
There were many moments after Sue Vincent passed away when I allowed myself to slip into the agony of the mundane. You might think agony is a strong word to use for the mundane, but let me try to explain why I chose this descriptor.
I believe we are birthed opening our eyes to wonder. We leave the vast infinite expanse of connection to experience individuality, but with the hope of holding onto the magic of being. We are not simply cells collected into a body to experience a finite existence, we are being itself. The most basic laws of physics tell us that our energy cannot be destroyed, yet how often do we allow ourselves to slip into the agony of the mundane doubting the magic of our infinite existence?
There are many things that remind me of this slip. Facebook’s algorithm pops up old photos and quotes from the years when I was wrapped in the magic of wonder. Blog posts reappear on my sidebar reminding me that the magic of life I recorded received more likes than the agony of the mundane. And, most importantly, the constriction of the cells within my body remind me that I am a body of wonder waiting to be expressed, again. Over and over again.
This is life.
Sue was, in many ways, a gateway to wonder for me. We met through wonder. I dreamt of the cosmic eye, and then she appeared. Soon after, I saw a vision of a hexagram, and it was Sue who nudged the opening of its magic. Sue came into my life at just the right moment. I needed a teacher and a guide to help me open to the labyrinth of light that threads through life, and together we traveled through time to find that connection. Sue was, literally, a gateway to magic. And when she passed, I mourned her with a fierceness I had not expected. I didn’t want to let that magic go.
And, of course, I didn’t have to.
When I was working on the first chapters of Keys to the Heart I sent a passage to Sue for her input. The only thing she suggested I change was the use of the phrase, “of course.” I heeded her advice and erased the phrase each time I had used it, and made sure I omitted the impulse when it arose as I continued to write the book after her passing. With one exception, the dedication page.
“For Sue, of course.”
I can see her smiling. I can see that wrap of feathers she wore lifted into wings. I can see the wren, and the owl. The raven and the kite. And, two days ago, when I revealed the cover of my new book, I saw robins. Dozens of them. The most I have ever seen gathered together. In the middle of January. Outside my window. All day. Robins. The bird of birth and spring. It could not have been more fitting.
“I will send you birds.”
After Sue passed, and I began to question whether the thread of our connection still existed, Sue appeared to me during meditation. “I will send you birds,” she told me.
And so she has.
Of course.
❤
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what a beautiful connection and reminder. I still miss her
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It’s hard not to miss her 🤗
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I’m glad you’ve found your way back to heart and magic Alethea. I went through similar for many years and still am mostly focused on the mundane. May you keep the magic alive with the help of Sue and the birds. 💖
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Thank you, Brad. And, may you as well ✨
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Oh, Alethea….I am in tears, reading your beautiful piece of prose, while listening to a poignant piece of music by Dmitri Shostakovich on classic FM…(The 2nd, please listen to it!)
One can meet a dozen people -all different of course – and then along comes someone very special, like Sue Vincent. I didn’t meet her physically, but felt a huge draw and attraction. When she passed, I felt a strong presence had departed and wept as if related…The world is the lesser for her parting. I so enjoyed her many emails and contacts, and in particular felt anguish for her son.
Many of your words have equal meaning to me, so thank you sincerely for them. Peace, Love and Hope. Joy xx
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Dear Joy, thank you for this. Sue touched so many hearts in a very special way. I am not surprised you related to this post. 💕🤗
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Of course. I had hoped to meet her some day and see an ancient site with her eyes, but it wasn’t to be…
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I think that’s still possible. I still feel her presence in the ancient lands…
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Perhaps.
I just went back to your last post and discovered I didn’t comment! Sorry, I was trying to find the right thing to say and never got back to it. I still don’t have the right thing except that I really like it!
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Thank you, I’m glad you like it 🙂
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Beautifully written, Alethea! I thought of Sue yesterday! She wrote until her last breath.
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Thank you, Miriam. She did indeed.
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You’re welcome, Alethea!
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I saw so many robins in Central Park last week. Whenever birds deliberately catch my eye I think of Sue. And often, it is a robin.
I feel like she is keeping her eye on us, all of us who would not be who we are without her intersection with our lives. (K)
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I have no doubt she is 🪶
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How amazingly wonderful that you noticed and captured this.
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I was filled with awe and gratitude.
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exquisite. 💜
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Thank you, Carol 💙
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That’s beautiful. I connected with Sue when she wrote about her lovely son. She was an absolute joy to know. I’m glad she let you know she is still with you.
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Thank you, Alison. She really was a joy to know. Still is. 💕
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Thanks for sharing this idea Anita
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🙂
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Very touching, Alethea. There’s gotta be a way I read books while I sleep, right? I’m gonna head over and check out the links to your newest book!
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Thank you, Ka. My latest book, Keys to the Heart, is not available yet. I’m waiting on the L.O.C. number for the copyright page. Hopefully it won’t be too long. 🙂
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Wow. There’s something divine about birds because in the near aftermath of a loved one’s death, it’s often birds that visit us. Though in my mother’s case, it as a giant moth, as big as a bird, dressed in the colours of her favourite dress.
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It felt like a divine gift. I love that your mom sent a magnificent bird-like moth 💕
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