Angelic Pathways (20 page)

“Well, that’s the only answer I have for you, sir. When I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”

I went to every apartment search site I could find, but something on my search sidebar caught my eye one night. It was a link to a site I hadn’t thought of, and to be honest, it was a site that didn’t have the best of reputations. Still, I was compelled to take a look.

Less than a week later, I was touring my first apartment. The landlady seemed kind, but sassy as well. She showed me the small apartment, and as I looked around, I began to weep. The building was old but well kept. Still, because of its age, a lot of the fixtures were identical to those that I had grown up with in the family home, from the ceiling light globes to the ceiling fans to the marble window sills—sills that I used to fall asleep on as a child after a night of star and moon gazing. Basically, the apartment was a miniature version of the home I had grown up in.

Without hesitation, I told the landlady that I’d take it and agreed to move in within the week. Her daughter was with her, and I told them that I was a loner and kept quiet and to myself. I also told them I was looking for something permanent. I honestly didn’t have the health, strength, or wherewithal to move again any time soon.

“You’re the exact tenant we’re looking for. The previous tenant lived here for thirty years until she had to move into a nursing home. If you want to stay here that long, you’re more than welcome … just so long as you stick to the rules,” the landlady said, squeezing my arm as I dabbed at my tears.

I left knowing that within seven days, my life would begin anew. Bo had been right! He had been too accurate, actually, because four days later, I received a text from the son of my soon-to-be former landlords. It was an outrageous, irrational rant full of false accusations, but then again, I wasn’t surprised. I had, after all, lived with the family for seven years and knew them all too well. I knew the accusations were a cover for the anger over the APS visit, though he vehemently denied it. But I hadn’t talked to any of the family since that dreadful day, so the sudden explosion of indignation and contrived drama was to be expected. I simply kept my cool through it all.

“The sooner you’re gone, the better,” his text came through.

I chuckled. In three days I’d be gone. I had borrowed money so I could make a reservation with the movers, and the packing was nearly finished. It was as if a boss were telling me I was fired after I had already told him I quit.

“Give me thirty days,” I pleaded on the text message. First, I wanted leeway in case something went awry. Second, I was following Bo’s instruction: leave quickly and silently. Three days later, the movers showed up and cleared me out in less than an hour. Without a word, I gave the man of the house the key to the garage door and didn’t look back. While en route to my new home, I called the phone company to have my phone number changed immediately, thus cutting off any form of communication with the family. Before I arrived at my new place, I had my new phone number. With a sigh of relief, I declared that this chapter of my life was finally closed.

When I moved in, I had no furniture save for a lawn chair, a TV tray table for that damn laptop, and a table that my friend Britt had given me when she closed the tea shop. I didn’t even have a bed, but I did have a camping cot built for large folks that was actually comfy.

A year passed and I sat there staring at boxes I couldn’t unpack because I had no furniture in which to store my things. Frustrated, I called the law firm handling the class action suit against the pharmaceutical, and they said they still couldn’t prove my case. Though I was enraged on the inside, I calmly asked them what more proof they needed. Blessedly, it was a simple document that I had come across while packing. I knew exactly which box it was in.

I faxed it to them.

Upon receiving that one simple piece of paper, the plaintiffs approved my case. The win was bittersweet, though. This corporation had ruined my life, left me permanently disabled and penniless, and all I received for sitting in a dark room for seven years wasn’t even enough to buy a new compact car.

But it was enough to buy a desk, a new computer, and basically everything I would need to turn the apartment into a functional office. I didn’t buy a sofa, cushy chairs, end tables, or a television. I’ve no plans to ever entertain here. Normality for me is an office setting. It always has been since I first worked in one when I was thirteen.

Seven years of misery.

Seven years of solitude.

Seven years of fighting “the system.”

Seven years of enduring something that had the potential to kill me at any moment.

Yet, I’m still here.

The angels never left me. They brought me through, and now I’ve begun a whole new adventure. I’m excited. I’m motivated.

But most of all, I’m validated. Without the angels, I would not have made it through the darkest, most painful chapter of my life. Without the angels, this book would never have been written.

And on that note, I’d like to end here with one final point.

Less is more. The 2,400-square-foot family house is gone. I don’t own a car. In fact, I publicly made a vow of poverty. I no longer have the typical American disease of “gotta have,” nor do I desire to live a life beyond my means. Life is much simpler now, simpler than I ever thought it could be. Bills are paid, healthier foods are in a kitchen that I actually have access to, a kitchen that is clean and honored as I was taught it should be—as the hearth and heart of the home.

Unlike what a few clients have said to me, I’m not writing books for the money. Frankly, I’ve told people in lectures and consultations that if they want to become a writer, don’t quit their day job.

At the end of this particular hardship, I’ve learned humility, patience, compassion, and self-love. And so I’ve written this to help others understand why life challenges are presented to them and how they can navigate those challenges with the help of divine assistance, even if they’re as pigheadedly stubborn and self-pitying as I used to be.

I realize now that the journey for me is far from over. There will always be challenges, uphill battles, and rickety bridges to cross, but as I look back at my ordeal and see how the angels carried me through it all, even with my kicking and screaming, I know that they’ll carry me through all my future trials as well. The only difference is I’ll let them do so without having to deal with any dissent, disbelief, or disrespect.

