Me, GA, and SC-Part 3: Dagan and GA

It seems like I had always had that feeling that somebody was looking over my shoulder, but I believe it really took hold when I starting writing about the age of nine. I knew the concept of a diary, but all the ones I saw only gave you one small page to write on per day.

Number one--consistency was never one of my strong points.

Number two--when I did write, I wrote pages and pages.

Number three--I tore all the pages up when I was done.

So, back then I just used sheets of school paper.

For me, writing was a thinking tool: for wondering about life, pondering why people did what they did-why I did what I did, planning and figuring out what was the right thing to do, and--let's be honest--just plain venting and spewing frustration. I felt this presence over my shoulder as I lay on my belly fervently splashing my anger on the page or chewing on my pencil wondering. You know those cartoons where there's an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other--well, I had the angel conscience over my shoulder. The devil was in me. (Still is.) LOL!

At first I usually started writing because I was upset about something. Hurt, confused, frustrated, angry, puzzled, sad--I got very riled up over injustice or cruelty to people or animals. I'd write around and around something--think it upside down and sideways--until I finally came to that place where (with the nudges from and arguments with my "conscience") I could finally see it from the "proper" more loving perspective (outside myself) and thought I had come to understand the underlying core issues and motivations. (These days, I would have been wearing a WWJD bracelet, I bet--ROFL!)

Somewhere along the way I started to kind of jokingly think of and call that conscience over my shoulder my guardian angel. GA for short. I was often very annoyed with the "advice" I was hearing and would argue my case as to why the advice was wrong--or ignore it completely. (Hey--nobody wants to hear about how you are at fault, too, when you believe you have been wronged.) Well--I either had a guardian angel or was this crazy girl who had arguments with herself, right? I preferred to think I just might have a guardian angel. Over time, I learned that when I didn't listen--I should have. And it really "felt" separate.

Okay--January 1975.

Dagan was born in November of 1974. I'd had him in to this GP a couple of times already for bad colds. I told the doctor how Dagan never slept or ate much (calmly-in detail) and it was getting worse, but the doctor just thought I was exaggerating, I guess, and basically kept telling me everything was fine. Worried new mother and all that.

I felt Dagan and I were very tuned in to each other. He may have been unable to sleep, but he wasn't crying or fussy. I knew which positions seemed more uncomfortable for him. If he could only drink an ounce or less at a time and fall asleep for a short time (classic heart symptoms, I found out later) then I just fed him over and over--day and night. But he still seemed skinny to me.

I was getting all this flack from my husband and his mother about how I was just spoiling him and was a terrible mother, etc. The husband never helped me. My anger toward him, especially, had been growing and building the more exhausted I was becoming on 2 hours of sleep a night. I just did what I "knew" was right. I followed Dagan's cues and trusted those mother instincts--the mysteriously knowing things--and to hell with them.

After another evening of being insulted and scorned and laughed at my the husband...it was something like two in the morning and Dagan had finally dozed off in his infant seat (he liked being at an angle--turned out he needed to be). I laid down on the couch--flat on my back--hoping I might get a few minutes sleep. I was so angry at Dagan's dad. I was so tired that I had turned and walked into a wall that afternoon. I didn't like Dagan being around the angry energy--and I couldn't shove mine away that night. I was furious--like a mama bear defending its cub, you know? Don't you mess with my Dagan!

I was lying there staring at the white ceiling of the apartment, trying to get comfortable--when suddenly--I was gone!

My one out-of-body experience in my life and it is nearly impossible to describe because I saw nothing but light. There were no physical bodies, but I could sense entities--everywhere--in this lightness--endless entities. There was a kind of humming sound of them all communicating--but it wasn't a physical sound. If you could hear vibrations of thoughts--I think that was what it was. And right next to me was--GA!!!

Note: I still call him a he, but there were no genders there. I last knew him on earth as a he, so that's why I probably have always thought of him as male.

GA was really real!! And I wasn't the least surprised. (At the time.) Communication was telepathic. I instantly understood how I could just "know" the occasional things that he sent to me (managed to get through to my ego-controlled brain). And how difficult it must be for them to try to communicate with our human languages!

Anyways, we had no physical bodies. Were just energy. He wanted to take me someplace. It was kind of like being taken by the hand, but..no hands--hehe! We passed rapidly through layers and layers of entities/souls. And he brought me to--wait for it--my husband.

My sleeping husband's soul. And I realized that everything about a soul was right there--no place to hide. On earth we can hide away, you know? It was as if all of you was right there in what would be a face, to me--because the eyes are the windows to the soul. Everything--the bad things, the good, all the reasons why for every particle of energy composing you. And I knew what GA wanted me to do--to learn.

It was almost like merging energies--when you read someone's soul. I merged with his soul--briefly. In an instant I knew everything about him--all his whys. I felt no anger toward him whatsoever. Then--poof!--it was time to go back. GA sped us through the layers of souls--but I didn't want to leave! It was glorious! It was safe! (I just realized--there was forgiveness there!)

Next thing I kind of thunked-slid into my body on the couch. It seemed like I had been thrust in through my head. For a moment I couldn't see--even though my eyes were wide open--and I couldn't hear--even though the 55 gallon was pumping away a few feet from me. Then, like when your ears pop, my body popped in place or something.

At first I was really sad to be back--peering through these eye holes. I wondered why I didn't see myself lying on the couch like people describe? And I started giggling! GA knows me too well. If I had seen or felt myself leaving--I would have freaked out and slapped right back into my body, I tell you! He snatched me out so fast and tossed me back so hard and quick that it's a wonder I didn't suffer spiritual whiplash! Of course, I might not have returned otherwise! ;)

Not true, really. If he had reminded me of Dagan, I would have been back in a flash.

