Conversations – Installment #50

December 25, 2011 through January 1, 2012

Beloved, we are approaching the start of another New Year … yet another year without your physical presence among us … the beginning of the third year after the emotional implosion caused by you leaving your earthly manifestation and assuming your astral one.

While your children are joining together and recognizing their innate kinship in your love in online forums and social groups, it seems that our distress in your absence does not abate. We so miss you! We miss seeing your beautiful face on our televisions; we miss knowing your are creating music to engage our hearts and minds and souls in closer union with you; we miss knowing you are still involved in your charitable efforts; we miss everything about you. We see television clips of war zones and natural disasters and we think, “Michael would be all over this,” or “Michael would find a way to bring this situation to the world’s attention and make a difference.”

As is usual with corporeally-manifested humans, you are seeing the glass as half empty instead of as half-full. You depend so much on your physical senses and discount your feelings and your emotions and your spiritual senses. Instead of seeing the coming year(s) as a year of being ‘without’ the physical manifestation of me (which many of you didn’t know, anyway) … try to shift your perception to seeing the coming year(s) as a another year of ‘being with me’ in the larger, more spiritual sense … of ‘opportunity’ … of ‘discovery’ … of ‘re-membering our Oneness’ How can you possibly miss me? I am in your face … in your ears … in your hearts … all the time … much more now than I ever was when I was in my physical manifestation. Even when you think I am absent, I am not far away. Even when you can’t feel me as strongly, I have not let you go.

We are working on awakening your inner ears and your inner sight. So, if you feel me less strongly or fear that I am ‘absent’ … perhaps, it is an exercise in opening or more fully developing your inner, more spiritually-attuned senses. See with your heart and you will see that I am right beside you, peaking over your shoulder and cheering you on. Hear with your heart and you will hear my breath whispering my love in your ears.

How did I know you were going to say something like that? [Michael giggles.] I feel a little … um … purposeless … kinda like a rudderless ship that has been safely moored to the dock, but the rope has come untied and it is adrift on an endless ocean with no direction in sight. It seems that we were so engaged leading up to and during the trial of Conrad Murray. Now that it’s over, I kinda don’t know where to go next.

Yes, I’ve noticed that your ‘nightly meditations’ with me … to which you were so committed … are not occurring on as regular a basis as they were during the months leading up to the trial. If anyone has stepped away from our communion, it’s you. I am still here. You’ve been a bit distracted. Do you want to talk about it?

Of course, I want to talk about it, Michael. I think that several factors have diverted my focus. First, I think that my life had taken a very large toll on me. I was completely exhausted by all the demands and obligations it had placed on me. I needed a break. Fortunately, my job gives me some time off during the Christmas holidays and I am beginning to feel a little more human after getting a few good nights’ sleep. I, for one, don’t know how anyone could possibly function on as little sleep as you did for years, my love.  In addition, the freedom of not having to be anywhere at any specific time … of not having to get up and rush off to work … is a freedom to which I am not accustomed. Being able to do exactly what I want when I want to do it … is such a rare gift for me … even if it is only for a few days. I cherish it.

You had allowed yourself to become depleted. I understand. You need to avoid that feeling of being completely stressed and overwhelmed beyond the breaking point. When you have gone on in ‘overload’ mode for a while, everything becomes an added stressor, the simplest task becomes a burden and the joy of life evaporates. Even the things that fulfill you the most … the things that you take the most joy in … the things that would normally provide you with the most opportunity to heal yourself and the world around you … the things that make your life worth living … become just another in a very long list of chores that you have to accomplish.  Your gift becomes a job … a responsibility … an obligation … and the joy of the gift is diminished. The gem loses its luster.

It was that way for me with the music … sometimes … especially when I was very young and wanted to play … or during the trial. My life had become overwhelming and when I did get a chance to go into the studio, I would sometimes feel like, “what’s the use?” or “I’ve got to get this done.” And where is the joy in that? Staying in the joy of life is difficult in this modern technological age, but it is worth the effort.

My Dear One, a couple of books have been released in recent months and I wanted to read and digest them. In addition, the lead up to the Christmas season was absolutely brutal this year in terms of finding the time required to go shopping and getting to family get-togethers and fulfilling all the responsibilities of a grandmother of five. Lastly, I have decided to go on a Michael trip and my anxiety over that is causing a considerable amount of disquiet. I am so looking forward to it and am so anxious for everything to go smoothly.

So, it’s been a bit difficult with all these different factors weighing on my mind to settle down and quiet my mind enough to meditate. I am sorry.

Don’t be sorry. Everyone experiences anxiety and exhaustion. You are a working grandmother raising a grandchild. If you didn’t experience stress and exhaustion, there would be something wrong with you.

Let’s take each factor … one at a time … and work them all out.

We’re going to call this a ‘mental and spiritual massage.’ Kinda like a ‘spa day’ that you don’t have to leave the house to enjoy. Are you ready?

Yes, My Dear One, I am ready … and if you can accomplish THAT … you are a miracle worker.

[Michael giggles.] Okay … first, let’s address your mental and physical exhaustion because this is something that you must pay attention to. If you don’t, they will make you ill. Stress kills. You don’t need to look very far to find the proof of that adage. And it’s not really the rigors of working a full-time job and raising a grandchild that are kicking your butt (you should pardon the expression … giggles) … although that would be enough … it’s your own inability to keep up without feeling overwhelmed that makes you crazy. You want to be SUPERgrandma … to be able to work 10 hours a day and help with homework and keep house and do laundry and cook meals without feeling rushed or harried or stressed or irritable. You are so hard on yourself. Relax. You get yourself into a negative spiral. I’ve seen you do it … put yourself down because you feel unequal to the challenges your life presents … and, then, you begin to resent all the stressors in your life … even the ones that are gifts … like these dialogs.

Take it from someone who knows what it’s like to live on an up-close-and-personal basis with the constant drive to be perfect, you are not doing yourself any favors by thinking badly of yourself for not being able to handle it all … all by yourself. It’s okay to take a rest from it all sometimes … it’s okay to take care of yourself once in a while.

Taking a few minutes a day to just be quiet … to breathe deeply … to meditate or pray … to visualize the stress leaving your body and each muscle group relaxing will pay huge dividends in refocusing your energy and attention. And there are added benefits. This is where I can reach you most easily and you can most strongly feel my presence. I can massage your shoulders and neck and ease your discomfort. [Jan feels fingers gently rubbing her shoulders and neck and relaxes into them with a deep sigh.]

And as far as feeling ‘purposeless’ … ARE YOU KIDDING? [Michael laughs out loud.]

Have you forgotten what we are all doing here? We are re-imagining our reality! We are changing a world here! We are starting with your internal world, which is an all-important first step on a very, very long journey, but that is not our ultimate goal. Our ultimate goal is to change world consciousness … to bring awareness to the situations in our world that require fixing … whether it be world hunger … or calming the guns of war … or making a sick child’s dreams come true … or recreating the Garden of Eden right here on Planet Earth!  That is enough purpose for several generations on a world-wide basis. And it may take several generations to reap the rewards, but with determination and single-minded purpose … with confidence in our power to remake our planet … we will succeed. It all begins with that initial first step … if you want to make the world a better place … take a look at yourself and make a change [Michael sings.]

