February 10, 2017

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Hi Dears,

You may know our anniversary is coming up--actually we have two of them, but the one in this current lifetime of Steve's, happened when a medium brought us back in touch. Steve forgot it last year! Well, he is so attentive, I hardly minded--I know how hard he works, and that he is not so much tuned into holidays and dates as most people are. But he was quite definite that he would not miss this year's--but what does a physical person get an astral person as a gift, anyway? It usually comes down to a poem; but Steve knows you can't write a poem unless you are inspired, and it is hard for a burned-out caretaker who isn't getting enough sleep, to get inspired. Still, he started one. It was no good, meaning, it was yet again how he had missed me, and longed for me, and screwed up looking in vain for me, and all of that. The first one or two, or three, of those was okay, but we are past that, now ;-). I got the idea to him that I wanted something about how we are, now (and why can't I make a request where my own present is concerned??).

So he went back to the drawing board, and started again. This was a couple of mornings ago. And this time, it started to look a lot better. That's because I was helping him--and again, why not? I am his "muse," after all... So, he had the worst part done, he had "gotten into it." This morning, not feeling particularly rested, he got back to it, and finished it right off. That's because I really was practically dictating it to him. But here is the truth--almost no poet or artist creates anything worthwhile, without inspiration--and 90% of the time, where does that inspiration come from? (Meaning, if the artist is honest and isn't stealing from someone else.) It comes from his or her muse. And this isn't a figure of speech. If you can have a spirit guide, can you not have a muse? In my case, I am both, his guide and his muse. It is not always so, I am giving Steve to understand. Many, here, want to help. Sometimes, the division of labor is split up in this way. The person is trying to create art, and the muse comes in, like that.

I wanted Steve to hurry, because I know some of you are feeling the pain of grief so much more accutely as Valentine's Day approaches. I am giving Steve to understand that it is one person, in particular. I want this person to have this poem now, before Valentine's Day. Otherwise, I would let Steve polish it a bit. He will no-doubt be doing so before our anniversary; and if he does, he may go ahead and revise it here, in this journal entry, as well. So if you are reading this on the 10th, you may be seeing the "raw" version; if you read it on Valentine's Day, or later, you may be seeing a more polished one. No matter. When I channel, even as a muse, I pretty-much nail it the first time. It is just a matter of how good Steve's reception is.

And do you know that Steve barely edits these journal entries of mine, at all? He writes as he feels it coming to him, and he edits only for grammar, typos, etc. Rarely does he feel I want him to revise anything. One of the traits of a person, here where I am, is that we get it right the first time. Did you ever hear of that, as an attribute of heaven? We don't get sick, we don't get tired, and we get things right the first time. Fun! We say exactly what we mean to say, also.

So now I am going to share with you the poem that Steve just completed for me. And I wish you joy--let us put it this way. Which would you rather have--that your loved one is physically here, but doesn't really love you? Or that your loved one is separated by being, now, on a higher level of vibration, which perchance can be crossed with effort, skill and practice, at least to some extent--but that he still loves you, personally, as deeply as ever? I would much prefer the latter, dears. Let the physical realm do its worst--it cannot defeat Love.

Fully present, dimly felt,
Love's deep chord sounds, soul-to-soul.
Clear as sunlight, flashing, hiding,
Come and fill my empty bowl!

Oh, I know you, playful spirit,
Nestle close, then soar with me,
Op'n my eyes to sparkling wonders,
Take my heart, and set me free!

E'er I sought you, now I've found you,
Let us learn to talk, again;
Faith the means, and fun the blessing,
With the mind, and with the pen.

Share again those tunes we cherished,
Share again the insight, droll,
Deep communion, warm and gentle,
As it was in days of old!

None can guess our secret triumph,
All would think me mad, and yet,
What we've found the grieving long for
We will catch them in our net!

We will break grief's hold on others,
As we ourselves the foe have slain,
O'er the world the soul-mates, drawing
Each to each their souls again!

All my love to each and all,
Abby