Gypsy Woman & Mystery
AS I WAS WALKING BY THE STAIR / I saw a man who wasn’t there / He wasn’t there again today / Gee, how I wish he’d go away! *
I AM THREE YEARS OLD. My great aunt is the driver, and her niece, my mother, is in the front passenger seat of the old, rusty car. It’s winter in Rockford. My sister, age two, is next to me in the back seat. It seems there are acres of room between us.
The car rounds a curve. The right-rear passenger door opens. My sister falls onto the road. Her head and whole body are protected by her thick snowsuit—and there’s something unseen, calm, fearless, a palpable love that pervades the outer chaos that ensued.
I see what my young brain interprets as a “gypsy” lady who watches as she stands nearby in the grassy field. Does she await a bus? She is adorned with headscarf, a robe, rich with deep, muted hues; calmly and compassionately she observes. There is a sacred or spiritual aura about her. Does she stand there because my sister fell from the automobile?
“All is well”; the lady seems to say. There is something invisible from her that reaches out and touches me. Her peaceful, compassionate essence enters my space. I asked about her once my distraught mother and aunt had placed my sister back in the car, but neither had knowledge of the woman.
Not There, Yet There
This is my first memory of seeing or feeling the energy of someone seen yet “unseen” by others. A few years later I ask my mother about spirits. She laughs, and then lilts, “As I was walking by the stair / I saw a man who wasn’t there / He wasn’t there again today / gee how I wish he’d go away.”
She is busy, but I want to know more. There, in those seemingly nonsensical lyrics, I learn that someone else sees, knows something about the unseen. It is confirmation to me that the subtle is just as real, maybe more so, than what we can see.
I learn later about clear seeing, or clairvoyance, from a childhood friend’s mother. Later still, I discover everything is a choice to express love or not to express love. You can choose to love what you do see and what you don’t. Or not—and there’s no judgement of the latter (gratefully).
I find myself deciding to cease hiding, holding back the clear seeing. I’m discovering a new feeling of liberty. It’s freeing, expressing what’s within the reach of intuition—and a capacity for seeing, hearing, feeling, knowing what is real and true beyond form alone. It is when I am focusing on caring that I find myself channeling or expressing intuition.
The first time this unfolds intentionally is after working closely for years with a psychologist and medical intuitive. As I feel, see, perceive—and express—more insights flow. It is as if before this someone locks the gate to the knowledge trail (me). Now I love this kind of expressing, which I do by free will donation. (See **”To Schedule” below)
Intuition, the world of realizing a subtle magic behind all form, is no stranger in childhood. It often takes a back seat during the growth years. This is natural, as ego-forming adjustments to a personal identity and collective society occupy the left hemisphere of the brain.
Your intuition indicates something can succeed (as happened with a Journal I started). Perhaps you know something will occur, a call or message from someone, or you have a feeling to avoid a thing or place. When you focus on this knowing, adventures occur that you might miss relying upon intellect alone.
Intuition can reveal insights about your body-mind, beyond the limits of cognitive or diagnostic analysis alone. Intuition engages the brain, mind, and heart to cohere and reveal things beyond the physical senses. There is a heart-centered warmth when consciousness not tethered to physical bodies gives evidence of awareness of you.
Intuitive wisdom, kindness, and appreciation enchant life. Words that flow from this expansive mood can brighten personal reality for another. It’s part of creating a new world. ∆
For more, see “Intuitive Hits: Heart Insights” a series of case stories.
* From “Antagonish,” by Hughes Mearns, who was inspired by reports of a ghost roaming the stairs of a house in Antagonish, Nova Scotia, Canada. The poem was made into a song in 1939 titled, “The Little Man Who Wasn’t There,” by Harold Adamson and was recorded by the Glenn Miller Orchestra. Mother certainly heard the song many times. Here is the original poem:
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. / He wasn’t there again today, I wish, I wish he’d go away… / When I came home last night at three, / The man was waiting there for me / But when I looked around the hall, / I couldn’t see him there at all! / Go away, go away, don’t you come back anymore! / Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door… / Last night I saw upon the stair, / A little man who wasn’t there, / He wasn’t there again today / Oh, how I wish he’d go away…
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