We were distracted from the main goal by the trial, but we used that experience to develop constructive techniques to focus our minds and energy … to ease our disquiet and conflict … and to affect our reality in meaningful and significant … and visible … ways. Now, we know how it’s done … and you all saw the results. It’s onward and upward from here! We have the tools! We have the talent! With LOVE in our corner, there is no stopping this wave of healing we have unleashed. Supported by LOVE, it cannot fail. And I am always here to remind you when you become a bit overwhelmed.

Okay?

Yes, My Beloved … definitely okay.

Good, now, tell me about these books.

Well, in the last several months, three books have been released. The first … and probably the most important of them was Joe Vogel’s Michael Jackson: The Man and The Music. This is a book that has been long overdue. It is the first really serious analysis of your music, Michael, from an unbiased, objective, ‘music-critic’ point of view. We discussed Mr. Vogel’s treatise, Earth Song: Michael Jackson’s Magnum Opus in an earlier conversation. This book follows the same pattern. Mr. Vogel places each of your solo albums within its contextual framework, discusses the historical eras and political trends in play during the times in which they were released and examines each of them song-by-song, examining your recording techniques … as well as pointing out other ‘critiques’ and ‘reviews’ at the time of their release which fell short of the mark. Quite simply, The Man in The Music is a masterful re-examination of your life as expressed in your art. While Mr. Vogel does mention some of the media-generated rumors and myths that have become so much attached to your name in passing, he does so with respect for your unique talents and singularities and the unprecedented fame that you dealt with. He even hints at the impact that many of your published works have had on your children since ‘the day the earth stood still.’ He takes us right to the very edge of the cliff, but doesn’t jump off into the ‘spiritual’ arena. I think this book should be required reading for anyone who is curious about you.

The second book was written by your brother, Jermaine, and is entitled You Are Not Alone. It is a memoir of your life from as told from a brother’s point of view. In it he paints a very sincere and loving portrait … although, I think, he exaggerates his own role in your decision-making process, particularly in the years 2003-2005. While I do not doubt his love for you, I have some reservations in accepting his account as gospel.

The third book was written by your friend, Frank Cascio, and is entitled My Friend Michael: An Ordinary Friendship with an Extraordinary Man. Again, I believe Frank paints a very sincere and loving portrait but I have reservations about his book, as I always have about books that purport to tell the ‘inside-story’ of Michael Jackson.

Many of my reservations hinge on the perceptual anomalies that are inherent in the human condition. For example, Frank describes your Michael Jackson and Friends concert accident in Munich in his book. I have this concert on tape. I can watch the entire incident in this footage and have on several occasions.

My thanks to the Photo Shop artist (unknown) who composed this beautiful graphic. I am grateful!

In his account of the accident, he describes the fall of the bridge and says that he helped you off of the bridge and back onto the stage. He did not. You crawled off that bridge and up out of the ‘pit’ area in front of the stage under your own power, pulling yourself up by the very ropes that were supposed to have brought that bridge back to the stage in a slow, easy, gentle landing. I have it on tape. I can watch it with my own eyes. In his account, you got back on stage and collapsed in his arms. You did not. You finished the performance of Earth Song and walked off into the wings under your own power. If you collapsed in the wings, I did not witness that. I only saw what was going on on stage, but these two errors make me wonder if we were watching the same incident.  In his account, you sat on the stage to sing You Are Not Alone. You did not. You limped (the first two steps … there was a definite hitch in your giddy-up … it is observable … I can see it) from the wings but you walked the stage and performed the song with all the fervor and emotion to which your fans had become accustomed … without sitting down.

I could more easily understand these discrepancies in the accounts of the performance as Frank witnessed it … and as my own eyes watch the event unfold … if there were more than one performance of this concert. Perhaps, he confused the performances in his mind.  But that is not the case. It was the only performance of the Michael Jackson and Friends concert in Munich … and I watched that bridge fall with my heart in my mouth, knowing that it was definitely NOT part of the performance and praying that you wouldn’t be killed … even though I was watching it after the fact.

I am not saying that Frank is lying exactly … but I am saying that he obviously perceived things differently (at least in this one instance) than what is evident to anyone who watches this performance on You Tube or on tape. Whether that difference is due to the stress of the situation or his anxiety over your welfare … it is different from what actually occurred.  And small differences like this definitely influence credibility, in my opinion. I mean, if his perception is so markedly different in this one instance to what is so easily provable by watching the performance, why should his perception not be different in the other instances to which he refers in his book?

We all perceive things differently. If there are three witnesses to an event, each of the three witnesses will describe the event differently. I’ve experienced this myself when I was a witness to a major vehicle accident. We all see things from our own unique perspectives and our perceptions color our memories of even the most momentous events.

So, I take both of the last two books with a considerable grain of salt.

The problem is that each of them did present challenges to my ‘knowledge’ of you … and I don’t like my ‘knowledge’ of you being challenged. It makes me uncomfortable. As a result of such challenges I have to go through a process of re-alignment, for lack of a better description. In other words, I go through the ‘these-people-actually-knew-the-real-Michael-Jackson-and-lived-through-these-events-with-him’ which leads to the ‘how-do-you-know-that-your-knowledge-is-the-real-Michael-Jackson’ arguments to arrive at clarity again. This takes time and effort … and a rebuilding of confidence in my ‘knowledge.’

Yes, I see. You doubt … and then you know … and then you doubt … and then you know. How am I ever going to break this cycle with you, Beloved? You must always go with what your heart KNOWS. There is no other truth. And you know what your heart knows. There is no doubt.

What most of you know of me is my essence … all the day-to-day experiences boiled down … purified, if you will … like in an alchemist’s experiments … into the impact those day-to-day events had on my spiritual identity. You don’t have the human, day-to-day, minute-by-minute experiences that Frank and Jermaine have to back up your knowledge. [And don’t put that word in ‘quotes’ … your knowledge is just as valid, if not more so, than theirs.]

On the other hand, they do have those memories of me … in all my human-ness … playful, teasing, moody, irritable … but, in a lot of ways, they have missed the essence. Because of their experiences with me during my physical manifestation, they have trouble encompassing and acknowledging the real meaning behind the events they witnessed and in which they played important roles. As you said in your description, their perception of the events is unique … and individual.

Yes, I know, Michael … but that re-alignment takes a little time to kick in … and until it does it causes me intense distress. Eventually, I do arrive at clarity … but it is a process and that process takes a little longer when my resources are so depleted, as they were just before Christmas this year.

All the more reason to spend some quality time with me in the evening, just being quiet and relaxing. Your burdens I will bear, but first I need your hand, then forever will begin. [Michael sings.]

Christmas is a time of joy … a time to be with your family … a time to remember that we have all been gifted with the gift of life and love … and to be grateful for that blessing. It should not be an additional burden … it should not be one of the many things that cause you stress and anxiety.

