Magical Mystical Suitcase

It was the summer of 2012. I was serving the Vermont State Spiritualist Association. I had been on the road for months and returned to Vermont. Fresh air. Steady energy. Emerald mountains rising in every direction.

I walked up to the stage. My hands trembled. My nerves fired before I spoke. My mind filled with instructions. Do not fall. Do not shake. Look above the audience, not into their eyes. I cleared my throat and began.

My lecture centered on synchronicity and signs. A subject I knew in my bones. It brought order to a noisy world. As I spoke, the words moved through me. Fast. Certain. Like a river after heavy rain. I felt Spirit step forward. I let it. All I did was stand and remain open.

I spoke about the magical mystical suitcase. Well worn. Trustworthy. That suitcase had traveled with me through years of synchronistic twists and turns. I returned home from each trip with its pockets stuffed with small treasures. Encounters. Lessons. Proof that I was no longer the person I had been. Something inside me had shifted. It felt alchemical.

At the end of the lecture I said, “I am hanging up the magical mystical suitcase for now. My friend will take it on her journey to Brazil. I hope it brings her healing the way it did for me.”

I follow intuition and signs with devotion. They pointed me to stay in Vermont. I was working on repairing a relationship and received a nine-month time frame. A gestational period. That number appeared out of nowhere the way intuitive numbers often do. By month nine the relationship ended. And the magical mystical suitcase returned to me. As if it had been waiting for its moment to come home. It was magical. Sheer sorcery.

Then the direction shifted. Clear as a pointing finger. I was off to the next journey.

What would I find? What part of me did I need to experience and live through?

The chapter of the endless summer commences.

Phoenix, Arizona