As I walked Rosie into my office, her eyes darted around the room. I wondered if she was going through one of those mental checklists of things people expect to see in a psychic medium's reading room. I smiled, remembering one client who'd asked in a disappointed voice, "Where's your crystal ball?" Sorry, no ball, pyramid, magic wand or purple lava lamp (that one's upstairs in the bedroom).
I gestured to the chair across from my desk. Rosie looked at it, then back at me, and nervously said, "What am I supposed to do now?"
"Have a seat," I said gently. "Get comfortable. Is there anything you'd like to ask me? Or we can just talk a bit. Whatever you'd like."
"Thanks," she said, lowering herself into the chair. She clasped her hands together in her lap as if she were squeezing a stress ball. I could picture Rosie as a successful businesswoman who made tough decisions with confidence; here, though, she seemed apprehensive.
She cleared her throat. "This is my first time visiting a psychic, and I'm not sure if I'm acting the right way."
"Please, don't act," I said with a laugh. "Just be yourself."
To put Rosie at ease, I told her about how my sessions normally went and as I talked, she sat back in her chair and seemed to relax. I was about to ask if she had any questions, when I felt a presence enter the room.
"There's a gentleman here who wants to say hello," I said, then concentrated on the spirit person. "He's making me feel a pain in my chest. He passed from a heart condition. But he says he's fine now, and can eat as much chocolate pie as he wants."
Rosie leaned forward, listening intently. "He's a very energetic man," I continued. "He makes me feel like I should be singing and dancing. His name - I'm hearing a hard 'K' sound. And there's something about a gypsy." I gave her a puzzled look. "Why is he calling you a gypsy?"
"That was my husband's nickname for me," Rosie said, brushing a tear from her eye. "Carl called me 'Gypsy Rosalie.' We were both theatre majors in college, and our first show together was the musical Gypsy."
For the next 20 minutes, I gave Rosie evidence of her husband's presence, and passed on several messages. The words from spirit put joy in her eyes. "I miss you," she said, and I felt Rosie's husband reach for his wife. In my mind, I saw the spirit hug. As he slowly withdrew, I heard him humming "Everything's Coming Up Roses," and told that to Rosie.
Then her parents came to speak with her, and they congratulated her son on passing his medical license test with flying colours.
After the session finished, I waited a few moments, then asked Rosie how she was feeling. "That wasn't so bad," she said, then smiled. "When I got here, I didn't know what to expect."
"Perfect," I said. "I think things worked out because you came in with no expectations. Expectations can disappoint people, because they don't get what they're expecting, and often miss the stuff they're getting."
We stood up and as I was about to open my office door, I suddenly turned to her and exclaimed, "My goodness! You have a grown son who just graduated from medical school? You look like you're in your late 30's!"
Rosie laughed. "Well, that certainly made this visit worthwhile!"
Carolyn Molnar is a Toronto based Psychic Medium and Spiritual Teacher. She has over 30 years' experience. She provides readings and also teaches others how to tap into their intuitive abilities.
Her book, 'It Is Time: Knowledge From The Other Side', has made a real impact in how people understand intuition. She has been featured on radio, television and in print. Carolyn believes intuition is accessible to everyone.
Saturday 14 October 2017
Critical Mass 2017
Have you ever popped popcorn in a pot on a stove? It starts off slow-one lonely kernel, a signal. Gradually more join in until it reaches the point where the kernels are popping almost all at once-rapid-fire.
That's where we're at in terms of the awakening of Consciousness on the Planet-those who are more interested in "transforming the fabric of reality for the well-being of all," than in self-enrichment, self-aggrandizement or self-promotion are awakening and recognizing two profound truths: We are One and there's enough-and, Our time has come.
We are One and there's enough. There are enough resources and enough know-how to create a world that is pollution-free and providing abundantly for all its inhabitants. The sticking point is the ignorance that promotes greed. In order to change that the Hundredth Monkey effect has to kick in. And that depends on you-your active participation.
I've been using this particular analogy for more than a decade: Imagine humanity as a singular large body with each of us as individual cells in that body. If we want the body to be enLightened, each of us needs to focus on enLightening our own cell. The more of us who Light up our cells, the Lighter the body will be. That 'Light' is awakened Consciousness, and critical mass in terms of social engineering is a much smaller number than we imagine-somewhere between 10-17%.