Now, tell me about this ‘Michael trip.’ First of all, what is a ‘Michael’ trip?

Oh, Beloved! I am so excited! I am going to Los Angeles for the Immortal World Tour by Cirque du Soleil. While I do not anticipate that it will be like attending one of your concerts, I do expect that it will be the next best thing. I am meeting some of my friends who share my kinship with you and we are planning on almost an entire week of ‘Michaeling.’

[Michael giggles.] ‘Michaeling?’

Yes, Dear One, ‘Michaeling’ … spending all our time with you as our only reality. I can’t wait! I’m flying out toward the end of the month. We plan on visiting Neverland … or, at least, as close as we can get to Neverland … and Forrest Lawn, where your beautiful body is resting (more than once, I sincerely hope!). And, of course, we will be attending Cirque du Soleil’s tribute to Michael Jackson, which has been receiving rave reviews and is currently ranked as the number one touring show in the country (of course)!

Sounds like fun! Why is this causing you anxiety?

Well, because I am not the world’s best traveler. Let’s just say that motion and I don’t always get along well. The trip, itself, is going to be an all-day affair. I am leaving my house at 6:00 AM to get to the train station a half an hour away by 7:00. It’s a four-hour train trip to Chicago. A limo will meet me at a suburban station and drive me to O’Hare for a 2:00 PM flight out to Los Angeles which is scheduled to arrive at around 4:00 PM local time … which will really be 6:00 PM Central Time! It’s four hours in a tin can high above the earth and crossing two time zones! And the same in reverse at the end of the trip. I am 62-years-old. It’s going to be a long day!

Once I’m there I will be in heaven … it’s just the getting there … and back … that has me worried. It’s the middle of winter here and while our weather this winter has been nothing short of miraculous, I do live in an area where it is not uncommon to get a foot of snow overnight. Such an occurrence would put a serious crimp in my style!

May I enlist your help? Will you please bless this trip with your presence?

[Michael giggles.] I understand. When I was little, I used to fight tooth and nail about getting in an airplane. You will have so much fun. I look forward to welcoming you. And … you know … I am with you every step of the way!

Oh, Baby! I was so hoping you would say that. And don’t you be pulling any nasty tricks on me while I’m traveling … like dropping the plane in turbulence or anything! [Michael giggles. I’ll try to restrain myself.]

Of course, you know that I am anywhere you are … I only wanna be where you are … uh oh … any, any, anywhere you are … uh oh oh … I only wanna be where you are! [Michael sings.] And wherever two or more of you are gathered in my name … I am there!

It’s not necessary for you to travel across the country to be with me, you and I are together always.

Yes, I do know, but I also want to visit Neverland and Forrest Lawn to pay my respects. It’s a funny thing, I’ve never been one to be overly attached to the sites of graves of my loved ones. I’ve never believed that their presence is restricted to the area in which their body rests … and I know that I carry them with me in my memories of them. But, for some reason, I feel L.A. calling to me … and my heart is answering.

I so look forward to visiting the areas that you walked with people who share my almost mystical connection with you. It will be a rare treat to be able to talk about you … and your influence on me … without having to put up with the rolled eyes and tolerant sighs. Just being with people who understand my fascination … and my unqualified love for you … will be such a blessing … because it is such a rare occurrence in my life! The last time I was with Michael-friends was almost 20 years ago now … well, at least, 15 years ago … 1997. It was the first … and only … time I ever saw you in person at Elizabeth Taylor’s Celebration of Life Gala. And it was only for a few days.

Okay … you have your focus for the next few weeks … your goal … your purpose! When you have reached your goal and your dream has become reality … you set a new goal … and you put all the love and devotion into your new goal as you used in achieving the first. The techniques we learned during the trial are the same techniques you can bring to bear on any event in your life which causes conflict.

Visualize your trip … make it perfect in your mind … all the connections smooth … the flight a model of efficient travel … the weather cooperative … your stay ideal … put me in the middle of it, sitting next to you in the aisle seat and holding your hand. You know how to do this. We just did it with the trial. These techniques work with anything that causes you conflict or anxiety … the smallest thing in your life that results in discomfort or disquiet … or the largest thing in your life that causes worry or stress.

Put as much LOVE into it as will fit … and then put more LOVE into it until it gushes over the sides and spills out over the wings of the plane as you speed toward Los Angeles. Make LOVE your weapon to overcome any conflict … any anxiety … any fear. Come with me … you and your friends … I await your arrival.

Oh, Michael, I so love you!

I so love you more! Happy New Year!

Jan – December 31, 2011 

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Conversations – Installment #49

December 10 through December 17, 2011

Michael! Are you still here? I don’t feel you as strongly … or as often … as I did during the trial.

Many of my friends have commented that they feel that you are not as present in the weeks since the end of the trial and the sentencing.  They’ve felt an emptiness … a lack of connection … as if the current is blocked or there’s a kink in the hose impeding the flow of love between us.

Now, you all know I am still here. How many times have I told you that you can’t lose me? How many times have I said that we are forever? How often … and in how many ways … have I expressed the idea that I LOVE YOU MORE?

It seems that you don’t need me as much as you did during the trial and the lead up to the trial. We’re settling back down after all the furor and excitement. I’ve just dialed back the intensity … turned down the volume … a little bit in response to your reduced need … and to allow you space and time to heal yourselves of the wounds the trial inflicted on your hearts and souls.

But I am still sending you little gifts almost every day. Those gifts manifest in many different ways … according to your individual needs. It could be something as small as touching your face to heal a headache or a toothache … or photos that you haven’t seen before to remind you of my presence … or videos inspired by my love moving through you … or occasionally a song will speak to you more directly than it has for a while. My messages of love have not stopped; they’ve just been modulated … refined … fine tuned. You just have to listen a little harder … be more receptive … more sensitive. As a matter of fact, I’ve even turned on your DVD player in the middle of the night to reassure you. [By the way … never, ever change that DVD player … the thing IS psychotic, I swear! All I have to do is think about it … and … poof! I love that thing! It is so responsive. Michael giggles.]

It seems, though, that when I modulate the frequency, your human doubts and insecurities kick in … and, once they get a grip, they redouble and multiply until they just take over … and then, you begin to fear that I have left you alone. I am not criticizing; just stating a fact. I understand doubts and insecurities. I had so many, myself.

It’s a little like rolling a huge boulder up a steep slope over and over and over again. Those fear-based emotions just make it more difficult for you to feel my presence. Be aware, however, that I will never give up … that boulder doesn’t stand a chance against my love for you. I will get through and you will know it’s me. You all can take that to the bank! As we’ve talked about before in these dialogs, it will take a small army to shake me loose. Actually, to tell the truth, it would take a rather large army to shake me loose. You are mine. So, do not be afraid. Even if you have absolutely no patience; I have all the patience both of us will ever need … and I will supply your lack.

God bless your beautiful soul, Beloved!

