Six Journeys

Trish turned on the recorder of her first audio blog in almost a month. Experts in the industry had told her that she was one of the first to talk about her subject online, and since she had never heard of any other like it, she believed it to be true. She liked being a trendsetter. Trish took a deep breath, pushed record, and continued in her lovely calm demeanor. "Thursday this week was such a beautiful day; I was at my Dad's house, packing and cleaning, and decided to take a much-needed break and sit outside to write. The sun warmed and bounced off my shoulders as the puffy clouds moved through the pale blue sky. My mood was fair, and the breeze was light as it wrestled through the wispy palms and the strands of my hair. "I sat by the patio table on a comfortable canvas chair, typing an over-dramatized dark poem. I heard a splash. Turning to the sound, I saw a ripple coming from the shallow end. I figured a small animal must have fallen in, so I got up and walked swiftly over to the water's edge to investigate what poor, desperate creature needed saving. "The wake, with no apparent object ahead of it, kept moving towards the deep end; at the furthest point, it folded under, came back up, and started heading in the opposite direction. It couldn't be the wind. I stood there in awe, with my mouth open. Nothing in that pool or the air would have moved the water that way. The ripple ended at the shallow end and flapped a few final splashes on the edge of the turquoise tile. Within a moment of stopping, the shower turned on by itself. "In that instant, a nauseating dagger pierced into my gut, for I knew my Dad was there. "With a constricted chest, I walked over to the shower and cried aloud, 'I love you, Dad! Thank you!' I stood under the running water, and as it ran down my fully clothed body, I put my head down and my hands up to my face, releasing my shock and grief in wailing sobs of laughter and loss. "I continued crying as I thought of my dad swimming lap after lap. It was a favorite of his. He never missed his daily swim, then immediately hopped in the outdoor shower. How else would he show himself? How else could he reach across the veil to let me know he was okay? My Dad not only let me know he was present, but I also got the message that he was still full of humor and mischief, and God, how I will miss him." After signing off in her usual manner, Trish turned off the recorder and took a deep, cleansing breath, followed by a loud sigh. She wondered if anyone would believe her story. In any case, she didn't feel she needed to convince anyone - except maybe herself. Trish was naturally intuitive and had an innate connection with the spiritual world. She didn't need to think about it much. She chose to trust; it was a blessing. Trish was always trying to improve herself. She dove deep into new endeavors, never afraid to move forward, make changes, and recreate herself. Trish had taken on Ontology, a philosophical study of being, and Automatic Writing, a form of prayer where God answers your questions through the written word. She was also into Emotional Freedom Tapping, or EFT, a form of self-administered body-centered therapy that stimulates acupressure points. Tapping on specific body points releases energy while verbally offering positive words and thoughts to overcome negativity and fear. It is known as an intervention for stress, depression, anxiety, and other disorders. Trish also meditated regularly. She was a natural musician, having played the piano for as long as she could remember. Trish was a creative, compassionate, sensitive type, yet had the drive and the grit of a trailblazer, and her choices and actions demonstrated her tenacity. She was a Dale Carnegie graduate and knew how to win friends and influence people. Trish was a scholar pursuing self-improvement and happiness, yet now, with her Dad's passing, she felt her life quest oppressed.