look! an apport! (wait, what’s an apport?)

AAA magic

If and when we open our eyes to the fact that the world we see around us is not all there is, magical things begin to happen. In the overall scheme of the universe, they may not actually be magical. They don’t really just begin when we open our eyes. It is more likely that we become newly aware of what’s been going on all along. But to our human eyes, accustomed only to the material world we experience with our five senses, it seems that magic is definitely afoot.

My first experience with the thing called an “apport” ~ that is something apparently  materializing out of thin air, an event which qualifies as physical mediumship ~ was in the kitchen of the house I’d shared with my husband for 20 years before he died.

Mike and I had a beautiful little house on a beach in Mexico where we planned to live out our lives together. It wasn’t a sprawling villa. Just a small cottage in a tiny fishing village on the northern coast of Yucatan. We loved it. It was our dream. But when he came home from Mexico after a year of working there, he was very ill and subsequent medical treatments gone wrong ensured that we’d never go back together and our dream was terminal.

Fast forward a year and a half to his death on September 23, 2012. By the time Mike ceased to breathe, we’d owned that house for three years. We had a car parked in the garage which was now registered to a dead man. Mexico’s bureaucracy is complex, and my minimal skill with Spanish made it even more so.

The house sold quickly, in a matter of days, the February after his death. Closing was set for May when I’d transfer our dream to a Norwegian ballet dancer who thought it might be his dream going forward. In order to empty the house, I planned to go down a month in advance and I was going to have to deal with the sticky wicket created by a car three years overdue for a renewal of papers and worse, registered to Mike. Who was dead. That created a bit of excitement among the Yucatecan bureaucrats, an excitement which eventually spread to and infected the usually blasé civil servants in Mexico City. Even those in government were puzzled as to how to proceed.

Working with an agency in Merida, Yucatan, I gathered documents to support the fact that the car belonged to me by default, that I would be shipping it out of the country ASAP, not cruising off to Mexico City or Puebla, appealing as that sounded. I paid in advance all of the fees necessary, provided every bit of documentation, asking three times if I needed the original title. Each time I was told no, that a copy would do.

Two days before my departure, the agency called to say that the original title was, in fact, necessary to extract the car. I had already searched the entire house repeatedly, plus my office at the warehouse which housed my business, and every box of papers stacked on a shelf in the garage. I gave particular attention to stashes of mail. I scrutinized the contents of an antique mail rack in the kitchen at least ten times. I took every single scrap of paper out of it and thumbed through each one. Over and over.

I was out of the house when I received the call and it shook me. There was no way to make this happen. The replacement of an original title from the state takes a minimum of two weeks. Getting the paperwork straightened out to ship the car back to the states was estimated to take three weeks. It was too much. The timing was impossible. I turned around and headed home in a state of panic, crying, wishing for Mike for the millionth time since he left me. Once in the house, I let the dogs out, tried and failed to get a deep breath, then headed through the kitchen to the hallway leading to the office.

As I passed through that door to the hall, my eyes were drawn to a paper hanging from the mail rack I’d searched ten times before. It was barely stuck in the rack and, I swear, it was sort of wafting in the breeze from the open back door. The paper had the look of an official document but it was upside down. I remember thinking, “impossible! I’ve been through this stuff too many times!” But yes indeed. I pulled that waving document from the mail rack and it was the original title to the Nissan.

Let me say again: I had been through this three-level mail rack holding no more than ten documents and our passports. It wasn’t as if it had been buried in a banker’s box full of papers. It was simply there where it had not been. It was an apport, and one which saved my sanity at the time.

I instantly started crying ~ happy tears this time ~ and thanking my husband. I knew he’d sensed my distress and made this happen. After the stone dead antique clock he set to ticking and chiming shortly after his death, this was probably the most dramatic physical evidence I’d received of his ongoing involvement in my life. To that point. Because there was more to come, as there always is when we open our hearts and minds to the fact that life goes on.

My second apport came on a trip to Morocco funded by the sale of that little Mexico house. I received pennies all along the way, one of several signs I get from Mike regularly. I mean pennies in strange places, like entirely empty airport bins which come out of security scanning with my shoes AND a shiny piece of copper that wasn’t there going in. That kind of strange place.

But the apport came in a riad in the middle of the spice market in Marrakech. Our lovely room at the Riad Azoulay was entirely enclosed and we were on the second of three floors in the small hotel. Though the courtyard was open to the sky, our room was not. After a leisurely lunch in a little cafe, my friend and I returned to our room for a nap. I decided to take a shower and suddenly, as I was drying off, *plink.* Something hit my toe. It was a tiny copper coin. Out of nowhere. In an enclosed room. An apport.

