Part 2;
My Birth Father
The Adult…..the Room, Ecuador
Her book is really just a compilation of dreams recorded over the years. When she began, it was difficult to imagine there would ever be enough information to create a book, let alone that it would be interesting for others to read. However, reading her own stories and how they affected her at the time, after so many years was a reminder it was kind of incredible. Never mind if it was true, the dreams and visions were just simply amazing to her. Why wouldn’t others feel this way as well?
The first dream she had of her father was such a beautiful introduction to her previous life. There was nothing but comfort as she spent time with him, something so foreign to her. As time passes here though she finds a certain level of that comfort previously only experienced when in his company. As certain issues are resolved, largely because she has been given this incredible opportunity to delve into her past, she realizes she is rediscovering a part of herself.
May, 2020
She braces herself as another panic attack hits her. The panic precludes the beauty of another memory, but the pain in her chest makes it difficult to breath. It’s difficult to keep thoughts she may be dying at bay – breathe in 2, 3, 4, breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
This memory is of her father before “the Room”. As the pain subsides and her breathing becomes more relaxed, the gift is there right away….. a tidal wave of emotion wrapped up in the pain, sorrow and joy as this burst of light is freed from the safe place in her mind. The childhood memories both beautiful and horrible were bound together, but while she wrestled with the pain during her panic attack, the beautiful memory found its way out of the room in her mind. The door quickly shut and locked once more preventing the horrors to escape. She has begun to see how she must face the terrors very briefly in order to receive the precious gift, a fragment of what once was.
The wails of anguish fill her lonely room brought on by the tidal wave of love as she feels her fathers whiskers, touching her cheek ever so gently. It was real, it was all real. Saying and truly believing the dreams and visions were real over so many years not the same thing. She can see this clearly now as she cries for the man she barely knew, but has missed every day of her life. Feeling his touch caught her off guard, the reality of it undeniable. The awareness of how much she missed him attached to this reality, the pain of which she could never quite identify. A hole in her heart which never made sense. “How did I forget you papa? How did I let you slip from my memory? How could I ever forget how much you loved me?” All the questions she spoke through the tears. It seems impossible she could let him go, not remember him – the grief hits her hard.
She feels a bit like a coward now that the fear experienced during the attack has faded, the pain gone. During that time she wanted to forget everything, put it all back in the closet, remember nothing. Why was there so much pain, why the feeling of falling? This terrified her! She felt so vulnerable, so alone. Receiving this fragment seems to have eased the pain experienced during the attack, allowing the gap in her heart to close a little.
She is in Ecuador, a land close to her birthplace. She is alone, her rented room mostly empty of her former life. Her artwork keeps her company through the lonely days as she faces daily her difficult decision to come here giving up everything familiar. The bright colours used in her drawings seem to be a thread to a time long forgotten. But that is why she is here – to remember, to find home.
The memories brought her here. The man they assumed was erased from her mind, had in fact never left her. His spirit guiding her for all these years, even when she did not remember him. She was sure this was not something anticipated by those who hurt her so badly – that love could be such a powerful connection, never destroyed. It was to this quiet location in the Andes where she chose to begin the difficult task of letting go all she thought had been real growing up. Being here has helped her remember her heritage, her roots, understand who her father was and the choices he made. There was no other way really. Being immersed in a world which should have felt foreign and unfamiliar became the best way to accept this was where she belonged. The soul remembers.
But South America was also where her spirit was shattered into a thousand pieces, this is what the medicine woman Grama Grizzly told her years ago when she began this journey. She knew she had much work to do back then, something Grama also explained, she just never imagined it all being so difficult. The work spoken of involved patiently sorting through the fragments coming back to her, reconnecting with her own spirit. Thirty years she has been assembling this puzzle connected to the strange and confusing memories, the frustration of so many missing pieces, making it difficult to keep going at times. Her father persisted, a fragment returning just as she tried to lock everything away again. His love held her firm on this path back home.
Journal Entry
February 3, 1997;
Being with my Father
There was not much to explain in this dream because it was just like an ordinary day, something that happened all the time for me.
I was with a man whom I recognized but could not identify. I felt a great deal of love for him, a feeling of deep friendship. This man was a different nationality than me, he had such a baby face, which seems important to mention. In this dream I am a child, there is a great similarity to my daughter as I watch myself. I spent a great deal of time with this man, although I cannot really say what we did. We just talked a lot, spent time at coffee shops, walked and just enjoyed each others company.
What seemed so important to me after writing it down is the level of comfort I felt being with him. There was an ease between us I have not found elsewhere in my life, except perhaps when I’m with animals. It was refreshing to realize I was not uncomfortable with myself when in his presence, it just never occurred to me I should be anything other than who I am. A very peaceful feeling waking up and knowing this is possible for me.
The Adult……Ecuador
After being in Ecuador, even for the short period of a few weeks, she begins to think differently. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s as though there is a truth here that she could not really see before.
One night as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep, she understood very clearly for the first time what her father lived and died for. This wonderful and beautiful idea that people in South America, everywhere in the world actually, deserved to live a good life. They had the right to own their land, feed and cloth their families, have a good education and be proud of who they were. She has been supporting his ideals all these years without truly understanding this. Thinking about the dream edited that day, she feels the time spent with her father was real, her own principals and ideals coming from shared conversation with this man. Even though she was young, she absorbed his words and held them close to her heart. It was only that she had not remembered when and where the seeds began to grow…..until now.
