The last dead person I talked with was a year and a half ago.
You have all talked with the dead, haven’t you?
It’s quite easy. All you have to do is get yourself out of the way. You know, all your thoughts and opinions and judgments and ideas and beliefs. You put them all to the side and let the dead folks speak through your own thoughts. What others might call your “imagination”.
It’s most helpful when the dead people contact you first. (“She’s crazy!” you’re saying, aren’t you? “She’s finally cracked…everyone knows you can’t talk to dead people unless you’re a medium and have your own TV show.”) But it’s not essential that you wait until they contact you.
You just have to trust that your imagination can lead you into deeper or wider places than you’ve ever been before.
The first dead person I talked with was my grandpa. That was back in 1988, after the local Anishinabe people invited me into their ceremonies and lives. Spending time with them in sweat lodges and other gatherings lowered the veil between the visible and invisible worlds. They called me a “dreamer”.
I just thought it was a very active imagination–until the first conversation with my grandpa. He was in the hospital, dying. It was January, 1988. I was lying in bed, reading a book. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I threw the book on the floor. Began to talk with Grandpa in my mind. He answered in my thoughts. Pictures flashed across the mind’s screen. Pictures of half-forgotten objects: a red plastic coin purse, a dish with a rooster at the bottom, walking hand-in-hand with him to the bank. The pictures passed through the mind with lightening speed. I told him how much I loved him. He did the same. Our hearts were open, joined in love. I cried with the beauty of it.
The phone abruptly rang. It was my dad. “Grandpa just passed away,” he said.
He showed up a couple of times later as I walked in the woods and shared personal messages for my mother. He shared things that only Mom knew.
It was strange, yet also very ordinary and comforting.
During the next ten or fifteen years, departed loved ones appeared every once in a while. They usually brought a message to convince others that it really was them–and not Kathy’s creative imagination.
Once a former co-worker of my husband’s appeared in my mind’s eye. He had recently died of a heart attack on the East Coast and Barry wrote a column memorializing his life.
Here’s how it happened: Inner image in the mind form of his former co-worker. “Hello,” my thoughts say. My thoughts reply–in his voice, with his intonation, “Can you tell Barry I really appreciated his editorial?” (Odd–Barry would never call it an editorial. He would have called it a column.) I think, “Why don’t you tell him yourself? He’s sleeping on the couch over there. You tell HIM.” Co-worker replies, “But you’re such a good two-way radio.” (Co-worker was in Vietnam War. OK, that reference makes sense.) “How will he know it was you?” I ask. “Tell him,” he said, “That the Detroit Tigers won again.”
Of course–because it’s imagination, right?–you forget this exchange until maybe an hour or two later. When–suddenly–you shout out the front door to your unsuspecting husband, “HEY! Your former co-worker has a message for you!”
Unsuspecting husband just looks at you.
“And he says to tell you that the Tigers won again,” I say quickly, lest he think the messenger is crazy. “What does that mean?”
Turns out that every single day the co-worker came into work he would announce whether the Detroit Tigers won or lost. No kidding. How would an “imagination” know that?
My last encounter with a dearly departed occurred in June, 2009. I was traveling downstate to visit my parents. Stopped to spend the night in their former cottage in Bellaire, now owned by brother, Tim. Was in high spirits–completely energized–feeling vibrant and excited.
Lay down ready to sleep when, unexpectedly, images of my parent’s recently deceased friend, appeared larger-than-life in the active imagination of the mind.
His inner image looked so real. His smile so real. So perfectly him. And then he started talking. Using my thoughts, of course.
He talked. He talked. Oh, goodness, how he talked. He had been at the cottage before and he shared memory after old-time memory. Finally–after maybe a half hour–(and all I wanted to do was sleep)–he started talking about his funeral. About how his family always sat in a certain pew in the church.
I raised my inner eyebrows and decided this was all just crazy and would this imaginary conversation just go away? Why in the world would my mind make this stuff up? (See, after more than twenty years it still feels like imagination.)
Drove downstate the next day and told my parents, “Umm, your dead friend has a message for you.”
Mom and Dad stare. (But they stare kindly, for they have learned that quite often these sharings turn out to be “true” or strangely feasible, anyway.)
I give the message. Tell them what he said. “But, then he started talking about having a special pew just for their family in church,” I said. “Don’t know what that’s about.”
My parents gasp.
Turns out the minister talked about their family’s special pew at the funeral. Turns out their family did have a special pew.
We didn’t go to their church–we didn’t even know about their special pew.
Just wanted you to know that it’s easier to talk with the dead than one might expect. The gateway is imagination. The secret is being to be able to let go of your own agenda and thoughts (at least while the other person speaks using your thoughts.) The biggest secret of all is to overcome doubt.
Because–after all–who talks with the dead? Unless you’re a medium and have your own TV show.
P.S. don’t ask me to speak with your own dearly departed. I don’t do that anymore, unless they insistently show up and announce themselves. But YOU can talk with your own loved ones. Don’t be afraid to give it a try.