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Slavery During or Before the Civil War

Yes, Harlan is a name, and not an uncommon one in the 1800s. I've run across it mostly in Missouri, but no doubt it was used elsewhere too.

I'm not sure if this pertains, but I have a cousin who sees the term pickaninny as an endearment for any dark skinned child. The lady is white (although of darker skin than the rest of the family ;) ), but she is very attracted to aspects of black culture, her entire house is decorated in mammies, pickaninnies, watermelons, anything associated with black people. According to her, pickaninny was a term originally meant to degrade black children, but black parents adopted it as an endearment for their children (kind of like Americans adopted Yankee Doodle Dandy).
 
Interesting that you found another name. Yes, Harlan is a name and incidentally, was the name of the rapist in Thelma & Louise.

I searched the 1840 census, since that's closest according to your memories. There were 22 Harlans, however they were in the North or Midwest -- mostly in PA, NY & OH and none in the South, at least not the Confederate states. However, there was a Harlan Cloud in New Castle, DE. Keep in mind that Delaware, as a border state, had slavery up until the end of the Civil War.

However, changing the spelling turns up Harlen Green (Chatham, NC), Harlen Law (Pope, AR), Harlen Mathws (Mathews?) (Blount, TN), Harlen Vernon (Hawkins, TN), Harlin Clift (Hot Spring, AR), Harlin Edwards (Coahoma, MS), Harlin Gibson (Hart, KY), Harlin B. Hale (Randolph, NC), Harlin Moody (Haywood, NC), Harlin Moor (Bath, KY) and Harlin Norrit (New Castle, DE).

Note that the places listed are counties, not towns.

Hope this helps...!
 
The Lynching.............

Thank you all for the information. It helps a lot. Without a last name for Harlin (Harlan) -it would be impossible to find him. And since I was only a toddler at the time. I doubt I knew it. Even though I have had thousands of students in the past eight years -I have never run across the name. The term pickaninne is also very interesting. One I was not familar with in this life time.

Any thoughts on how she died? Why the platform? Seems most blacks were hung by trees at the time. Anyone know of a black community in Oklahoma in the late 1800'S near Oklahoma City?
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The meditation began with a pulsing purple/blue light -coming in, in waves. I was watching myself mopping the floor of a large Victorian style home when suddenly my consciousness merged with Clara’s. I was wearing a long gray blue skirt with a dirty white apron. My skirt had a side pocket in it and when I was mopping, something in the pocket kept hitting the handle of the mop. I reached into the pocket and took out an old pocket watch. It was silver and I ran my fingers over the back -remembering when I first got it -and how I first got it. I ran my fingers over the initials LMS while I remembered.

I set the watch on a cupboard (a mantle for china) - it was like a dresser I am not sure what they are called. I saw very clearly a woman who lived in the house -the one I worked for. She was probably in her late 80’s -early 90's which was very old for that time. I am back to my cleaning the floor, it is heavy and hard work. When I was done -I set the handle to the mop up against the wall and reached for the watch.

The old woman had come around the corner and saw me put it in my pocket. She started to yell at me -"Put that back Niger...You stole my watch...." I replied "No ma’m this is my watch..." She kept yelling - I was shaking from the inside out. People outside could hear her yelling ---everything went blank.....and my consciousness shifted.

I am in a jail cell -maybe 4 feet by 6 feet -stone walls made of small 5” river rock stones It had a high ceiling and a small window with bars about six feet up above the ground. I was sitting on a wooden bench that came down from the wall with chains that secured it to the wall. I was shaking, and tears were streaming down my face. I was thinking that everyone must know the Mrs. is not right -that it’s not true -surely they know it isn’t true... she‘s crazy - everyone knows she’s crazy............

Then I couldn’t see anything - everything went black - from the inside out I began to cry -my face felt like Clara’s face as I cried for mercy -and repeated “I didn’t do it massa - no sir I didn’t do it.’ I knew a sheriff was standing near by. There was a crowd -- I could hear them shouting and calling out my name, it was so loud! “Hang that Niger -teach ‘har a lesson. She stole....Hang - ‘har - Hang Miss Clara “B“ -yelling -- yelling........ -

My whole body began to vibrate as I cried and shook. Sparkling white and blue lights dancing within my whole being- I stood there for what seemed an eternity - I felt like I was half in and half out of my body........then suddenly I heard the door -the floor door banged open it was so loud and I felt it drop! My body which lay in a meditative state, jolted on the bed as I felt my body drop through the trap door and jerk...the blue and white lights intensified, and then peacefulness...silence and floating.

