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Excerpt From "By Morning's Light"

by Ginny Brock


Have you ever had the feeling that you were not alone in an empty room? Ever seen a book fall from a bookshelf for no apparent reason, or heard somebody laugh and there was nobody there? Have you ever caught a whiff of Channel # 5 – the perfume your mother wore when she was alive? But you know there is none of this perfume in the house. Are you sure you weren’t imagining these things?

“I’m sure there was someone there!” You might say. “Yes, I’m sure that book fell off the shelf! Right at my feet … No there were no earthquakes that day!”

I believe you. But who, besides you, was there?

If you believed in, or were open to spirit connections from the other side, you would know that these are some of the ways that spirits let us know they are around. It’s how they get our attention. You would know that they are in the room with you whether you can see them or not. You might say, “I just had the feeling my mother was here – you know – it’s that certain something that makes you know you’ve just been contacted by someone from the other side.”

Once you open yourself to the knowledge that we are all spirits living and experiencing a human life on this earthly plain, you begin to understand that we are eternal spirits and as such, there is no death when someone dies. Your soul knows, because living in a human shell or not, it has never forgotten that it is essentially a spirit, and as such, it also knows it has the ability to hear and speak to the souls that have made that transition. As humans, most of us have temporarily forgotten who we really are and what we can do.

“Death” is only a transition. A shedding of the human form we’ve borrowed while living here on earth. “Death” is a return to “spirit hood” and the being that we have always been - a being with an understanding far greater than our human understanding, and one who will do everything it can to help you accept that it lives, and that it sees, hears and feels the heart ache of those left behind in the wake of its supposed “death”. That newly transitioned being knows that it is only a very short time until you are together again. Would that we were so lucky!

The Hindu pacifist, the phenomenal Mohandas Ghandi, knew this when he told us, that the longer he lived, the more he learned, the more he realized that there is no death and that sorrow is the greatest illusion.

I’ve known this since childhood when my world was peopled with other people who I was told weren’t there. But if they weren’t there, how come I saw my grandmother on the day she died five thousand miles away. When my father died I spent the afternoon of his funeral - in my room five thousand miles away, in another country - roaming through ancient vineyards in the French countryside with him at my side. A place I’ve never seen or visited. And a few years later, from the depths of coma, in a sleeping hospital, my mother came to where I was, a thousand miles away, and spent the night with me only leaving at daybreak – when she died.

So I have always been pretty sure that we don’t die. But when I lost my young son Drew at the age of 26, I had to force myself to remember this. I clung to Ghandi’s writings. I devoured the writings of Plato, the New England Transcendentalists like Walt Whitman, Benjamin Franklin and Louisa May Alcott. All of whom were convinced that there is life after death. And I repeated to myself over and over again, “We don’t die … there is no death …”

Then Drew showed me that he lives – and where he lives.

In my book “By Morning’s Light,” I’ve told the story of the year following my son’s transition. It was a year filled with the light of his presence. He came in visions at first and then in dreams. Dreams so real I could touch him, feel the warmth of his skin and the touch and feel of his hand, his arm around my shoulders. I saw the tears in his eyes the first time I saw him in spirit. He’s shown me signs that he is near me, sent me flowers on Valentine’s Day But most of all I feel his love and I know beyond any imagining that he is alive.

***

Ginny Brock was born in Johannesburg, South Africa and has lived and travelled all over the world giving her a deep appreciation of other cultures and beliefs. She became an American citizen in 1981and makes her home at Smith Mountain Lake in the foothills of Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains.

The author welcomes your thoughts on subjects related to this article and can be reached through email at: Giniabrock@aol.com or visit her blog at: http://www.ginny-brock.blogspot.com She has a website currently under construction at: http://ginnybrock-author.webs.com Visit the publisher, Llewellyn Worldwide’s Website to pre-order the book which will be in all major bookstores on June 20th. http://www.llewellyn.com/product.php?ean=9780738732947


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