Our time has come. We have reached the point where the process of awakening Consciousness is being supported on a mass scale-by Cosmic forces of Universal proportion-and whether you know it or not, if you're reading these words, you are meant to participate in this glorious transformation of a civilization and a planet.
You're not being asked to make any sacrifices, and you're not being asked to spend money you may not have. You're only being asked to step forward and say: "I'm in. I'm willing to take the simple steps that will enable Consciousness to more fully awaken in me. I'm willing to cultivate Love in my own being and generate that Love into my community in order to uplift humanity and 'transform the fabric of reality for the well-being of all.'
Get on board-this is the ride of a lifetime.
That's where we're at in terms of the awakening of Consciousness on the Planet-those who are more interested in "transforming the fabric of reality for the well-being of all," than in self-enrichment, self-aggrandizement or self-promotion are awakening and recognizing two profound truths: We are One and there's enough-and, Our time has come.
We are One and there's enough. There are enough resources and enough know-how to create a world that is pollution-free and providing abundantly for all its inhabitants. The sticking point is the ignorance that promotes greed. In order to change that the Hundredth Monkey effect has to kick in. And that depends on you-your active participation.
I've been using this particular analogy for more than a decade: Imagine humanity as a singular large body with each of us as individual cells in that body. If we want the body to be enLightened, each of us needs to focus on enLightening our own cell. The more of us who Light up our cells, the Lighter the body will be. That 'Light' is awakened Consciousness, and critical mass in terms of social engineering is a much smaller number than we imagine-somewhere between 10-17%.
Our time has come. We have reached the point where the process of awakening Consciousness is being supported on a mass scale-by Cosmic forces of Universal proportion-and whether you know it or not, if you're reading these words, you are meant to participate in this glorious transformation of a civilization and a planet.
You're not being asked to make any sacrifices, and you're not being asked to spend money you may not have. You're only being asked to step forward and say: "I'm in. I'm willing to take the simple steps that will enable Consciousness to more fully awaken in me. I'm willing to cultivate Love in my own being and generate that Love into my community in order to uplift humanity and 'transform the fabric of reality for the well-being of all.'
Get on board-this is the ride of a lifetime.
The Great Transformation: A World Awakening
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Of course, you may not be remotely aware of this, as we each experience life depending upon where we put our attention-and right now there is a reality show of international proportions grabbing the spotlight from nightly news to social media. However, those of us looking in another direction are perceiving an expansion in Consciousness of a cosmic magnitude.
In 2008, after a 13-year unexpected sojourn living 'on the street' and being carried around the world with no visible means of support, I returned to Bozeman and wrote a little book called "The Evolution Revolution/The First Peaceful Revolution In The World, A Handbook for Personal & Global Transformation. It was a work based on my own awakening and recognition that "whatsoever we do to or for another, we are doing to or for our own selves-for good or ill." It spoke of a way of cultivating Self-Awareness and expanding Consciousness, and was published in the midst of the Great Recession-a crisis that demanded a rethinking of priorities and a recreating of systems. Unfortunately, rather than accept that uncomfortable truth and the accompanying challenge, the powers-that-be scrambled to recreate the status quo with all haste.
Nine years later we are experiencing the consequences of those decisions with a vengeance-a nationwide dissatisfaction of such profound depth it has led to an unprecedented rejection of establishment thinking and the elevation of an antihero into a position of power.
Meanwhile, the energetics of Transformation-not to be trifled with by out-of-control egos of any stature-are barreling on and showing up globally: from the astonishing upstart in the Vatican speaking a Christ-like rhetoric of caring for the poor, to alternative energy becoming a new norm, and governments around the world granting rights to animals, water and the Earth herself.
In all this we are witnessing what I call the Great Transformation: a period of societal upheaval and political antics indicating the death throes and approaching dissolution of the Old Paradigm on the one hand, and a greater acceptance of our interdependence arising in the multitudes, leading us toward a new way of being in harmony with all life, on the other.
So where does that leave us as individuals, the 'little people' who may feel powerless to have an impact in the face of such great turbulence? Where does the average Joe, a decent, hardworking, live-and-let-live kind of guy, who abhors how things are but doesn't have a clue what to do about it, find the power to make a difference if he is not a protester, activist, billionaire, 'celebrity' or CEO?