I watched from above -- not sure where I was...I watched as the platform for the hanging was moved out of the way - then after a while they cut the rope. I watched as my body fell to the ground on to the dirt road.

Black men were carrying my body on a stretcher wrapped in a blanket to the all black cemetery - a plot of ground with small white crosses for grave markers -a few are just straight poles. I am following them - floating above. I see flashes of my family in mourning -my daughter Caroline...my husband Timmy. I see my name on the marker -”Clara “B” crudely written. I could see the year 1891.... I died in 1891. I sensed that this was a small black community near Oklahoma City -outside of Oklahoma City but that was the biggest city near our small homestead.

There was silence for a long time. I moved my hands over my heart which opened a flood gate of tears - I sobbed and I cried so DEEP from within my soul......It was Clara who cried....it was me who cried...... For all that Clara had been through -for how she had lived and died.
____________________________________________________
 
Deborah, I can really imagine what it was like for you. I am unsure how I died when I was a slave....I don't know if I made it to freedom or died when my owners chased me...

I feel the injustice of slavery whenever I read about the lynchings.
 
Hi, Deborah.

Just a quick comment. I don't think internet searches or books will help you much with these memories. A good deal of our history is not recorded. You have to get it straight from the horse's mouth. ;)

I recognize the name Harlan. I don't know anyone named Harlan, but I've heard the name before. And I believe it is correctly spelled Harlan. As for pickanannies (not sure if it's spelled right), I've heard it used before but never really knew what it meant. I'll ask my English Professor about it when we get out of class today.
 
slavery during or before the civil war

I can't be positive whether I was a slave or even black but I know I was a female servant for a very wealthy family. My oldest sister in this life was the daughter of the family and I used to run up the steps at night to hear her stories about her many dates. I even recall falling asleep on the steps while I was her watchout one night. Her secret date that evening was a soldier (interesting sidenote: in this life she is married to a marine).

Anyway when I turned about 11 or twelve we began helping in the underground railroad. The last thing I remember was taking food down to a slave in his late teens and falling madly in love with him on sight. That is the last thing I remember and their was a sad chil once I fell in love with him. That's why I think I might have been white.

I don't even know what city we lived in but I think it was in the south. A railroad went through the town and we were a coal mining community.
 
I just got a chance to talk to my English Professor. He gave me too much information all at once so I'll try to recall as much as I can. (I should've brought a tape recorder.)

He said pickaninny was generally used by whites to refer to black children, especially girls, that had multicolored plaits (braids in case you're not familiar with the term) in their hair. He said it is related to the minstrel tradition. He also said back when he went to kindergarten and elementary school, whites and blacks were taught the song "Little Black Sambo." He said this song was related to pickaninnies. I think he said Sambo didn't have the multicolored plaits but his character was often exaggerated -- he was portrayed as being very dark skinned and often having big lips. He also said something about the term being used to mock blacks at the time -- the way they dressed in particular. My professor also mentioned something about East Side Kids, but I don't remember exactly what that was (I told you he gave too much info at once). He basically wanted to give me enough info so I would know where to begin to look and could do further research on my own.

One correction. I think "Little Black Sambo" was a story. I'll get confirmation when I meet up with my professor tomorrow.
 
slavery

I take care of Altzheimers patients in a nursing home. There is one black lady named Helen that I have "adopted" to be my Aunt Helen. When I talk to Aunt Helen most of my caucasian co-workers just have to say "Ain't she the wrong color"? My reply is always the same, Love knows no color, which offends some. But you see, I have been black. I was a Negro Slave woman who had her two sons beaten to death by our master. I don't know names but I feel the memory. It grows and grows in my mind and makes my chest feel as if it is going to burst with pain of burying my boys. Dear God, this is an awful memory.
 
I just finished talking with my professor again and got some clarifications. "Little Black Sambo" was not a song, it was available on a 45 rpm in which they narrated the story. Also, it was also seen in film and portrayed in as such in the media. The way in which blacks were portrayed in this story is similar to how pickaninnies were portrayed. To find out more about pickaninnies, check out The Oxford Guide to African-American Literature.

Norabrindle, I'm very sorry to hear about what you endured in your past life. I can't even begin to imagine what you must be going through.

I had a similar experience to your story. When I was at work one day, one of my coworkers who was black and another older co-worker who was white decided they wanted to do something silly. So out of nowhere, they ran up to each other yelling "Mommy" and "daughter" and embracing one another as if they hadn't seen each other in years. It was amusing to watch, but you should've seen the looks everyone was giving them. It's really sad what things have come to today. We've made progress, but still have a long way to go.
 