And God bless yours. FAITH is the only way to keep our channel unobstructed and flowing freely. FAITH … in me … and in yourselves … and LOVE … for me … and for yourselves … are all that are required. You don’t have any trouble having faith in me … it is faith in yourselves that is lacking. Your love for me is not in question … and you have no trouble believing in my love for you (although I do catch you questioning that occasionally) … but you, oftentimes, don’t love yourself enough. Don’t worry! Keep reaching out for me … and be assured that I am reaching out for you … all of you! KNOW that I am here … do not fear!

I’m glad you mentioned the trial of Conrad Murray. I wanted to talk to you about it. Can we discuss it? I mean … now that it’s over … and we’ve all had a little time to gain perspective … how do you and your friends feel about it?

I can only speak for myself, here, but it all feels kinda anti-climactic. When it was going on daily … it felt a little scripted … kinda like we were watching a play.

I mean after such a long build-up … two years … of dreading it… it feels like a bit of a letdown. Is that what you mean?

Yeah, in a way. I want to ask you a couple of questions about it all. Is that okay? I mean … you’re always asking me questions … so, now it’s my turn.

Um … okay … shoot!

I want you to … wait for it … remember the time … LOL! … before the trial. I want you to remember how frightened you were. What was it that you were so frightened of?

Well, I think it was a bunch of stuff. I think I was most frightened the trial would dredge up more dirt … that it would feed into the media frenzy that seemed to occur every time your name was mentioned … or that it would result in even more invasions of your privacy and more media intrusion into your personal life … and you would be portrayed again as some kind of …

Go ahead … say it … I know it is not your intention to disrespect me …

Well … freak or bizarre, otherworldly creature. I’m sorry.

Nothing to apologize for. I see your heart … I know your love. And … tell me … did those fears materialize?

Yes, they did. They materialized and exceeded even the worst of my suspicions.

Beloved, I have never, ever witnessed anyone’s right to privacy disrespected more.  The prosecution showed an autopsy photograph of you in the courtroom, which is to be expected, I guess. What I didn’t anticipate was that the photograph would be widely circulated in print media and on television. I don’t think I have ever seen anything like it before. In most murder trials, I am sure that the jury and officers of the court are shown autopsy photos, but those photographs  are not released to media outlets out of respect for the deceased … as well as the deceased’s family. I was appalled … horrified … to find the photograph featured on the covers of the tabloids at the supermarket checkout lanes.

We talked previously about the audio recording that was admitted into evidence … a recording, apparently, recorded by one of Conrad Murray’s mobile phones … and erased prior to the phone being taken in evidence. I don’t know who was responsible for erasing it or exactly what the purpose for erasing it was … but I think I can guess. It was retrieved by forensic audiologists and played in the courtroom. Your voice was terribly slurred and you were obviously under the influence of a powerful, powerful substance. Many of your children were moved to tears to hear your beautiful voice so terribly distorted. However, when the words were deciphered, it was discovered that they were not incriminating in any way; those words were a vow to build ‘the first Michael Jackson Children’s Hospital.’ You were talking to Conrad Murray and restating your intention to heal the children with the money you made from the O2 concerts.

Beloved, even the amounts of urine collected by the condom catheter were discussed in the courtroom. It was terrible.

And did the materialization of your fears cause your world to fall apart? Did it make me into the monster the media tried so hard to portray … in your eyes … or in the eyes of your friends?

No, Michael … you know nothing could do that. Once the initial shock of seeing the photograph and listening to the recording evaporated, I think … at least in my mind … those revelations made you more human … more beautiful … and created a more sympathetic view of Michael Jackson in the most hardened heart. Even Jane Valez Mitchell … one of your most loud-mouthed critics (I am sorry, Beloved, but the woman’s voice could peel wallpaper! She is so annoying and her tendency to loudly overpower those she interviews with her own editorial comment makes me wonder why she asked the question to begin with) … had to admit to a more sympathetic view of Michael Jackson by the end of this trial. These revelations only served to make me love you more … endeared you more firmly in my heart. And I am sure that my friends felt the same way.

Very good. During your months of visualizations and meditations and prayers, what was the general outcome that you prayed for?

I prayed that God’s Perfect Plan would be made manifest as a result of the trial.

We’ll talk more about what you learned from that experience in a few minutes. But, right now, I have more questions. Do you remember how your dread of this trial was the topic for several of our conversations previously? How did we deal with your fear?

We covered it with LOVE. With visualization practice and prayers, we shone LOVE into all the nooks and crannies of that courthouse for months. It was a worldwide prayer/meditation vigil. The Major Love Prayer global prayer circle and our Facebook Group Call for Love joined us here at With a Child’s Heart to pour all our LOVE into the situation. We set our intention on cleaning out all the negative emotions from the courthouse to make room for the Spirit of Truth to prevail. We made a space for God’s Perfect Plan to be manifest through all the major players in the modern-day courtroom drama. We determined to make your vision of a peaceful demonstration of love come true, represented by sunflowers being held by those outside the courthouse.  We surrounded your family with LOVE. Is that what you mean?

Yes! That is exactly what I mean. And how did that work out?

From what I could make out from reports of friends who were there, it worked out splendidly. The sunflowers were a strong visual symbol of our love for Michael Jackson … as opposed to our hatred of Conrad Murray. They were noticed by everyone in the vicinity of the courthouse. LaToya carried one of them into the courtroom for the first day’s proceedings and was seen carrying one out at the end of the day. Even some of the media representatives had accepted one and placed them on their cameras and held them in their hands. Although other groups were represented … some of whom had arrived to express their anger and desire for vengeance … including some supporters of Dr. Conrad Murray who had come to encourage him … our sunflowers stood out and spoke volumes without us having to say much. Even the most vociferous of the groups could not drown out our silent expression of love. While I don’t think our little peaceful demonstration had quite the impact of Gandhi-ji’s march to the sea, it was definitely noticed and remarked upon.

Mission accomplished … and I am so proud of all of you. It was my dream come true. But more specifically, what were your prayers regarding the judge?

Well, I prayed that Judge Pastor would be an impartial judge … that he would be firm, but fair … that he would make decisions to keep irrelevant issues from being the focus of the testimonies, evidence and witnesses … that he would hone in on the facts of the case brought before him … that he would steer clear of all the rumors and innuendoes that have, historically, been a feature of anything Michael Jackson-related … that he would curb the defense’s attempts to hijack the trial by blaming you for what occurred … and that he would keep the media in check. Why?

[Michael laughs while trying to whistle. It doesn’t work! You don’t ask much, do you?] Patience, remember? We’re going somewhere with this discussion. And how often did you say these prayers? How did you word these ‘prayers?’

Just about every night … and I took a page out of your book, my Dear One … I thanked God in advance and had faith that my prayers were heard and noted.

Perfect! Now, was there any specific item that you prayed for that the judge in this trial failed to fulfill?

No, Beloved … not one. Judge Pastor was an exact answer to my prayer. Oh my GOD!  Judge Pastor was an exact answer to my prayer! He presided over this trial with dignity … he respected you and allowed no evidence to be presented which might make the facts of the case less clear. While I could have wished that the photograph and recording previously mentioned had not been circulated by the media to the extent that they were, that was not his mandate. The media’s lack of respect for commonly-held and agreed upon taboos cannot be laid at his door.

