True Sight

True Sight

A glimpse,

Quick, fleeting, but clear


Out of the corner of my eye.

Not a memory,

A sight brand new,

Never seen before,

To be etched forever in my mind.

Gone when I look directly,

But a moment of joy,

That will last forever,

For I have seen with my true sight.


Saved by Angels

One of the reasons why I enjoy living by the ocean is the bountiful supply of fresh seafood, and it doesn’t get any fresher than when you catch it yourself. Every year in May, my son-in-law takes the family out on his fishing boat to go shrimping in a tributary of the Puget Sound. This is a special once-a-year weekend for us. On Friday evening we travel to the beach house on Hood Canal, get up before sunrise, make coffee and special breakfast sandwiches to take along, and head out on the boat before seven o’clock. It’s cold and wet, but we anticipate a great day just because we enjoy being together. After a day on the water of pulling heavy shrimp pots, we usually come back from our trip wet, dirty, tired, and very happy.

A few years ago there were six of us on the boat. This was the maximum that my son-in-law’s small boat could carry. By noon we had each caught our limit of shrimp, and we were heading back the twenty miles to the beach house. The boat was riding low in the water with the load of the six of us, our catch, and all the gear. We rearranged the gear and ourselves to try to distribute the weight so the engine could rev enough to get the boat up on top of the water.

We struggled like this for several miles. My son in law was worried that the motor didn’t seem to have enough power. Because we were plowing through the water, the waves were coming up over the bow and sides and the bottom of the boat was filling up. The bilge pump was working to drain the boat, but we were taking on water faster than it could pump. Even if the boat didn’t sink from filling with water we were in trouble because it takes a lot more gas to push a boat through the water rather than glide on top. We wouldn’t have enough gas to make it back if the engine couldn’t get us up on the water.

I could see that my son-in-law was nervous. He kept looking toward land on either side of us. I knew he was debating whether he should drop us off on the deserted shore, go back to the marina himself, and then come back for us with his truck, or just hope we all make it. Finding a place to leave us where there is access to a road was a problem. The land is densely forested. We continued to slowly plow our way home.

I could see that my daughter was worried too. She had been on enough fishing trips to know we were in a tough spot. Normally I would have become nervous and tried to help or make suggestions, but I felt a sense of peace. I don’t know if it’s because I trusted my son-in-law’s ability to get us through this or because I felt that we were being watched over.

We were all soaking wet and cold. My son-in-law’s waders had filled with water up to his thighs from the waves splashing up over the sides of the boat and over his head. I pulled the hood of my slicker up around my face, and hunched over to keep warm, letting the water flow down my back. I closed my eyes.

Without intending I felt myself drift into my meditative sacred space. My guide Michael walked toward me with his arms outstretched. I silently asked him to help us. In addition I asked other angels and archangels to help, calling them by name. Then I realized my perspective had changed. My consciousness was no longer in the boat. I was seeing the boat with everyone on it including myself from a distance of about six feet above and to the side of the boat. I was hovering over the water observing what was happening.

As if in slow motion I saw four iridescent-colored beings rise from out of the water, two on each side of the boat. They were a mix of yellow, pink, violet, and green shimmering light. Together they stretched out their arms and lifted the boat. With their arms spread and the water pouring from their hair and arms, they appeared to be angels. The brilliant pastel light emanating from them was almost blinding. They held the boat up at the level where it should have been.

Then suddenly I was no longer watching from a distance. My awareness had dropped back into my body in the boat, and I was hearing the sound of the engine. It was louder and higher pitched, the way it was supposed to sound. I said “Thank you, thank you, thank you” to my guide. Once again he had come to my rescue.

I opened my eyes to look at my son in law. He and my daughter were both looking at me. I don’t know if I said something aloud or they were just checking to be sure I noticed the change in the engine. My son in law said, “Did you hear that? The engine caught. It’s working okay now. We’ve got a plane. I think we might make it back to the house if we have enough gas.”

It was much later when I told my daughter about what happened and who it was that rescued us. First I needed time to digest what I had witnessed from the observation point of my consciousness. I came to realize that we receive divine intervention all the time, but normally we don’t see it. I had been gifted the sight of this everyday miracle to strengthen my belief in the spirit world, and to further teach me that all I have to do is ask for help. My daughter’s calm response when I told her was: “Well, I guess that means we were really in trouble and needed help.”


An Angel on the Path

   It was a sunny day in the Pacific Northwest in late August, just one month after John’s passing. This is the time of year when people spend as much time as possible outdoors soaking up the sun because soon the temperatures drop and the rains return.