The archangels are very real. Heaven is very real. The only proof I can offer you is my life story. But better than that, if you just reach out to the angels and embrace them as your cosmic brothers and sisters, you’ll have all the proof you’ll ever need. Your life will become the evidence that proves that not only do they exist, but they also serve as the guides our souls need to navigate this human experience.

Brightest blessings on your journey. I sincerely wish you well.

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appendix a

JAKE’S STORY

For years I had been curious about the passing of Jake, my spirit guide, but it seemed I was too selfishly caught up in my own personal drama to be interested in the life he had once lived not so long ago. At our initial meeting, I had asked for him to provide proof of his identity and asked for clues to his existence that only a chosen few would know. Most importantly, I asked for clues that could be validated. To my disappointment, he provided nothing more than a simple response of, “It matters not what I did in the past. What is important is what I’m doing right now.”

Well, what Jake was doing in the “now” was putting up with my constant complaining and lack of faith. But before he had to endure his current assignment of building my confidence as a medium so that other angels and guides might connect with me, he first had to deal with passing through the veil between the human world and the Realm of Spirit.

I found it odd that I had never asked Jake what it felt like to die. Not in all of the sixteen years we’d been together had the question ever crossed my mind, so it came as a huge surprise when he decided to write this chapter and relay to us all the shock and frustration he encountered when he was suddenly taken from this existence in his mid-twenties.

While at first I was stunned to learn that Jake’s transition to the other side involved some personal turbulence, I now deeply appreciate his candor. I know beyond all doubt that his personal account of his encounter with sudden death and progression to the Realm of Spirit will teach us all valuable lessons not just to recall during our final hour, but to meditate upon while we still breathe.

In Jake’s Words

The night I departed the human world seems more like a fading bad dream. I barely remember it now, and I fight to recall the details.

I was at work hammering away on a major project that night. It was late, or early, depending on how you look at it. The night didn’t seem too much out of the ordinary—a lot of waiting on my part, waiting for other people to finish their jobs so I could finish mine. I was mentally exhausted. The work day had been twelve hours too long, but it was work that was almost done. A few more days and I could go home, finally. I’d been away too long from my family and the people I loved.

The waiting was finally over and it was time for me to work. I knew what I was supposed to do, but then something went wrong—horribly wrong.

I didn’t feel anything at first except that my breath was taken from me and I couldn’t inhale fast enough. I fell to the floor; I heard voices, and everything went dark almost instantly. When I opened my eyes, I saw people scurrying about. I heard screams. I stood up and followed the chaos to see what was going on, and I saw myself lying there on the floor. Stunned, I gazed in disbelief. Trembling, I tried talking to someone next to me. I then began screaming at everyone, but no one heard me.

“Oh my God! What happened?” I heard a coworker scream.

“What the fuck just happened?” screamed another. I stood there, frozen in terror. It was then that I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whipped around to see a man robed in white. His dark hair curtained down over his shoulders, and I had to crane my head up to look into his somber eyes. He didn’t speak; he only stared at me.

“What is this? What’s going on?” I demanded of him. My emotions were a turbulent sea of anger and fear, and the man’s silence only increased my fear a hundredfold. “Oh no. C’mon, not like this! NOT LIKE THIS! NOT NOW!” I bellowed in rage.

The robed figure turned and walked away from me, past the chaos and through a door that stood in the middle of the room, a door bathed in bright blue light. Frustrated, I turned back to the chaos to watch my body being rushed out of the room. I tried to follow, but I couldn’t. Instead, I was compelled to turn toward the blue door and walk toward it.

“What, no goodbyes? No last words? Nothing?!” I stood in a room that was dimly lit with an ethereal blue light that seemed to come from nowhere. There were now four men standing before me. The tallest one, the one I had followed, spoke first.

“There’s no need, Jake. Everyone knows how much you love them.” He sat, though I didn’t see any chairs around. He just casually levitated before me.

“Who are you?” I wanted to scream at them, but what good would it have done? I realized where I was, sort of. More concisely, I realized where I wasn’t—among the living.

“I am Raphael. This is Michael and Gabriel. And this is Cassiel.”

“Angels. You gotta be shittin’ me,” I groaned as I rubbed my eyes.

“More humans say that these days,” Raphael commented to Gabriel, who shrugged and looked at me as if he were amused by my crude reaction.

“I told you, no one believes. Good thing we don’t get bent out of shape about it,” Gabriel said as he approached me. I took a few steps back, now knowing how a mouse in a lab cage feels. Gabriel circled me a few times and looked me over. It was then that I realized I was completely naked. You go back the way you came in, I guess.

“Okay, so what now? I’m not a Christian.” Why I was compelled to say that, I have no idea, but it seemed that Gabriel was only more amused by my confession.

“Funny, neither are we,” he chuckled. Gabriel stood before me, but he was not nearly as tall as Raphael or as bulky as Michael. He was lean, with the face of a cherub, and his head was crowned with blonde curls. His sapphire eyes seemed to look through me, as if he were reading my mind, reading my heart, my soul.