This morning I woke up with memories of the sound of drums and the smell of flowers as October Second is Gandhi’s birthday and so too my sister Margaret’s. A day that becomes more special with every passing year and this year she would have been 58.
As a part of my morning meditation, every day, I draw an angel card from a divine deck with exquisite images and in depth lessons. In my Margaret prayer this morning I asked for a special card and my hand was called most definitively to one card that was peeking out.
The angel is Israfel, sitting in a tree playing a mandoline to a man who is kneeling and looking to her for comfort. The lesson is Music. Music. Music.
Oh! My soul has been longing for something to break itself free over these last few weeks. I have become locked, blocked and enclosed while dealing with personal challenges, and my soul uncharacteristically has not been able to find the key to fly.
Thank you, Margaret, you knew. And so here I sit, eyes pouring tears and a heart that is throbbing with new life as I listen to the French boys sing from ‘The Chorus”! Oh my God, the voices of these boys! Yes, this is heaven and my heart has cracked open to let in the light.
How can one ever doubt that angels and God and loved ones on the other side are ever not watching and knowing exactly what is right and when?
And now, in this land of eternal sunshine we are about to have thunderstorms! The clouds are gathering, the boys are singing and I’m going to go outside and get drenched.