I have spent much of the last three weeks in the desert. I have felt a deep connection to parts of myself long forgotten and also have unbound some (but not all) of the places I’ve been tied up. Liberation continues to be my word for the new year, 3 yrs in a row. I guess I’m standing my ground on this one til I get there. I let my spirit lead me as much as i can, it wants so much to heal.

It’s feels supernatural, sometimes, this life. A kind of surreality I can’t translate into words. Im not sure how to communicate all the signs sent to me from the other side of the veil– though they are clear and distinct, words fall short in capturing an iota of these still frequent whispers from the ether.

I have had many conversations with others about this and can tell in less than 10 seconds if the person across me can relate or not– I decided a little while ago to just see if it comes up without any influence from me. It does so much more than I could ever have imagined– with strangers and with people I’ve known my entire life. Sometimes I feel like a magnet for people who want to tell their stories about visits from deceased Grandpas and aunties and sisters and pets– there are so many stories and messages of all kinds!

Tonight I sat with my friend Judy who lost her husband just last summer. The grief is still so raw. We were chatting and crying and giggling and holding space for each other and then she mentioned how Art, her beloved, visited right away in a new form and has continued to show up in this way. We understood each other without exception– this was such a comfort. She also senses that he is pulling away to set her free, a message she believes is due to her age, and that she doesn’t have the luxury of time to linger in her mourning. She feels an internal pressure to get on with her life and she also sees her husband supporting her by showing up less. There was a total clarity for Judy around this that I found so touching, the communication between them just as it always was, and her no nonsense attitude merging with her total certainty in his communication with her was all the proof needed to know this was completely real for her.

Isaacs death left more questions than answers. I have always felt this was the impetus behind the frequency of his visits– an ongoing conversation between us, similar to our connection when he was here in physical form, he was always devoted to our relationship even during the tenuous/precarious struggles we faced as he aged out of the bubble we lived in most of his life. I’ve felt that his glimmers of beauty and wonder are a way to greet me, comfort me, and offer me the closeness I crave since/because of his suicide.

I recently slept 2 nights in a bed in Sedona, Arizona that had three dreamcatchers nearby. I love dreamcatchers so I noticed them right away, but I honestly didn’t consider the possibility of having dreams because of them, I was tired. Sedona is known for having energetic vortexes where the veil between realms is thinner. I had the most clear and profound visit with Isaac the first night in that bed. His words were soul soothing and on point for where I’m at in healing– they were things I needed to hear– not fluffy– just a direct channel of love, humility & truth. I have no doubt this was a visit, not a coincidence or acute altitude illness.

I stopped caring about seeming like a weirdo awhile ago. But I know there’s a difference for those who have been visited and those who think it’s all a bit wackadoo. I get it– I used to be a cautious skeptic myself about this kinda thing . It’s all good–I’m not trying to convince anyone or convert belief systems. But I am really & truly interested in those that do speak this language. I’d like to hear or read your story/ies. I think other grievers would too. So, will you help me hear/read more of these stories? If you or anyone you know has a story of communication/visitation from ‘The Great Beyonda’, please email me THANK YOU!!!


Published by: christinaryanstoltz

I write to touch the supple center of unguarded ache~ To release myself from the pressure of not knowing how to move forward from the unfathomable loss of my beloved son, my beautiful boy Isaac, to suicide, of not knowing how to release my grip on of the past, both the worshipping of it as well as the beating myself up for it, and letting go of the need to know what I could’ve done or what on earth I will do now. I write to heal.

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