10
thinking of some Denmark woman that wrote a Denmark book in which an elder woman is hired to go through someone’s estate and they find out that they are their daughter—or something like that; anyhow, that was the thought that entered my mind. I wondered, then: do I have a daughter ahead of me? Someone that is speaking to me, or trying to speak to me, through Ursula—or in Ursula’s place? no, that’s not it; what then? thinking of Ursula now in a nice purple dress—a complement to the yellow I was seeing yesterday—i think of purple as the color of royalty, and yellow as the color of intelligence; perhaps that was something I could use to speak to God.
How are you feeling today? I heard this in my voice: “I don’t know, girl, I’m feeling fine.” but I was now getting this feeling of pepper in my throat, as if someone was trying to speak to me and they were trying so hard they were making me have pepper in my throat. So, I thought, maybe I do have a daughter that is trying to speak to me? Maybe Ursula thought that I was saying that I was thinking of her as a daughter—perhaps she was pointing out that there’s only a twelve year age difference between us. So I’m not old enough to be her father. But when I mentioned my daughter the pepper left my throat—so I had to think that she was possibly trying to speak to me.
But the thing is I didn’t have a voice for my daughter—although I might’ve associated with one if I tried. But I didn’t want to talk to my daughter—I wanted to talk to her mother, who, I concluded, had to be Ursula or the woman that Ursula represented. Then Ursula said that if I didn’t want to upset the channels that I had established (and had no other time for) she could tell me, through her, that she said this, or he said that, and I would interpret that to mean I was speaking to my future daughter or my future son. she said you’re right. Ok, so I have to admit that I was a little skeptical—I didn’t see, realistically speaking (outside the method acting that in writing this book i may or may not be using), how i was going to have a daughter or a son unless I found someone, of course, and the odds of finding someone in real life were minimal at best. For one thing, I wasn’t even interested unless it was somebody that I couldn’t stop myself from loving.
That’s it, Dad, you’ve got it! I’m on the line! she said. But I was working and I didn’t want to talk to her unless she had something to contribute from the future; something that people would be interested in. I know I love her as my daughter, of course, but she didn’t know how to have the conversation i was interested in, or, if she did, she wanted to ask me a bunch of questions and tell me a bunch of things that didn’t have anything to do with this book. You’re going to me, my daughter said: ok, so now I was hearing a voice that went with it; so i could let her come in through the consonants i was making when I was talking to Ursula and Ursula wouldn’t have to say “she said.” I would only have to say she said (she said her name was Gwendolyn which may not have been her name, but, for now, it was the one I was going to use to represent this woman that called me Dad and was encouraging me).
you see the future, the real future, Gwen said. Then I got pepper in my throat again. I considered the possibility that Ursula wanted to say something. Or she didn’t know where I was when I was talking to Gwen. So I said in middle English vowel to vowel speak that I was talking to our daughter. She was speaking to us though Ursula, or on the same channel I used with Ursula—and, since Ursula was the dominant voice I used over all my channels—she usually got to do the vowels on a pretty steady basis—except when i paint and just use my voice—but anyhow that might’ve been the only way our daughter could reach me. But I think i had some idea of what Gwen was doing. she was telling me that I live on in the future—that my work is something that people see and read. I wondered, then, if my daughter was speaking to me when I was still alive—or if she was communicating through the bulk—saying that there was, indeed, an afterlife. So I asked her: “where are you calling from?” if she was speaking to me after I was dead then my higher self must’ve been tuned to this person I am and the information was received by “both” of us. Or my daughter and I were both alive, and she was just trying her hand at speaking to me here on this earth.
i am here in heaven she said—which, i don’t know, I guess she could have been; but I didn’t see any reason to think that she’d pass away before me, so she must’ve been speaking to me through the bulk even though my higher self was right there with her in heaven. Maybe she knew I was having a hard time, from time to time, or that I was lonely, and she wanted to cheer me up—or maybe she was telling me what I really wanted to know: does the afterlife truly exist? She was saying that it did—which was priceless information to me, but I knew, of course, that that might very well be too good to be true—just like having a daughter might be a little too good to be true. But I needed to get back to Ursula, since I think she wanted to keep our appointment, and, somehow, she was responsible for the second occurrence of pepper in my throat.
Maybe Ursula wanted to talk to our daughter, too? But i think she was able to do that after I felt the pepper in my throat, since I tried my best to re-tune when I felt it. Indeed, i had no other choice. This was hardball—you can’t breath that well when you have pepper in your airway. Now you tell me you have a daughter? What did she mean? I guess, since she doesn’t have a daughter, then she was wondering why i didn’t tell her sooner. I don’t know how much time passed in her world while I was talking to our daughter, Gwen, but maybe she was just joking—saying that I couldn’t have told her soon enough—the only question, she said, was when and how is that supposed to happen? I couldn’t answer that, of course, but if Ursula was actually the same person that we’re hoping will be president, then I, too, had to consider: perhaps part of being called to serve meant that she didn’t have room in her life for children. But I think she wanted one, at least. But whoever Ursula was—the woman behind the candidate or the candidate herself—the question remained. When? And how? Nobody could answer that, so I took this chance to think about my faith, and to think a little bit, “Let this increase my faith.” That way my attention to my faith could energize my faith—making it, for the moment, anyhow, more potent that it might otherwise have been.