Michael! Our prayers were answered in a very spectacular way, weren’t they?

Hee Hee Hee! The light begins to dawn, doesn’t it? All of your … and your friends’ … prayers were answered in a very spectacular way. Yes!

Now, let’s return to the ‘general outcome’ discussion from earlier in the conversation. Even though your worst fears materialized, your world didn’t crumble around you, did it? You had all taken the time to support the Perfect Plan. The evidence and testimony presented to the jury … all of it … including the photograph and recording and urine quantities … contributed to the outcome of the trial. While they may have caused you a momentary pang, they only increased your love and our connection. What’s more important, they may have attracted others who might have been on the fence prior to their presentation. My words may have made a few more of your brother and sister notes curious about me. That picture may have aroused empathy within someone’s heart who might have been buried in all the trash they had read earlier and prodded them to investigate further as a result.

You were all kept informed of what was going on because cameras were allowed into the courtroom. You didn’t have to guess … or listen to the media’s biased reports and pick and choose what to believe.

We’ve talked before about how intention and focus are the two most powerful weapons in your arsenal. With them, you create your reality … on both sides of life … which is just another way of saying that with them your prayers are answered. It doesn’t matter which terminology you use; they are both true. If you prefer to direct your prayers to our Creator, then do so. If you prefer to set your intention and focus it toward the outcome in love, then do that. Whichever way you choose, the result is the same.

God does not prefer one terminology over the other; that is a prejudice she does not possess. She has made you co-creators of your reality … shared Her creative power with you. She does not resent you using your focus and intention in this way. It does not anger Her and it is not blasphemous. It is who you are … because that is who She intended you to be!

This trial is a perfect illustration of this concept. You were frightened and worried and fearful … full of conflict and dread of what would happen. We removed your focus from your fear and dread and worry and redirected it into love. We cleaned all the negative emotions from your heart by visualizing those emotions being swept from the courthouse which allowed love to become a laser beam of healing concentrated on the trial as represented by the courthouse. We sent that laser beam out and it became a spotlight of intention … concentrated … intense … and we kept that beam at the “are you nuts?” level for months. With our visualizations, meditation and prayers, we gave the universe the blueprint of our intention … and it created the outcome.

It’s the same pattern I followed when I taught all the sick children to visualize PacMan eating up all the cancer cells. We removed their focus from the negative and redirected it to the positive. Then, with the positive we made space for healing to occur. In some cases, it worked beautifully and the children went into remission. In others, while it may not have healed them completely, it alleviated their conflict and worry and made their lives a bit more bearable.

Like all my music … and all my films … and all my artwork … it is always a collaboration. We form the intention and send that out into the universe … and allow the universe to do the rest. “I hold out the form. She puts in the sweetness.”

I wanted you to look at this incident more closely than you have been doing … to gain a bit of a different perspective on it because it is an important audio-visual aid to understanding the event more completely.  If you comprehend the process in this instance, you can begin to use the same formula with all the events in your life which cause you conflict. And we begin to heal the world … together … all of us.

God bless you, My Heart. I love you so much.

And, as always, I love you more.

Jan – December 16, 2011

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RESURRECTION: An Uncommon Romance

The following short story is a continuation of Michael: A Short Story on this website. It, like most of the material you will find here, deals with a relationship that began in 1992 and continues to this day, but from a slightly different perspective. I thought it important to publish it here because there may be readers out there who have experienced similar proddings, urges, or curiosities. Perhaps, they, too, have felt that they are ‘all alone’ in their uncommon views and perspectives. Maybe, they, too, have locked those urges and curiosities away and failed to acknowledge them as promptings from the world of spirit. If my experiences can help even one of those readers to recognize Michael Jackson’s continuing presence in his or her life, I have done what he has asked me to do.

Back on the planet he was supposed to be quitting, the woman whose inconsolable grief had attracted the attention of The Eternal One and his son was totally unaware of her two invisible, but illustrious, visitors and tried desperately to pull herself together. But her heart was screaming, “NO! NO! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to stay if you have to go. Take me with you, please!”

What was worse, she really didn’t understand this excessive reaction to the death of a man that she hadn’t even known personally. All she knew at the moment was that her heart and mind and soul felt broken, somehow. There was a tear in her psychological makeup with ragged, bleeding edges … a psychotic break separated her life into two different partitions each bound by high, unscalable walls … before she learned of the death of this remarkable human being who had united the world under his music and the magical spell of his charismatic character … and after. The gravity that had held her universe together had come unglued, lost its pull, threatening to send planets and satellites into erratic and unforeseen ellipses.

The fact that she had deluded herself into believing in some kind of nebulous, spiritual connection to him for a little more than a decade of her life notwithstanding, the truth of the matter was pretty straightforward … he wouldn’t have known her if she had come up and kissed him full on the mouth. Watching his shrouded body being loaded into a helicopter for the short flight to the Los Angeles County Coroner’s facility felt a little like being flayed alive … a surreal, unrealistic plot in a poorly made, low budget indie-movie … but the only signs of her inner turbulence were the fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

She’d spent the last seven years trying to convince herself that the uncommon and completely inexplicable spiritual affinity she’d felt … and celebrated in countless voluminous stories and articles for the ten years immediately preceding … had been illusory … a form, perhaps, of insanity or biochemical imbalance. In contrast, while living that decade, she had viewed these aberrations as a gift from a loving Creator and been thankful for them.

For some reason lost in the seldom-prodded archives of her mind, she’d gotten tired of fighting against the status quo represented by the world’s lack of faith and had become determined to conform. She’d decided that the world was right, that her deep empathic and compassionate love, her nearly telepathic communication with the man whose lifeless body she had just witnessed being loaded into a helicopter had been an hallucination born of a fevered, pain-riddled, lonely, and possibly frustrated, imagination. To be honest, she’d had ample help coming to that conclusion.

An entire world full of people had seen something completely antithetical to what she had seen when viewing the events of his life. It had been extremely vocal in expressing its bias; had never understood her perspective to begin with and had done its insidious best to undermine her absolute faith by reinforcing her tendency to doubt herself and her own intuitions.  Through its subtle attacks, it had persuaded her of the logic in that hypothesis. She’d been surrounded by church-going, supposedly spiritually-attuned people whose outward display of religiosity extended to a belief in life after death, but rejected the suggestion that the same spiritual world exists in the here and now and discounted out-of-hand that dimension having any real impact on life during life. It just isn’t logical.

The problem is that logical explanations, irrespective of how human beings base their decisions and judge their fate and sanity upon them, only skim the surface of life like only the tip of the iceberg shows above the arctic sea with ninety percent beneath the icy waves. Logic, by its very nature, seldom takes intuitions or feelings into account … and her feelings hadn’t changed in those seven years except to become stronger. She’d still been attracted by news articles featuring his name, even when they contained errors and hateful diatribes and obvious bias; his image had still drawn her like few other things in life could. She’d done her best to ignore those feelings … to gloss them over with rationalizations … to very little avail. Now, the object of those ‘hallucinations’ had died; and she was plunged into a pit of guilt, remorse and hopelessness that seemed to have no bottom.