I consider that if you believe in this idea of our breath being God, then it basically eliminates racism, prejudice and anything else that creates walls between us because of our differences. No matter what colour your skin is, where you were born, how you live, or what you believe, we all breathe the same. Our blood is the same colour, so underneath the skin, we are all the same, with only our thoughts and ideas separating us. We create the limitations that build the walls dividing us.
Journal Entry
November 23, 1997;
The Awakening
Ever since having this dream I began to experience phantom pains. They strike without warning in different parts of my body with force, and at any time of the day. It is like a jolt of electricity, maybe similar to what it feels like to be tased. Some pains last longer than others but afterwards I always feel exhausted. The chest pains, usually radiating from the place where I felt the object go in are the worst because they can last for hours. Their presence is a penetrating ache tight around my heart, making it difficult to breathe. I feel it important to mention this because of the connection to this dream. The recurring pain would not allow me to ever forget this dream or it’s meaning.
I was trying to rescue an injured robin that was hiding under a bush. When I bent down to pick it up someone came up from behind, startling me. As I turned to stand and see who was there, a man stabbed me in the heart. There was no time to react.
I was in shock, feeling the coldness of the object go into my chest, but I felt no pain. I grabbed it not realizing what it was and began to pull it out, and as I did so felt warm blood run down my body. When I say I felt these things I mean I felt them in the dream, but also in reality. Immediately upon awaking I anxiously examined my chest for the wound, the blood flowing down my skin absolutely real to me even now, this feeling remains with me still.
Once the object was removed I began to feel the pain of the wound. I saw the man standing there, but I cannot really describe him. He was all in black with dark hair and dark eyes. I began to fight with him but he was much stronger. But being stubborn, I continued and surprisingly began to win. Just as I was about to get the upper hand he stopped, stepped back, and while I stood there in surprise he broke into a smile and began laughing.
He grabbed me and hugged me and then led me to a gigantic greenhouse. All thoughts of my injury, the blood, and the fight were gone as we entered the building. After we were inside he presented me with the ‘Tree Of Life.’ The tree was tropical with some kind of fruit or nut which was a purplish, brown colour. The dream ended with this gift.
The dream felt so real, she checked for the blood she felt running down her body as soon as her eyes opened. This was how sure she was that it happened. The pain was definitely real, something that would last for days to come. She placed her hand on her heart, on the entry wound of the blade, as she tried to ease the pain. There was really no way to describe what she was feeling, the incredible experience she was having.
The pain would be a constant reminder of this night for many years as she would learn. Each time she experienced the crippling pain, it was recognized for what it is, a sign of something important about to happen. A dream, a vision or memory, or an experience giving her understanding. Not something to be feared, but the pain can be terrible, taking her breath away.
It was 2 days later she would learn about the man who died from a stab wound during a fight, only 4 or 5 blocks from her home. He died shortly after arriving at hospital, from his wound. She never knew the man, had never met him. That she would be so in tune with his death was difficult to understand. She would learn his wound was almost exactly as hers was in the dream. It also happened at the same time she experienced her own death in the dream. It was very unnerving, her ability to comprehend such an experience being challenged significantly. She would never be able to forget this night.
The Adult…..Ecuador
Her awakening, this was probably the single most important dream she had over the years. She reflects on this in a way she could not have before this time of complete isolation here in Ecuador . It is rich with symbology and it is the key unlocking the gate to a life forgotten. She returned to this dream many times, gaining new insight and understanding as the story began to make sense, the puzzle beginning to take shape.
Like an onion, the layers were peeled back until she reaches the core. In this case the core is truth, it is love and it is home.
This new insight inspires to write down down the different points of new understanding, new perspective:
– the man in black is actually her father
– the wound in her heart releases the memories which from that night began to return to her
– the cold of the blade – the cold of the actions against her during her life, especially her childhood
– the warmth of the blood – her life returning to her
– the anger pent up inside her for a lifetime was kept inside the room with her memories, good and bad. Her anger towards him, a man who became unidentifiable to her was someone she blamed because he did not rescue her
– the hug was for acceptance of the blame. Love was there now to catch her when she could no longer fight, when she had won her battle
– the tree kept safe for her through the years gave her new life, strength to deal with all she still must face. The tree would make sure she never forgot the battle won nor the love which opened her heart so she could feel again
– the pain felt over the years a reminder of all she lost, even though she could not yet remember the details. She stored the pain in her heart, it must be released from her heart.
– the man who died at the same time as she experienced her death in the dream was used as a tool in order for the experience to be felt as if it really happened to her. Her gift of feeling others pain so deeply, made the experience impossible to let go of.
The pain was frequent during the years so many dreams and memories returned to her. As the memories became less frequent, it became easier to connect the pain to an important dream or memory. This is how she understood the pain from yesterday would bring an important message to her and indeed it did.
Journal Entry
1998
The Thirteenth Healer
Often she would have dreams she felt must be catering to her ego, wishing for a feeling of importance because of having none throughout her life. With this dream it was hard not to believe it was indeed the case, of hoping she meant something to someone.
Because this identical gift was received on two separate occasions she tends to believe there is significance to its message, and not just a bruised ego yearning for attention.
I had a dream Patrick and I were sitting at a table in a restaurant about to have a meal. A woman we did not know came and sat down with us and began talking to him. Even though she sat beside me, she did not acknowledge me at all. And because Patrick was totally captivated by her he too ignored me.
I sat there for a while hoping to be acknowledged but finally gave up in anger and frustration. I went and sat at a different table and began writing him a letter. I was surprised to realize the letter did not express anger or hate, but only love. I realized I had let him go and was at peace with myself and that surprised me.
