no regrets

an unexpected mystic, finding your path, healing from grief, mystical encounters, shared death experience, spiritual gifts, spiritually transformative experiences, We Are One Being 5 Minutes

In my pre-meditation reading (30 minutes for my SAD lamp to work its magic), I’ve been slowly rereading Roland Merullo’s “Lunch with Buddha.” I’ve been reading it for this passage, which comes at the end. (ALL of the Buddha books are fantastic. If you can’t stomach books on spirituality, these are novels, beautifully written, chock full of insights and divine moments. They can be felt in the heart, the truth-o-meter we all carry within.)

Roland Merullo’s Buddha books: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, Dessert With… Read. Them. They’re divine.

I first read this in 2016, in Arizona, at Brenda Baker’s house. Following the protagonist Otto’s path, I decided to do a three day silent retreat to coincide with Suzanne Giesemann’s first class in mediumship. Brenda went to Prescott with Suzanne, not knowing (or did she?) that she would draw into her orbit there the ones who would sit with her as she left this life two years later.

I suspect she knew. A couple of times during her illness, when Raven would offer to come stay with her, she would say, “Not now. I’m saving you for later.” And without Raven and Valerie, I couldn’t have done it. Without the other members of our soul family gathering in Sedona to say goodbye in the week prior to her death, I wouldn’t have had the strength to fulfill my promise to be with her throughout. I was worn out with the last year of chemo, radiation, and bad news. Walking into what we called the “heart house” in Sedona, I felt like an exhausted new mom handing off the baby after months of sleeplessness.

But the three days of silence! First time ever. I did exactly as the book suggested: fruit and veggies only, no caffeine, last meal at noon, and nothing else. I meditated. A lot. It was hell. Not the meditation. That was an escape. But the silence and do-nothing-ness. (Also, hungry!!!) Holy smack, for one with an in-built restlessness, it was torture.

Yet just as with Merrullo’s doubting Otto, on the third day in meditation, a spiral of brilliant color, like the most vivid northern lights, and there he was. Mike. My husband, dead since 2012, suddenly present in a mind that has no capacity to visualize. He was radiant, so real, gleaming in full color and the most beautiful light. And just as with the other time I “saw” him in this way, there was a physical experience: he hugged me. It was intense and warm, so much HIM, that I reached out to hug him back. And then I raised up my blackout mask to look (just as I had done that other time, when he tapped on my chest three times, hard enough that I thought someone had crept into the house as I meditated) and he was gone.

That was it. Half a minute, maybe a minute, counting from the beginning of the swirl to the release of the hug. It was enough. Life can change in an instant and that physical encounter with my dead husband changed me. There were other things, other face-to-face meetings with another reality. It happened once in the early 90s, when I was caught up by the movement of cream in my coffee.

I still remember where I was standing, the look of the pottery mug, the tiled counter, the rich cream moving so gracefully in that darkness, and an absolute stillness for just a moment. Everything else disappeared. *I* ~ the Lynette story ~ dissolved for an instant and there was only … what. “Only” feels diminishing. What was left was Everything, but an everything I hadn’t even known was there.

I didn’t know what had happened at the time, or what to call it, but it changed me. I know now, but it still isn’t something that can be described. I hadn’t even a suspicion then that *I* was a story. I had a concept of a higher power, of something beyond this material world, but NO idea that *I AM* that. This. Whatever. Immensity expressing its creativity as me, or what I think of as me when I’m fully occupying the human realm. Maybe it can only be felt, experienced, though I will never stop trying to find analogies that make sense of it all.

And even the experiences are often just the tiniest glimpses. Forty years ago, the roof lifting off a chapel in Oklahoma City and a real connection made with Something Else I didn’t believe existed. Standing in my garden in the snow under a full moon and dissolving into that light. A hug from Jesus as I’m on my knees, raging about Mike’s illness. The Giant Voice of Something coming from outside my car on the Broken Arrow expressway, assuring me that I AM the One that has always been known, an experience that quickly moved from comfort to terror, as I thought “always? Oh no, please not the Lutheran god????”

And then a cascade of experiences after 2012, Mike’s death, seeing my father’s soul actually leave his body three months later (a firming up of his face in a way that is, again, impossible to put into words). More physical experiences of Mike in the worst of grief. A stunning life-changing healing out of nowhere, my top of my head opening wide to release a rage and misery that had afflicted me since Mike’s near death in 2011. Then finding Suzanne’s work. Having mediumship readings, studying countless books, writing, meditating, experiencing. More of the dissolving experiences. More of a sense of moving toward Something. Entirely losing the fear of death that had plagued me since kindergarten.

