10 Reasons I Love You Honey OR A Short and Incomplete Synopsis of Why I Agreed to Marry You and Have Your Babies

1. You’re extremely competent.  Although you hide it behind a complete lack of attention to personal detailing/ baggy t-shirts, you are one of the most talented and competent people I know.

2. Your hair.  Well, I had to write that, because other people always talk about it.  But I have to admit—your personal grooming of it, which consists of running your fingers through it as you drive down the road, and throwing the chunks of knots out the window, never ceases to amuse me.  Especially when people ask you in all earnestness about how you maintain it.

3. Having fun is a serious priority for you.  I know some people might see this as immature, but I feel truly fortunate that you are committed to enjoying your life, and so glad that I’m along for the ride.

4. You are extremely good at coming up with fun games—especially for our children.  I think the salad spinner is still my favorite but seeing you and our toddler run at each other down the hallway and then you leap over him at the last minute pretty much always brings me joy!

5. You don’t mind changing diapers.  The fact that you do is something not all dad’s share in common with you.  The fact that you talk about poop so much is not an attribute that many people (fathers or no) share in common with you either.  I’m not so keen on the poop chat, but I let it go because the rest of you is so great.  When I recently walked in on you giving a detailed account of our son’s poop to a friend of ours who doesn’t even have kids, I knew that other people forgive this in you too for the same reason.

6. You say pretty much whatever you think.  The basic thing I appreciate about this is that you are thoroughly authentic.  You don’t censor to please others.  You are always you.  The second thing I love about this is that it makes me laugh!  So much!  I know eventually it might embarrass our kids (but then so will anything we do) but I for one feel certain that your surprising, outlandish, brilliant, and seemingly accidentally witty comments are still going to be making me lose it, even beyond our children’s teenage years!

7. You’re a great dancer, at least for me.  I appreciate that you enjoy making up moves on the kitchen floor or bedroom carpet almost as much as I enjoy laughing at them!

8. You don’t complain.  I don’t consider myself a big complainer.  Like you, I’m usually apt to look at the bright side.  That being said, if things aren’t going smoothly for me, I’m still likely to at least mention it out loud.  You on the other hand, shoulder the same workload as I do or more, and yet, I rarely hear you complain about it.  Although I don’t mention this every day (perhaps for fear of pointing out all of the things that you would have cause to complain about…wink wink) I am extremely aware of it.  Thank you honey for moving through the challenging and the easy parts of our life without making a big fuss.  And thank you for allowing me to bitch when I need to.

9. You are very romantic.  Almost every card you’ve ever given me has made me cry (in a good way).  And I appreciate that you still leave me surprise notes around our house as inspiration arises.  Eye heart you too!

10. You’re a fantastic dad.  Your extremely present and available and not only do you sing our son to sleep every night with made up songs about him even though you can’t hold a note, you can also shampoo a toddlers hair without having them cry.  I can’t do that.  I couldn’t have known you would be such a wonderful father before we had our kiddos, but I must say, I had a pretty good guess!

Thank you honey, for everything.

I love you so much for all this and MORE!

Happy Father’s Day!

Kitten Capers

An ordinary kitten will ask more questions than any five year old.

-Carl Van Vechten

I got a kitty recently.  A cuddly bundle of joy and delight who is always endeavoring to figure out the world around her.  She is constantly reminding me of the awkward but endearing quality of learning, and of the play and bizarreness of the world.

Yesterday she put her head in a small backpack sitting on a chair.  Sticking her face in the outside pocket, she sniffed around to discover leftover cucumber slices from my picnic lunch.  At first with interest, and then with vigor, she was stuffing her head, and then her whole upper body into the pocket to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

But before long, having that curiosity satisfied, she sat up ready to move on to another adventure.  In one zesty move she jumped off of the chair— hooking one of her little back legs on the backpack strap on the way down.  Suddenly, what she thought was a harmless inanimate object with some boring human food was a fierce and attacking animal, right on her tail!  Onto the floor and around and around the LIVE and wild backpack was chasing her.