“Be reasonable,” the voice of logic, sanity, rationality echoed in her mind. “This kind of grief is insupportable. You didn’t even know the man. You’d never spoken to him … never touched his hand except in your vivid imagination and the stories it spawned. They were stories, fictions … figments of an overactive, possibly frustrated imagination … not prayers … not spiritual support … just stupid stories. They were hormones on the rampage in written form, that’s all …a biochemical imbalance spewing tawdry, maudlin, cheesy words … meaningless.”

A small, timid voice she had, herself, imprisoned within a tiny room in her heart responded, “I know him. I know him.”

“How could you know him? You can’t possibly have known him,” the angry, argumentative voice of reason patronized with such certainty, insisting always on using the past tense. “These so-called connections are figments of your imagination … fantasies … wishful thinking born of a silly, second childhood infatuation. You are a modern, rational, logical human being … the product of a technologically advanced society … not some superstitious inhabitant of an aboriginal tribe of antediluvian descent. Act like it! You know what I’m saying is true. Ask anyone. Now, dust yourself off and pull yourself together. It is not possible for you to know anything more than anyone else knows about this man. Trust me. I know what’s best for you.”

Once again, that tiny voice chimed in, its whisper barely heard over the clamor of reason, “I know him. I know him.” But it seemed that the voice was getting weaker and weaker by the heartbeat, drowned out by the ingrained lack of faith promoted by a world which refused to believe in miracles … not because they rarely happened but because they were so seldom recognized as the miracles they were. It was so invested in logical explanations that magic and miracles were viewed with suspicion instead of gratitude.

The arrogance of the voice of logic raised her hackles. “Is this what’s best for me? Is being closed, sterile, separate, apart, indifferent, unattached, inured against the promises of a Loving Creator best? Is the past seven years of disengagement and lack of involvement in life … and love … best?” She asked herself. “Am I most fully present in not showing up? Or was I most fully alive and happy back when I walked with angels, led by love and God sent little signs to gladden my heart? Who am I … who and what have I chosen to be … and who do I choose to be … now?”

One of the features of the decade she had lived walking hand-in-hand with the man whose cadaver was even now arriving at the coroner’s complex was her complete faith in miracles … without question or doubt … but always with thankfulness for recognizing and being the beneficiary of those miracles. That belief began with her absolute certainty that she and Michael Jackson (who embodied that faith) shared some kind of link or bond beyond what the rational mind could grasp, but it certainly hadn’t ended there; the miracles and signs had fanned out across her life like spilled love … broadening her horizons … inspiring her inner freedom from the outer world and the responsibilities of her completely un-extraordinary life … contributing to her growth as a spiritual being having a human experience … and encouraging her investment in her inner, invisible world. And she felt that growth had ended on the day she’d decided to “grow up.”

In the quiet recesses of her mind, she longed desperately for a return to that wonder and innocence … the belief in magic … the joy of discovery … and the attitude of gratitude that had filled her days with a sense of greater purpose often, but she hadn’t known how to get back to it. No roadmaps or blueprints showed the way, except the one she had followed before. His name was Michael Jackson … and now … he was gone. While she mourned the man, himself, with a bitter, piercing pain; she mourned the deep connection she had felt with him as well. It seemed that he had taken her path back to that Garden of Eden with him.

The days dragged on, each one longer and more heartbreaking than the one before. The national media swirled with the same rumors, innuendos and outright lies that had dogged him in life, rehashing the low points of the remarkable life this man had lived while present on this Earth in ninety second sound bites. While she needed to be present for him, she also needed to protect the shattered pieces of her heart from further injury. The constant attacks he still endured, even in death, pierced her soul. She moved through her days as if on auto pilot … empty … numb …shielding herself behind walls of coldness, barrenness. While outwardly performing the tasks required of her with perfunctory, apathetic efficiency, her heart broke within her and her soul continued to cry out for release.

On the night of the televised memorial for the man she couldn’t possibly have known, she turned on the television and composed herself to pay her final respects to his memory in the way he had always behaved in his honor … with grace and dignity …vowing that the emotional, timid voice would remain buried beneath the angry, argumentative, practical product of a modern, technologically-advanced society.  She paid little attention to the ‘talking heads’ who, even now, couldn’t treat this extraordinary human being … who had changed the world in so very many startling and unique ways it would probably be centuries before the fullness of his impact would be appreciated … with the respect and honor he deserved. Instead, the pundits and experts expressed dismay over the magnitude, scope, expense and logistics of this ‘excessive’ display of mourning for a man who had once been accused … blah, blah, blah. Paying them little heed, she kept her promise to remain emotionally uninvolved … until the very beginning of the two-hour televised and broadcast-round-the-world ceremony.

When Michael’s brothers wheeled his flower-draped coffin into the stadium to the strains of a gospel choir singing We Are Going to Meet the King, all dignity and grace flew out the window and her resolve to remain aloof went with them. The door to the little used dungeon in which she had incarcerated her love seven years earlier flew open and the small, timid voice she had tried so very hard to ignore was eloquent in its silence. She ended up a quivering mass of gelatinous material in her recliner, sobbing uncontrollably through the entire two hours, her tear-reddened eyes and face, almost an entire box of soiled, wet tissues and flowing, red nose testifying to her abject hopelessness and misery.

The flood of uncontrollable grief waxed and waned with each song performed in his honor, each eulogy spoken in his memory and each photograph displayed on the jumbotron screen behind the stage. Finally, it reached an alarming crescendo as Michael Jackson’s pre-recorded, tear-filled voice rang through the packed stadium at the end of his masterpiece of yearning for the unconditional love he was so adept at dispensing, Will You Be There, sung by a flash-in-the-pan voice whose lack of adequacy was only topped by its great respect:

“In our darkest hour,

In my deepest despair,

Will you still care?

Will you be there?

In my trials and my tribulations,

Through our doubts and frustrations,

In my violence and my turbulence,

Through my fear and my confessions,

In my anguish and my pain,

Through my joy and my sorrow,

In the promise of another tomorrow

I’ll never let you part,

For you’re always in my heart.”

From the depths of the woman’s very soul, a cry rang out, filling her room, “Ah, my God … his voice … his voice.”

As the tribute-filled, speech-laden, star-studded, prayerfully-dignified ceremony … interrupted only by intermittent cries of “We love you, Michael!” … drew to a close and his brothers came forward to lead the coffin from the stadium to the hearse waiting at the side door, she turned off her television set and crossed the hall to check on her sleeping granddaughter, hoping that her sniveling and caterwauling had not awakened the seven-year-old. Returning to her own room, she heard his voice again, but this time it wasn’t coming through the speakers of her television, it was reverberating through her body and mind.

“You know, I’m not there. I am not in that box. I didn’t like them trying to squeeze me into their little boxes when I animated that body. I like it even less now.”