The next thing I knew I was walking into a room I didn’t recognize. It was a beautiful room, the owner obviously wealthy. There was a man sitting at a desk but I could not see his face, only his hands resting on the desk he was sitting behind. I was standing beside an antique sideboard or something like that. He gestured with his hands (he did not speak) to pick up the black box on the table. I admired it before I opened it.
It was a long black box almost like a necklace case, but longer. I opened it and found inside a large black feather which I understood to be mine. I also understood this man had been keeping it safe for me for a very long time. He told me without speaking I was the ‘Thirteenth Healer.’ I was captivated by what he said without understanding its meaning. The dream ended there.
I have always thought this feather belonged to a raven, but it now occurs to me it was a condor feather. I am basing this on the dream I had since coming to Ecuador, and also on the connection of my father being from south America, the land of the condor. It was also much too large for a raven and too black for an eagle’.
The Adult……Ecuador
What else would this man be able to tell her if he is somehow to cross her path? She can only imagine the joy upon receiving something so precious, finally a physical connection to her father. Undeniable proof at last of her heritage. What a wonder that would be!
Her imagination allows her to believe in such an experience happening to her as she muses over the experiences she’s had since arriving in Ecuador. Many people have walked up to her, shook her hand , hugged her and in one case held her face in their hands while kissing her forehead. She knew none of these people, they were just walking down the street or sitting at the bus terminal with her or getting on the bus she was travelling on. This makes her believe there is indeed something of her fathers spirit in her, something recognizable, yet unknown. She has been told this is not common, to be invited into someone’s home whom you’ve only just met, or to be so welcomed by total strangers. She would be considered a “gringo” here with her white hair and paler skin, but maybe this is not how she is seen by the people of Ecuador. This only makes her feel more at home in this magical land.
Journal Entry
November 14, 1999;
Dream about Being Shot
In this dream I found myself in the middle of a revolution. I cannot say which country I was in or what the fighting was about, but there was a great deal of tension and fear all around me.
On this day I was walking down the road to meet someone but could not make my way because of the angry crowd in front of me. They were mostly scared and just trying to get away from the soldiers that were coming towards them. Rather than going with the crowd I stood still and let them move around me, coming face to face with a woman who appeared to be the leader of the violent group. She was in something that reminded me of a chariot and she had a gun which she was pointing at me.
I became frozen with fear and could not escape, my feet would not move. She shot me. The bullet entered on the right side of my chest, I believe going into my lung. I fell to my knees and could not move. I tried to talk but could not make my mouth work. I felt myself separate from my body, watching my actions from behind myself.
The next thing I remember I was sitting on a doctors table and the bullet was being removed. The bullet was long and thin and still very shiny, completely whole as if it had never been fired. The pain in my chest told me otherwise.
This was when I woke up. I remember feeling the pain in my chest for a long time after waking as if it had been a true experience on some level. Although in ways it was a similar experience to the night I was stabbed in the heart, the after effect was not as strong, the emotional connection not the same. But still to this day I will occasionally feel the phantom pain where I felt the bullet go in.
The Adult…..the Room, Ecuador
To feel someone else’s pain as if it is yours can be traumatic when you are unprepared for what is about to happen. As a child, this happened to me many times while in the room. Dreams such as the one about being shot were so real to her when they happened, the experiences frightening to deal with. Often when she woke there was a sensation she actually went through what should have been just a dream. But she knew now they were not ordinary dreams, she had in fact experienced the pain as it was her own. She was close to the person it happened to and carried the pain for him.
She struggles as she sits in the solitude of her room in Ecuador to understand how the child she was endured so much. Is it because she did not have an adult awareness of such tragedy, unable to anticipate such possibilities of pain? I wish I had her courage and strength, she thinks to herself in the quiet dark room, afraid to fall asleep. There have been so many nights waking up in the throws of another attack. It is only when she begins to realize the pain is a process which is releasing the good memories that allows her to surrender to the pain.
The Adult…..Ecuador
In retrospect she can understand the importance of this dream which perhaps couldn’t be comprehended that night, as she still did not understand the complexity of her past. Nor did she realize the identity of those connected to it. So when she read this dream recently she became quite emotional with the new understanding of its meaning.
Journal Entries
December 6, 1999;
Dream about My Father’s Death
I cannot remember the first part of the dream, but I was getting a ride from someone that I knew, perhaps someone I worked for. As I got into the car another man also got in, sitting beside me in the back seat. He had a specific reason for wanting to come with us that involved explaining something important to me about my father. He did not want me to hear it on the news or from anyone else. He expected it was going to be difficult for me to hear, emotionally.
I do not know who this man was or how he knew my father or myself, but he had a comforting presence and I somehow felt safe with him. He was older and I could tell he was a kind and gentle person with whom I felt trust.
The story he told me was of my fathers capture; it seemed I should know why he had been hunted down, but I could not recall. He told me he was being transferred back somewhere close to where he grew up, and there he was to be executed. I sat there listening to the story and feeling the horror of what I was hearing.
The Adult…..Ecuador
When she wrote the dream back then it was from the perspective this man was telling her about Duncan, the man she was led to believe was her father growing up. Back then there was still so much confusion, so much yet to fully understand. In writing this dream now, she sees it from an entirely different perspective, one that makes more sense knowing who her birth father was.
Yet even then with limited understanding she knew deep down there was more to the story than she was able to figure out. This was obvious to because it was mentioned at the time the dream made her feel so sick. She recognized the reality of the situation, believing her father was responsible for horrible things. What was interesting was how much compassion she felt for him regardless of the accusations aimed against him. This in itself was an important distinction because she never felt compassion for Duncan at any time in their history together.
