A garden transmission
Coffee in hand, I stand in my garden and beam Reiki to every flower and plant in my presence. The doves coo continuously in the tree overhead.
I walk the inward spiral of the mini stone labyrinth my husband is in the process of making me. My heart warms at the thought of that. At each stone, I take a breath in, then out. Slow and steady.
At the center, I pause and turn to face the porch.
I observe all the plants I have tended and reclaimed — from others, from death, from seed. I am proud of the nurturing I have cultivated with and for the plant allies. As I bring them to life, they too bring me back to mine.
As I stand in silence at the center, a large dragonfly flies overhead, then circles again and again, nearly hitting me and brushing my arms. Stay present. Don't miss this, my heart whispers. I follow its flight path diligently until it lands on a shrub and settles in for eleven minutes.
At first I think it is my dog, Guinness, who passed away years prior — as I naturally assume — but then a deeper knowing arises.
Ancestors. Deceased.
It is my brother, Cole.
My whole body echoes the knowing, filling and softening with warmth.
The spirit in me honors the spirit in you.
I beam him Reiki, this time, Higher Knowing.
Why are you here? What message do you have for me?
I come bearing peace for your family. It is time to receive rest.
I was six when my brother died. The first time my world fell apart. Peace has been elusive most of my life. But in recent weeks I feel it — becoming increasingly aware of my readiness and my desire for a calm and quiet reality with my beloveds. The word contented comes to mind.
I thank him and carry on breathing through the outer spirals of the labyrinth.
The dragonfly remains.
I grab my phone to snap a picture. The clock reads 9:11.
Yes. Thank you, I tell the spirit realm.
I receive my transformation.