If we are not simply reactive organisms, responding to stimuli like Pavlov's dogs, we have the profoundly influential power (and empowerment) of intentional, conscious choice. We can choose where to put our attention, we can choose what to feed with our energy, we can choose what to support with our money, we can choose how to respond to what we perceive, and we can choose the words and tone of voice in our speaking. We can choose the attitude and intention we bring into our world, and more specifically, our community.
It's actually quite simple: the key to the power of the individual (those who en masse make up the overwhelming majority) is in relationship-because the basis of a harmonious life in any society depends upon our inter-relatedness and how we choose to treat each other on a daily basis.
We needn't wait for a natural disaster to evoke a sense of 'all in this together' because we really ARE all in this-Life-together. We needn't wait for a catastrophe to inspire kindness, cooperation, consideration, generosity or compassion-we can choose to embody those qualities and express them in every encounter, every day-and race, religion, nationality, gender or even political affiliation need never come into play.
Start where you are. The simplest way to say it is: Be friendly. We can choose to be friendly and pleasant when engaged in transactions with the cashier or waitress who serves us, we can choose to be considerate of others when we're driving down the street, we can choose to be kind, supportive or complimentary in every human transaction. In a world that has sped up exponentially, just being willing to spend the moment it takes to be still and listen to what another wants to express is a kindness.
All around us are folks working at jobs we've done, or jobs we would never want to do. These people are not nameless ciphers, they are our neighbors-someone's mother, father, sister, child or loved one-and they are serving us in the positions they occupy. What if we expressed appreciation for their service and made their encounter with us a moment of warmth and connection? What if our default intention as we go about our daily life was making people feel good about themselves? What if our speaking elicited the response: "You made my day."
The change we want to see in our world is not something that can be legislated or imposed from without; it is not something we can achieve through protest. It is something that can only come from within each one of us choosing to bring a little more kindness into our way of being as we go about the business of living our lives. Quantum physics tells us how the observer affects that which it observes-this is the way as individuals we affect our collective reality. What if we started to observe through the eyes of Love? In the same way that the reward of patience is patience, the reward of kindness is finding oneself living in a kind world. Verily: whatsoever we embody and express creates the world in which we live.
It's a question of critical mass. Small numbers have the power to affect collective consciousness and do, as when TM meditators demonstrably reduced crime in cities by their focus. When we recognize we are part of a whole and continuously contributing the quality of our energy to that whole, we can begin to choose to embody and express more kindness, raising the vibratory rate of the collective and contributing to a transformed society.
Change yourself and change the world.
The Slow Walk to Heaven - Battling Alzheimer's
It's never easy letting go of our loved ones, even when they have been struggling for years with a debilitating condition-even if we say it was a "blessing" it is still never easy saying goodbye.
Marilyn, my mother-in-law, was only seventy-five, but she'd had Alzheimer's for almost three years now, and it progressed very rapidly. I'm told that one in 10 people age 65 and older has Alzheimer's dementia. That's 10% of the population over 65.
My husband, Peter visited his mother at the nursing home every Sunday, and he often came home with a few funny stories to share. We both knew they weren't really funny... but sometimes we couldn't help but chuckle.
Sometimes his mother recognized him, and sometimes she just talked nonsense, but she was always nice to him. There were stories, though, about her being not so nice to the nurses, so when Peter asked me to go with him, I was sometimes afraid. I was afraid that she'd yell at me and say something hurtful, but I knew it was time I visited, so one day we took a ride out to the nursing home. I hadn't seen her in over a year, and to say I was shocked would be an understatement. She was half the size she'd been the last time I'd seen her, and she could no longer walk. The shock of it took my breath away, and I had to leave the room to compose myself. As I re-entered the room, I walked by Marilyn's roommate, Phyllis. "You're a pretty girl," she said with a smile, then went back to fussing over the clothing laid out on her bed. I later learned that was what she "did."
Peter held his mother's hand and spoke gently to her, and she looked at him and called him "Dad." It wasn't until the nurse entered the room that she noticed me. She looked at me, then whispered to Peter, "How old is she?"
"Oh, she doesn't like me to tell her age, Mum. Let's just say she's a little older than me!" Peter said.