On a deeper level she somehow understood her father was a complex person, the facts surrounding his story subject to manipulation. Now that she knows the legitimacy of his life and what he was trying to accomplish, she could better understand why she felt as she did about him at the time of this dream. It is especially interesting to her, she could feel this truth, despite not having any knowledge of who he was at the time.
The threads that bind us are stronger than we realize. More than ever she feels deep compassion for her father and marvels at how he came to her over the years to show his love for her, despite her young age at the time of his death. He has been with her always.
Journal Entry
July 2002;
My Birth Name
It was in July of 2002 when I was given the memory of my father naming me shortly after birth.
On that same night I also had a dream of receiving the gift of a condor feather. It was placed in a long velvet case, the type used for a necklace. I opened this box given to me by an Angel spirit and saw it held an exquisite feather. Years later I would dream of this feather being used to write a story. It seems to me now I was being shown I would one day write my story, and through this act my heart would again be open and full of love….and my spirit would fly with joy!
I was taken aback by this vision of my naming, it was so completely unexpected. At the time I felt the name he gave me was too beautiful and important for me to carry, taking me many years to accept as my own. The process involved first unraveling the layers of pain and guilt that prevented me remembering not only my birth name but my birth parents, surrogate parents and grandparents. This would be the key to acceptance.
My father held me in his arms, looking down upon my face. He was wearing a pale yellow shirt the colour of butter. His hair was shoulder length, dark brown and curly. I could only see him from the side, looking on as if watching myself in a movie and as he said, “And I shall call you Gabriel,” the vision abruptly ended. It was just this amazing moment in time bringing with it all the love connecting me to my beautiful father.
I describe these memories as being very short as if someone has just handed me a photograph to look at. They are usually in black and white and come to me during the short theta state before coming fully awake. There is always a great deal of emotion attached to the experience and a sense of loss so great I cannot help but cry. They are wrapped in feelings so deep as I relive the pain of saying goodbye to those who loved me, asking myself, “Who are these people? What are their names? Where did we live?” All questions left unanswered for so many years.
I have gone through my entire life trapped by guilt, fear, and a lack of understanding. Learning my birth name was an incredible gift allowing me to face the awful truth of what happened so many years before. Although my father died when I was very young, his spirit remains with me today. He has often come to me in dreams and found ways to give me strength to take one more step, face one more day, to find my way home when it all seemed so impossibly hard.
It all started with a name, a beautiful name, full of meaning and power. I am Gabriel, and I remember!
The Adult…..Ecuador
In Latin America the spelling of her name would be Gabriella. When her father named her she feels it was a strategic move, he was a strategic man. Still as she recalls being in his arms as he names her Gabriel, she questions why he would give her the masculine version. But then that is exactly the point, she and so many others question her name. Even as she pronounces it, they instinctively change, it to Gabriella. This doesn’t bother her, she loves the sound of her name said this way. When they change it to Gabi however, it is a sign of disrespect in her mind for the beautiful name she was given. Shortening it to something so ordinary takes away from the beauty of remembering the gift of her birth name.
Here in Ecuador there is confusion when she says her name as her father pronounced it. A woman with a man’s name, something they just don’t understand. It became easier to just pronounce it as they would. Often they will call me Gabrielita which is a term of endearment. This is something she considers an honor.
Journal Entries
September 27, 2002;
Vision of my Father
Another dream about who I now believe was my father. Always in these dreams I have a great deal of love for the man. We have a deep mutual affection towards each other. I have also noticed that each time I dream of him I am always very emotional the next day, as if I am losing him all over again.
I can best describe these visions like an old movie in black and white, so when I say vision this is what I mean. They are different from a dream because it’s like I’m seeing actual events, just like a home movie. This is why I am certain they are real people from my past and not me imagining what I want to see. There is also emotion attached to the memories that are as strong today as I write them as when I first saw them. Always they bring tears to my eyes and sometimes I sob for the loss felt in remembering.
This time it was more like watching a slide show rather than a movie, but still in black and white. The photos were of two men. The first man was shown only from the nose down. It is amazing how much the eyes add to a face which you don’t realize until you can’t see them. So much harder to identify someone without the eyes, they tell so much about a person. This man had a fine nose, what I would describe as an aristocratic nose, if that makes sense. He had a thin lipped mouth though it was hard for me to see his lips at all. It was his mouth that caught my full attention for some reason. I could tell just from seeing his lower face he was fine-boned, of thin build but not necessarily athletic. (I have reason to believe now that this man could be my surrogate grandfather, his image drawn by Shirley who did my spiritual reading)
The other man had dark wavy almost curly hair, a moustache and scruffy beard. His build was that of a heavier set man, not overweight, just not as fine boned as the first man. I realized I knew this man, but could not remember his name or why I knew him, it was there on the edge of my memory.
The mind wants to make comparisons when we thing we know someone. Frustrating to feel the connection, but be unable to identify the person. This was how I felt when I woke from this dream.
November 1, 2002;
About Father Again
I was lying awake in bed, unable to sleep. My eyes were closed, but suddenly I began to see faces flash in front of my eyes. The images were all men’s faces in black and white. I could not remember the names, but I was able to recognize them because they were well known.
There was another face I thought I knew, but I could not see his entire face. I was sure it was my birth father, but I could only see him from his mouth to just above his eyes. There was a very strong feeling attached to this mans face and I understood it was dangerous for me to know his identity.