The third occurred in Florida in December of 2016. Having traveled there for a month for my friend, Brenda, to take a workshop with medium Mavis Pittilla, she and I were just floating around the state, having a ball, seeing our friends, experiencing life in the loveliest way. After the Mavis workshop, a few of us had gathered in Sumter Landing in the Villages before saying goodbye. I had my little deaf dog, Boo, with me, and people were petting her and having fun with my baby. Out of nowhere, a white feather floated down and landed practically on Boo’s back. I’m pretty convinced she’s an angel, so it was no surprise to me and that was NOT the apport. It was just a nice hellooooo from spirit.

Feathers haven’t really been one of my signs, but two days later, I had dropped Brenda somewhere and I took Boo to the dog park. I locked up the car, walked her to the park, spent an hour there, then walked back. I opened my closed-tight windows-up car to find a white feather in the middle of the seat of my Honda. THAT was an apport. Something that was not there appearing out of thin air. No other explanation.

And finally, in May of 2017, as I was leaving Tulsa to go to Phoenix for Brenda’s surgery, a set of critically important keys was lost. I was showing my Tulsa house for sale at the time and the keys were nowhere. I had a small bedside table with a single drawer and I occasionally dropped them in there, but I searched that drawer again and again. The keys were not there. They weren’t anywhere. Having an obsessive mind, I couldn’t let it go. Where were those keys? What was I going to do without them?

That thought was plaguing me as I landed at the Tulsa airport. I dropped my bags upon entering the house and immediately went to that bedside table. And *poof* there they were. What a relief. Not only did that set have important house keys on it, but a treasured gift from a friend (“LOVE”) and a very special antique key which had been proven to open every single locked old piece of furniture we encountered at one auction after another when I was in business. Auctioneers across Oklahoma and Arkansas would often stop the proceedings and ask Mike to open this cabinet or that one. It was hilarious, and that tiny key, having lived in my husband’s pocket for ten years, was something I cherished.

How do these things happen? When we understand that despite all appearances, nothing we see before us is solid, it makes seems a little more possible. We all learned this for the first time in third grade science. The solid desk from which I’m writing is in actuality a massive number of atoms in motion. Yes, it appears solid, but no, it is not.

Going further into science, and taking a look at the work of quantum physicists, it seems that not only is nothing solid, it’s possible that nothing even exists until we give it attention. Physicists have proposed that the universe, the all that is, is nothing more than a giant hologram, and it is only when we look that we brings things into being. The classic example is buying the hot pink car because you’ve never seen one, and on the way home from the dealership there are dozens. Attention. Intention. Focus. These may be what make the universe what it is.

So what are we if not solid? We are light. We are energy. We are pure, glistening, vibrating love temporarily clothed in people suits. Anything is possible from that field. Anything. And so we create, and our loved ones in spirit who are not actually separate and distinct, create for us. There is magic in this world aplenty, and one of the most magical things is to come to really truly know that there’s only one of us here. Don’t feel lonesome in that. It is everything. It is love. It is heaven, our home.

So what about you? Have you had something entirely impossible actually happen? Pennies out of thin air? Feathers where none could exist? I’d love to hear your story about it all. Sharing the magic increases it exponentially. Tell, please.

excitations of love

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What if the universe is a hologram? What if everything that now exists or ever did can be called into presence given sufficient attention? According to the physicists, attention affects our reality. We’ve all experienced this to one degree or another. Buy a hot pink car because you’ve never seen one and suddenly they’re everywhere. That’s one small example.

But was given more meaningful example of this magic two years ago when I realized I didn’t know my maternal grandmother’s last name. I googled, then fell down one of those internet rabbit holes which are the curse of the curious. And suddenly there was a great grandfather I’d never heard of.

Hello grandpa Charles! It was quite a surprise to see a photo of this man standing next to my grandfather, a young face I recognized right away. Two days later I had a reading with the wonderful spiritual artist and medium, Valerie Kwietniak. In that reading, Valerie felt the presence of a male and with further discussion, it became clear that it was my great grandfather.

Let me say again: I knew nothing of him, yet there he was, showing up in a reading. Was he called into being by my attention? It seemed very strange.

About a year later, my friend Sandy Soulsister, another gifted medium, offered to do a Zoom reading for me to see if we could make contact with some of the more than two dozen children I’d cared for who’d been killed. In particular, two teenage boys, Rico and Adrian, had never left my heart or my thoughts though they’d been gone since their violent deaths in the early ’90s.

The reading was a great success. Both of my boys came forward with evidence, messages, and so much love. And then, nearing the end of our time together, there was an excitation — a swirl of energy — and suddenly bubbles and orbs and prisms and sparkles were everywhere. Sandy said, “Lynette! Are you blowing bubbles?” Shocked, I looked more closely at the screen and I could see them too.