Little Black Sambo is a children's story, and a cute one as I remember (it was a childhood favorite of mine), that was (and to some still is) considered racist. It was recorded on 78 rpm records too.;) I haven't read it for years, but I remember it told about a new suit of clothes, vain tigers and tigers racing around a tree so fast that the tigers turned to butter.

This site tells the story written in 1899.
 
Thank you again CunoDante for your willingness to ask your professor questions. You are correct. Researching Clara on the internet will not be of much help and the terms definitions I seem to be coming across are English definitions. Yours are so much more detailed from your professor. The fact that pickaninny was used by whites to refer to black children, especially girls, that had multicolored plaits is exciting to me. A small confirmation that what I heard her say - was correct in term and in gender. :).

Is it possible I had plaits in my hair? At age three? It felt like I didn't have much hair but if Plaits were braided (and no I am not familiar with the term but I am familiar with the braids) perhaps that is why I didn't feel much hair on my head. I will definately checkout the Oxford Guide you suggested. That might turn out to be a fantastic resource.

Hi Chelle - I remember the images of Little Black Sambo - but I do not recall the story. In fact was there a restaurant that was called that or used him as an Icon???? MMmmmmm. I do remember eating out with my grandparents when I was small at a place that did. I will check out your link today. I finally have a weekend off. :)

Norabridle, I understand what you are feeling. The best way to handle it though is to embrace it, learn from it, forgive and then...let go of it. As much as I went through in Clara's time I later learned I would repeat similar tribulations in my next life. I had come to know the suffering, the pain, the wounds inflicted upon the spirit of a people whose color dictated their class, their social standing and their sense of self. My thoughts, my feelings and my emotions, drew me like a magnet into my next life. My name was Valeria, I would never marry, never have children and I would experience two of the worst world wars in history.

My point is that it is so important for you to heal from your slave life time...in order to not repeat patterns of feelings from it in the future.

In the book section I listed what Woolger describes as the four bodies in which we hold memories. He stresses that all four need to be healed. Many Blessings *S*S*S*S Now and in your future.
 
Originally posted by Deborah
Is it possible I had plaits in my hair? At age three? It felt like I didn't have much hair but if Plaits were braided (and no I am not familiar with the term but I am familiar with the braids) perhaps that is why I didn't feel much hair on my head. I will definately checkout the Oxford Guide you suggested. That might turn out to be a fantastic resource.
Click to expand...

I guess I should have also noted that plaits also sometimes refer to conrows, as well as individual braids. In the picture of Clara that you drew, she had plaits (individual braids). Most black children will usuall have their hair in cornrows by the age of one. Then by the time they get around three, girls will normally have their hair in some type of braids. Sometimes, boys will still have braids or cornrows, but normally have their hair cut by the time they turn two. Usually when your hair is in braids, it will feel like you have close to nothing on your head.
 
Deborah - and everybody (the generosity of replies is truly touching in this thread),

I am just reading this thread for the first time. First, Deborah, I understand your need for healing. Anyone who was actively involved in the Civil War - or Civil War times - needs healing. I found out my role - or the beginnings of it - when I dreamed of being a young school teacher, a dark-haired white woman, in the North, who was talked into ministering to the wounded by a friend. That friend is a friend now, a childhood friend who is now a nurse. She didn't look anything like herself in the dream, but I knew it was she.

When I lived in Virginia for 5 years, I saw myself in a dream, suddenly, on a Civil War battlefield. I was lucid, and it was all real. I made eye-contact with a soldier, and I wonder if - in real time - a cavalry man thought he was seeing a ghost as the guns were firing.

Recently, I gained extra information that explains why I hate the Civil War so deeply. My son now was my brother then. He was killed in the war. My son's best friend, to whom I was engaged in that lifetime, was his friend then, too, and was killed in that war. As I nursed the sick and wounded soldiers, I came out of the tents sobbing and often threw up.

I can imagine what it was like for a little black girl to be taken from her mother and killed, but I can't even begin to explain why we would choose a lifetime like that. There must have been some spiritual gain, but what it was I am not entirely sure.

I didn't want to help the wounded soldiers but I did. I didn't want my brother and fiance to die, but they did. You didn't want any of it to happen either, but we must be richer for the loss and the healing. I can't explain why. I just know it does my heart good to see my son alive, and his friend, and know that I may have helped a dying man.
 
