Understanding the Soul’s Messages

angel with trumpet

The other day I was engaged in a guided meditation that involved going from one room in a house to another. Each room was filled with different colors, sensations, objects, and light. One room, in particular, felt very familiar. The woman’s voice guiding the meditation described the room as having a smoky aroma akin to wood burning in a warm fireplace. In my mind’s eye, I saw the red and orange glow of the fire and beautiful rich, oak walls and floors around me. I seemed to be in a large den full of shelves, old books, and brassy objects. There were many dark nooks and corners around the room, but they were not unpleasant. They felt mysterious and interesting, but I was unsure about walking toward them. Instead, I focused on the joy I felt. I sat down by the fire in the plush, soft leather couch draped with a beautiful crimson, knitted blanket. I was lulled into a profound state of serenity and wanted nothing more than to wrap the room around me like an enormous, fluffy robe.

In what felt like a long time later, I found myself still sitting in the chair by the fire. I seemed to have regained consciousness. Maybe I had fallen asleep. Deep, amber hues spilled in through the windows casting warm shadows against the walls. I breathed in and suddenly remembered one of the upstairs rooms in my grandparents’ house. The musty air was comforting, rather than suffocating. I sensed my grandparents’ presence. Though I could not see them, they felt to me as if they were just beyond my sight. All I needed to do was to call out to them and they would enter the room through the main door. This made me smile. Knowing they were nearby helped me to let go of any inhibitions I had about exploring this room.

I looked around the room. Resting had refreshed me and seemed to have sharpened my vision. The room was getting darker, but the fire still burned brightly. Shadows from the fire now flickered making the room dance in brilliant reds. My eyes wandered to each of the darker corners. Slightly illuminated, they began revealing their secrets. It was then that I saw it. In the far left corner of the room there was a large wooden chest. It looked like a pirate’s treasure box in which gold, silver, and other valuables would be stored. There was a beautiful hue of deep ochre emanating from it. I got out of the chair slowly and walked toward it.

Suddenly a man’s steady and gentle voice spoke to me. His voice seemed to radiate from the light around the chest. He said, “Open the box and choose one treasure. You may not know for what this object is at this time, but if you ask, its purpose will be revealed.”

Intrigued, I slowly opened the chest. The chest’s contents were obscured by the increasing brilliance of light now blinding my eyes. I reached in and pulled out an awkwardly large object. I didn’t know what it was at first. I had to turn it over in both of my hands repeatedly to make sense of it. It seemed to be an ear trumpet, though at the time I didn’t know it by name. I remembered seeing old, black-and-white photos of people in the nineteenth century who were hard-of-hearing using ear horns or trumpets to hear. The one I held was larger than the ones I had seen. Made of brass, it resembled a clarinet with a bell circumference similar to a mellophone or French horn. I placed the skinny end of the instrument into my left ear, then into my right. Nothing happened.

I closed the chest, held my ear trumpet loosely, and said “thank you.” I asked silently for its purpose to be made known to me and and slowly came back into waking consciousness.

I was now in my bedroom sitting up in my bed with my head against the wall. What was that all about?

***

I started to think about the meditation. I had been listening to a guided meditation by one of my favorite online teachers who works with the angelic realm.1 Unlike other spiritual teachers whose works I have studied or who I have “followed” online, this teacher was humble, grounded, down-to-earth, and not interested in making a quick buck.

***

Reflecting upon this experience, I realized I didn’t know what it meant. I started to analyze the treasure chest, the male’s voice, and the “gift” of the ear trumpet. I examined the information analytically, the way I scrutinize data results when reviewing academic manuscripts. I thought through the meditation, looked for evidence that aligned with what I thought the purpose of the ear trumpet was, and questioned apparent discrepancies. For example, did it matter that the den with a fireplace in which I originally found myself somehow converted, in my mind, to an upstairs room in my grandparents’ house?

I then approached the memory of the mediation from a reflective stance. Maybe the ear trumpet was a metaphor for being more open to the messages that others around me were trying to communicate. Maybe our internal “treasures” were not discernable until others pointed them out to us. Maybe the man’s voice was my ego feeding me what I wanted to hear:  the “gift” was the proverbial, “magic bullet” that would give me all the spiritual insight and knowledge I had always sought.

After these examinations, I felt dissatisfied and somewhat drained. What was the point of going into a peaceful state of meditation if I was going to examine the hell out of each detail? Goodness, how exhausting!

I spent the next few days not thinking about the ear trumpet gift or the meditation. I had many other distractions … preparing for fall semester courses, organizing a research study, helping the girls with their respective transitions to first and third grades, and watching Game of Thrones with my husband… (Yes, the latter distraction has been quite entertaining but time consuming).

Then last night, in-between wakefulness, I heard his voice again. In a tone, not unlike that of a parent who watches their child fall from running down the stairs after being told not to do so a hundred times, he said, “Use the earpiece in meditation to hear us.”

I woke up, startled. His voice had been very loud in my left ear. My left eardrum was vibrating.

I sat up and looked around the bedroom. Everything was still.

Then, the thought, “Of course!” The ear trumpet2 was not a metaphor. It was an actual tool to hear in the spirit realm! I had been given a tool to hear!

I had overthought, over-examined, over-reflected, and over-analyzed what was meant to be a simple, literal message. The ear trumpet was a response to my years of asking for a concrete, “real” tool that would help me discern, understand and interpret my soul’s messages.

I had forgotten how to trust my heart and soul’s inner wisdom. I had forgotten the language of the soul and the way in which it communicates directly through visual images, emotions, memories, smells, tastes, sounds, and touch. I had forgotten the beauty of the story within. It was not just “imagination” but a real space, a co-creation between my “physical” and higher Self.

***

Today, as I write this, I have a renewed sense of excitement as I approach meditation and prayer. Spirit has communicated to me through my soul’s language how to hear the messages of my heart.

***

I am happy to share this experience with you. I hope it provides you with restoration, remembering, and revitalization of the power you have within to explore your Soul’s language and landscape. Hold your dreams tightly and trust that you are receiving messages in every moment of sleep and peaceful relaxation.

Be open and embrace who you are!

Much love,

signature-use

 

Footnotes

1This qualifier is important for those reading this blog and who are skeptical about meditation, distrustful of spiritual teachers, or unsure of the experience I am sharing. I hope to assure you that, over the years of spiritually seeking, I am very cautious about who I trust to learn from on my spiritual path. I have not always been discerning and have been burned (not literally) many times. Though I have not spoken explicitly about this before, I have had experiences throughout my life that I cannot explain in a “logical” manner. I have had subtle and very visceral experiences with the angelic realm, but the most memorable have been from childhood. That said, I elicit guidance and protection on a daily basis from angelic guides and now I am sharing one of my experiences.

2In choosing the photograph used with the blog, “An Angel with Trumpet,” I was given the insight that the trumpet is the communication bridge between the heavenly and earthly realm. We only need to be open, listen, and heed the call.

 

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