metaphysics – Ossibell

Do you need water by chance?

My heart was full and my mind was amazed at what had just taken place. Was this for real? Is this how easy it is? It must be because it just happened. I laughed the rest of the way home, glad I had unloaded the heavy bottles. Who would have thought? Or “who would have thunk?” as my kids said.

I went to the grocery store, as usual. It was a beautiful store. Dominicks in Chicagoland. It had everything, like a Jewel, Publix, Albertsons, and the like.

I did my usual shopping, browsing the produce, taking my time, thinking about what I’m going to make. Then I picked up three gallons of water, like I did in the past when I made formula for the babies, (they were so allergic, and my production didn’t cut it). I felt nothing out of the ordinary during my entire shopping session, until I got to the car and loaded everything into the trunk. Then it hit me. I don’t need water for formula anymore. What was I thinking?

By now I was ready to go home and the thought of going to the returns was just drudgery x 100, so I just thought: “Ok, I just wasted $5 on water, so what, I’ve done worse” and headed home.

Turning into our neighborhood, (left turn lane off a busy highway) I see a car with the hood lifted up. Usually, I don’t stop because I have no clue about auto mechanics. Today, I call out the window. “Do you need water?” He replied, My radiator something or another, so I asked “would water fix it? He said YES, so I pulled over and handed him the bottles.

“I guess these are for you…”

“Can I pay you? “

“Nope”

So I laughed and felt rich and full all the way home.

Soul, Higher Self, Transcendent Being, Spirit Guide.

Whatever the name, I believe it’s the angel on your shoulder, the voice that whispers what’s right and true. You know it’s right or true because your heart feels warm and safe, maybe a little fluttery. The message is for your own good in the end, even if there are a few obstacles in the way. That’s not to imply that you must always follow or heed that guidance, you can choose not to, you’ll still eventually get there, but it will be more painful.

I always called it the “oversoul”, don’t know why, I just have. Maybe because it is above me and all around me, hovering over me. I have my own terms and labels for other things too. How does my oversoul speak to me? Usually through dreams symbolically. Usually in thoughts, like you would hear if you talked to yourself, but it’s not you talking, and of course in pictures or just an intense feeling, that becomes so strong, that you must listen.

I’m tight with my oversoul. I listen. I’ve learned to trust and heed the promptings.
I’ve seen the divine hand at work in the instances I’ve lent myself over, and been humbled by the beauty and simplicity in the order of things when I’ve seen beyond the “curtain”. And there are many times I’ve been surprised and occasionally, I’ve laughed out loud. The soul has a fabulous sense of humor. But then again, life can be such a practical joke, yes?

You might wonder how I came to be this way. Am I a “New Age” kook? No. Delusional? No. In truth, I grew up in trauma, which helped open channels of thought and feeling. I grew up in a country and culture where I was an alien, so I had to “tune in” to relate and understand. I couldn’t speak the language so I relied on body language, expressions, and primarily, what we call “gut”.
Add to that spiritual sandwich, my mother was intuitive, so I grew up in an omnipotent household, but it was not used for kindness, but rather manipulation.
She later used her “gift” professionally for money. This brings me to the close of this little piece, and my gift to you, which is: Listen to your own “oversoul”. It’s always there, it’s always true, it’s always the best for you. Don’t betray yourself. You’re bigger and more powerful than you can imagine.

I will be sharing stories, illustrations, true-life events which I’ve experienced, and some lessons I’ve learned over the years. I’ve intensely studied all religions, masters, and books, trying to find the truth and the common ground. I am at peace and have found it now I think. I’m ready to share what I’ve learned.

My following posts will be about these experiences and stories. This is an intro of sorts for you to decide if you’d like to tune in.

–Ossibellavita

Open gate

We are not heathens, just from another country, not knowing english yet. We are the town curiosity, the zoo that people visit, to see how we live, what food we eat, how we talk. Some visit regularly, especially the church ladies. They come to give us printed papers, single fold with Jesus stories and other biblical messages. I’m sure their hope is that, not only will they help us learn english, but they will gently nudge us onto the path to salvation as well. My parents were of Presbyterian and Catholic persuasion, so they needn’t have bothered. We knew what church was. We even went to a white Presbyterian one, just up the street.

Sometimes they brought many of the same story, a stack of cheap paper printed with one ink, usually blue or green. Never red. Brownish, gray paper, ugly to look at and uglier to touch. The kind of paper children learn to write on, with thick solid lines and dotted ones in between. The only time I really liked this paper, was when we tore it up and glued the pieces onto a balloon that soon became a pig. I was very proud of my pink and green pigs. They were supposed to be piggy banks to save money, the trouble was, you had to cut them into pieces to get the coins back out. Just another stupid idea in my opinion.

They usually stayed for a chat and tea. A long chat and tea usually. I think they were trying to teach my mother to read those ugly things. I would rather learn from picture and comic books, much easier and prettier.

I saw him crawling, why was he outside? I was all the way down by the river playing with stones in the water. He was moving towards the bridge, crawling towards the bridge. The gate was open! the ladies didn’t close it behind them, they must have left the front door open too. I yell at him to stop, but he’s little, he doesn’t understand me. I run to him as fast as I can, he’s already on the bridge, my heart is aching and my head is hurting. The bridge has no sides, only ropes grownups can hold onto. I crawl towards him and latch my hands onto his slippery little feet. He is wriggling to get away. I hold tighter. I can’t see his head any longer, the only things I see are his feet and my arms, we are crossways, the wrong way, dangling above the river, he on one side, me on the other. I hold onto his feet as tightly as I can, and scream…and scream…and scream…and scream…

I wake up in my bed. I must still be alive. I run into the other room, he is sleeping in his cot. Was it real? Did I just have another nightmare? But of course it happened, because she has a new story to tell about “How I almost lost BOTH my children, even though the gypsy said only one will die” and a long, drawn out, description of her valiant rescue of both her children, pulling them up from the brink of certain death, and carrying them with superhuman strength to safety.

I wonder if he remembers? I wonder if he remembers the rocks below, the water flowing underneath him.

I have a reminder of that day. I know it happened because my voice was torn from me that day. I think my screams floated down the river and the eels feasted on them, they feasted on every single one, until they were bursting full. That’s why they wriggle, even after they’re dead, they wriggle because my trapped screams are trying to leave them and come back to me.

–Ossibell