Messages From Angels - Hold the Bus: Angels in the Driver's Seat - (post 3 of 6)

Note: One of my favorite parts of my spiritual job description is when I am asked to be a messenger for benevolent angelic forces. I often receive messages for people whose angels or spiritual guardians ask me to communicate when it is a matter of urgency or they are having a hard time getting through to their human counterparts. Many of these people are strangers to me and our interactions last only moments. These messages can be warnings of illness or accident. They can also be intended to clarify or give direction. Whatever they are, I play my role as messenger faithfully.

(continued… click here for post 1, post 2)

“What I am getting,” I replied, “is that your son attributes his pain to his relationship with you, to growing up without a father. This is an opportunity for you to begin correcting that, but you have to understand you will have to set limits and demand that he grow up. It will force you to be different too.” 

“I’ve been working on my own stuff. I’ve been changing,” he said.

“You will do another layer of this work. The pain that your son is dealing with is the same as your pain.”

“I hope not,” he said, “I was sexually molested as a child. Raped. By another man.” This confession felt heavy, like metal.  Psychic pain and confusion radiated from him and the gravity of his situation became apparent to me. I also appreciated his ability and willingness to get right to the point. 

At the same time, as he revealed this fact, a quiet lucidity settled over him and the anxiety left his eyes.  In his voice was certainty, as if the mass of his confusion swirled around one central point of clarity: the devastation he experienced to this day as a result of these childhood violations.  He had the look of a man searching for an escape and a man at a loss to find a way out. I watched his eyes as he assessed the internal wasteland in which he roamed. The faint smell of alcohol wafted from a puff of his breath.

The words of the angels continued and I spoke them to him, returning to the topic of his son’s pain. “It doesn’t have to be the same experience,” I said.  “Our children get a piece of our pain, almost as if we give it to them. Your son feels hurt by you. Were you not hurt by your parents?”

“I was hurt by family members.”

“That’s how it goes.”

Suddenly, he switched topics. “My health. Tell me what you see about my health,” he commanded. 

I stared at him.  He stared at me.  Though he had volunteered information about his family situation earlier, when it came to the question of his health he had offered no facts for me to go on.  I sensed he was testing me.  After all, if I, a complete stranger, could tell him about known health issues, then the other information in the message was more likely to be trustworthy.  I was impressed by his instincts.  I would have to read him cold.  

I continued to return his stare.  In silence I waited for the information to come.  The words “mental health” and “lithium” jumped out of his head. I did not pick up anything else in his body.

I wanted to tell him what I saw but was nervous about embarrassing him.  There is a social stigma around mental illness and I did not want him to feel that I was judging him.  Still I knew that if I was not honest – and did not come forward with the information - he would not trust me or the message.  

(For more, see next post)

Messages From Angels - Hold the Bus: Angels in the Driver's Seat - (post 2 of 6)

Note: One of my favorite parts of my spiritual job description is when I am asked to be a messenger for benevolent angelic forces. I often receive messages for people whose angels or spiritual guardians ask me to communicate when it is a matter of urgency or they are having a hard time getting through to their human counterparts. Many of these people are strangers to me and our interactions last only moments. These messages can be warnings of illness or accident. They can also be intended to clarify or give direction. Whatever they are, I play my role as messenger faithfully.

(continued… click here for post 1)

“There are some family things that need to be worked out. You need some family ties,” I said.

“No, it’d only be me and him up there.”

“That’s what I mean.”

The bus arrived.

“It will be challenging….”  I hesitated to say the next part of the message for fear of offending him.  I listened again to the angels to make sure I was hearing it correctly and then repeated it to him.  “It’ll force you both to grow up but it will help you,” I said.

He tilted his head and shifted his gaze when I said the words “grow up,” but he did not seem offended. I walked away and from him toward the bus door. His voice followed me as I got on the bus and paid the bus driver. 

“Whoa, wait. I want to talk about this more. Who are you? This is crazy!” he exclaimed…..

He got onto the public bus.  After paying, he took a seat next to me at the front of the vehicle on the long, bright blue plastic bench normally reserved for elders and disabled passengers.  He rested one elbow on the top edge of the seat, turned his torso toward me, closed his right hand into a fist and rested his forehead against it. The faded red of his shirt contrasted with the energetic blue of the bus seat rounded beneath his body.  His eyes met mine.

