posted on Oct, 25 2012 @ 12:15 PM
My youngest brother, Jeff, died suddenly in June of last year, and he and I weren't close (for a variety of reasons).
At his funeral, I read a eulogy that I'd written for him (it was positive, even if a little complicated - since he was a very complicated person).
From the moment I started it, until I finished it, all the saliva in my mouth completely evaporated. I've spent decades as a live
performer/entertainer, so it's not as if I had any nervous tension or dry-mouth that comes with that. It was definitely strange, and I worked around
the fact that I could not swallow or wet my tongue at all for the 15 minutes or so that the piece took to read.
On my drive back from my hometown, I was talking to a family friend, who had also had her own clashes with Jeff over the years, about the funeral and
the burial, and at one point I said something that he probably wouldn't have appreciated, and the passenger compartment in my vehicle immediately
filled with a dense ammonia smell that was so intense I had to pull over. Outside - this was between Cleveland and Columbus, Ohio, within miles and
miles of farm land stretched out flat in every direction - the air was fresh and clean, but it took several minutes to clear the ammonia stench from
the car. It never happened again, and to this day I have no idea what could've caused that to happen, since there's no unit within a car that either
stores or creates ammonia vapors.
Then, this spring, I was given a medium reading as a gift by a close friend of mine while we were poking around a large Metaphysics/Psychic Fair being
held at a local convention center. The woman immediately picked up on a tall slender man who looks familial in features to me, standing just behind
and to the right of me. "He really, really doesn't like you." she said. I smiled and nodded my head. It was Jeff, and yes, he doesn't like me.
Thankfully, my own eternal core is probably much more dangerous than his ever became, so he keeps his distance from me. Or maybe he's being "worked
with" by those on that side who do that sort of healing work.
My mom drove me out of the housing projects unit after I'd gotten the management to "grandfather" the place to me after she'd died there. I was
just a few months shy of high school graduation, and it was pretty jarring to have to deal with that upheaval at that moment. In retrospect, she was
being protective of her son, since I might've taken that unit as my "safety net" and it might've prevented me from moving on with my young life.
Still, she could've waited until I'd graduated before making the place unlivable.
No one changes when they die. They don't suddenly become wise and infinitely gentle versions of themselves. They just lose the body's direct
connection with this material realm. Eventually, they let this realm go, since it's very hard to maintain any substantial connection with it as a
fully developed human being.