At times like this when I would get warning signs about my heritage, my birth parents, I could not imagine why it was so dangerous to know who they were. I was never a person who followed the news or paid attention to the rich and powerful.
I was never interested in the makings of the great machine we live in or the battles fought to sustain it. It all seemed so senseless to me. I remember as a child I would close my eyes and cover my ears if I was in the vicinity of TV while the news was on. I could not tolerate hearing or seeing the results of such cruelty in man.
As an adult I still have difficulty watching or listening to the news. How does one think positively when allowing so much negativity in? So it comes as no surprise to me I could not identify my parents, my father in particular. I simply did not follow the stories that would have identified him to me. It makes sense to me now I was simply not ready to face the truth of my past and all it entails.
February 16, 2003;
Seeing my Father
I don’t feel the beginning of this dream has much relevance, it was just peripheral information that leads to the ending. I have relived this experience many times over the years, a single most important moment in my life when there was pure joy as I ran into my fathers arms. In remembering, the fear, anxiety and emptiness of my past disappears with me into the light. This man, whoever he was in other peoples lives, had no importance to me; knowing I was loved by him was all that mattered. It occurs to me his determination to show me the extent of his love was all that mattered to him, his understanding this beautiful memory, and others similar to it, were buried under a mountain of traumatic experiences.
This memory kept me from losing my mind, the confusion of my past unimportant with it’s return. The importance of who he was, only something needed to find him, to see him, feel his arms around me again. I would give up everything to go back to this moment, disappearing into the light, free at last from the burdens of my past.
We were waiting for someone Patrick worked with to arrive for dinner. He was late and we began to wonder if he was coming at all. I went outside to sit on the front step to wait and this is when it seemed that everything shifted. I felt I was now in a different reality or something because my surroundings faded so that all I saw was what appeared in front of me.
Suddenly there was my father sitting there watching me, waiting for me to see him. (I named him Jesus at the time of the dream, but I knew that was not who he was—the similarity in that comparison allowed me to recognize him as my father. This has been a common thread in many of my dreams about him).
In my excitement I forgot some of what happened at that point, but I remember him speaking about the path of the heart being very difficult. He said something else before that, but I could not remember what. He opened his arms wide and I went running to him, changing into a small girl as I did. As he enfolded me in his arms we both disappeared into a ball of golden light. Then I woke up, very emotional. What an amazing gift!
To this day I can feel the beauty of that moment despite the loss of some vital details. Running into his arms and the absolute joy I felt at seeing him was so real! It filled me with hope. This helped me see my father has stayed nearby, guiding and protecting me all these years. I did not realize until recently it was so.
We are taught (at least I was) the spirits of our loved ones who have passed cannot reach us. They go to heaven or hell depending on who they were, how they lived etc., but there is no link between us. It is such a comfort to feel and know this is just not true. I have been protected and loved all along, his love reaching through the veil to touch me. It is through these dreams and visions I can finally accept this gift.
The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
Entering the first dream she had last night, revealed a more accurate description of time spent with the man she grew up believing was her father. The man who raised her never inspired love or trust such as she experienced with her birth father. She now has a startling comparison, which all came to her during this one night. For the first time, she has been given the gift of seeing the two men essentially side by side. In the past her dreams were fragmented, taking several years to come to her. Today there can be no mistaking the message received.
The pain in her chest began in the afternoon, so she understood she was in for a rough night. Without a clock, she is unsure of the time as she is awakened with the familiar signs of another panic attack. As the falling sensation begins, before she begins the breathing exercises, she is aware enough this time to ask for an explanation. It is her great fear of this falling which she feels she must understand. It occurs to her there is a connection which is important for her to to figure out. It took quite some time to regulate her breathing, feel calm enough to return to sleep. The pain was still present and difficult to bear, sending her into another attack.
There was a difference this time as she began to focus on her breathing, starting the whole process once more. A new and surprising experience, one which she would realize offered an explanation the sensation of falling, and perhaps so much more.
She saw herself in her bed the covers up to her neck, laying perfectly still, on her back. This is the home she grew up in on Chalice Road, she is about 5 years old. She remembers this moment from her childhood as she is now shown it. This is a memory thought about many times throughout her life. In this moment, seeing herself laying so still listening to the story, she wonders if she is absorbed or afraid – she can’t tell.
Duncan, the man she grew up believing was her father, is sitting on the bed reading from the big red book. This book is all too familiar, but there is an uneasy feeling attached to this memory. She remembers this was one of three volumes. This set was given to her in her adult years for her children. However, they remained on the bookshelf, never opened during her treasured nightly ritual of reading to her children. From these volumes of Grimms Fairy Tales, the story she remembers being read to her was “The Elves and the Shoemaker”.
The elves and the shoemaker….
There were interesting points about this story, something until she began this book, not thought of. It was only because of this recent vision seeing her adopted father reading to her, she began to wonder why this particular story was all she remembered from that nightly ritual. And why this was what she was remembering now. There was obviously some significance in relation to how she felt in their household.
Brought up with the catholic faith, she understood about having the fear of God, as there was a constant reminder from those who she lived with. Often she was ridiculed for her thoughts and imagination. Everything seemed to be her fault, she felt there was nothing she could do right in their eyes. She continually fought the attempts to become dependant on them for whatever kindness they would show. The price for any show of thoughtfulness on their part was to instil great feelings of guilt for accepting it. She would be nothing without them. Was her gift considered magic? Was she made to believe she was bad because of it? Was the story read each night to remind her she would never be close to God, never be saved? Believing this would of course make her vulnerable.
