At The Gate



          Once there was a child . . .

Yes, Spirit? With a joyful heart, I open myself to this telling

A child stands
     With her back to me

     Her hair is dark
          Tied up in thick braids
               At the back of her head

She stands
     Hands at shoulder height
          Affixing something?
     (Disentangling something?)
          From the stem of a rose bush
               Twinned on a trestle before her

She glances at me
     Over her shoulder

          I cannot see her hands

What are you holding, beautiful child?
                    Is there something you’d rather I not see?

Head bowed
     Hands now clasped together in front
          Her long skirt as a backdrop to . . .
               (What is it she holds?)

I have something to show you,
     She says,
          Turning now to face me

     It’s a message my mother sent
          From the world beyond

I come here daily
     Looking over the fence
          In hopes that I might see here there

     It’s a barrier,
          This veil of roses between the worlds

I stand here
     On tip toes
          Each day at different times
               Hoping I’ll catch a glimpse…

          I’d so love to see her again

The angels said they have need of her

          Do you think that’s true?

               Do you think they need her more than me?

If so,
     I could let her go with greater ease

If there were one
     Who needs her more than I,
          I would say to them,

“Go with love
     But treat her like the precious flower she is to my heart”

Because that’s who she is to me…

     A flower of the most exquisite
          And scent
               And colour

     “Take her with you, if you must,”
          I’d say,
               “And be sure to kiss her often
                    As I did

                    Every day without end’

     I’d want her to know she is loved
          Because I don’t know that for sure

          I don’t know she is loved
               I don’t know someone is caring for her
                    I can’t see her…

     When I came
          I found this note….

     It was tied to the vine
          With a delicate thread
               And I left it there

I wasn’t sure it was for me

     But, I got to thinking

          “Why would it be placed
               Right where I stand each day
                    If it weren’t for me?

               Who could know I come here
                    I’ve never said so to anyone
                         It’s a private journey…”

Of course,
     You’re here

          But, I can sense you’re different

I’m okay that you’re here
     It’s almost a relief
          To have someone to talk to
               After all this time

That’s why I looked kind of sheepish….

You came as I untied the knot
     I’d only just taken the note off the string
          When you appeared
               Over my shoulder

I thought I’d done wrong
     Till I saw your light
          Then I knew I could share…

     What do you think
          About this note?

               I can’t read the words!!!

The paper is delicate
     Like lace wings

               Dark blue
                    With the prettiest design

There are words printed there
     But I can’t make them out

          Would you help me?

     You’re a writer
          Maybe you can see what I cannot

With cupped hands
     She holds the paper toward me
          In hesitant gesture

               But I don’t take it from her

‘Little Spirit
     The words…’
          I say,

          “The details are unimportant….

Let go of the need to ‘see’
     You are looking with your eyes
          In a way that has you looking backward

     You are bound only
          By the limitation
               Of your own imagination

Close your eyes
     Little Spirit,
          And look for your Mother there
               Without expectation
                    Of how she ‘should’ appear

What might you see
     And feel
          And hear?

     What might those words say
          If you listen with your heart?

     Can you allow your truth to be
          That you’ve seen her every day?
               Just not in a way you’d expect?

Close your eyes
     Little Love,
          And listen to what is
               Not what you expect there is

     Be aware of all your sense
          I suspect you’ll find
               That you’ve never been without her

          Not for the briefest of moments
               Not ever…

It is not for me to say
     What your experience might be
          Only to encourage you to imagine

               Love is never lost

Love never leaves
     It reconfigures
          In ways
               Sometimes beyond our knowing

Listen for that
     Little One

          You’ll find her there

Hold that love note to your heart
     And let is seep into the essence
          Of who you are

     I suspect you’ll discover
          With the blending of the two
               The one you long for
                    Will surrender their essence
                         In just the same way

Listen for love
     With love

     Let go of the ache
          (In the gentles way)
               To allow their essence
                    To feel you there

Allow the separation
     To be all it needs to be
          And remember to love yourself through it.’

Turning then
     Toward the fence
          Up on her tip toes
               With a smile on her face
          She sees something she had not seen before

     The place she stands
          Along the wall
               Is a gate…

Lifting the latch
     The gate sweeps open

     (So much easier
          To see this way)

               The gate is open

  Light cascades
     Within and without

     There is no separation
            Only invitation to step through

          ‘In your own time
               Little Spirit

                    In your own time…’


I have often reached out to Spirit to say, “I so wish that I could paint the beauty of the things I see in Spirit, for others to know of of their glory! Perhaps one day I will take classes and become a painter myself. Spirit is wondrous, however, far beyond our knowing; hearing and making connections for us, despite ourselves, when we reach out from our hearts. Here is an example of a painting created in spirit by a beautiful friend I have made through On Spirits’ Wings, that is clearly a representation of this very story about the spirit who came to me on this day.

With deepest, heartfelt love and appreciation for Renata Loree who created this glorious painting titled, “At The Gate” on the same day (unbeknownst to each other) that I received this spirits message. Renata is one who continually paints my heart from across the world. We are connected through Spirit in a glorious and mysterious way. Thank you for allowing me to use this image to share Spirits’ words, Renata. So much love to you!


© Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved Catherine ~ On Spirits’ Wings


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