The woman glanced at the dark screen of her television, hoping against hope that she had forgotten to turn it off. No such luck! Then, she looked frantically around her room to find the source of the voice, though she knew that she was alone … her granddaughter sleeping peacefully in the room across the hall … her husband still at work … the doors locked and the animals bedded down until morning. She knew that the echoes ricocheting around her head and heart were impossible. But she couldn’t deny the reality she was experiencing; nor could she explain it away with her so logical, technologically-advanced rationality.

“Oh, good,” she thought to herself. “Now, I’m going crazy!”

In response, she felt more than heard a chuckle and wondered exactly what was so doggone funny in this situation. “No, you’re not going crazy! You’ve always been crazy, Thank God. This is not a new thing. But, we’re gonna take this nice and slow … one step at a time. I don’t want you to be frightened.”

Suddenly, the woman felt an uncontrollable urge to hear his voice again … singing one of her favorite songs. In response, she slipped the compact disc into her player and the beautiful melody eased her dis-ease from the very first note, gentled the knots from her shoulders as if massaged by the most skilled masseuse, untangling her nerves and untying the knots in her stomach. The thoughts of fear and disquiet fell, almost unnoticed, like unused shackles from her mind. She sat limply with her eyes closed against the stinging tears, her swollen face marked by only an occasional trickle, her heart feeling every note, her spirit riding every word. His beautiful, ethereal voice calmed, soothed, ironed out all the corded wrinkles of her distress until a thought of abject terror arose, unbidden from the depths of her despair.

“It’s just not possible … to not hear that incredibly versatile, beautiful voice ever again.” As this new thought gained momentum, the terrible heartache and panic threatened to start all over again.

The soft, still, timid voice whispered in response, “Shhh, you’re hearing it now.  Give in to me. Love is a feeling. Do not be afraid. You are not alone for I am here with you. Though we’re far apart, you’re always in my heart.”

And once again, the song in the player restarted at the beginning. “That’s odd,” she thought, “I don’t remember pushing repeat.” The song enfolded her within his arms, held her closely against his heartbeat, bathed her in his love, sheltered her from her fear, lifted her above the panic, rocked her in his comfort and warmth … and started again. “How is this happening?” came the momentary, desultory thought in the secret recesses of her brain, but she was too comfortable … too sleepy … too emotionally distraught from two hours of non-stop weeping … too enthralled feeling the surcease of her anguish, the soothing strains of comfort… to investigate. She knew a moment of gratitude that her player seemed to have developed a mind of its own tonight … of all nights … and had gotten itself stuck on the one song that could speak directly to her soul … from his … and heal her pain. “What are the odds of that?” she asked herself, glancing over the thought, “coincidence” in passing. It was the only logical explanation she could find as she allowed the music to seduce her like a lover, stripping her of all her oh-so-rational excuses to fight its seduction. Resisting these feelings, she knew, was futile; she didn’t have the strength tonight. She had no choice but to surrender and drifted off to sleep in her recliner rocked in the arms of his love.

~~

If she could have seen past the physical world that enveloped her, a man stood in front of her recliner watching her surrender carefully … a man, yes, but not quite what one expects to see when thinking of that description. This man was more a combination of sparkly, twinkling, rainbow-colored, flashing light in human shape than solid flesh, bone and blood. In appearance, he looked very much as he had looked in life … dark black hair and crow’s-winged eyebrows … pale white skin … soft, melting brown eyes … thin, wraithlike frame coiled tightly with energy … large, elegant hands with long, tapered fingers. As he stood patiently waiting for the woman to fall into a deep sleep, his appearance changed from the beautiful, chocolate skinned boy to the gorgeous, sensitive teenager to the ever-lightening young adult who wore his beauty like a crown to the almost parchment-shaded mature man whose beauty was hidden behind hooded, cautious eyes as if in a slow motion movie … one segueing into the next with no discernible boundary in between.

Finally, sensing that the woman’s body had entered a state of REM sleep, he reached out toward her and thought, “Beloved … will you rise and walk with me?”

As if pulled by an irresistible force, an amorphous, vaguely human shape, similarly resplendent in sparkling, flashing color, though a bit dimmer, rose from the body of the woman slumbering in the recliner … her right hand stretched out toward the man who stood before her. When their fingers touched, the aura of the sleeping woman looked behind her to make sure all was well with the physical organism to which she was inexorably attached but which had released her from its grip temporarily.

My thanks to Debbie for the beautiful graphic.

“Michael?” she thought.

“Yes, Dear One, it’s me,” he telepathed, pulling her toward him for a tender embrace. As their arms and bodies entwined, each shone a bright, brilliant green. The air surrounding the recliner was charged with the joy of reunion and the pure, innocent love of two children who had been separated for far too long by circumstances beyond their control. They touched … her hands caressing his cheeks and jaw, pulling his remarkable face towards her and touching his forehead with her own, closing her eyes in ecstasy as their two spirits joined in a sacrament of love … his rubbing her back gently and smiling deeply into her eyes as he, too, surrendered in perfect abandon to the emotion flowing between them. For a moment, a green flame burned brightly in the room. Hidden within the flame that burned but did not consume, they kissed, exchanging and comingling the breath of life … he filling her … and she filling him. From both arose the thought, “We Are One.”

The four walls of the small bedroom could not contain their joy and they found themselves walking through a lush green forest populated with birdsong and the rustling of small creatures scurrying for food along the forest floor. Hands clasped, they walked for a little while in silent, perfect understanding … their delight in just being together again … as if after a long and lonely separation … enough to content their hearts and quiet their minds. No words were necessary … no thanks … no apologies … no explanations required. Just the perfect bliss of Oneness filled their hearts and minds in this rhapsodic moment of NOW.

~~

The woman upon awakening knew that she had spent the night in the arms of a love of inconceivable splendor. She didn’t know how she knew … couldn’t have explained her certainty if anyone had asked … but the knowledge was bone deep and incontrovertible. She didn’t remember dreaming, but that was not unusual. She never remembered dreaming. Nonetheless, her certainty of her night of bliss was unshakable.That the night she had just passed was connected, in some unfathomable way, to a ‘dead’ man was a thought from which her logical, rational mind recoiled in horror without dwelling upon it too much. After all, the society which had raised her and taught her the difference between possible and impossible … right and wrong … frowned upon such macabre fantasies. She could hardly admit the thought to herself, so she buried it deep in her subconscious. For a few moments before rising and allowing the logical, visible, reasonable world she inhabited to claim her again, the peace and tranquility of the forest she had walked with her soul mate enveloped her.

However, she was, as previously mentioned, a responsible, mature adult. She had to get up and get her granddaughter ready for school and herself ready for work, had a full schedule on her plate when she arrived. She couldn’t just wallow around in her contentment. As she brushed her teeth and got dressed, the full weight of sadness of the night before hit her right between the eyes, bringing her heartbreak and panic, once again, to the forefront of her mind. Making her way to the car, she grabbed her compact disc out of her player, hoping that Michael’s voice would prove once again to be the tonic she required to return to, at least, enough equilibrium to move through her day without breaking down and making a fool of herself in front of her co-workers.