“I want to talk more about this,” he said, “Who are you?”

We leaned toward one another. On either side of us, steel poles curved up from beneath the seats and rose toward the ceiling of the bus, the boundaries of a sudden sanctuary within which we found the freedom to speak freely.  Though on a public bus, it was as if we rode in a bubble of privacy.

Before the bus had arrived, we had waited at a bus stop, chatting in the cold twilight. In the dark of the bus stop, I had not been able to see the details of his facial features.  Within the brightly lit interior of the bus, I saw that his eyes were blue, watery, anxious and also earnest.  I saw a gash that ran up the center of his forehead and disappeared into his hair line.  The wound looked as if at one time it had cleaved to the bone; now, there was just a jagged streak of dried blood in the gap between two flaps of regenerating skin.
While waiting for the bus, I had begun to deliver a message and now our conversation continued. In response to his question I repeated, “I get messages from spirits and I deliver them to people.”

He told me more about his relationship with his son and about how, due to conflicts with his son’s mother, he had not only experienced painful wounds, he also had not been in his son’s life since the child was nine months old. As he spoke, the words of the angels came through and I continued delivering the message. 

(For more, see next post)

Hold the Bus: Angels in the Driver's Seat - Messages From Angels

Note: One of my favorite parts of my spiritual job description is when I am asked to be a messenger for benevolent angelic forces. I often receive messages for people whose angels or spiritual guardians ask me to communicate when it is a matter of urgency or they are having a hard time getting through to their human counterparts. Many of these people are strangers to me and our interactions last only moments. These messages can be warnings of illness or accident.  They can also be intended to clarify or give direction. Whatever they are, I play my role as messenger faithfully



The bus was scheduled to arrive in 7 minutes. I waited at the stop in the clear winter night. 


He smiled and spoke from under the shine of yellow street lights. “Didn’t I see you on the bus ride over?”  He did not wear a coat.

I remembered him too. Earlier that day, this man with dark brown hair, a friendly face and a red plaid shirt had boarded the bus after all the seats were full. He had traveled standing up, leaning against a stainless steel pole, steadying himself against the swaying movements of the bus. 

Now we chatted about the weather and in particular the rain. He mentioned a plan to visit his son who lived in another city. As he talked, the words, “visit” and “smart move,” along with a picture of a six-pack of beer flashed in my mind. I knew then that I was to deliver a message to this man.
Maybe because I was tired, I blundered in my delivery. Giving him no forewarning I blurted out, “Okay, this is what I see.”

Before I could say more, a look of astonishment came over his face. (Later in the conversation he would tell me that I gave him a hard stare and that I startled him with my approach. “Work on that,” he would advise me).
Realizing my error, I started over. “Excuse me. Let me explain. A few years back I had a spiritual awakening…”
“Okay, cool. Good. I get it. I’m with you.”

I felt bad for startling him and also encouraged by his positivity. “So that means that sometimes I get messages for people.”

“Okay,” he said calmly.  Suddenly, he became animated.  “No! Wait! Messages!? From who?” he asked, surprised and nearly shouting.

I pointed at the sky. “From spirits.” 

“Oh… oh no, oh … you’re freakin’ me out ... the way you’re looking at me!” He gripped the front of his plaid shirt and twisted it in his hand.

“No, no, nothing to worry about… sometimes I’ve told people they’re at risk for getting cancer. It’s nothing like that,” I said hoping to reassure him.

“Oh, oh, good,” he said, more calmly, and then, “No! Wait! What’s your job?”

“I give spiritual messages to people. As you can see, it can be a little socially awkward.”

He paused for a moment as if thinking and then asked again, “Wait. What’s your job?”

“That is my job. I deliver messages.” He had a puzzled look on his face. I continued with the message. “The message for you is that going to be near your son is a good thing to consider. He needs you.”


“Whoa. Wait! That’s crazy! His mother just texted me! She said I need to come! She said he’s on drugs but she didn’t say what kind! She said, ‘He needs help!’ She said, ‘He needs help!’”


(for more, see next post)