Voices From Otherwhere

“Fly free and happy beyond birthdays
and across forever,
and we’ll meet now and then
when we wish,
in the midst of the one celebration
that never can end.”
— Richard Bach

~~~ Voices From Otherwhere ~~~

One of the most positive aspects of the Internet is that it fosters the never-previously-available opportunity for people across the planet to be able to easily “link up” and share research, information and stories from across a wide spectrum of fields. That yields the possible outcome of some epiphanies that might be of benefit from that cooperation.

Recently, I posted a long comment about a friend’s Facebook post, after which he, our mutual friend, Colin Andrews, and I began exchanging personal, related experiences about how we’d “received inspiration.” Colin then asked me two earnest questions. The first one was, “Regards your writing, Michelle, have you ever tried automatic hand writing? From an empty sheet to whatever is created by free hand movement of the pen?”

I answered that in the affirmative and related an experience I had back in 1970 right after my grandmother made her transition. I finished my answer with, “But, she lingered a bit longer, guiding me the next day to discover and purchase a set of jewelry at the St. Vincent De Paul thrift store—it wasn’t until some additional, telepathic guidance 47 years later that I finally understood the full significance (and benefit!!) of her final curtain call. I had written a blog relating, not only that automatic writing experience, but also, as Paul Harvey used to intone, ‘The rest of the story.’ You can read that here.”

The second question that Colin asked was, “Have you heard a voice in your head?”

I answered, “As for ‘hearing a voice,’ I’ve had that happen at least three times that I can vividly recall, though not a physical, outside-my-head ‘sound.’ Rather, during meditation, I heard ‘in my mind’ a very specific sentence (politely) giving me instructions two different times, and the third time, the ‘voice’ asking how I liked the outcome of having followed one of the requests. I realize I can’t do justice to those stories here on Facebook, including the validations supporting them; however, I’ve started writing a blog to relate the experiences and will let you both know when that’s available. The timing is fascinating, as the 21-year anniversary of the main exchange is coming up on May 19, which is (not coincidentally) the date I’m scheduled to have cataract surgery. Synchronicities abound!”

And so, keeping my promise to those friends, here goes:

While continuing to live in the home we built atop a ridge in SW Wisconsin’s rural Driftless Region, it had become my evening habit to sit just inside my garage’s service door that faced due west so I could enjoy the spectacular sunsets beyond my patio garden.

Sun setting beyond backyard

On Thursday, May 17, 2001, I was thinking about the Cajun-themed dance I was going to attend at a local cultural center with my best friend, Maureen, on Saturday night, which was also going to be the third anniversary of my husband’s transition. All of a sudden, I heard a distinct voice instruct: “If you bake the cake, I’ll provide the gifts.” Though it was not an out loud vocalization, I knew who was “speaking,” and I knew exactly what he meant by “the cake.”

Some relevant context: My late husband, George, was a train lover who shared stories of picking up coal along the rails when he was a 12-year-old boy back in 1935. The men stoking the passing steam engines would “accidentally” toss a shovel full of coal out of the tender as they chugged past, so the waving kid could gather it up to take home in his secondhand Radio Flyer wagon to feed the furnace of his widowed mother’s home to keep him and his sister warm. No wonder he loved trains and those kind, locomotive engineers who ran them through Lombard, Illinois!

As an adult, the industrial refrigeration engineer became an avid model railroader, skilled in not only running his collection of steam trains, but also, artistically scratch-building their HO layouts with hand-crafted bushes and trees and painting backgrounds. One day, George’s blue Irish eyes twinkled with mischief as he asked me to put powdered eye shadows on my shopping list for him, knowing that I would wonder if the former WWII Marine Vet had gone loony. Then, he laughed and explained that the various shades of blue, purple, brown and gray were perfect to brush on for the “weathered look” on the buildings and boxcars! I loved watching him create and I searched for train-themed decorator items and train car ornaments for his den Christmas tree.

Some of George’s train-themed kit and caboodle on den shelves

During his last four months in home hospice when emphysema prevented him from getting down to his beloved basement workshop to craft his layout, I got him a stack of jigsaw puzzles featuring steam trains, which he enjoyed solving.

I had enthusiastically embraced George’s hobby, so of course, that included purchasing a large, steam engine-shaped sheet cake pan, so that I could bake and decorate an extra special birthday cake for him. That became our yearly tradition. So now, you also know whose voice was asking me to bake what kind of cake, eh?!

Wilton Steam Engine Cake Pan

The next day, I headed to the grocery store to purchase the ingredients for his favorite dark chocolate cake with chocolate and appropriately colored frostings.

On the way home, I multi-tasked, stopping at two other stores to pick up needed items. As I wandered the aisles of Walmart, I was startled to see something that I’d been in search of for years and could only find 120 miles away: my favorite, “Jovan Musk Oil for Women” perfume. I had to call over a clerk to get it out of the locked case, and when I remarked about being surprised at finally finding it there, she exclaimed, “Oh, that just came into our store for the first time this morning!” Hmmm . . . .

My last stop was at one of our favorite stores—Farm and Fleet. Back in 2001, solar garden lights were just coming on the market. I really wanted one, but they were so expensive. I kept watching their shelves, but had only been able to find boxes of two for $36.00! But on this particular day, as I searched that display, there, way down on the bottom shelf, way at the back, was a box containing only one light for $16.00—eureka! It was worth it, as it was two-tiered, made of heavy duty, black metal, not cheap plastic. As soon as I got home, I set it up in the garden so the solar panel could begin collecting sunlight to charge its battery.

Birdbath in middle of raised patio planter is surrounded by Grandfather Stones kept company by frog, dragon and damselflies, two Turtle-Loves, George’s solar light and metal hummingbird sculpture that serves as bird perch for drip-drying.

Several hours later, as I sat in the doorway, I was surprised and delighted when the solar lamp twinkled on just after the sun dipped below the horizon. And then, I heard a chuckling voice ask, “Did you like the gifts?” Forehead-slap moment! The two things I’d previously been unable to get for myself had “suddenly” appeared as if by magic. “Coincidence,” you say? I think not.

Maureen and I enjoyed the cake on his behalf and wished George a “Happy Third Re-Birthday” on May 19 as we watched his solar lamp “come to light.” It continued to do so on every night throughout many years, regardless of the weather, as long as I kept it clear of snow during the winter. And, for a few years, George would “signal” me by flashing it three times on and off on special occasions, as he’d done with the touch lamp next to my recliner . . . but those are stories for another time.

And as for my third experience with hearing a voice from “someone else, from some Otherwhere,” I briefly touched on that in the introduction of my “Grandma Sparkles” blog.

Happy 24th Re-Birthday, George!

©2022 Michelle UluOla