So she adds these points as a reminder of how she was made to feel during her life with them.
– shoes accumulate dirt making them ungodly.
– when the elves begin to make the shoes, the shoemaker can then become close to god as he is no longer making them
– piety towards God will be rewarded
– God only helps those in a bad situation which is no fault of their own
– God will not help those who are bad, only the good hearted and pious
This is constantly stressed throughout the story.
– as the shoemaker grows closer to God, he also grows in wealth. This shows that love for God and wealth are linked
– Elves cannot connect with God because they use magic. Only humans can
– when the elves put on the clothes, they renounce their magic ways and give into the love of God. They leave the shoemakers home never to return they no longer use magic
As the memory fades, she finds it strange now, this is the only story she remembers being read to her. She can’t help but question why when she is sure he it read to her often. She thinks about the question she was asking just before this experience. Is there a relationship to the sensation of falling, something she compares to the seconds just before you go under anesthetic for an operation. There is a great deal, of discomfort connected to seeing this memory – she feels her child self is afraid.
The relief from getting through another two panic attacks back to back was enormous. She was pleading for the pain to stop, it was difficult to bear. Breathe, just breathe, make it stop……. Sleep came at last and with it new memories.
In the first memory, she was hiding in the closet behind a makeshift wall made of a box. She had been crying, there were many wet Kleenex on the floor indicating it had been for awhile. There was also a torn up newspaper or magazine article strewn on the floor amongst the Kleenex. Someone was with her trying to coax her out of her self made room. It was a young woman, someone who cared for her, someone she loved as well. The woman understood her grief, wanting to comfort her.
Then she was watching the young woman walking towards her. They were on the street somewhere, it was like a parade or a memorial of some kind, this event seems to explain the reasons for her sadness in the closet.
Then she was watching this young woman walking towards her, she was singing in Spanish a song they both knew well. She was trying to sing with the woman, she knew the words, but they were caught in her throat. The sadness was making it difficult for her to participate even though she really wanted to. They were here to honor someone they both loved. The woman wore sunglasses shaped like hearts and her hair was in ringlets touching her shoulders. She was very pretty, an intense focus on her as she sang the song Guantanamera. The woman reached out her hand nodding understanding for the tears preventing her from singing. The touch of the hand slipping into hers woke her from sleep. She could still feel the cool touch of the young woman’s hand who shared her grief. She reached with her free hand to to cover the other hand in hers. But it was already fading as she did.
As the hand faded, her attention was brought to the man sitting on the big rock by the river. Her papa was reaching out his hand for her to join him. The sun was bright behind him. His shoulder length curls, his beautiful smile and her favorite yellow shirt, filled her with joy as she ran to sit with him on his giant rock.
In anguish she cries out “Please don’t leave me” as the memory begins to fade, her father becoming mist in the morning air. Without caring who heard, she screamed into her hand and cried and cried. She fought the urge to fall back to sleep exhausted from the deep emotional outpouring. Every second remembering this special moment of great importance to her.
“You’re real” she said when she had calmed down. “My story is real”. It has been 17 years since the dream of seeing her father on the rock happened. In that dream he was telling her the path of the heart could be very difficult. He held out his hand for her to join him and as she ran to him, she went from adult to small child. Leaping into his arms, they disappeared into a ball of golden light.
Of all the dreams and visions over the years, this one has remained strong in her mind, never fading. It was the one moment in time assuring her she once had a perfect world. This dream made her believe in him, his love, becoming the thread leading her out of darkness.
The image was more complete now, it was an actual memory. She understood it was probably the last time she was able to sit with, be with him.
She lay there now softly crying saying as she did, “I have missed you every day of my life papa. Even when I had forgotten who I was, I missed you”. The many dreams entered in her journals seem more connected with the gift of this memory this morning. She feels no doubts anymore.
Dreams from 20 years ago came back to her as these precious memories, this is truly amazing to her. After all it has been almost 60 years since she last saw her father. It is a testament to the value of a loving relationship. Enduring many years of heartache and sorrow revealing its diamond centre. They destroyed much, but my fathers love? They could not and did not destroy either my love for him or his for me.
She had begged him not to leave this morning as the dream faded into reality, but in truth, he never had. His spirit guiding her through the years, always there to pick her up when she felt she could not go on. There is a feeling of loss even when you can’t remember the person, being shown what was missing changes so much about the way you think about yourself. When the memories of someone you love are intentionally destroyed, it is an act of malice.
As she sits on the rocks by the river, the sun rises over the mountains. Looking at the huge boulders on the bank of the river as well as in the water, she understands why her time here has been so valuable. Without realizing it, she has been slowly connecting on a deeper level to the memory received this morning. Instinctively, she understood the value of the hours spent during the past year, absorbing the energy of the water, the rocks, the land of South America.
Journal Entries
April 12, 2003;
My Fathers Face
This morning just after waking, behind closed eyes was the image of another face, so beautiful, peaceful and loving (in B&W once again). I loved him the moment I saw him. He had darker skin like someone with a really good tan. His eyes were dark as well and I was struck by their complete peace. His nose was fine boned, and his overall look reminded me of my son Lucas.
I was looking at a photograph of my father, I knew I was, and I realized that I definitely want to meet this man and be in his life again. Just recalling this image brings such deep peace.
Note— I now have this photo and it gives me instant peace whenever I see it. How amazing to find this particular image after so many years, especially when back then I did not realize who I was looking at, unfortunately, understanding he is no longer alive in this time. I cannot meet him or spend time with him in this life as I had hoped when I first met him in my dreams. I can’t help but wonder how different my life could have been had I been given the chance to know him, rather than being forced to forget.