And now the most heavenly feeling that, at any moment, just like Clark Kent, I can duck into a phone booth for a time out, for respite. Step out of this world and into Reality, take a breather, be restored. And then back into the fray which, my misty people are constantly assuring, “is only the blink of an eye” in terms of time, and is, after all, what I created me for.

Lately I’ve been obsessing about balance. Yin-Yang symbols float through my mind. This morning, I’m sitting with a little snoring dog nearby, looking at the beautiful morning light, and feeling cold drafts from under the door. Balance: the light! The dog! And cold air. Two things I love. One I do not. It’s life, that mix, and most days it’s okay. A lot of days it’s a pure joy. And others, just beam me up, I can feel so over this.

The very first song I ever danced to with my husband was Garth Brooks’ The Dance. Again, I remember every single thing about that night, the hotel in Tulsa, the dark, warm room, friends all around, and Mike. The solid feel of him, and such love. It’s a song about balance, about joy and sorrow, and no regrets. Every single thing that has come before, every heartbreak, every loss ~ and every bit of the magic ~ has brought me here. I know there’s more. This isn’t the only world. Our loved ones aren’t really lost to us. No regrets. That’s enough for this beautiful day.

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Published by An Unexpected Mystic

I am a storyteller and a radiator of love. I hope you find comfort and healing here.

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35 thoughts on “no regrets”

  2. Lynette,

    Thank you once again for sharing some of your journey so beautifully. What a lovely soul Mike is… and such a gift he has given you with appearing and hugging you! It was so nice to meet you in person at Suzanne’s conference in Savannah. I will continue to treasure her words to me as she signed the book I had purchased… “Melissa is here, she’s in your aura”.

    I look forward to your next sharing of An Unexpected Mystic.

    Much love, Patty Sumner ________________________________

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    1. Thank you for reading, Patty. And truer words were never spoken. They are ALL right here with us. We don’t need to make a connection to them, only to our own awareness of their ever-present state of being. Trust that she is right here, forever.

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  3. Wonderful read and such love showing through your words. Snoring dogs are the best! Unless you are trying to sleep too… Brad Bernardy

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  6. Another beautiful story! Lynette, you are amazing!!! Rusty and Nellie miss you and send their sloppy Dachshund kisses as well!

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  7. Thank you Lynette for sharing your experiences, the heart breaking ones and the heart lifting. I feel such love reading your posts. It would be wonderful to have them in a book, to open at random pages. There would be answers and inspiration on each one.

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    1. Suzanne’s been working on her upcoming book launch and it is absolutely mind boggling how much effort it takes. I can’t even imagine writing one, but WOOHOO! For those who do! Aren’t we all the better for it? Thanks for reading, Carole.

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  8. Lynette
    I just love, smack in the middle of my paper-pushing day, while taking a momentary break, to see this in my box and know before I even read it, that it will lift me up….offer me priceless insights, and remind me of so many brilliant things I just need to remember! Haha
    I loved all those books too and have a list of those I want to re-visit until something new also catches my attention and in I go! But this is not a bad problem to have….so many wonderful reads!
    Anyway I thank you again for sharing your insights and experiences and reaching my soul….
    Angela

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      1. I feel it makes things so much happier and more peaceful, and less frantic–it’s like I still have chances to communicate with loved ones all the time instead of having loist all chances forever if someone passes, and so it is better for mental health for me too–

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  14. How I love reading your blog posts!!! You never know when they will pop up, but when they do, it is special!

    I like to take my time reading your posts as savoring the words allows the deeper meanings to percolate into my soul!

    Thank you Dear One!!!

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  15. Lynette, thank you so much for sharing your experiences here. Your words are touching, uplifting and a delight. With gratitude From PA: Jim

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  18. As a wannabe medium, mystic, and all things spiritual I lack stickwithitness, So I follow others and keep learning. At 87 I have had some great stories to share. Thank you, Lynette

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  19. just listened to your interview w Suzanne (May 12, 2024) and came here to check out your blog! What beautiful writing and what a beautiful story! Thank you for sharing so deeply… gives me Hope!-)

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