Hi Mertzie,

Sorry to be so long - it's finals week. Thank you for sharing your past life memory of the Civil War. It brings other memories of mine to the surface which I will share with you later. I want to address another level regarding choice though since you brought it up. :).

Most past life experiences are like being given pieces to a jig saw puzzle. The whole doesn’t come into view until you have many of the pieces, and even then it is difficult to fully comprehend the past. However, past life experiences have enabled me to comprehend the continuity of my soul. The difficult times of trauma, abuse and misfortune have strengthened me as an individual. At this point, what I am interested in - is understanding and taking responsibility for why I have created suffering in my lives. God was not punishing me, I was not a black slave due to Karma, what I sowed I did not reap!

What I created, I created due to not knowing how to create differently, how to create change within my soul, in order to embrace peace, love and harmony. I firmly believe that reincarnation is not a random spur of events. We are responsible for who and what we are.

I remember the life time before Clara and the one after. I see a pattern. My life had been filled with people whose hatred and prejudice filled my every waking moment. I worried for my children and for my family - they were all I had. I was a fifty one year old black woman accused of a crime I did not commit. The Civil War was not so long ago. My whole life was filled with unimaginable experiences of war, rape, and murder.

At the time of my death, my feelings were -- of fear for myself and for others; my emotions were of anger, shame, confusion and distrust; my thoughts were to be far away from this place, I wished I had never brought my children into this terrible world. Again, as in the life time before Clara, I had come to know the suffering, the pain, the wounds inflicted upon the spirit of a people whose color dictated their class, their social standing and their sense of self.

My thoughts, feelings and my emotions, drew me like a magnet into my next life. Just as the Tibetan Monks say. My name was Valeria, I would never marry, never have children and I would experience two of the worst world wars in history. WWI & WWII.

I feel this life time is about healing, love and finding my Joy. Balancing within is the key.
 
Beautiful post, Deborah :)

I don't have memories of many lives,
only two of them are quite clear.
And what I see is how awareness grows.

In the 1700's I was selfish, I didn't care about anything or anyone,
except for myself, for money, luxurity and the attention of men.
I used men, I hurted their feelings, so they coud give me what I wanted:
the money, the jewelry, the pleasure of a wealthy life.

I had an abusive boyfriend and although his behavior made me cry and angry, I took it for granted.
When he hit me I hit back, when he cheated on me I did the same.
I didn't really care about him, I just needed him, he was good at his job (stealing ;))
and I was good at mine (seducing :D)
At that's how we worked together, like the 18th century Bonnie and Clyde.

I didn't care, until I fell in love and the one I loved rejected me because I worked as a prostitute.
I tried to learn myself some manners, I tried to dress myself more decent,
and I tried seduce him again.
It worked, we briefly fell in love, but I still had my abusive boyfriend,
and there were still men waiting and longing for me,
but I considered that as work and not as cheating.
That's why the love of my life left me.

I was in total shock because I was sure I had been decent, honest and kind.
But I had no idea yet about the feelings of other people, I wasn't able yet
to be really respectful, I only knew how to act respectful.
I knew the words, the gestures, but I didn't know the emotions,
I didn't know anything about compassion or guilt.
I have no idea how this life ended, but I think I was sad and lonely,
and angry because life was so unfair although I did the best I can.

This changed in my next life, I was very religious, very moralistic,
and loyal towards the people I loved.
I did my utmost best to be an honest man, although I made many mistakes.
But deep inside I had only one wish: the be good and to return where I came from: to God.

And this actually happened, although I've been fighting, stealing and drinking,
I still treated the people I cared about respectful.
I don't know how many times I said sorry,
and how much I suffered because I felt guilty and ashamed.

In one of the first memories of that life I hear the church bells ring,
it's the village church, I love to go there and to pray, I feel safe in the house of God.
I feel loved and I feel it's my duty to love, and that's why I nurture my mother,
that's why I'm so close to her, that's why I love to listen to all the wise lessons the priest tries to teach me.
And in one of the last memories I lie in a hospital bed, the hospital is part of a convict.
There's a nurse (a nun) who takes care of me, she is tender and sweet,
and I know that I'm back in the house of love, the house of God.
I hear the church bells ring and then I die.

Then this life starts.
I'm born with this love, no one around me understands, but I understand now.
Reincarnation is the evolution of the soul, we learn from it and our awareness grows.
But it's a long long road...

Curious Girl.
 
