A week ago, I was sitting in the airport in Toronto, waiting for my flight to Dublin. Yes, I finally made my dream trip to Ireland. But truth be told this is more than just a dream. It's a necessary life journey. I promised you the story behind the Bounde4Ireland story: the inside scoop. I'm a little weary of sharing this story in public. Some of you may think I'm absolutely off my rocker. But here it goes.
Do you ever wake up from a dream and think... What the ever-loving-heck was that? Well, I had one of those about four years ago. It was the kind of dream that makes you look around the room to try and figure out where you are. It happened days on end and they were becoming more and more intense. The places in my dreams, the people, the man (it's always about the man) seemed familiar to me, but I had no idea who they were or where I was. After weeks of it, a friend finally suggested that maybe I should try dream journals. She said that the moment I woke up I should write down everything I remember. Then go back over my notes later on and read them. If there was a message I was supposed to be getting from these dreams, it might be clearer to me then. So I did what she said. I even slept with my laptop beside me so when I woke, I could quickly get the thoughts down. Sometimes, the memory of the man with the short brown hair and meadow green eyes stuck with me all day. I found myself going back over my dreams, reading them repeatedly. Some times as I did I would recall the emotion that was attached to the dream and I would try to capture that in my notes as best I could.
Although the sequence of events didn't always seem to come in a logical or known order, one thing was very clear to me. The young girl with the long curly hair was me. The man, the one that made my heart pound... he was my lover. Sometimes the dreams felt so real that I would wake, crying. Perhaps because it was a love so "pure' and 'true' that I was overwhelmed by having experienced it, or maybe I was crying because I was afraid I would never experience that kind of love ever again. The dreams haunted me for months. My notes got longer and more detailed. I became somewhat obsessed with it all.
Until one October when a friend of mine had a psychic party in her home. A bunch of us girls all gathered together for some wine and snacks and we would all receive a half hour reading. I still remember the moment the three wicken women from Mount Forest walked into the house. An eerie calm fell over the bunch of cackling women in the room as the readers made their way to the bedrooms where they would provide short individual readings. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, causing me to look up and find the small English woman pointing at me from across the room. "YOU." she said sternly, "You, need to come and see ME. I have a message for you."
All eyes turned to me and mouths dropped open. I picked up my purse and obediently followed her into the room that was transformed into a make-shift reading room. Now, I've had a reading before and I'm not going to lie, I'm a skeptic. I did it because it would be fun to find out what things they would predict. If they told me I was going to get rich and find the man of my dreams, well then, I'll choose to believe it, because this is just for entertainment purposes and I like the thought of that. I didn't take it too seriously. How could anybody see the future, truly. I sat at the chair across from a small card table set up in the room. "Why do you look so frightened?" she asked me.
"I have no idea."
She nodded her head and spread the tarot cards out in front of me. I picked the number of cards requested and turned them face up. She studied them for some time then turned them back over. "You're not here for a reading." she advises.
"I'm not?" I asked, confused. It would be just my luck to spend $60 for fun and not even get a reading. The least she could do is lie to me and tell me I'm going to fall and love and find success in my career.
"No. My spirit guide has told me to tell you that you must acknowledge 'Ireland'. "
Her words startled me. Now there's a coincidence. I suspected the places in my dreams were in Ireland. For months I had been searching online through pictures, looking for familiar places. "Ireland?" I asked, playing stupid.
"Yes, Ireland. And don't bother telling me lies." she warned, "My spirit guide as told me all about him." The man in my dreams. In great detail she was able to tell me exactly what he looked like. She recounted how he meticulously rolled the cuffs on his shirt sleeves and how he loved to sing. Now, I know I had said that I was a skeptic. And maybe she was a fraud... but if she was, then this little old English woman found a way to get into the files on my laptop at home and read my notes without even knowing I'd be at this party. Overwhelmed I began to cry and she reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. "You know they aren't dreams, don't you. They are past life memories."
Well I had suspected such, but again I'm a skeptic. Tears well up in my eyes and I struggled to talk. Finally I asked her... "Why? Why am I remembering now?"
"Because, you're ready now."
"Ready for what?"
"For his message."
"Please." I beg, through my tears. "It's driving me mad. Tell me what the message is."
"It's time." she advises. "He wants you to remember what it feels like to be loved. He wants you to open your heart and let love in. It's time."
To be continued...
Stayed tuned !
