Adele, that is a great story! I am glad you have found true comfort in trusting your vision. They visit us in our dreams too. Thanks for sharing your story, I hope Max takes it to heart. :)

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So whats the point?

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Continued from what happened next is so clear:

I sat in his old rocker, feeling overpowering sadness at how his death had occurred, and I began to week and talk silently to him, saying how sorry I was that I had not stayed by his side.
I was in extreme anguish and somehow needed him to know these things. I went on like this for several hours, finally emotionally drained, needing to just rest and let it all go.

At the instant I let it go, to rest, within the darkness of my closed eyes, a tiny bright light appeared, and seemed to draw me nearer until finally, I could my father, standing in this circle of very bright light, smiling at me, and waving.......I had never seen him so happy. He had the happiness of a carefree child.

Then, and today, I still talk to my father, and know with certainty, that on some level, he is conscience of my thoughts and particularly my feelings. That is the power of love.

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To continue where I left off, about my father's death.

What .....What was wrong with all of this, is that he died alone, at the hospital. It was my younger sister's birthday. We had decided to put off the lighting of the candles and eating of the cake, until he came home. The birthday cake sat in the center of the dining room table, with 16 candles. When the hospital called us that morning, my sister's and I fully believed it might be because they were going to let him come home that day. Rather, we were told to rush to the hospital right away because he was much worse.

When we entered his room, he lay lifeless, gray and cold. I lay my hand on his arm, hoping he knew we were there. I didn't want to leave, wanted to stay and talk to his spirit, but the nurses finally led us out of the room, gently.

Back at home it was shocking to hear my mother tell us that the doctor had told her he would not live, but that she had not wanted to believe it.

I sat alone in his old rocker, numb except for a feeling very sad that he hadn't known, hadn't been able to prepare, or say goodbye; have us with him when the time came. I began to weep and talk to my father in the silence of my own mind, saying how sorry I was that we weren't there with him and how badly I felt about not knowing he was so gravely ill. I continued on like this for several hours, until I was so emotionally drained, that I had to just close my eyes, and let it all go.

What happened next is so clear

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When I was a child, my father asked me what I would like to be in my next life. I told him I would like to come back as a giraffe, because I thought it must be great to be so tall and be able to reach everything up high. He chuckled. That was the extent of our conversation on that subject. My father introduced seeds of thought that way.

He suffered an aortic aneurysm when I was 19, and lived for 2 days at the hospital. When I visited him each day, he was troubled by what was happening; the blueness that was spreading across his chest and abdomen and down his arms. I too was very troubled by this. The doctor had told him he had suffered an aneurysm, and then made himself very absent, after telling my father that the bruising would fade after he had gone home. The nurses just behaved as though they were clueless.

I later found out, that his doctor had decided not to tell him his aorta had dissected, in other words split, and that it was there was no way to repair it surgically, and that he was going to bleed to death internally. I am sorry to be so graphic, but it serves to set the scene for what happened.

I know now, that my father was trying to make sense of things. He must have felt himself slipping away, and yet his doctor was telling him, he would be home soon. Only our mother had been told truth. And so, I suppose, our father may have been spared heart-wrenching news, that no doubt would have hastened his death in a very stressful manner.

What

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FOR MAX: Manifesting a prayer, a wish, a desire, or whatever you wish to call it, is similar to shooting an arrow. If you can, imagine your desire as an arrow. Formulate your desire in your heart and mind, and express it to God, or if you are an atheist, to the universe. Do so with emotion from the gut, from deep within your being. This is similar to drawing back the arrow in the bow. The power of your will is fully focused. Then completely release your desire, to go flying into the electronic field of universal concsiousness. Just let it go. It will find it's mark, on it's own, like a guided missile. Don't keep wanting. That is like never releasing the arrow. Your answer may come in unexpected ways, but the universe will respond to a heartfelt desire. This may sound like nonsense, until you have experienced it. It is my sincere wish that you do.

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I feel very compelled to add a comment to this conversation. I've walked with epilepsy for almost nine years. It's been the most transformative experience of my life. I began this journey at age 34. I spent my life training as a dancer so the prospect of facing a chronic condition wherein I lost conscious control of my body overwhelmed me. Who was I now? How would I go on? Wasn't the person I knew as myself now dead? These were just a few of the questions I struggled to answer as I sat mortified inside doctors' offices receiving the same advice over and over again, take a depressant for the rest of your life. Once I left the conventional halls of western medicine and began my own research and study, I discovered a profoundly beautiful and insightful perspective on seizures. Epilepsy was seen as a window into death or death itself by many cultures. When I began to approach my seizure experience as a death experience, a very different life on earth presented itself. Very quickly it became clear to me that death is quite insubstantial. In a seizure, one minute I'm here and the next I'm not. In death what is "I" just simply blows away. It's a quiet passing and a quiet place; we're the ones who make it so noisy. Like the soul resurrecting, in a seizure, what constitutes "me" simply resurfaces. The seizure, like death, often means more to its witnesses than its hosts. Strangely, as I became more open to the seizure, I seized much less often.

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Well yes, I always thought that death is our next great adventure

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Once again, a compelling article with new questions and ideas to focus my meditations. Thank you.

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Hello Dragonfly,
Believe me, I would LOVE to believe, but you and everyone else is asking me to believe there are fairies at the bottom of the garden based only on other people's stories of them. I do not think it unreasonable to ask for proof - a photograph, a tattered gossamer wing, a corpse. I'd ask the same proof of the Loch Ness Monster, UFOs, or Polar Bears. Now, to have proof of my late wife's continuing existence, I don't need much - a message from a medium that includes something known only to us, even a vivid dream in which she talks to me. Is that too much to ask? My mother is the same. She died the same year, I'm an only child very much wanting to be in contact, but there is NOTHING. What am I supposed to do? Believe? Believe in fairies because there are books of fairy tales? Believe in life after death because other people have seen ghosts? How can I possibly judge whether these other people were wishfully deluded, suffering hallucinations, were hoaxers, or telling the truth? There is NO WAY. There is no proof. I want it, really I do, but I want something on which to rest my hopes, not a pleasant fable to dull me to the pain of loss.
I have looked for proof, I have read widely, believe me, but while many ideas are 'nice' or 'comforting', none are particularly convincing.
I appreciate your concern though.

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