Were the times I spoke with him in my dreams actually real? Not being able to remember them once awake does not mean I did not retain the information he shared with me. What a beautiful thought to hold onto. Perhaps some of my views and opinions I speak of come from these talks with him. I think it is a wonderful idea to hang onto this possibility, keeping him closer and giving strength to his presence.
June 21, 2003;
My Parents Alone
I went somewhere through the night once again, leaving my body. When I came back I was very stiff and cold even though it was not cold in the room. It took a few minutes to remember where I was, who I was, and who Patrick was. That was something new, to have that experience of being unaware of my surroundings upon return.
Whether what I recalled was a dream or an actual experience while out of my body, I really am not sure. The lingering feeling was I had traveled back in time and experienced these few minutes of my life over again. There is such a strong connection to the people and the experience of that time and place.
What I saw was a mother and father sitting on a loveseat when their child came into the room. She was two or three years old, her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was enough red in it to suggest it would turn auburn (like her Mother) when she grew up.
I was reminded of Patrick and myself when I looked at this couple, but it was not us, just a familiar moment we could have experienced. The man had a darker complexion, dark hair and dark eyes. The woman had auburn hair, fair skin. The girl was quite upset because she’d had a bad dream. The dream had upset her so much she was having trouble remembering what it was about, and this frustrated her. After a few unsuccessful attempts to jog her memory, her mother told her not to be upset, that if she could just let it go it may come back to her.
That was all I remember, but I am struck by how often I have seen these people come into my dreams. I understand I know them but cannot place them, much like the child trying to remember her dream. This frustrates me.
July 2, 2018;
Dream of my Father
This was a rather interesting dream, one with which I did not expect as it has been many years since I have had the pleasure to dream of this man; my father.
I was walking home from someone’s house, the path reminding me of when, as a teenager I used to walk home from visiting my friend Anita. The route seemed to be quite similar.
On my way down the hill I saw a man coming towards me, it was dusk and I was in the city, so part of me was concerned but I did my best not to show it as he approached. He came straight over to me and began a conversation which I can’t remember, talking as he walked beside me. He invited me to his home and for some reason I decided it would be OK to go, following him to his apartment on the next block.
He was a nice looking man perhaps in his 30’s, with blonde curly hair, gentle brown eyes and a very easy personality. He lived in an apartment above the garage belonging to a family with whom he seemed well acquainted. Their children followed us up the stairs into the apartment, laughing and playing the whole way.
I walked into the living room and was surprised at the mess, with his things just scattered everywhere. It was hard to know where to sit, but he apologized and cleared a spot for me, while shooing the kids out the door. I’m not sure how long I was there, but we just talked, there was no hidden agenda on his part – it was like talking to my father in some ways, so I was glad for the introduction.
When I rose to go he came up to me, held each of my arms in his hands and looked into my eyes. We were so close and I was curious at his sudden intense attitude. He said to me “You are a very gracious lady,” referring to the way I was willing to spend time with him even though I did not know who he was, or why I was approached.
I had the presence to accept and not judge, and this seemed to be very important to him. What got my attention and made me remember the importance of this dream was how his whole body changed as he said this to me, most noticeably his face. His eyes became lifeless, a milky white kind of blue color, and his skin lost all colour, draining him of life. It was as if his body was actually not alive. It was all a bit disturbing and I was trying not to let it show on my face as he spoke to me. He was after all just telling me how proud he was of me for accepting him as he was, not knowing his identity.
This was when I woke up, a little shaken at what I had just seen, thinking at first how bizarre I would dream something like that. Thinking about it while I had my morning coffee, I began to see something I couldn’t while in the dream. There was power in this dream that would not let me go and I understood why when I realized that I had been spending time with my father once again.
It had been so long since I have had him come to me in a dream, but he never before came to me in disguise. Still, with all I have been through I have somehow managed to sustain the innocence of my inner child, accepting people without concern for status, culture, or class.
This message was obviously something he was proud to tell me and a phenomenal gift I am incredibly grateful to receive. So often I have imagined his disappointment in me, I have hidden in the shadows of life, while he embraced all it had to offer. To see him again after so many years means more than I can possibly convey.
The Adult……..Her Journal, Canada
September 12, 2018;
He Still Walks With You
While preparing to leave Canada I had many things to take care of, including getting Miss Mali ready. She needed her shots and her passport, so to speak. This meant she needed clearance from both governments, papers legalized, and all the necessary shots, something I do not believe in but when in Rome……
On one such visit to have papers signed I met a woman who had the gift of seeing the spirit world. I imagine this is not something she shares with just anyone who comes through the door, but I was fortunate enough to receive her gift of sharing. We were talking about my trip and the reasons I was leaving, including the most important one of finding my family. I explained that my father was from Argentina and it was because of him I was taking this great leap of faith. This was when she asked me some pointed questions, surprising me completely.
“Does he have dark hair and a moustache, a kind of scruffy beard?” “Yes,” I replied.
“Is it short?”
I said he wore it both short and longer, shoulder length.
“Is it very full, a bit curly?”
“Yes,” I replied again, nodding my head with excitement.
“Well, he walks with you still, he is with you now.” And she added, “I was wondering how I was going to give you ease, and now I know.”
I broke down at that moment, thinking to myself that this was definitely not something I expected to hear today, here of all places. These unexpected gifts have come to me many times during my life, each one helping me to add to the puzzle, giving me a clearer picture of this man, my father.