My best friend Jay and I decided to go for a walk on a hiking trail through a beautiful wetland. We had been good friends for several years. Jay was passionate about politics and he was still angry about the lives that were lost and the cruelty of the Vietnam War. Many people who were in their late teens and early twenties during that period of history still carry the bitterness of that senseless loss of life. He had every right to be angry and grief stricken, but it had been more than thirty years, and his anger spilled over into his opinion about all governmental agencies and all authority. The bitterness was damaging his health and relationships.


While he was parking the car at the trailhead and we were getting ready to enter the path into the wetland, Jay was telling me about a news story he had heard that morning. He had watched a report showing President Bush addressing war veterans and comparing the war in Vietnam to our troops going to Iraq.  Jay, a staunch Democrat, was once again livid with the President.


I was trying to be sympathetic, but also trying to explain that his anger was not healthy for him. I tried to explain to him that he might be angry at President Bush, but the president was not losing any sleep over Jay’s feelings. Jay was the only one losing sleep. He was only hurting himself. He had heard that argument from me many times before and said, “I know, but that guy doesn’t know what he’s doing.  He makes me furious.” As we started out on the trail, I could see that he was still fuming. I decided to say no more about it, fearing that I would damage our friendship.


Even though it was a beautiful day, there hadn’t been any other cars in the parking area and we didn’t see anyone on the trail. We had this beautiful wooded wetland to ourselves. We were soaking up the sunshine and listening to the wind in the trees and the sounds of birds and frogs. We joked with each other and snacked on blackberries growing alongside the trail. We walked for a couple hours enjoying Mother Nature’s handiwork.


On the loop that would return us to the parking area there was an open spot where the blackberry bushes were exposed to more sunlight. The bushes grew tall and most of the berries on the lower branches had been picked. I saw some really plump berries near the top of the bush. Being only five-foot-two, I couldn’t reach them. Jay leaned into the bush, trying to avoid the prickly branches, when there was a voice from behind us. We both turned and were surprised to see a young good looking man standing on the trail watching us, with a twinkle in his eye. He laughingly warned Jay to be careful.


Jay and I had not seen anyone ahead of us or behind us on this trail when we stopped to pick the berries, and we had not been standing there more than a minute. Where did this beautiful young man with caramel coloring come from? He was not dressed like a hiker. He wore clean tan Docker-style pants with a white polo shirt and white tennis shoes. He looked like he had stepped right out of a men’s casual clothing ad.


He joked with us about me wanting the berry that was nearly impossible to reach and Jay’s willingness to get hurt if he fell into the bush. Jay joked that the “bush” would be a source of pain for him just like our President. He loved to play with words, and that one was just too good to pass up.


The young man joined us as we continued our walk along the trail heading back toward the car. He introduced himself as a political science major in his junior year at the University of Washington. Jay and our new friend began talking politics. Just before reaching the parking area, I heard the young man say, “Things will be changing soon. But whatever happens in the White House shouldn’t take over your life. You have a right to be happy. Your anger at the political situation is preventing you from being happy.”


I was flabbergasted. First of all, where did this man come from? I hadn’t seen any other hikers on the trail, and he was saying exactly what I had been saying to Jay in the parking lot. I watched Jay take in what this man was saying. Jay nodded and said, “I think you’re probably right. I’ve been told that before.”


We thanked him for his company and wished him well. We turned to walk toward our car, which was still the only one in the parking area. I turned back to see if the young man was going back to the trail or walking toward the road. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I asked Jay if he could see him, but he couldn’t see him either, not in the parking area and not going back up the trail. Coincidence, synchronicity, or what? Some people would call it all a coincidence. It could be that this charming young man, who happened to be a political science major at the same university Jay graduated from, was hiking on the same trail just behind us, even though we didn’t hear or see anyone else. He could have heard Jay’s anger and felt compelled to address it.


I don’t believe it was a coincidence. It was more than that, a synchronicity. I choose to think of this young well-spoken man as a gift that arrived exactly when he was needed. There is an old saying, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” Even though many of Jay’s family and friends had talked to him about the anger, he hadn’t been ready to hear it. Jay was ready to hear the teaching of this young man. After that walk on that late-summer day, Jay began to see his anger as a destructive force in his life. He began to work on dealing with the anger surrounding politics and not let it get the best of him. He also began to believe that there are things in this world that can’t be easily explained. I am grateful to this young teacher who “happened” to appear when he did.