I watched. First I worried that her little legs would be injured in her fight for life with the luggage.  Then I felt the mild concern of seeing a terrified expression on someone you love, even in the face of something you know to be harmless.  And then came humor— this kitten was doing battle with an inanimate object.  How many times had I done battle with things that were completely harmless to me?  Extending much energy and great fright defending myself from “a backpack,” so to speak.

It got funnier and funnier as the scene went on— a terrifying backpack of all things.  Man, the world can be strange!  Slashing around on the wood floor in a fury, she managed to free herself from the horrific monster before too long.  However, her bold curiosity of moments before was gone.  She slunk away from the terrible scene and hid under the nearby wood stove, collecting herself.

I don’t even remember the moment when she discovered it was just a stupid backpack—the same uninteresting one with the dying cucumber slices she had seen and tried to leave behind only moments ago.  Though I know it wasn’t long afterward.

I just remember sitting there laughing.  Laughing at the funny situations that life deals us and at the weird ways we forget and then rediscover the illusion.  Laughing at seeing myself battle luggage on the kitchen floor.  Attaching to things that I could be rid of—perhaps just for the drama of it all.

Sometimes the most random moments bring a clarity that can’t be ignored, making the game so obvious –all you can do is sit back and laugh.

- Aimée Cartier

PUBLISHED IN CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL: WHAT I LEARNED FROM THE CAT

Loving family members, their quirks and all

Sometimes the things you love about people aren’t the things you thought you would love at all.  Take my dad, for instance.  He has this quirky habit of calling me during the 7 a.m. hour.

 

It started about 17 years ago when I left home for college.  During those years when the phone rang at that hour, all I could ever think was, “Stop the ringing.  Stop the ringing.”

 

I would stumble out of bed barely aware of myself just to get ahold of that object that was shouting loudly from across the room.

 

“Hi honey.  Just called to see how you are doing?” my dad would say from the other end of the line.

 

“Dad!  It’s 7:15 a.m.!  Ask yourself instead what I might be doing right now!”

 

Later, when I was at home for a visit, I would prompt him with questions like, “How many college students do you know that are awake at 7 a.m.?”

 

Of course he could always point to the fact that I was… I had answered the phone.

 

It wasn’t like he called me every morning or even every week at that time.  It was more like an every few months tick.  He was up.  He was thinking of me.  He called.  It was that simple.  Unlike now, then, he didn’t even have the time zone excuse to fall back on.  He knew what time it was in my dorm room — the same time it was at his house: 7:15 a.m.

 

This morning I was lying in bed awake when I remembered my dad’s old habit.  I was in that luxurious just-after-sleep-state where you’re laying there, enjoying the feel of your bed, the thoughts of your dreams, the silence….

 

When, “RING!!!!!!”

 

I realized just how loud the phone sounds when it is only a few feet away from your head.

 

“RING!!!!!!” It went again.

 

I thought.  “It could only be a member of my family.”

 

My dad, or my sister Jackie—surely.  Jackie had also inherited that “call you when I’ve got something to say regardless of the hour” gene.  But she always waited until after 8 a.m.

 

I glanced at the clock.  7:20 a.m.

 

“Dad.” I thought.

 

The funny thing with these two is that even though they call you at these crazy early hours, they never start out their conversations with, “Sorry to call you so early.”  There is absolutely no acknowledgement of the fact that your body might still be computing its need to get vertical.

 

Instead they say things like, “Did you get aunt Nadine’s email about Grandma?”  Or in the case of my sister, “What is the difference between whey protein and soy protein?”

 

No, “Hi.  Good morning.  Hey, were you asleep?   I just have a quick question.”

 

I suppose they don’t want the answer.  They must know it’s possible that I was sleeping.  But they called anyway.  They wanted me to be a part of their lives—of that moment.  They literally couldn’t help themselves.  I guess that’s what endears me to these crazy early morning phone calls.  I like feeling that even though I live states away I can still go grocery shopping with my sister.  I like thinking that my dad, who has probably been up for hours, just called when he felt like it cause he had something to say.

 

Of course, it doesn’t always make me answer the phone — even if I’m already awake.

 

But this morning after I heard the fifth ring letting me know I had a voicemail, I wasn’t surprised to hear my dad’s voice in the message.