While at work, in her spare moments, the woman perused on line offerings by Michael Jackson to fill some of the missing gaps in her fairly extensive collection. She found a compilation of many of his released songs which also included ten unreleased tracks (listed as ‘demos’)on four compact discs and one DVD she had never heard of because it had been released during the seven years she’d spent trying … and, apparently, failing … to conform to her husband’s … and society’s … expectations of her. Shrugging that failure away like a duck sheds water, she didn’t purchase it, but she couldn’t deny it had spoken to her.  “Be realistic,” her rational self proclaimed, “how good could a demo possibly be?” It was a stupid question and she knew it. She’d had experience enough during her decade long affair to never underestimate Michael Jackson. After all, she had written that sentence, herself, to a popular weekly almost seventeen years earlier and her comments had been published in its Letters to the Editor section.  Michael’s ‘demos’ were more sonically, musically and emotionally beautiful than any other artist’s finished releases.

If she could have allowed herself to remember, she would have recognized these subtle, almost undetectable urgings. It was in just in such unobtrusive ways that Michael had communicated with her in the early stages of their incomprehensible relationship. He led her … guided her … to music or books or experiences by nudging her own natural curiosity. The gentlest of mentors, he challenged her to investigate by simply mentioning a name or a composition during an acceptance speech at an award ceremony … or in the liner notes of an album … or the dedication page of one of his books. On other occasions, while listening to a lyric she had heard many, many times, suddenly, there would be a flash of recognition of a larger … more expansive … interpretation than was obvious to the casual observer at first glance.

It was in this way that their ‘conversations’ had developed almost two decades earlier. The same discreet communication was happening now, but she was too immersed in her shock, sadness and heartbreak to pay much attention. She was too fervently wishing that he would open a line of communication to notice that he already had. The same ‘conversation’ occurred the next day … and the next … and the next … until she finally broke down and purchased The Ultimate Collection.

On the same online site, she ran across a reference to his book of poems and reflections called Dancing the Dream and clicked on the link … and her jaw landed on the desk in front of her. She was stupefied to discover that the book was selling for $1,700 because it was out of print and considered a ‘collector’s item.’ Right then, she resolved to look for her stash of Michael Jackson stuff that she had squirreled away in boxes in the attic. Upon arriving home, she began her ‘treasure’ hunt through the unmarked boxes, discovering not one but two copies of Dancing the Dream. She also found many of the videotapes she had compiled of material broadcast on television and taped for her by foreign friends from German or British broadcasts … and magazines. But the most important of her finds were floppy disks containing many of the stories and articles she had written in support of her relationship with Michael Jackson. Now, all she needed was a computer! Until then, she could print them out at work.

Nearly every evening, when she had taken care of everything she was required to do and was free to indulge her own whims, she would secret herself away in her room, listening to his voice, watching his image in short film releases and re-reading the stories she had written when in the first throes of her infatuation so many years ago. She found the articles she had written almost twenty years before comforting, the stories redolent of the sense of spiritual connection she had felt during her decade-long love affair with a ‘rock’n roll idol.’ In them, she re-lived and re-breathed that cosmic mystery; in them she re-established her faith in what most of the world saw as impossible; in them she rekindled the flames of her lost love.

Every night as she slept, she walked with him in the forest of Oneness they had shared together on the night of the Memorial Service.  Often their communion was nothing more than a silent sharing of two souls, happy to once again have found each other.

In his infinite patience, Michael didn’t push her to recognize his presence by imposing himself into her waking hours. Occasionally, he would playfully turn on her DVD player … or it would get stuck and repeat a particular song over and over again. In this way, he let her know that he was still with her. His whispers never caused her alarm or fear; instead, they brought comfort and a surety of his presence … nothing more. He observed, encouraged, supported her investigations as she slowly, cautiously, but inexorably, researched … explored … remembered … rediscovered … and redeemed … the spiritual communion she had shared with him earlier in their relationship. He allowed her to find her own way back to a state of faith and trust in her own soul-based knowledge and intuition … and in him.

In this way, she got through the days until her copy of The Ultimate Collection arrived. When it did, she couldn’t wait to listen to the ten songs she hadn’t heard before. Sitting in front of her player, she listened to each of them … one by one. She loved them all. However, the last, a track called Fall Again, spoke directly to her heart … and she knew in that instant exactly why she had been moved to buy the compilation. It had always been so. By following his gentle leading, she had always discovered a nugget hidden somewhere in the pages of a book or tracks on a recording which confirmed their link or explained it in a broader sense or answered her questions.

Fall Again was a song about rekindling a lost love and its beauty spoke directly and clearly to her of her lost relationship with him. The melody sung by his beautiful voice broke her heart.

Feels like a fire 

That burns in my heart

Every single moment

That we spend apart

I need you around

For every day to start

I haven’t left you alone

 

Something about you

It’s there in your eyes

Everything I’m looking for

I seem to find

All this time away

Is killing me inside

I need your love in my life

 

I wanna spend

Time til it ends

I wanna fall in you again

Like we did

When we first met

I wanna fall in you again

 

Fought in a battle

Where nobody won

Left ourselves a mountain

To be overcome

You can’t run away

The past is said and done

I need us to carry on

 

I wanna spend

Time til it ends

I wanna fall with you again

Like we did when we first met

I wanna fall with you again

 

You tried everything

You never thought of before

When you live and you love

And you give it your all

You can always give it some

Northing means anything

without you

I can’t breathe I can’t breathe

I can die in my sleep

For your always here in my dreams

 

I wanna spend

Time til it ends

I wanna fall with you again

Like we did when we first met

I wanna fall with you again

She listened to the song over and over and over, crying and heartbroken … but, at the same time, she couldn’t help but be comforted … and feel nourished and cherished beyond her wildest imaginings. She’d never experienced LOVE like this. It wasn’t just her love for him that she felt in the music; it was his love for her. Yes, she was not unaware of the impossibility of that thought. His love was contained in the music … in his voice … in his breaths between the words … in the guitar accompaniment. He was there and his love was palpable to her. The warmth of it bathed her in sweetness at each hearing. His breaths filled her being, washed her very soul with his essence.

She quickly claimed Fall Again as ‘their song’ … and actually entertained the possibility that her Beloved Michael had included it on this collection specifically for her to find and draw comfort from … to help her re-discover their lost bond through his music.

The voice of reason and logic tried to talk her out of this thought … and she knew that its truth hinged on the presumption that he knew of her and her guilt over abandoning him. She also knew that he couldn’t possibly be aware of her situation, but, against all logic and reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling. The message of the song was too poignant; the lyrics too tailor-made; the emotion it evoked spoke too directly to her situation.

Besides, by this time, she had gotten to the point that she really didn’t care. She believed it in her heart; for her, therefore, it was true.

And she had a special little dark room in the dungeon of her heart in which to lock the voice of reason and sanity away. That voice had had its say for seven, long, fruitless years. They had been years of stagnation, unfulfilling, lacking in spiritual growth, contracting rather than expansive. How could she have been so stupid?

What red-blooded woman could resist an unbelievably beautiful man standing before her, holding his hand out to capture hers and inviting her, once again, into his love?

You can’t run away

The past is said and done

I need us to carry on

~~

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