Discovering Spiritual Gifts

From the age of about 12, I began "hearing" and seeing things that I no longer could deny was actual. I heard phrases and statements that I completely did not understand, but was insisted that I write down and illustrate in some cases. It was as if I were running around the house with a water bucket, attempting to catch words falling from the ceiling. I scribbled, typed and drew as fast as I possibly could until I were made to go to bed. I then secretly went back to my drawing pads to continue as I felt that the words would crash to the ground like glass if I were to ignore. I became anxious of what would happen if I did, so I continued.

I didn't know why this was happening or when it would stop. It made me nervous and I honestly wished it would leave me alone. Of course as I grew older, it became something that guided me into a far better person. One with strange abilities than those around me didn't seem to have, and I had to learn to keep it to myself.

Over time, I started learning that I just KNEW things about others that were not obvious as they were to me. I saw transparent information around people, such as how they felt about things, brothers and sisters, parents and even their animal people. It was as if people came with a package of information like a backpack that revealed the basics of their lives. Unfortunately, along with the good thoughts of others came the bad. I had a teen crush on a girl in school that I saw on occasion. Upon one of my meetings with her, I had drawn a sketch to impress her. I clearly saw her mind look up from the drawing and think "Awe, that is so sweet but I am not interested in this pizza face boy." The sound of her mind rang in my ears for what seemed years. It was at this moment that I realized that having the ability to read people is a double-edged sword in that you cannot have the good truth without the harsh truth.

As interesting and helpful as this might seem, it bothered me on all levels. Even as a young teen, I often contemplated if I were mentally unstable. At night, I would see someone standing at the foot of my bed, and call them out to my dad. It was absolutely shocking to me to discover that he could not see them as well. I mean, this was my protector, my idol, my dad. And all he could say is "Turn out the lights and nothing can see you in the dark, especially anyone you THINK you are seeing." All this explanation as they stared on patiently waiting for me to get back to it when my parents left my room.

My mother would discover my drawing pads and writings and question with great disturbance in her voice, "why are you copying this stuff and where are you copying it from?" she would insist. I told her that I wrote them myself to her dismay. She attempted to dismiss the whole question repeatedly until she would read subjects about love and sometimes intense passion. "how could you possibly understand these things about love? You are 12 years old!" she proclaimed of my ignorance. I actually had no idea myself. I heard the bright people explaining things to me and it was simply what I did so they would eventually stop. There were no questions of it being right or wrong, only if I did or did not.

ASCENDING SCALE

I recall being in the second grade. Teachers would usher me out of my home room class, usually instigated by my favorite Mrs. Bell. They would sit me down in an area reserved for unique learning needs and handicapped children. Mrs. Bell would introduce me to the teacher of another grade in which I had never met, and ask me strange adult questions about their personal lives. "Do you see Mrs. whomever's son getting into a particular college?" Or "Is Mrs. whomever's husband spending time with another woman?" It seemed the more I answered them, the more often they came around with more questions. They always had the same peculiar expressions on their faces throughout.

At one point, I had a music teacher that was particularly interested in my answers I had been giving the teachers. She took me to her room littered with instruments and posters of composers in which I didn't have a clue about. She turned out the lights and asked me to relax. She said "I want to lead you through a creative exercise and just see what happens." So she began. She guided me through a series of techniques with the intention of letting go of my physical body, focusing on my spiritual self. I recall everything turning white as I drifted higher and higher as my body grew heavier.

We eventually arrived at a stopping place where I was to identify those in my spiritual view, and what they were saying.I told her I was there with a tall, glowing man and 2 female angels. She asked me several questions about me, them and then her. I can not remember the nature of or the questions she had prepared, but one answer made a gentle and distracting gasp to her mouth. I would not find out until about 15 years later what that answer was.

We returned me to my physical body and then to my homeroom class, all with a strange expression on her face. I saw Mrs. Bell and her exchange in conversation and at one point both looked directly at me in surprise. More on all that later.

Mrs. Bell took me aside that day after class. She sat me down in my little plastic blue chair with little black metal legs. She told me "you are very special young man. Can you bring me some of the things you like to write and draw at home?" And so I did. This went on for years, until I moved on to another.

This was the first person to encourage that I share this type of information, as well as continue catching them into my collection of frantic water buckets. I guess for that alone, I owe her thanks to my success, my understanding, and experiences gained due to the place on her path that she was. Wherever you are Mrs. Bell, I want to thank you for releasing the chains that attempted to bind me.

Visit this blog regularly for the continuing story.

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