 

“I just wanted to know if you are getting aunt Nadine’s emails, reference Grandma,” he said in his matter-of-fact way.  He actually said that— “reference Grandma!”

 

“Give me a call and let me know.  Or send me an email,” he concluded.

 

What a novel idea, Pop, an email!

 

But still, lying there in bed with the phone at my ear, I felt oddly glad that he hadn’t just sent an email.  I laughed as I lay there hearing his voice come over the line.

 

“Still up to your old tricks!” I chided him later in the said email.

 

“7:20 a.m. isn’t that early,” he responded with no hint of apology.

 

Published in the Vashon-Maury Island Beachcomber Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Find out more about Aimée and her work at www.spreadingblessings.com.

Patience is My Virtue

“I know, I know, I’ve got to be more patient,” she said in a dull exasperated tone over the phone.  Jennifer was a client of mine from Colorado who had called me for a reading.  She had, what a lot of people had at the moment, just a general feeling of despair.  She felt her personal life was a mess, and the stories she was getting from the outside about the devastation of the economy weren’t helping anything.  She had recently made some major decisions about her life and was ready to move forward, but unfortunately what she was experiencing in her day-to-day reality was not yet reflecting that change.

 

“Remember, awkwardness is a natural part of most change,” I counseled her. “After you make your decision, it can take some time for the events in real time to catch up.”

 

She took a deep breath, “I guess you’re right, sometimes waiting is just so hard for me.”

 

I knew just how she felt.  For years I used to look at patience as a torturous duty – something forced on me by the rules of society.

 

“Patience is a virtue,” my mother would say to me as I was growing up.   I would inevitably reply tartly, “Well, it’s one I don’t have.” 

 

In all honesty, it was also one I never envisioned cultivating.  “I can do without that virtue,” I thought to myself.  To my mind patience was akin to weakness.  It signaled either a glaring failure resulting in settling, or a complete lack of imagination, both of which I hoped never to promote in myself.

 

It was a combination of things that changed my opinion about the quality.  I suppose the biggest change actually came from my relationship with my own psychic abilities.  After I began to follow my own intuitive knowing unquestionably, I noticed that most of the guidance I received was in the form of steps on the pathway to my goals. 

 

When I decided to become financially successful and healthy for instance, the first guidance I got was to move out of my big beautiful house and into something smaller.  It was a surprising notion for me, because I loved that house, but it was the experience that I had in doing so that formidably changed my experience of patience forever. 

 

I saw how steadily, this decrease in rent allowed me to pay off my debts and be more free and generous with my money.  I saw how, not overnight but steadily, I made huge progress on my goals.  I paid off my car, gave more gifts, and had money in savings.  I had the time and energy to learn more about investing and managing my money properly because I wasn’t spending all of my time worrying about my bills.

 

I began to recognize that patience wasn’t a lack of imagination, but rather the opposite.  Being patient actually involved holding steady to a goal that possibly existed only in my mind and taking the actions that would create it naturally and easefully, not forcing a hurried and rushed overnight manifestation.  It actually felt great!

 

“Remember patience is not a punishment for you to bear,” I said to Jennifer that day on the phone, “it’s a means to getting everything you’ve ever wanted.”  In waiting, you allow everything to line up perfectly, so that when you finally get the green light, there is nothing for you to do but go!

 

Head tilted back, hair flying in the wind, you experience the ultimate gift of patience: freedom.

 

Aimée Cartier is a Washington-based author and intuitive.  She is the founder of Spreading Blessings Media, a company dedicated to providing tools for inspired living.  Visit www.spreadingblessings.com. 

Published in the May/June edition of New Connexion.

The Startling Truth about Your Own Dark Side

From an early age we learn about “the dark side.” Even our modern day mythical stories tout the danger of following this darkness or shadow side of ourselves. We’ve all seen Star Wars— we know what happens when you turn to the dark —you become a breathing mask of blackness, making decisions based purely on their ability to create evil. But is this really true? Is this really what happens when you explore your own darkness?

