was concerned about how I would react once we there. He told my older son that one of them had to be at my side at all times. My older son isn’t as good at grounding as Hubby, but he’s fantastic at recognizing when to help/get help.
I seem to remember experiencing tunnel vision as I approached. I couldn’t turn my head without seeing my husband or my son, and despite the fact that I usually feel cold or at least chilled in situations like that, I felt a warmth or protection wrapped around me. That meant my spirit guide was very close as well.
I touched the fence, lacing my fingers through the chain links. I remember the way the metal felt against my forehead, cool as metal will be and yet warm from the June sun. I didn’t drop my shields. I didn’t allow anything in. I didn’t need to. The tunnel vision remained, but the hole before me was gradually replaced.
I walked up and down the sidewalk with my family and complete strangers. I straddled two worlds. I was aware of the current, and I was in awe of the recent past.
I won’t share some of the things I was shown. Those images are best left indelibly etched into my mind and the rescuers’ memories. And I won’t share what I felt physically. Those pains are best forgotten. I will tell you other things that were shared with me.
One woman told me how proud she was of her son – he’s attending medical school, and she gave me something -- Peoning Hwa. I had no idea what it meant, but if I spelled it correctly then I believe it translates to peace in Korean.
One man spoke of his family and the great love and affection they had for each other. He hoped his death wouldn’t change that somehow and make them bitter toward the world.
Another man regretted that he’d never teach his son to play baseball, but he said he great faith in and respect for his wife. He felt she’d teach him to play if his grandfather couldn’t. He wanted them both to find as much happiness in it as he’d known as a boy.
One firefighter (Danny?) spoke of loving his job, how good it felt to help someone. I especially related to him, and I’ll never forget that smile and salute he gave as he turned to leave.
The parade went on, with endless messages about family, friends, lives past. All of them left me with one thought – don’t remember how I died. Remember how I lived or what happened after. All of them seemed very aware of what came afterward, of how New York City, and America, banded together and pitched in. And how they remained so until every last person was brought out of that rubble.
I was told to remember the bonding, the unity, the communication, the effort, all that it took to bring them out. And I will.
And now that I’ve rambled my disjointed way through this, I’m sure I won’t watch TV tomorrow. I’m considering taking a personal day from work and spending some time with my son. I’m not sure if I’ll volunteer at his school or if we’ll just spend the day together doing mom and son stuff. Either way, I think it will be a good first step in teaching him something – that bonding, unity, communication, and effort produce great results.
What if everyone did that? What if we all took the day and spent it with children, caring for them and about them, teaching them? It would be a wonderful step toward peace, and would there be any better way to memorialize all that was lost on September 11, 2001?
And maybe, just maybe, we could prevent anyone else from ever experiencing something like that again.
Peace and Blessings to All.
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