Curious Girl that was beautiful. Thank you for sharing. You are absoultely right, it's all about the learning.

And Mertzie, I too believe that all of us that were involved in one way or another with the Civil War need healing. I know because I too was there as a soldier.

I am overwhelmed by the responses to this thread.
 
Yes, it's all chosen, and we learn how to be more responsible, conscious choosers of our destinies. Through suffering - and by happy choices, too - we learn and grow either way.

People may disagree with me, but I think there is a value in suffering, and there must be good in experiencing hardship (being thankful for the good times), sacrificing self for others, and seeing the survival of the soul from lifetime to lifetime.

I'm not kidding. Every time I see my son with his old Civil War buddy, I feel happy. I know a part of me loves to see the ones I thought were dead, alive again.
 
I agree with you about the suffering, Mertzie. Your son was a CW soldier? Do you know if he was North or South? Not that it was any less traumatic for either side, I am just curious.

But I am moving away from the subject of the original thread here :o I keep checking to see if Deborah has posted anything new, I am very interested in Clara's story! This is a great thread.
 
HI Greenknight,

OK - I can share more. :) Does anyone here know what they called the fact that the Massa's could "use" their slaves in a sexual way? Was it referred to as commonplace? One of my friends suggested that. The reason I ask is; -- below is a memory of Clara pregnant at 14 with the Massa's child. I need to know the term for my research.

Also a few days ago I did a short meditation - asking where Clara was from. What surfaced was that when I was s small child - I lived in Georgia near the boarder to Alabama. I was taken from my mother and sent to Alabama. I lived there on the Plantation until after the Civil War.

Now I am not one to embrace memories without some form of confirmation. It always amazes me the information that comes. In this meditation -I got that the Massa was French. I did a search on information about Alabama history and was shocked to find - that the French were the first settlers there.

Also -his last name was hard to pronounce. We slaves referred to him as Massa "B" - I heard his real name in the meditation - but know nothing of how I would spell it out. It ended with an N sound and was along the lines of Beautionne but even stranger than that. But like I said - not a clue on how to spell it. That would explain why I called myself Clara "B." The following also suggests the name of the woman married to the Massa. He referred to her as "Em." which I imagine was short for Emily.

The Mrs. of the house called me by my name...I could hear her heavy southern drawl as she said, "Clara, Clara come here."
I am wearing a white apron and a long dress with a high collar and long sleeves. My hair is pulled back into a neat bun close to my head. I look to the ground as I entered the parlor. I could feel the small child within me moving and kicking about. I am five months pregnant.
There is a man, an older gent with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard who is sitting in his chair by the window. He is the plantation owner. He is smoking his pipe, and was wearing reading glasses. I notice his huge desk filled with important papers and books.

The Mrs. of the house mumbled something to him about me "gettin fat.” The man never looked up at me, but puffed on his pipe and said, "She's with child, Em." The woman grunted in disgust and said, "Stupid child, why'd you do that for?"

I paused, looked up at her and said, "I don't know ma'm." Knowing all the while that the child I was carrying was her husbands, the very man who sat next to her. He looked up at me briefly with a mean look in his eye. I immediately looked back down. The Mrs. excused me to continue my work. I curtsied and went back to my ironing.

I saw myself doing many tasks through out the day, folding and putting away sheets into large hall closets which were made of beautiful cherry wood. I was to dust the large furniture in the house and check that things were in their proper place. I went into a bedroom and pulled back the drapes. I marveled that under the heavy drapes were finer curtains made of a delicate and fine white lace. I turned to pick up a food tray which was laying next to a young woman’s bed.
Click to expand...

btw- thank you Curious girl :)
 
Hi Mertzie - I agree -Elaine Pagels - author of The Gnostic Gospels also suggests that in order to find our most inner truth we need to know not only where to go, but how to create differently:

“According to the Gospel of Truth, the process of self discovery begins as a person experiences the “anguish and terror” of the human condition, as if lost in a fog or haunted in sleep by terrifying nightmares. Valentinus’ myth of humanity’s origin, as we have seen, describes the anticipation of death and destruction as the experiential beginning of the Gnostic’s search. They say that all materiality was formed from three experiences, or sufferings; terror, pain, and confusion. Aphoria; literally roadlessness, not knowing where to go.”
Click to expand...
 
Originally posted by Deborah
btw- thank you Curious girl :)
Click to expand...

You're welcome, although I was a bit of topic *blush* ;)

I am fascinated by your memories, they are sooo detailed,
especially the way you remember conversations between people,
I can actually hear them talk.
And poor Clara, so young, so lonely, and used by the Massa.
(I guess Massa is slang for Master?)