 

I remember the first time that I explored my shadow. I was sitting in meditation at a spiritual retreat site when it happened. I didn’t do it on purpose, at least not consciously. But I remember the feeling of piercing through a barrier (one I now know I created myself) into a place of total darkness. At first it felt formidable. Alone in this darkness I wondered what to do. My outer surroundings at the retreat site gave me a sense of protection, so even though I felt uneasy, I allowed myself to breathe into this space, trusting that I was safe. What I found there totally shocked me.

 

Rather than containing evil, as I had always believed, the space held none other than parts of my own being. It was a vault full of old wounds, misunderstandings, half-baked conclusions, and other damaged pieces of myself that I hadn’t had the courage to look at, much less heal. The place wasn’t scary at all. It was derelict, and a little cobwebby, but it was completely familiar, astonishingly so. It was the chamber where I stored the pieces of my experience that I feared gave evidence to my own unworthiness. They were transgressions I had made in my life, thoughts and desires I had deemed bad, and events of isolation and rejection that I had endured: this was the place where I hid all of the things I feared made me unlovable.

 

Opening the vault that day was pivotal for me. What I discovered as I wandered through the familiar darkness, was that most of the secret shames I had been carrying were really misunderstandings. For example, those experiences of rejection by my childhood girlfriends were not a neon sign indicating my totally inadequacy as a person, as I had formerly believed. They were instead, moments in time fraught with both learning and mistakes— on all sides—nothing more and nothing less. They were the experiments of my life, some done by me, others done to me, some changing me for the better, others less so. But what I realized for the first time was that the darkness in each of us wasn’t evil or bad, it was misunderstood. If given the proper attention, where wounds existed, so too could healing.

 

Wandering through my own shadow land, I discovered that most of what I had been carrying around just needed a little light. It needed me to look at it again— from a different perspective than I had when I stored it there. Instead of being a holding ground for damaged parts, when scrutinized, this place became a storehouse of valuable lessons— keys for understanding and living this particular life of mine.

 

Even the worst of what I had done had helped me understand the limits of certain actions, and most of it, at its core was motivated by a profound desire for love, and an ignorance of how to truly receive it.

 

I finished my meditation that day with a sense of peace. I felt whole again. For the first time I understood that the darkness, and even the worst about myself was not scary. It wasn’t evil or sinister, or something to avoid or disown, it was in fact an aspect of myself that needed regular exploration and care. And that to not do so would be to waste the pain, by letting it determine me, instead of learning its precious lessons.

 

Today there is a breezeway into my own shadow. The night dark velvet curtains part easily when I choose to visit there, and the candle I bring to the wounded parts of myself that I haven’t had time to care for is welcome and well known. Instead of being a dusty and neglected vault, it is a useful and supportive envelope of nurturing, protective energy. Most of my old wounds have transformed into gleaming tools and powerful antidotes that I now know how to wield and administer- to both myself and others. In contrast to what I formerly believed, exploring this dark side of myself has brought me to wholeness, not distracted me from it.

 

So I encourage each of you to explore your own darkness. Take the shadows from your own past and with the light of your awareness turn them into something valuable.

 

Shadow Meditation

• Shutting your eyes and going within, first consciously reach out and feel your shadow. Where is it located in relation to your body? From the outside what does it feel like? Is it velvety or rough? Is it easy or difficult to penetrate?

• Now entering in to this familiar space, look around and see what it holds. Is there a little person or piece of yourself there, grieving something from your past? What story does this part of yourself have to tell?

• What antidote can you now provide, given your current understanding? What key does this experience hold for your life? Administer the antidote to yourself, helping yourself understand the learning and strengths that you gained from this experience.

• Continue to move through the space of your shadow with the intention of providing light and healing to those wounded aspects of yourself, exploring in depth whatever you like.

• When you feel complete, say a prayer for restored wholeness. Thank your shadow for keeping safe these aspects of yourself that needed your care and love. Thank it for holding the keys to so many answers and for always providing a safe and nurturing place of darkness where you can go to be healed and restored.

Aimée Cartier is an intuitive, writer, and teacher. She is the founder of Spreading Blessings Media, a company dedicated to providing tools for inspired living. You can find out more about her intuitive readings, writing, and other work at http://www.spreadingblessings.com.

