Remembering The Dashes In Between

Some say that the opposite of death is life. I say, not so. The opposite of death is not life, it is birth. Birth and death are at different ends of the same spectrum. What's in the middle is the life that you've been given. The dashes in between. The journey.

Welcome to the dashes in between. Let me introduce myself:

First, please know that I am on the other side of grief. I am beyond the elementary experiences, and I can't go back. I can only move forward. So, my come from, my lens, my perspective, my approach can be a bit unorthodox and very direct in my quest to help others get here.

I'm not here to tell you what you want to hear, nor tell you in a way that everybody else is telling you. I am uniquely designed, so I can only tell you how it shows up for me. Nothing else. My approach and my perspective can be very unorthodox. Again, it's by design.

I am a free thinker with a deep interest in the philosophy and science of mind and consciousness as "I" understand it. Like you I awaken everyday interpreting my world in hopes of making it make sense. I adhere to the philosophy that there is an energy that is distinct (not the same) as matter, and that this energy is a creative energy that influences the physical realm in which we live. This energy has presence (it is in a place), it is malleable, and it is...ever-changing. I call it Life.

Allow me to tell you a story:

From as far back as I can remember, like many children, I believed that something was going on around me though I couldn't see it. I didn't have imaginary friends, no, but I believed that everything, every... "thing" was alive. I just knew somehow that everything was moving, - the furniture, the house, the trees, the grass, all was alive somehow through they appeared still.

Between the ages of 5-7, a lot of "other worldly" stuff was going on in and around me. It was also during those years that I had recurring dreams. In one of them, I was in a place that looked like the Amazons used to look. I was crossing a rope bridge that was over a canyon as deep as the Grand Canyon today. I was a small, brown-skinned little girl about 2-3 years old. I remember being afraid that my little legs wouldn't reach across the rope squares beneath me, and that I would fall through (which probably explains why, in this life, I've had to overcome a terrible fear of heights).

In that dream, I was a part of a community, a family. The entire family was in a procession crossing the bridge to the other side, which appeared to be a very long walk across this bridge. I also remember that my mom was a part of the family. But though I "sensed" that she was my mom; she was not my mom. At that time, she was someone else in the procession. Instead, I was the mom, yet to come, and she was the child. I didn't say it would make sense...it just was. So, imagine my surprise, when in this life, many years later, my mom said to me "you know, sometimes I feel like you're the mother and I'm the child." My mom and I had that "role-transferred" type of relationship throughout my adult life. A relationship in which I cared for her, taught her, nurtured her. Okay, I digressed. The point is that as a child I had that procession dream, repeatedly.

I have always suffered from insomnia. I was always the last person in the house to go to sleep. It was not uncommon for me to be awake after midnight into the early morning. I could hear the trains clearly at night when nothing else was moving. To this day, I love that sound. I often looked into the skies and watched the stars and the moon. That is still one of my favorite things to do when the world seems quiet and asleep.

On this particular night, I was around 6 years old. It was late, the house was quiet as usual and I had to go to the bathroom, which was located downstairs, past the kitchen. I slept in the room with my little sister. She was fast asleep in the bed across from me. The room was dark except for the window between us. There must have been a full moon that night because there was enough light from the window that I could see her sleeping with her face toward me.

It never troubled me that I was the last to go to sleep, but this night was different. I remember my little heart began racing. Something was wrong. As I fearfully and guardedly put my feet on the floor to go to the bathroom, something from beneath my bed grabbed me at the ankles, something with hands as cold as ice grabbed my little ankles and I froze with fear. My sister lay asleep peacefully in the bed across from me, but I couldn't scream. I remember thinking that I didn't want it to get her and if she didn't stir it wouldn't know she was there.

I sat there with these hands around my ankles, frozen in fear for I don't know how long, but at some point, it released me. I pulled my legs back up onto the bed, feeling the imprint of its touch still around my ankles. I didn't sleep that night at all, I don't think. Needless to say, I was in trouble the next day for wetting the bed. Of course I didn't share these experiences. How does a child so young communicate such things? There have been many such unexplained experiences in my life. Allow me to share a few more.

I recall, on a number of occasions, late at night repeating, "I don't want to come back, I don't want to come back." This went on throughout the younger years of my life. I didn't know what that meant until I was older and began to study on my own. I began to study the bible; it became my favorite curiosity. In fact, it was the bible that led me to reading books on near death experiences, reincarnation, and life after death. There have been many, many, extraordinary experiences in my life; some I've shared with others, many witnessed by others.

At about the age of 12, upon entering a neighbor's house for the first time, with only stepping into the living room, no more than two feet within the front door, I immediately knew, without a doubt, where everything, every room, the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom was located. I knew the entire layout of each room. The kitchen was the furthest from the front door where I stood, yet I knew exactly where the stove was situated, which could not be seen from where I stood, the fridge, the table, cabinets, even what was in many of the cabinets. I remember seeing it all in what I now call "my mind's eye." It was all validated when I went to each room. The bed and chest of drawers, the tub, the sink, they were all where I saw them in my mind, yet I had never been inside the home. Of course, I didn't share this "sense of knowing" with anyone aside from Mrs. Rice. How do you articulate something as unexplainable as that? But Mrs. Rice, the lady whose home I was visiting, didn't seem surprised that I clearly knew things about her home that I shouldn't have. She simply smiled a soft smile. We never spoke of it. But I suppose she also knew some strange things.

During the early years of my life through the age of 11 maybe, all of us children, four of us, were sent to church. Mount Olive Baptist Church on 6th and Farewell. We walked from 3rd to 6th street. Church fascinated me. Religion fascinated me. The hymn, Glory, Glory, Glory, Lord God almighty, fascinated me. Mathew 7:7 became my catalytic verse. It still is one of my favorites. I was awe struck with religion, God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost, the Soul and the Spirit. This all fascinated me and piqued my curiosity deeply, to the point that I've spent a great deal of my adulthood studying the bible, seeking answers and understanding.

Now, after experiencing the death of several people that I love and that loved me, my brother, my son Jason, his father, my mother, father and a number of close friends, I've found many of those answers and have gained much of my own understanding. For instance, I have come to know that death and birth are at different ends of the same spectrum and that life is really about the dashes (the experiences) in between.

I'll share more of my stories (the dashes in between) along the way. Please comment when you are inspired to. Share with others so that you can be in the conversation. More importantly, dare to be you.

Thanks for the visit.

Be kind. Be Good to Yourself. Be Well.

DISCLAIMER

Coaching is not professional counseling, therapy nor a mental health service. I do not imply, infer, or attempt to fix, heal, or cure grief. Some conditions may require a consultation and referral from/to a licensed physician or mental health professional. If you are experiencing serious suicidal thoughts that you cannot control, please call 911 or 988 for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.