I saw them through the window over the street, as I heard a young child’s voice talking. He was about three years old. The Dad had stopped in the middle of the road to better pay attention to the child pushing a small-wheeled bike. I could not hear the exact words but I could see the lovely expression on the Dad’s face with a big shock of dark hair hanging over his forehead. The Dad was holding a scythe over his shoulders. The large handle looked like it was well polished and smoothed and made of wood, even varnished a soft brown color. 

The Dad said a word or two to the son and they went on up Sterling Street, in their colorful clothes, blue shorts, red tee and blue in the child’s shiny helmet. They looked healthy, pink cheeked, as they were joined by a five-year-old boy, who had rode his trike up Wolfe Street a little ways and rejoined them. The father watched for traffic, calmly and they waited for a car to go by. The younger son was not on his bike, now pushing uphill, with all his might, The older child had great command of his two-wheeler, flying ahead up the road.

The three year old had shorter legs, still sporting some of the fat of a younger child and I could see his thinking to himself, if he could only throw himself and the bike on the ground and take a good rest. He thought “Mom is not here to rescue me, and how could I displease my beautiful father and show myself up against my older brother.” I wanted to go down there and carry that little trike for him. Maybe carry him, me , who no longer can walk much, let alone carry him. 

It was Saturday morning and I walked out onto the deck to better see and hear and as they disappeared up the road, I though of my first road trip to India and conversations with Lauren who was leading the secular part of the tour. She told me of the “three mile pressure points” and if you pressed on these points you would have energy to go three more miles. 

As the little one went out of my sight I decided to send him a boost of energy to help him get where he was going. No harm in trying to help him and let it do its best for him as I got on with my day.

It was a great treat to see the scythe on the young father’s shoulders as he ambled up the road, gracefully holding it by draping his arms over the handle on each side of his shoulders. My father had such a scythe, and he used it to cut down tall weeds that grew in profusion around the hayshed and the barn, where they had taken root for many years on the side of the hill, not far from the house. Nettles were one of the main culprits. My mother likes to cook with them in the spring but having them growing at the front of the house was an affront to her. 

I watched my father, as he swung the scythe back and forth in a rhythmic fashion, and watched the grass fronds and the tall stems of the weeds fall before the reaper in an almost silent swish. I could be close enough to hear the grass falling and watch his body pivot and swing to accomplish the move. 

We call the Angel of Death the “Grim Reaper” but in truth the reaper is an angel, sent to the deceased to help them on their merry way out of this earth. This Angel is a helpful influence, calming the deceased, lighting his way, and giving transport out of the rings of gravity surrounding us here. What a marvelous thing to be a free flyer in the heavens, to fly out like a bird into the great blue yonder? As Wordsworth said we come in “trailing clouds of glory.” And surely we go out again to the many mansions spoken of by Jesus outside of our dimension. 

This is the Angel who opens the door and gives a glimpse of the deceased relatives to the dying person helping them join them for a huge party on the other side where the relatives are singing and dancing, waiting for the much loved and missed dying relative. They were experiencing their own pregnancy over there, knowing the time is near for the new arrival from this earth plane. 

From the Dreams

I was given a dream from a young man who was on a demolished site and saw a shard of mirror. He was told that the shard of mirror could show you your death if you wanted to look. He knew for sure he did not want to see but nonetheless took a sharp sideways glance into the mirror and there he saw a man made of clay above and behind him. Then the dream morphed into seeing two red-tailed hawks, who rose and flew together in two different ways, one above the other and then wing to wing. The hawks were all red and reminded him of the phoenix rising. 

Mirrors often feature in dreams and were a great attraction when discovered first. The only way to cut the medusa off was to see her reflection in a mirror and attack her from there. 

This dream above seems to be telling him that his body is made of clay but his soul is like the phoenix, and rises out of the mortal coil and goes out of here transmuted and a flyer. We will indeed rise from the ashes of this life and lift off. 

I started this blog before going on vacation in September and when I came back I wanted to include something about the grim reaper and how it figures in the tarot cards. I did not find much but while speed reading I remembered the dream about the shard of glass. Love from Rose. 

PS: Also I want to remind you to be praying for a peaceful election and for peace in the time after. There is no point in being anxious when you can pray about such things. Join me and others, who are doing so, at 8.00pm and 8.00am every day.

It only takes one good person and I know you are very good people.