PUBLISHED IN NEW SPIRIT JOURNAL, APRIL 09

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Graffiti art captures life’s secret

There are lots of things that I love about our island. 

The list is really too long to mention all the way through, but one of the things that I appreciate has to do with our four-way stop. 

Yes, I love that we only have one main intersection and that it does not have a stoplight, but the thing that I love best about our town hub is what makes it different from any other intersection—that I know of— in the world. 

It’s the words that greet you from the pavement as you cross the street.  No matter what direction you walk, as you traverse the crosswalk, you see: “Evolve or Die.” 

Shining out from the dark pavement is a three-word sentence that seems to sum up just about everything to me. 

Evolve or die.  Grow or whither.  Change or stagnate. 

In one amazingly short sentence, this street art sums up what may be the only choice any of us ever truly make.  It reminds me of a scientific fact I learned last year. 

In 1977, a man named Ilya Prigogine won the Nobel Prize in chemistry because he proved, without a doubt, that when systems come to a point of chaos they can do one of two things: die or reorganize at a greater capacity.  He demonstrated that every system contains subsystems that are constantly in flux. 

Sometimes a single fluctuation or a combination of them can be so magnified that it shatters the pre-existing system, causing it to either “evolve or die.” 

The interesting thing is that you can’t know in advance whether the system will disintegrate or leap to a new level.  But it must do one or the other.

 

In short, our intersection art sums up a scientific notion that warranted a Nobel Prize.

 

And as an island with about 11,000 specimens of the most amazing and complex walking, talking, chemical systems there are, the words seem apropos.

 

I believe, as conscious beings, we have some choice in the matter.  We can choose the ways in which we grow.  At no other time more than the New Year do we seem to recognize this collectively. 

I love how every January, each month stretches out before us like an unwritten slate.  Whether we choose to fill it with a masterpiece or some doodles, or make our doodles into masterpieces, is entirely up to us. 

We are each conscious system reorganizers at this time of year— vowing to make changes in the sub-systems that make up our lives: our health, our finances, our family life. 

So I wish you the best of luck with whatever system or systems you are currently reorganizing.  And if in a few months you need a little extra help remembering “why” or “what for” or just how fresh those months to come still can be, I recommend glancing down the next time you cross at the four-way stop. 

Written right there, in black and white, is a generous reminder from an anonymous soul that no matter what direction you choose, you can leap to a new level and evolve. 

Aimée Cartier is a writer, intuitive and the founder of Spreading Blessings Media. More about her work can be found at http://www.spreadingblessings.com. 

PUBLISHED IN THE VASHON-MAURY ISLAND BEACHCOMBER, Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Even during tough times, we can choose to live without fear

The other night I was at one of our island restaurants when in passing I overheard someone say with great conviction, “Bicyclists in Seattle actually increase the carbon foot print because they cause traffic to slow down.” 

 Astounded by this assertion, I repeated it immediately to the friends I was with.  The first one responded by saying, “And so do pedestrians and buses.  You know I think everyone should just stop walking!”  The other one just shook her head soberly and said, “That just goes to show, you can believe anything you want to.”

 

 It’s true—our thoughts can create amazing things.  In fact just the week before, I had rewritten myself into a completely different life play.  Instead of living a life of abundance and beauty in which even unexpected circumstances created great richness and opportunity, I decided to be the victim in a slow but steady tragedy, plodding along drably toward an eventual but certain demise. 

 

 It was amazing!  Nothing outwardly in my life had even changed.  But in my mind, I chose to make that shift.

 

 The same evening of overhearing the bike comment I learned the story of how some of our other islanders were reacting to this feeling of demise. 

 

 My friend told me that one of our island banks had just experienced a “run on cash.”  Apparently, a slew of people had actually gone to take their money out of the bank. 

 

 Now, I hate to point out the obvious here—but it was the people who believed there would be a shortage of cash that created the shortage of cash.  As far as I can tell, just like in my own life, nothing but their commitment to their own fear had actually changed.

 

 Hearing this story was a real wake-up call for me.  My first and foremost thought was, “I cannot and will not be ruled by this fear!” 