And I couldn't remember all that information about my husband. I just knew I wasn't angry with him anymore. (Then--ROFL!)

Note: Looking back...GA knew I needed to get my sh*t together. I needed to be spiritually grounded and in the right place--not waste any energy on negative emotions. I needed to be open to receive information. Dagan needed us.

Shortly after my OOB experience Dagan went downhill fast. Paler, weaker, projectile vomiting, crying, barely sleeping. I trusted my "knowing" things. I was ready to do battle. Brought Dagan in to that dense GP and demanded he find out what was wrong with my baby. I can't comfort him--I can't fix this--it is something that will kill him and we need to find out what it is. (Crazy woman loose in the office--hehe!) I demanded they weigh him--He's too skinny. Dagan hadn't gained any weight for six weeks and he wasn't even three months old! So--to "humor" me, he put him in the hospital for "failure to thrive".

In those days, anyone admitted to the hospital got a chest xray. Thank goodness. (Long story short--as if I am much good at that--Dagan's heart was three times the size--crushing his lungs and organs.) When the GP showed up the next day he couldn't look me in the eye, told me that Dagan "might have a heart problem", then avoided me, and had a nurse give me the xrays and instructions as to where to bring Dagan. I was told I had to see a pediatric cardiologist from Children's Hospital. Was under the impression it was a clinic visit. They said, just go in through the emergency door and they'll direct you where to go.

I waited for my mom to come and pick us up. (I didn't learn to drive till I was 30.) We went to the emergency door and they snatched Dagan out of my arms and ran down the hallway with him. At Children's they had expected him to arrive by ambulance.

Because of the OOB experience--I was centered, grounded, and focused on Dagan. I never stopped to wonder about where the information would come from that would pop into my head.

Example: First thing after they got Dagan's heart rate as regular as they could with meds--they needed to perform a heart cath on Dagan to see exactly what his heart defects were. The pediatric cardiologist, Dr. Katkov, said it was a safe procedure and had become almost like having your tonsils out.

But--I was sitting in the waiting room during the cath with friends and family when I knew his heart needed a steady beat and he was in trouble. I just focused on sending him a steady beat. I softly pounded my fist on my leg and rocked in my chair a little--zoned out, as somebody described--pound--pound--pound. I remember Dagan's dad asking me what I was doing (I think he was a bit embarrassed). He needs a steady beat. (Crazy woman in the waiting room--hehe!)

But then a scrub nurse came out and said they were having trouble--had to stop the surgery--Dagan had gone into arrhythmia. They were going to have to get that straightened out before they could try again. (They did try again--went in under his arm--set his heart off even worse.)

In the waiting room--I knew it didn't work. I knew he was bad again. Got up and walked out into the hallway to the right set of doors to wait for him. (They had not told us anything and I had no way of knowing which doors or when.) Shortly they wheeled him out. Katkov was shocked to see me standing there. He told me they had to cancel the surgery. "I know." We have to get him back to Neo-Natal right now to work on getting his heart beat regulated. "I know"--nodding.

The cath lab is actually at Abbott Hospital. There's an underground tunnel between Abbott and Mpls Children's. The crew of people raced Dagan through the tunnel. I followed. I know everybody else did, too--but I was on auto pilot.

When we arrived there was a team of people working over Dagan on his warming table. Friends and family went to the hallway to wait--where they hadn't drawn any curtains in the adjoining room so they could see right through into critical care and watch the team. Me--I silently went and scrubbed up. I walked in around the edge of the team, went into that adjoining room, found a rocking chair, pulled it up near the door to critical care, sat down with my back to the team frantically working over little Dagan a few feet away, and rocked.

First I was too fast--because all I could think was--don't take my baby! don't take my baby! Racing through the tunnel had thrown me off.

But then it was like I got a soul shake. My rocking slowed. You're right. You're right.

Dagan was not "mine". Shame on me! Whether he lived or not was between him and God. None of my business. I was so grateful to have known him for the weeks that he had been with me. Dagan was such a precious gift. We had spent day and night together--just enjoying each other's company--for the short time he had been here. If it was time for him to leave, I handed him over--gladly and with love in my heart. And I would hug and thank every person who had worked to save him. But, if Dagan could stay--if I could help in any way....

I slowly and steadily rocked--and rocked. I don't know how long. I was in a zone--never noticed my family and friends before me in the hallway. I just remember I could feel when Dagan and I were in sync. I knew he was okay. I felt like God had given him back. At least for now. Then I could hear the people tending to Dagan. Confirmed.

A little while later Dr. Katkov was heading toward the hallway to tell the Dagan-group what was what--and as he entered the adjacent room he was startled to see me sitting there rocking. I stood up. He said--we got him stabilized. I know. (Is it any wonder Katkov always thought I was strange--hehe!) I had secret assistance. :)

Dagan was not expected to live.

http://soulcomfortsstories.blogspot.com/2009/08/soft-breaths.html

I've handed him over many times. Many times God's handed him back for a while longer. ;)

Dagan, GA, and I were very tightly connected on this level for the next dozen years. Then less closely--and eventually, when he was grown--that unspoken health knowledge tie was severed. Dagan was supposed to learn to trust his own angels and guides. And he does. :):)

GA loves Dagan very much, also.

http://soulcomfortsstories.blogspot.com/2009/08/ga-hypnosis-past-life.html

Dagan's amazing wife, Leah, is the one with him now for surgeries and such. If I was ever needed--well, GA knows I am here. I trust he'd let me know.

Life is a gift. We are all on borrowed time. :):)