She seemed oddly suspicious of me, which was exactly what I had feared, but then she seemed to drift away. Because of the Alzheimer's, I didn't know her well, but I knew she was a strong and resilient woman who had raised three wonderful children with kind and generous hearts, and that spoke volumes about the person I never truly got to know.
Sadly, that was the last time I saw her awake and speaking.
As we left the nursing home, we saw a man standing at the front desk. "I am a U.S. citizen. I am a free man. All I want to do is go out for some air," he said. I wanted to take his arm and bring him outside, but instead we punched in the door code to leave.
"Don't ever put me in one of these places," I told my husband. "I know they're here for their own good, but the idea of losing my freedom is too much."
I got the call Friday afternoon. "Mom's not doing well," Peter said. It was just last week we were told that she wouldn't make it through the weekend, so we cancelled our plans, but then she got better. My gut told me this was not the case now, so I made a beeline to the nursing home. Peter's sister saw the tears in my eyes as I looked down at their mother, and she came over to hug me. Her husband and Peter's brother sat sadly nearby, and their aunt and cousin sat off to one side. When the nurse told us Marilyn's temperature was up to 107 degrees, we all knew this was it, but Marilyn hung on as we sat by her bedside. "She's always been a tough cookie, haven't you, Mum?" Peter's sister said, tears welling up in her eyes as she gently stroked her mother's hand.
Just then, Phyllis, the roommate, entered the room and began rummaging through her closet. I could hear her naming each thing. "That's mine, that's not mine... Oh, I don't like it when they take my things," she muttered.
"She's always accusing us of stealing one of her slippers," Peter's brother whispered. "I keep thinking I should actually take it and give her something real to complain about," he laughed. Phyllis's after-dinner ritual was to come into the room and rummage through her closet.
It's a conundrum, Alzheimer's is. Sometimes you don't know whether to laugh or to cry. We know its victims are suffering a terrible fate, but it's hard not to laugh about the things they say or do.
Peter's sister encouraged us to take a dinner break. "This could go on all night. You should go get something to eat," she said. We offered to bring food back, and asked his brother to come along, but he declined. We walked out along with Peter's aunt.
"Sometimes they wait until everyone is gone before they let go," she said. "So maybe it's best if there are fewer people in the room."
We drove to a nearby Italian restaurant and ordered some food at the bar. Just as we were finishing up, Peter received a text that Marilyn had died. We quickly got the check and ran back to the nursing home.
There was an odd sense of relief in the room. We all hugged and cried over Marilyn as we waited for the funeral home director to arrive. I knew I had bonded with Peter's sister that night, yet I was stricken with guilt that I had pulled Peter away from his mother's deathbed. I knew he never would have left to get dinner had I not been there, but I was somewhat consoled by the idea that perhaps she waited until he left to let go
Afterward, I convinced Peter to write something about his mom to read at her service. He was concerned he wouldn't make it through without breaking down, but he wrote it nonetheless. And so it was, after days of preparation and calling hours, we stood under the canopy of our grief to say goodbye to Marilyn. We gathered around as Peter bravely told a few light-hearted stories about his mother, bringing wistful smiles to everyone's faces. He made it right to the end and only broke down on his closing statement.
At the conclusion of the service, Peter's eldest son, who was profoundly close to his grandmother, sang "I Will Follow You Into the Dark."
Love of mine, someday you will die
But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark... The time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about
'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms
There was not a dry eye to be seen.
I like to think that Marilyn is dancing up in heaven now and no longer in pain or confused. Somehow convincing ourselves of such things helps to ease the pain of losing a loved one.
Marilyn, my mother-in-law, was only seventy-five, but she'd had Alzheimer's for almost three years now, and it progressed very rapidly. I'm told that one in 10 people age 65 and older has Alzheimer's dementia. That's 10% of the population over 65.
My husband, Peter visited his mother at the nursing home every Sunday, and he often came home with a few funny stories to share. We both knew they weren't really funny... but sometimes we couldn't help but chuckle.
