Whispers
Photo Credit: (c) 2018 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas
When I was, as my mother would say, a wee sprout, I had my first experience with hearing that soft whisper that has warned me, inspired me, and on occasion, nagged me. Perhaps because I was raised in a household where being "fey" was looked at as normal, I never questioned that this was not real.
I can't tell you what the first thing I "heard" was, but I do remember talking to my mother about it when I was about six years old. We had had a lesson in school where sister had told the class about a saint who heard "the whispers of the angels." I asked Momma if that was who was speaking to me. I still remember her looking very seriously into my eyes and saying, "Lindy, it might be angels, it might be what artists call the muse, or it might be what some people call, 'the voice of your ancestors or guides.' I don't know, but I do know you need to listen and pay attention to what you hear."
So, for over a half century, I have listened. Sometimes, I am warned that I shouldn't do something or shouldn't go somewhere. Other times, I have been gifted with ideas for poetry or stories that seem to be written through me rather than by me. Still other times, I have been nagged about doing something I know I should be doing, but have procrastinated. I can honestly say that the only time I have had issues is when I didn't listen.
Do you hear your angels or muse or guides whispering to you? Do you listen? What happened? Share your story with us.
Blessings!
Comments
Initially, I thought my soul was just too noisy for me to hear them. My broken pieces rattling around like china teacups in a pillowcase. Sharp and jagged and loud. Insistent.
Within the past months, the notion that I willingly silenced the voices seems to make more sense. My reasoning? Anger.
The whispers were loud enough to tell me there was a big "event" going to happen . . . that night. I even felt so strongly about it, I told my manager I would never be back to work. Becca was killed four hours later. I was given the information that my world was going to change, BUT not given enough detail to know how to save my child?
I felt betrayed. I still do. Why listen to the voices, the urgings, if they are going to remain half told?
As I write this, I am thankful I can hear them again. Either my soul has quieted or my anger has waned. Or, maybe . . . a bit of both.
Initially, I thought my soul was just too noisy for me to hear them. My broken pieces rattling around like china teacups in a pillowcase. Sharp and jagged and loud. Insistent.
Within the past months, the notion that I willingly silenced the voices seems to make more sense. My reasoning? Anger.
The whispers were loud enough to tell me there was a big "event" going to happen . . . that night. I even felt so strongly about it, I told my manager I would never be back to work. Becca was killed four hours later. I was given the information that my world was going to change, BUT not given enough detail to know how to save my child?
I felt betrayed. I still do. Why listen to the voices, the urgings, if they are going to remain half told?
As I write this, I am thankful I can hear them again. Either my soul has quieted or my anger has waned. Or, maybe . . . a bit of both.
I know now as a mother I put a lot of value in my first instincts. If I get a feeling about something or someone, I always listen. I don’t know if it’s guides or my “mothers intuition” but I quickly learned not to ignore it... or them. ;)