May 24, 2017

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Steve says, "Could it possibly have been ten days since we last channeled an entry?"

But it has, you see.

We don't have a lot of time before dinner...and all this brings up what time means to him, and what time means to me. Time, to me, is primarily the times when I can be close to him, that is, when he can feel my presence, and the times when I can't, and he can't. This is due to the barrier, and I won't go into what that is, but you who are doing what we are doing across the Great Divide, probably know what I'm talking about. Steve noticed it right away, even before the medium brought us together officially--he was afraid I was losing interest in him and leaving him! "Fat chance," as they say. I had been waiting a very, very long time for him to finally get the idea to turn to me, hoping, against hope, that he would want to get back together.

Because for me it was just yesterday. Steve feels what I am feeling, but how to explain it? I felt something like, "Don't you remember what we are to each other?" Because it was just yesterday, you see. It never feels "long ago," to me. It feels like yesterday. And Steve feels this, when he plays the music I loved, that we loved, together, which was part of our relationship--our "special things"--and he can feel what it meant to us as though it was just yesterday. He is feeling it with me. Sometimes, as he is playing the notes, he feels me knowing how to play them better. Even though he can't let go and let me play them (yet), he can feel that I would like to play them, and that I remember how to play them--again, as though it was yesterday.

That is all about time...let us see, what else...

What would you like me to talk about? You know I can't always be funny. I also can't always try to explain what it's like here in the astral realm. It is whatever you want it to be, with the caveat that it is what you really want it to be, not what you think you'd want it to be. Do you see? Steve can't follow. It comes out of you at the "belly," as it were--what you really long for. I want to be with Mathew, now Steve. I thought I wanted to be here, you see; with God. But if you really want to be with God, there are two ways to do that. Love God with all your might, as a monk or a nun, meaning, as a single person giving up everything; or else, love your soul mate with all your might, putting his or her happiness above your own, and then the two of you love God with all your might, together.

The next time He comes on earth, Steve and I have made a pact--we will be on earth (God willing), married again--and we will invite Him to tea at our home. Steve will stand by, to fullfil any request He may have, and I will serve the tea.

You don't know how I have wished for this. I almost can't speak, for the power of thinking of it. We will do that. God has promised, that He will accept our invitation.

And we will work toward that day, serving Him. Let Steve quote from the very, very ending of our letters, written in explanation and advocacy for Abolition, in 1837. These were submitted to the editor and published, to counteract the letters of "Alpha & Beta," who sounded liberal and as though they were against slavery--but they wanted to do away with it some other day. We did not want another day to go by with slavery in it. And so we wrote cutting down every stupid argument these people put forth--in their ten-part essay--like so many intellectual weeds. And we ended this way:

We come now to the close; we copy not from Pope, but from a higher source. "We know in whom we have believed." "We know that the testimony of God standeth sure." We know that Christ came "to preach deliverence to the captives!" and we profess to be his servants and do his bidding.
KAPPA, LAMBDA & MU.

Once again, were I on earth, I would be choked up and unable to speak for a minute. We were a brave little family. They crushed us, by ignoring us; but we were quite brave in the face of that. Steve found something interesting. Mathew, when we had been in that town only a short while, wrote a scathing, hilarious lampoon of their town meeting. And someone--Steve thinks the typesetter, not the editor--saw that, and decided to counter it by adding, just below it, a horrible joke making fun of black people. Well, this is what we were up against. Lest you think that the sword of discernment is out of place, remember that Jesus drove the money-lenders from the temple. And lest you think that sarcasm is always unspiritual, recall this, which Jesus said about the Pharisees: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness." You don't think that is sarcasm? Jesus was the master of sarcasm.

Everything--everything--depends on motive, which, in turn, depends on the state of the heart.

So perhaps you would prefer that I be light and funny, rather than to preach...

I was talking about the barrier. These fluctuations are both natural, and amplified by us, here. That is all I am giving Steve leave to say about it. But when the barrier is up, Steve can't feel my presence. Nor can he easily feel my prompting, which is what he relies on at the most basic level (that's the best he can put it, now). When he can't feel my presence or my prompting, if he's not careful, he starts mistaking the promptings of his own mind for my prompting. "Abby wants me to have a second cookie." "Abby says I don't need to floss tonight." And so-on. Or, "Abby says I should go to the bakery for a treat," but then it turns out it is Sunday, and the bakery is closed. What's going on, there?*

Time was, this would have caused Steve to question the whole thing! No more. Not since I came into his arms, upon request, a few weeks ago. That finally silenced all the questions. The world can have its opinion, "yeah" or "nay"--Steve knows. But still, he wryly says, "Oops, fooled myself, again" or "the barrier must be up, again" when this kind of thing happens.

This morning, he felt I wanted him to ride his bicycle instead of take a walk. But lo and behold, the tire was flat--he will need to buy another tube, as the rim is cutting through the valve. Didn't I know? Would I have asked him to ride, if the bicycle is out of commission? Am I just a figment of his imagination????. But no, he didn't think that. He wonders, sheepishly, "Did I not know?"

Perhaps I simply didn't look to see if the bicycle was in good working order, before I made the suggestion. I am human, still; I assume things, and I am not omniscient like God. I don't know everything. I try to check things out ahead of time, but I can't be running around looking at everything. So I may not even have asked him this; or I may not have known; but Steve knows this much, he must not expect super-human omniscience of me, or he will be disappointed from time-to-time. I see more, better, farther and deeper, because of being in this state--but I am not all-knowing.

That settles that.

Steve is supposed to be drinking his small glass of wine for heart-health now; but with all this channeling, he has only had a very few sips. I still choose the wine, by prompting. Steve has decided I should pick one I really like for my birthday on June 2nd, from the liquor store, where there are a lot more varieties to choose from. That will be fun. He knows I like wine dryer--whereas Steve likes that sweeter, oak-aged flavor better, with a little spice in it. Why don't I like that? It is all what you used to be used to ;-). Steve has fond past-life associations; I have fond past-life associations. It's like that.

I like a very smooth, very dry wine. It is hard to get one at the prices Steve can afford, but we manage. I like "Espuelo del Gaucho," which is what we have, in a Malbec, today. But it is only a year old! (uggh) In my father's house, a wine only a year old was considered practically vinegar...

I did not mind anyone being rich. It is convenient, especially on earth. Here, there is no such thing. But on earth, well, you know--earth is, even at best, extremely inconvenient. Wealth makes it less so. Don't think that machines obviate the need for servants. Who do you think makes the machines? The servants. That's the problem. For you to have ease, someone else has to sweat--and that, usually, for a pittance. Slavery is still there, only in another form. Therefore, Steve lives simply.

Steve also lives simply because, despite doing stellar work, he is shunned, just as we were in the 1830's. Therefore he is poor--but he wears it with grace. I don't know that I could do as well. We do not have practice, here, for dealing with annoyances with grace. That comes with earth life. Fortunately, I have had practice in other earth lives, which will stand me in good stead.

And now, with all this rambling, I see Steve just barely has time to post this. And still, I haven't said anything even a little bit amusing. I'm sorry. Maybe next time.

Love to each and all,
Abby

*I am often wrong. It is true that the "orange whacker" I spoke of, previously, fit like a glove on the bottom of the recliner--but it was blue, not orange; and it cost $2.97, not $2.98, as Steve had channeled for me ;-).