 

 All week long I had been noticing an escalation of agitation in the people around me.  People were fighting with one another, using threatening language, acting (myself included) as though competition and not cooperation was the path to success.  But when I heard this story about the bank, I thought to myself, “I cannot allow this to go on any longer.  I will not be a reflection of fear.”

 

 Seeing the manifestation of what foolishness this fear creates was a profound gift for me.  It caused me to wake up and change the channel.  And man, what a relief!  That ”poor me/ this sucks/we’re screwed” channel is exhausting!  It drains me in every possible way—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

 

 I’m writing this today because I hope I will not be alone in changing the channel. 

 

 We live in an incredibly rich and gifted community.  I consider the amount of beauty, creativity, and talent that we have, on this island alone, enough to change the shape of our reality.  I see that reflected all of the time in the ways that we show up to support one another.  (Just last week, I read in the paper that VIPP surpassed its fundraising expectation.) 

 

 It is my hope that—especially in times like these where the world, and certainly this country, is writhing in doubt and fear—we as a community will rise to the challenge.  That each of us will make our actions a reflection not of the world that we fear, but instead, of the world in which we wish to live.  Because in the end, I truly believe it is up to us to create the difference.

 

 Aimée Cartier is a writer, intuitive and the owner of a company called Spreading Blessings Media.  More about her work can be found at www.spreadingblessings.com.

 

PUBLISHED IN THE VASHON-MAURY ISLAND BEACHCOMBER Wednesday, October 15th, 2008

IT WILL PASS

“It will pass,”

my grandfather said to me on his dying bed.

He meant the moment.

He meant my concerns.

He meant his life.

And in that glimmering instant 

of Truth

I felt the universe sigh-

And ready again,

to take another breath.

 

To be published in “Serenity Prayers: Prayers, Poems, and Prose to Soothe Your Soul,” Spring 2009.

Grandfather gave a lasting gift: laughter

It was 22 years ago that I gave it to him for Father’s Day.  I wrote it and framed it of my own accord.  “My grandpa, laughing and making me laugh,” went one of the lines of the poem.  It was a 10-line salute to our relationship, highlighting our biggest love: laughter.  It settled on his bedside stand where it nestled him to sleep at night for the next 16 years. 

 

But more true to our relationship was the note that I wrote him when I was just learning to write.  I have the pair of cards that I sent to my grandparents then.  On my grandmother’s is a beaming rendition of soft, sweet love.  “Grama you’r the best Grama a girl could ever have I love you.” On my grandfather’s a rogue and teasing sonnet from a five-year-old girl: “GrandPa, you are very fat you have a rickled nose, with love, Aimée Cartier P.S. you are nuts!!!”

 

Even from an early age, I leaned into his love of laughter and teasing, and gave it right back.  It was the tone that carried the weight of our affection for one another.  No matter what was said, it had an under current of profound love and warmth.

 

“I was out with a friend last night,” I would begin, telling him a story.

 

“What friend?” my grandfather would interrupt, in fake shock.  “When did you get one of those?”  Or “Come on Aimée, tell the truth.”

 

My grandfather and I always had a special relationship. When I was a child he would actually let me style his hair.  Collecting the combs and other hair accoutrements from my grandmother’s vanity, I would sit him down on the living room floor and climb onto the couch behind him.  Making a ponytail on the top of his head with his black wavy hair, I would pass him the mirror to let him admire himself.  Then, I would make my best attempt to convince him that he could, with this hairstyle, start the next greatest fashion trend.   He would reward me with his signature chortle and profess his grave doubt of it. 

 

Simply put, my grandfather loved to laugh.  He was notorious for his jokes—but not because they were actually funny.  It was due, instead, to the way that he would laugh at them.  Recently I discovered the joke section in Reader’s Digest.  “Gramps would have loved these,” I thought to myself reading them one day on the couch.  Suddenly I had a vision of the wooden magazine stand that always sat next to the toilet in my grandparents’ bathroom—chalk full of Reader’s Digest.  “Oh!  So this is where he got them!” I exclaimed out loud, realizing for the first time the source for his years of jokes.

