I have experienced many aspects of the process of life and death. I worked for a few years with a beautiful hospice, providing some spiritual counsel and healing.

It was a special time, even though none of my patients made it out alive.

I have so many stories during the time I served with that hospice, while I continued a juggling act with my own private practice at the healing center I was responsible for.

One story was memorably intense.

I had set up a wonderful business arrangement to regularly participate on an internet radio show. I was more than excited to speak with people calling in and the host was extraordinary with promoting others. She was in her mid-fifties, and known to be a tough negotiator, named “The Dragon” by some of the other radio personalities I spoke with. She loved supporting her team by experiencing their work, and booked to see me for a session.

She came in relaxed and ready for her own time, which she was very happy to take.

I set up the massage room with my hot stones and all my tools to create a warm, relaxing session.

I obviously had no control over what was going to happen next.

As I began the massage at her head and shoulders, with gentle music playing in the background, I was in remote viewing mode. The pictures were like a movie playing out a really ugly story that I didn’t understand. I moved to her feet, noticing her toes were curled under her like a bird. They were on edge and I felt great fear.

I saw a little 5 year old girl who took me down some stairs to the concrete basement, where a washing machine and dryer were in use. She was weaving in and out of the concrete pillars, humming to herself, when she heard movement coming her way, and hid behind some large trash bins.

An uncle came down dragging another little girl by the hand, with an instrument in his hand. He was angry, red faced and drunk. She hid with her hand over her mouth, to not make any breathing noises, even though the washer and dryer were noisier than her.

The uncle destroyed the young life in a devastating murder that she witnessed silently, curling her toes within her shoes. It was a terrifying scene. I’d never seen anything like it before.

She could feel my silence and asked me to share if I saw anything that was of a psychic nature. I hesitated and then described the scene and apologized if it had nothing to do with her. The man was still playing out the crime with stuffing the remains into trash bags, which he then took and dumped into his trunk to drive to the nearby dump.

The woman on the table was openly sobbing, and with each deep cry her toes began to uncurl.

She had sat with this awful reality for 50 years, feeling like she’d imagined it all. She had tried to tell her mother, the sister of the murderous uncle, and the mother had waved her away with wild imagination comments. The cousin, the little girl, had been reported missing and never found of course. This secret had dictated the story of not trusting men her whole life.

We ended the session with a long, grateful hug from her, and I thought this secret would be one we would both keep.

It surprised me no end when she announced the healing we had shared and many of the gruesome details, on her radio show. Speaking it aloud was the final part of the healing for her.

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Love & Blessings,

Ruth

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