While driving on the highway to this appointment I had a beautiful experience, which felt important at the time. After receiving this woman’s encouraging words I knew it was indeed an important spirit message.
On the way to this appointment in Swift Current I was looking for spirit signs, something begun many years before with my children and husband, Patrick. When I saw a hawk fly up out of the ditch as I was nearing the spot where it was hidden, I paid close attention. It was not hard as I was almost on top of it. The hawk flew towards me, perfectly timing its lift up and over the car right beside my door, precisely as I drove past this particular spot. Having slowed down to take in this moment—this exceptional moment—I watched as it landed on the other side of the highway.
At work later that afternoon I was eating my dinner outside because the office at the golf course was not very busy as it had been raining. It was a beautiful evening and the fresh air felt wonderful. Three peace eagles* joined me, flying overhead. This has always been an important bird for me because of the many dreams in which it came to me, bringing me messages.
On this day with all that happened it seemed a special spirit sign, one which I held very close. In five days I would be leaving Canada forever and was getting quite nervous about all I was about to go through. I was pretty scared about the whole venture, having never done anything of this magnitude on my own. To have these peace eagles join me on this significant day was a very welcome indication I was on the right path.
*The vulture, referenced in native culture as the peace eagle because it does not kill to survive.
The Adult……..Ecuador
Could it be her father was still walking with her? After having the dream where he seemed to become lifeless in front of her, she felt perhaps with her decision to go to Ecuador, his spirit was now at peace. It made her sad to think he was no longer a presence in her life, but the woman from the government office gave her hope once more that he remained by her side.
December 12, 2018
She awoke this morning remembering the most incredible dream. She had trouble sleeping, kept waking up and each time sleep returned she fell back into the same dream.
I was seeing a map and I knew it had something to do with the falls near where I am staying in Ecuador.
Peguché Falls was the name I kept hearing and the map seemed to include the paths around the falls, although in truth it was very difficult to understand how large an area the map covered. This was first of all because I kept waking up and also because there were flashing circles on the map in red and green—a distraction keeping me from being able to see the different locations and their names.
The last time I fell into the dream I saw a statue, an object I can only describe as incredible. In this overpowering, ultimate moment I am filled with wonder, emotion deeper than oceans as I am given the statue capturing the moment of my naming.* Cradled in my father’s arm as he looks into my eyes and speaks the words forever engraved on the plaque of my heart, “And I shall call you Gabriel.
It would have been my mother who commissioned the piece, depicting a very special moment for both her and my father, she thinks out loud. It was obvious to her from other dreams she had of them they shared an intense, strong and loving bond. She was the beautiful result of this relationship that was not permitted. The statue of this moment made all the more poignant for the recognition of this truth. She guessed her mother added the additional inscription, something she is choosing not tell at this time, as an endorsement of her fathers humanitarian cause and perhaps providing a strong clue as to his identity, something kept secret from her.
Seeing the statue made her want to draw the image, and perhaps have one made just like it. It was not until later that morning When she began to realize this would not be necessary because the statue already exists. Her emotions in the moments after waking, clouding her understanding of this truth. This became an extremely emotional morning for her, leaving her with a feeling of supreme gratification! At last she felt there could be proof of this pivotal and most important moment in her life – receiving her name.
February 8, 2000
Birth / Politics dream
So many times in my life I have imagined that someone would come up to me and tell me that they recognize me, tell me about my true family. I can’t explain why this feeling persists, but I have never given up hope I will turn the corner one day and experience this reality much like I experienced in this dream.
This morning I had a dream I was at a conference or meeting of some kind. It was just about to end and we were getting ready to leave when a man came up to me. He waited until the room cleared a bit so he could speak to me without much distraction.
He said that he recognized me and knew who I was. This surprised me of course because I had no idea who he was. He explained that he had seen many pictures of me as I was growing up. The family I lived with in Calgary had sent these pictures to someone he knew. Considering I have no pictures of myself from childhood, this was also a bit of a surprise. He did tell me who this person that received the pictures was, but once I was awake I could no longer recall the name.
I was curious about what he knew about me. What I was like as a child, where I was from? Who was I? But he began to walk away as I started asking questions, not telling me anything. I stopped him as I started to cry, becoming desperate for information. But no matter what I said he would not tell me any more. Just as I gave up and he was turning to go, he said I was very important to these people that received the pictures, and then he took his leave. It was frustrating beyond measure to finally meet someone who knew about my birth parents and then not be able to get the answers. Still!
The dream changed at that point and I found myself with a young boy and his family. He had an accent and his skin was golden brown. He was trying to explain about the politics during the time of my birth and the influence they had on my life. I couldn’t hear him properly, couldn’t understand what he was telling me, it was like being in a tunnel where everything said has an echo and sound is distorted. Once again I was close to someone who had answers! How frustrating that I couldn’t grasp them– to lose them like sand through my fingers. I woke up at that point, left with more questions than ever.
As I do not follow politics, I was at a loss as to why the political struggles at the time of my birth would affect my situation. The clue was in the nationality of this young man attempting to pass on information of such importance. Upon waking, I unfortunately could not identify where he was from. Having such a limited understanding of world politics I could not figure out where to begin looking. There simply was not enough information and so I let it be for the time.
Although I had many clues along the way, the time between receiving them, and the fact they came in no particular order made it difficult to piece them together. There really did not seem to be any logic to much of what I was being told. Until you find the keystone that locks specific events together, it is difficult to see the connections.
The situation of which he was speaking has only recently come to my attention. Of course now that I have more key information, it all fits together and I wonder why I could not see it before. However, another shard has returned.