Transcription
Around the Cosmic Campfire by Tony Wright
Chapter 31: Who the Heck Knows?
As I near the end of my collection here in this book, I noticed something was missing. I remembered a story from about three years ago; it was not in here. What happened to it? Had I written it and lost it in the folds of my computer somewhere? Had I only thought I had written it? If I were to write it now, could I collect all the details? I pondered just skipping by it, then it kept coming back around: write me, write me. Determining finally it is very noteworthy, I decided I would bring it forth, mostly because it is special enough, with half a dozen synchronicities, and I don't want to forget them.
One of the truest things I know is that during the aging process, the details seem to vanish. As I become the next to the oldest elder in my family unit, I'm going to count on putting words on the page from now on, so I hope you enjoy meandering around my memory bank in this fun story.
I woke up one morning out here in the woods and, oddly enough, was thinking about Edgar Cayce. He was an incredible religious man, a couple of generations before me, born in my great-grandfather's era. He was known as the sleeping prophet, as he had a unique relationship with Jesus and was known to channel diagnostic information from patients who came to see him. He demonstrated he could channel, from a deep sleep state, through Jesus, the patient's diagnosis and their cure. Also, people came from all over the world.
My parents died in 1986 and '88. I helped clean out our childhood home, and one thing I found was an Edgar Cayce book that my dad had. I was sort of shocked; he had never expressed an interest in this kind of phenomenon ever to me. I claimed the book for myself and took it home with me, and I pursued it from time to time, but not excessively. Odd, but it was not until 2013 I awoke with a new interest in dear Edgar. Who knows why?
I decided to do some research, contacted this library in Virginia Beach to see if there were active groups in Nashville. They sent me to a contact who never got back with me, then to a sick old man in my area who had no information but referred me to a couple of others not in the know. It was over a year I did this process, and finally, I got an email from a woman very active in the KC world in Memphis. She told me there were a couple of meetings in Nashville. I was very happy, but when she told me where they were, I realized they were too far for me to go, as I wasn't comfortable at night on these country roads. I sort of sighed, saying to myself, if one was just a little closer, it would have been so nice.
Sometime later, she wrote again that one was starting up in the Franklin area, my town. Address: yes; yet I lived an hour and a half round trip. It was another sigh, but I let it go. Then I got an email announcement of the first meeting. I looked at the directions and was astounded that the new hostess lived up the road from me, almost within walking distance. Wow, I was amazed how it got dialed in like that. I was looking forward to going, but it turned out my sister was just arriving from Iowa, and she had no real interest in this kind of thing. Oh well.
But as luck would have it, or something, the next week they were repeating the meeting, and I was able to attend. In that same neighborhood, I traveled regularly, there had been a log cabin with an electric horse fence in the front yard, and one night the house burned, pretty much gone. I had to drive past the place to go a certain route to Franklin, and I always wondered what happened. No one was home, so that was great; no one was hurt. But as time went by, that place became a curiosity for me as a new brick house emerged. I always wanted to stop and say hello, offer one of my professional massages as a gift, a gift for their hard times, find out if all was well, but ultimately I was too shy to do it, or the time of day for knocking on strangers' doors was off.
I was mysteriously drawn to the place for some reason. On the night of the first meeting, I left my woods and had my "going to meet new people" clothes on. As a recluse, this was a pretty big deal for me. I figured since the angels brought the meeting almost into my back 40, I should not be timid, but just go. I had my printed Google address and pinpointed map. As I got closer, I realized I was at the new brick house, once burned log cabin. How could this be? A wonderful woman hostess greeted us all and was very proud of the home she built herself. Susan lived there alone with her horses nearby. She seemed to be a few years younger than myself, 60-ish. As other women started to stream in, we noted some oddities; the room was full of synchronicities between people who were strangers, and they were inexplicable. Three of us in this dozen had grown sons who people referred to as Jesus, as they resembled them in their modern-day description of Christ. How odd is that? We are not hippies in the 60s, but it went on and on between people as our circle sharing continued.
Before getting into the meat of the KC purpose for being there, a woman I did not know said I looked familiar to her. I knew for sure I didn't know her at all. Judith was from somewhere in the Midwest long ago; if I stretched out my brain now, it might have been Moline, Illinois. Then she recalled she saw me perform at the Dock, an upscale restaurant on the Mississippi River, across the river bridge from Moline in Davenport, Iowa. She remembered I had really long Judy Collins hair. Her friend group was about to leave that night and would have just missed me, creating a 15-minute window back then. She got to see me play the washboard, and sure enough, she remembered it. I must relay here that that was 40 years ago. I did not look like that 23-year-old little girl with long hair, and this new meeting point was the only Cayce meeting she came to out here also, so her chance moment to hear me sing 40 years ago and the one chance meeting in the current times was quite amazing. She also had to remember me through 40 years of changes.
But something else interesting occurred in the third Cayce meeting. When I arrived that night, Susan wanted to show me something. She produced an envelope with kitchen oil and stains on it and asked me if it was my handwriting. I squinted; I could see without my readers it was not my writing, but there is my name, email address, and phone number nonetheless. Few people had my email. She had no recollection of who gave it to her either. We have never figured this one out, but it was clear I was to come to know her and become great spiritual friends, hopefully for a long, long time. Apparently, during the time I contemplated stopping to say hello, something was trying to direct her to me as well.
How do these things occur? Who the heck knows? It's like chess pieces sometimes being slid secretly into the next move, but to me, it is so powerful and even inspiring that there is even a higher hand at work. Something is saying we should be having more fun. Wake up, wake up; life is a divine carnival at times. Enjoy it! I'm so glad I have the open eyes to see the chess moves. I'm so pleased that I have the antenna to feel these synchronicities emerging and the good sense to honor them, knowing they are beautiful as they cook up nourishing soup for the soul. For certain, I have nothing but gratitude for this life and all that the divine brings to me.