Spirit Has My Back

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The past few months, winter really, has really been winter for me, having lost both my parents.  That makes three of five family members lost to death.  My sister Cindy died nearly three decades ago.  I have a sister left.  It's just the two of us now.  And I have a husband, who has been a rock and kept me grounded in practicality.  Meanwhile, Spirit has had my back, helping me keep my thinking in mind and uplift myself emotionally.

During these difficult times, I have needed comfort and support, and every time I have felt hands on my shoulders, the hands of Spirit generally, perhaps the hands of an angel, maybe the hands of Cindy or Dad or Mom.  Of course, since all is Spirit, there isn't any division, or any hierarchy.  From our human point of view, however, we perceive spirit in bits and pieces, a hierarchy too, like essence and energy, fairies and elves, ghosts and departed loved ones, angels and guides, and so on.  This is useful in that it currently is helping us wake up to the idea that spirit—Spirit—is real.

I first felt Spirit at my back on my first motorcycle ride.  I was in my late 40s at the time.  My husband knew how to ride but had not ridden in many years.  Feeling life passing him by, he decided he was going to ride again.  This was a radical change and one I didn't welcome.  But for the sake of togetherness, I bought armoured gear and a constricting helmet, all of which I hated, and I grumpily forced myself onto the back of his bike.  And we took our first ride—down the lovely country road on which we lived, through spring air, a light breeze, the smell and sight of new grass and blossoms we could almost touch.  I was afraid, though, because I could also nearly touch the road racing by below us.  Then I felt an angel at my back, sensed wings spread, felt the angel's joy, and I instantly knew I was safe and it was okay to fall in love with riding.  Within a couple of years I was riding a bike of my own.

I've felt Spirit at my back since, but after my dad died Spirit also began placing hands on my shoulders, an incredibly calming and comforting and supportive experience.  Maybe this is my dad.  I’ve been sure it was Dad once or twice. But it could be Cindy, too.  I've been sure it was Cindy at my back several times over recent years when struggling with the challenges of helping aging parents.

Of course, this could also be an angel, the same angel that loves riding motorcycles. I got the impression of an angel often enough.  Ultimately, it is all the same though. If an angel came, an angel was telling me Cindy was okay, or Dad was okay, and if Cindy came she was telling Dad was okay, and Dad certainly came a few times to tell me he was okay.  One way or another, Spirit has my back.

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