Sometimes his mother recognized him, and sometimes she just talked nonsense, but she was always nice to him. There were stories, though, about her being not so nice to the nurses, so when Peter asked me to go with him, I was sometimes afraid. I was afraid that she'd yell at me and say something hurtful, but I knew it was time I visited, so one day we took a ride out to the nursing home. I hadn't seen her in over a year, and to say I was shocked would be an understatement. She was half the size she'd been the last time I'd seen her, and she could no longer walk. The shock of it took my breath away, and I had to leave the room to compose myself. As I re-entered the room, I walked by Marilyn's roommate, Phyllis. "You're a pretty girl," she said with a smile, then went back to fussing over the clothing laid out on her bed. I later learned that was what she "did."
Peter held his mother's hand and spoke gently to her, and she looked at him and called him "Dad." It wasn't until the nurse entered the room that she noticed me. She looked at me, then whispered to Peter, "How old is she?"
"Oh, she doesn't like me to tell her age, Mum. Let's just say she's a little older than me!" Peter said.
She seemed oddly suspicious of me, which was exactly what I had feared, but then she seemed to drift away. Because of the Alzheimer's, I didn't know her well, but I knew she was a strong and resilient woman who had raised three wonderful children with kind and generous hearts, and that spoke volumes about the person I never truly got to know.
Sadly, that was the last time I saw her awake and speaking.
As we left the nursing home, we saw a man standing at the front desk. "I am a U.S. citizen. I am a free man. All I want to do is go out for some air," he said. I wanted to take his arm and bring him outside, but instead we punched in the door code to leave.
"Don't ever put me in one of these places," I told my husband. "I know they're here for their own good, but the idea of losing my freedom is too much."
I got the call Friday afternoon. "Mom's not doing well," Peter said. It was just last week we were told that she wouldn't make it through the weekend, so we cancelled our plans, but then she got better. My gut told me this was not the case now, so I made a beeline to the nursing home. Peter's sister saw the tears in my eyes as I looked down at their mother, and she came over to hug me. Her husband and Peter's brother sat sadly nearby, and their aunt and cousin sat off to one side. When the nurse told us Marilyn's temperature was up to 107 degrees, we all knew this was it, but Marilyn hung on as we sat by her bedside. "She's always been a tough cookie, haven't you, Mum?" Peter's sister said, tears welling up in her eyes as she gently stroked her mother's hand.
Just then, Phyllis, the roommate, entered the room and began rummaging through her closet. I could hear her naming each thing. "That's mine, that's not mine... Oh, I don't like it when they take my things," she muttered.
"She's always accusing us of stealing one of her slippers," Peter's brother whispered. "I keep thinking I should actually take it and give her something real to complain about," he laughed. Phyllis's after-dinner ritual was to come into the room and rummage through her closet.
It's a conundrum, Alzheimer's is. Sometimes you don't know whether to laugh or to cry. We know its victims are suffering a terrible fate, but it's hard not to laugh about the things they say or do.
Peter's sister encouraged us to take a dinner break. "This could go on all night. You should go get something to eat," she said. We offered to bring food back, and asked his brother to come along, but he declined. We walked out along with Peter's aunt.
"Sometimes they wait until everyone is gone before they let go," she said. "So maybe it's best if there are fewer people in the room."
We drove to a nearby Italian restaurant and ordered some food at the bar. Just as we were finishing up, Peter received a text that Marilyn had died. We quickly got the check and ran back to the nursing home.
There was an odd sense of relief in the room. We all hugged and cried over Marilyn as we waited for the funeral home director to arrive. I knew I had bonded with Peter's sister that night, yet I was stricken with guilt that I had pulled Peter away from his mother's deathbed. I knew he never would have left to get dinner had I not been there, but I was somewhat consoled by the idea that perhaps she waited until he left to let go
Afterward, I convinced Peter to write something about his mom to read at her service. He was concerned he wouldn't make it through without breaking down, but he wrote it nonetheless. And so it was, after days of preparation and calling hours, we stood under the canopy of our grief to say goodbye to Marilyn. We gathered around as Peter bravely told a few light-hearted stories about his mother, bringing wistful smiles to everyone's faces. He made it right to the end and only broke down on his closing statement.
At the conclusion of the service, Peter's eldest son, who was profoundly close to his grandmother, sang "I Will Follow You Into the Dark."
Love of mine, someday you will die
But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark... The time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about
'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms
There was not a dry eye to be seen.
I like to think that Marilyn is dancing up in heaven now and no longer in pain or confused. Somehow convincing ourselves of such things helps to ease the pain of losing a loved one.
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