How Spirits Communicate Through Music
I stood in my childhood friend's living room, confounded by the dead vines covering her piano. The room so familiar from days long ago was dimmed by a morose gray air. The lyrics played over and over in my head: "Ain't it Funny How Time Slips Away?" Through the kitchen doorway, I saw my friend's mother standing over the sink, deeply sobbing. Unsure what to do, I sat on the floor before the piano as tears welled up in my eyes. I awakened with my face soaked, knowing this was not a dream: It was definitely a vision.
At that time, I never got up before 10:30 a.m. because I worked late. It was only 9:15, and I couldn't rest because of the lingering premonition that had awakened me. My friend's mother was most certainly in crisis, and I had to call her.
I had known for a few months that my friend was dying from a fast-growing brain tumor. This meant that if I called, I might learn she had passed. After mentally preparing myself for the worst, I put in the call.
A weak, shaking voice answered. My friend's mother was crying and too upset to be surprised by my call. Living several states apart, we hadn't seen each other since Thanksgiving, and spring was approaching. I told her I was calling to check on her. She knew I could tell she was upset and confessed to feeling guilty because she had noticed her daughter wasn't looking well for a full month before she finally went to the doctor. She was berating herself, presuming that if she had urged her daughter to go in earlier, the outcome would have been different.
She reminisced about how her daughter and I had struggled in similar ways, with many odds against us, and she understood how we valued our independence. For this reason, she had refrained from urging her daughter to see a doctor.
I reminded her that this cancer was a fast-growing variety and that it was highly unlikely anything more could have been done a few weeks earlier. I implored her to stop blaming herself, as it was draining her and she needed to be strong for her daughter. My words didn't seem to offer the comfort she needed to get through her crisis. Sensing that it would require something more profound, I told her the real reason I had called.
I described the piano, the song, and the vision of her sobbing. I assured her that someone on the other side was concerned about her and knew that I was the one she needed to hear from.
Who better to talk to than someone very much like her daughter, who could communicate what her daughter would want to say but couldn't? She stopped crying as she found a morsel of peace thinking about her daughter's interest in angels. "She and her angels—she has always believed in them. You two have so much in common."
I never knew about her angels. She was the quietest, most unobtrusive, gentle soul you could ever meet. She didn't communicate much, but when she did, it was never about deep topics. Learning that she believed in angels was a bit of a surprise.
By the time our conversation ended, this courageous mother's voice had become strong and steady. I knew she would be alright despite her impending loss.
One night, a few weeks later, I was reading in my study when I sensed a presence in the corner of the room. My inner alert system activated and I scanned the specter. I could tell that this entity only wanted to stop in briefly and quietly observe without intruding. It patiently lingered in the corner, just watching. I continued reading but kept my inner sensor focused on it, just in case.
Then it hit me. This demeanor matched exactly that of my childhood friend. It had to be her. She must have passed. I greeted her and wished her well.
The next morning, I received a call from her mother informing me that she had passed away that night. The last time I saw my friend in life, she expressed her wish to make one more visit to my town, though we both knew she wouldn't live to do so. Alike in many ways, we were both proven wrong on that count. She did indeed get to make that visit in spirit.
I wonder if she decided to stop by of her own accord or if her "angels" directed her to drop in. Either way, it was the second time someone I knew well had passed and then visited me as a spirit. I normally avoid communicating with "ghosts." I aim to connect only with the Highest of the High, but it is reassuring to be blessed with a visit by those who are on their way.
Ways Spirits May Communicate through Music
Since that time, I have experienced several spirit communications in the form of songs. The lyrics that stand out typically convey the message, but occasionally an entire song can relate something profound. In the case of this grieving mother, she was distraught over time she felt had gotten away from her. The combination of lyrics about "how time slips away" with the vision of her deep sobbing conveyed the intended message to me. Pianos have long symbolized emotional states for me, and seeing my friend’s piano covered in dead vines near her mother indicated the source of the sadness I was meant to perceive.
Recently, I've been planning to move several states away due to growing concerns about climate change and political unrest. Although I don't want to move, I recognize the necessity. I find myself worrying that my family and I might be unhappy in our new, unfamiliar destination.
Many mornings, I wake up with a song in my head called "Roses" by Trombone Shorty. It talks about roses and blue skies being everywhere, and how there are “only so many years to see what is standing right in front of me.” The song serves as a reminder that I must create my own happiness wherever I am and not waste time figuring that out.
Musical messages from the beyond don't necessarily come in dreams. When my grandmother passed, I didn't make arrangements to fly out for her funeral because I felt unimportant to her. I wasn't one of her favorites, and I believed my presence never mattered to her in life, so it shouldn't matter afterward either.
A few days after her funeral, I was browsing a memento store, glancing over chintzy knick-knacks—the kind of tacky things she used to decorate her home with—when a familiar song played over the store's audio system. She had been a Christian of the Methodist variety and was fond of the song "On the Wings of a Dove." Some of the lyrics say, "He sends His pure, sweet love. A sign from above, on the wings of a dove." A wave of emotion slammed through me as if it came from something outside myself. I immediately thought of her and felt her presence. I wondered if she was trying to tell me that she actually did love me after all. It was the first time I had felt any emotion related to her passing.
One could argue that it was a coincidence that the song played right when I was browsing the knick-knacks, and it happened to be one of her favorites. One could even presume that I had been ignoring or bottling up my emotions, and this simply triggered what would have inevitably flowed forth at some point. All I can say is that, at that moment, I knew she was there, and her message was delivered in a song.
If one subscribes to the notion that the entire universe is a singular Unified Intelligence, then one is not troubled by the idea that messages can be sent through nocturnal ear worms or even spiritually arranged events. For the materialist, however, there are no spirits to communicate through music, and nothing is connected to anything else transcendentally. What a lonely life it must be to hear no magic in music.
For more spiritual insights from Destiny Pasteur, check out Forbidden Disclosure: A Clairvoyant Exposure of the Alien Deception, available on here.
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