 

I have a vivid memory of sitting on my grandparent’s patio one sunny summer day.  Gramps was wearing a short-sleeved, knit collar shirt with big blue and white stripes that lay across his belly. He told one of his banal jokes—the kind that barely warrants a small guffaw (see Reader’s Digest).  And then, as usual, he broke into his low and deep chuckle.  His round belly was moving up and down, shrugging in unison with his shoulders.  It was the movement that always accompanied his laughter.  He continued on, his steady chortle filling the space at the patio table.

 

“It wasn’t even that funny Gramps!” I said with a smile.

 

“Oh Roy,” piped my grandmother, “laughing at your own jokes again.” 

 

Soon, I started to laugh, responding in kind to the deep and steady chuckle emanating from my grandfather and his upper body.  Before he was finished, I had peed my pants, my mother was crying from laughter, and even my grandmother was gulping for air—none of us at the joke, but at my grandfather’s own sniggering. 

 

To him, pretty much everything in life was funny.  For him, to think of a granddaughter who, at the age of 5, writes him a note about how big his belly is was probably about the most uproarious thing imaginable.  He likely thought me a crazy little imp of a girl who played right into his love of the incongruous. 

 

It’s been seven years now since my grandfather died.  The poem that accompanied him to bed each night went with him into the ground.  But to say that my grandfather’s laughter is gone would be a mistake. 

 

I can still hear his chuckle, low and deep, laughing with me when I (accidentally of course) do totally absurd things. To this day, I still sometimes double over in laughter thinking of his anecdotes.  His infamous shoulder shrug lives in the depths of my own body.  And he still reigns in my dreams.  His message is often the same— with a sparkle in his eye and a grin on his lips, he reminds me, “Aimée, this is all just fun and games.”

 Wednesday, June 11, 2008 The Vashon-Maruy Island Beachcomber

Navigate Your Life with EVERY Skill You’ve Got!

Admit it, you’ve had intuitive urges. You have had experiences where you’ve known things before they have happened, you have dreams that provide you with potent lessons for real life situations, you’ve seen or heard spirits.

When my grandfather was dying, I lived with him during the last few weeks of his life. In addition to a rotating crew of my mother and her brothers and sisters, I provided full time love and care for my gramps whose body was being taken over by cancer.

I remember one night in particular. My grandfather had finally dozed off. At that point, to facilitate his breathing he was sleeping ½ upright, in the hospital bed that had been moved into his bedroom. I had been reading, stretched out along side of him in the king size bed he had shared with my grandmother for as long as I could remember. After several minutes of listening to the rhythmic but irregular gasping rattle of cancer-filled lungs searching for breath, I realized that he was asleep.

I rolled over, closing my book. Shutting off the lights behind me, I walked out slowly toward the living room. I was in the late night reflective mood of one who is watching death happen before her eyes. With everyone else in the house asleep I felt alone in my thoughts for the first time in a while and glad for it. Walking down the hall letting my mind roam over all that was happening I remember looking up rather surprised, into the living room when I arrived. It felt crowded.

The whole room was filled with spirits. I could almost see them—a few sitting together on the hearth, others milling around in the spaces between the furniture. The room felt full with their presence. It was jam-packed with the dead— my grandfather’s friends, his long passed family, all those gone before him waiting to welcome him home. It felt like a waiting room for the dead— just me and them. I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, watching and feeling all of them. We were all there for the same reason—to be present for the death of one of our most beloveds, what else was there to say.

Now, I’m not the only one who has ever had an experience like this. As John Holland, author of Psychic Navigator, will tell you— we are all psychic. If you are like me, or John, and you’ve been living most of your life with a feeling of “knowing,” or even if you’ve recently come to discover these parts in yourself, Psychic Navigator can help you develop this.

“We’re human beings, but we are also spiritual. If you only use half of your abilities, it’s a life half lived,” John said to me in a recent interview. Use what you’ve got. Let your intuitive urges make the most of the life you have. Learn how to develop them so that they can consistently give you good guidance. It’s your life. Psychic Navigator is for those of us who want to hone those skills, who want to explore just what our own intuition can do for us—how it can help us, and ultimately other people. If you’ve been dabbling in this your whole life, or have a reason to develop it now— it just may be time to let the navigation begin. 
By Aimée Cartier

 

Learn More About John’s Psychic Navigator Program