What looked like bubbles were orbs which zoomed across the screen and ascended en masse in a curtain. Then there were prisms of light and tiny sparkles darting out of the bookcase behind my chair. At one point, my eyes were drawn to the space just past my screen — in my real life room — where one twisting prism flashed before me and was gone.

Were these excitations of the pure love that we are? The energy in that two minute light show felt like it. Were all of those little lights conjured up by the children I had cared for after their deaths and before, then sent to express love or possibly gratitude? That astonishing reading created as many questions as any I’ve ever had, but one thing was certain: the bonds of compassion and love and caring that connected me to those dead children years ago still exist.

My friend Brenda has said, “I am Brenda for you because that’s how you recognize me. But that’s not who I am.” When called upon by her many friends, the Awareness picks up that old suit of Brenda clothes (which carries with it the story of her life), shakes it out, steps inside, and voilà! Brenda is present once again for those who know and love her. She’ll be that for as long as we need her to be.

In fact, Brenda is and always will be present in her true form. There is only One of us in this universe, in all of existence. We are all aspects of that magnificence. All of us. As teacher and evidential medium Suzanne Giesemann has recently and beautifully described it, we are the effervescent bubbles of an irrepressible love. Pure joy, an exquisite love so divine it can’t be contained, and thus it creates, and in the creation — that excitation — we come into being.

She describes us as shiny little bubbles reflecting to those around us a story: dancing, playing, experiencing one another and ourselves in all of the aspects of our humanness. We’re living right now what we think of as real life, and while it is very, very real in this instant, in the end it appears to be little more than a lucid dream shared by those of us who still breathe. My Brenda’s first words: “I just woke up! They really are people suits.”

Someone else I know (a trustworthy, highly ethical medium) who’s channeled Jesus was told by that presence, “you know me as the Nazarene so that is how I come to you. But that is not who I am now.” What? How could Jesus not be Jesus anymore???

But truly, how could any of our loved ones disappear? It’s a constant fear of grieving people. What if they won’t come to me, my dear ones? What if they’re gone forever?
Many grief stricken people have found comfort in the book, The Afterlife of Billy Fingers, in which Annie Kagan describes how she learned to connect with her bad boy brother in marathon meditation sessions. But quite a number of those same folk are driven to throw it across the room when, as the story unfolds, Billy’s presence begins fading as he reunites with Source. (Spoiler alert: he returns, rising out of the holographic ether. It’s a great book.)

I read it that way too the first time. It was as if Billy were being wiped out, erased. In reading those words, I was wrecked to think that Mike, my soulmate, the love of my life, could disappear. In fact, in being absorbed by the Universe, Billy was being revealed for what he really is: That, the One, All That Is, Awareness.
You are that. Me too. We all are.

Billy didn’t disappear. He dropped the charade that he was Billy. Yet those we love in spirit will always show up for us in the way that we know them. Eventually, when there’s no one left in this dream who remembers that particular excitation of love, maybe that energetic wrinkle of the universe is ironed out. Maybe it’s a kind of cosmic housekeeping. Imagine if all of the thought-bubble-energies of every living thing which had ever existed were still actively vibrating? It could get awfully busy and cluttered.

And yet, as evidenced by my great grandfather, and by those nearly two dozen dead children called forth by Sandy, by Brenda’s wisdom and the words of the Nazarene, and by Annie Kagan’s brother, Billy Fingers, once the thought or the request is sent out into the ether, the energy of it calls upon the One to don that old suit of clothes, that story, and make an appearance. Thus there’s Brenda. There’s Mike. The great grandfather I’d never even heard of. There are all of the stories we know in this time and place of our lives present once again.

There’s such comfort in this certainty: they will always be available when the stories of us need the stories of them to keep moving forward, to heal from grief, to feel the love again of those we’ve lost.

The universe is a hologram. It’s all there, ready and waiting for a spark of energy — a thought — to create; for some aspect of the One to shine forth. We’ll all go Home one day, dropping our costumes, waking up from the dream, and then we’ll finally see our Self as the blindingly beautiful One that we are.

You are blindingly beautiful right now. This instant. I see you. I hope you see you too.

With love, Lynette

*And here’s a little magic with this post: I’d started half a dozen pieces and nothing seemed right coming on the heels of the grand Emergence2018 conference in Salt Lake City. I have been thinking about this disappearing thing ever since seeing the movie Coco. There is such a lesson in that film but it’s always seemed a little backward: disappearing after we die is a very good thing, not the sad event depicted in Coco. Having coffee with friends Monday afternoon, I looked up to see this in the window. Question answered: write about (never) disappearing. Write that all is always well. Because it is.

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