What were your feelings towards him?
Were you scared?
Did you feel humiliated?
Or did you think: this is how things go?

In the discription above Mr. B. doesn't really sound like a brute,
but more like a gentlemen with 'hidden pleasures', or better said:
a hypocrite in the old fashioned 19th century way.

Curious Girl.
 
Could the name be "Bouderarnt"?

There's also Beauchamp, but I'm assuming that's to easy. ;)

"Em" could also stand for Emma or Emaline or Emmalou.
 
Deborah - That was so interesting. I wonder if you have known the massa in this life - or his wife. I didn't know that "commonplace" was the term, but you know it was indeed common to use one's slaves for sex! How very dificult and sad for Clara.

Green Knight - My son was a Union soldier. We lived up north in Connecticut or somewhere. We were very much opposed to slavery and the whole mentality of the South. I guess that's one reason I had to live in the South for five years in this lifetime. I needed to see that conservatives were human and that the South has its own beauty. The thing I hated (besides the hot, sweaty summers) was the racial tension between whites and blacks. That was in the 1980's, and you could cut it with a knife.
 
Putting together the pieces...

I would like to add to Deborah's puzzle pieces -- with different lifetimes and within the same lifetime, sometimes it is necessary to put together the pieces (that may be received years and years apart) in order to get a full view of a particular lifetime. Here's an example:

My Civil War lifetime:

I dreamt many years ago of being the young woman who chose to nurse the wounded soldiers. I knew I was a young teacher in the North.

Last weekend, I asked my best friend, who is a psychic, what the connection is between my son, his best friend, and me. The first thing she said was, "They're union," as the pictures came together in her head. I saw AFL-CIO, Mayor John Daly, and Chicago...until she said, "They're Union soldiers." At that point, I thought, " **it. We're going back to the War." I didn't expect her to remember the fact I'd had a dream about being alive back then. She sees so much past life material. I quickly recounted my old dream, and she said, "Yes, Joe was your brother, etc., etc." - The pieces fit, and the lifetime came alive for me.

This has happened several times between dreams, messages from my guides, and readings from Candie. The pieces fit together, and the puzzle becomes a picture. I see myself more clearly, my "issues," and growth.
 
Hi Ladies.

Curious Girl - You were not off topic. Your post was great!

& Mertzie - I do know who he is in this life. He is my grandfather on my fathers side who passed away about five years ago. There is a very lengthy story that goes with that. One validated through my mothers visions, my aunts research and my grandfathers blindness in one eye. I think I wrote a little bit about it in a thread about guilt. I will see if I can find it.

I hated him at the time...he would take me to the barn. I hated the barn even more - it felt like an evil place. But it was so common - although not talked about - the women all knew. I found a website today that talks about the fathers of the mulatto's. I will post about that later this evening. It was a slave girls duty and a Masters right. Yes - he was a sort of gentleman. The black women were seen as breeders...and any black child - even one that was part white was deamed a "mongruel." Most were sent to the fields or to the house as a house slave. Just as I was.

Chelle - that could be very close. I really have no idea about French names. It was such a foriegn sounding name - with a heavy southern accent. Almost impossible combination. ;) My sister in Law is French though. If I see her this summer - I will ask her about it.
 
We posted over each other. ;)

Oopps. You are very right though Mertzie. The pieces come together after years of experience. And Like you said - when they do there is a joy - and wholeness - beyond words. Beyond the intellectual. It is what I call..."Soul Moments."
 
Another small validation

I am so jazzed right now. I called my mom to tell her about my meditation. I said that before the meditation - "I asked where Clara was from" -and before I could tell her - she said - "Alabama."

*S*S*S*S*S :) She always says - no questions - no answers. Perhaps I should ask her more often. ;)

Mertzie - you and your friend get confirmations a lot like this too. Isn't it as blessing?
 
Yes, Deborah, it is a blessing that Candie and I get so many validations - and you and your mom are blessed, too. That's interesting about your grandfather. Thanks for including the link, too. Were you able to forgive him?
 
Chelle has a good point. Although I always call my daughter Emily by the nickname Em (no one else calls her that btw) when Deborah first mentioned Massa's wife being valled Em, I did not think Emily at all. I thought Emma. I am not sure why. Maybe I picked up some vibrations? :)

I also thought of the name Beauregard but that would be somewhat more common than the one Chelle mentioned.
 
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