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Before marriage to my husband and the birth of my first son, I had had an arduous, fraught, lonely, devastating, hero-creating life. The challenge of it can barely be overstated. And so, after all that, it was a momentous occasion when finally, incredibly, well into my third decade, I finally met one of my guardian angels or guides.

It was in a dream, as most of my prophetic insights are. He came to me nine to twelve feet tall and exceedingly thin, but muscled like an Olympian; a very drawn-out model of male perfection. He had olive skin, olive eyes, short cropped soft brown hair, and he wore nothing but a white loin cloth that fell to his upper thigh. His feet and hands were over-sized, but painstakingly crafted to beautiful perfection. They were artisan appendages - they belonged to a master craftsman.

Despite being almost naked, the weather did not seem to affect him - he was not cold, or even aware of himself as barely clothed. And in retrospect, neither was I. He was intensely beautiful, but nothing about him struck me as sexual in the slightest. Or even human. It was immediately apparent that he was an apparition of some other superior form. So much beautiful love, acceptance, and grounding, calming peace and goodwill flowed from him to me - it was a warm, rich embrace just to look upon him, to be in his presence.

He approached me ethereally, neither floating nor walking and simply folded me into his arms. Though he was extraordinarily tall, we fit together perfectly within the embrace; I nestled quite comfortably against his chest and into the crook of his armpit. It felt like I had come home. It was the most beautiful, soul-reviving, heart-enriching, openly loving contact I had ever experienced with another being. My whole body was filled with light and love, warmth and well-being, and my mind was instantly settled. I felt such acceptance - for the first time in my life, I realized I was perfect just as I was, and in that moment, so was everything else.

All too soon, he pulled apart and I was immediately plagued with questions.

"Who are you?" I asked, without talking or even thinking. He heard my heart and mind and responded instantly and lovingly. It was a form of communication even more deep than could be imagined through telepathy.

'I am Raj' he answered, his kind eyes filling me with the knowledge of his thousands of years experience, including the many lives we'd spent together; him guiding me, sharing my journey, watching over me. I was overwhelmed with the recognition that I had not been alone, in this life and many others.

"My life has been so long and hard. Why have you not come to me, or shown yourself to me, earlier. There were so many times when I needed you" I asked curiously, almost complaining, bereft for the time that I had wasted living without knowledge of his love.

He answered me then in the same way, without words or thoughts - more like a direct and instant download of knowing: 'I have always been with you, but it was part of your journey to face those challenges on your own.'

He threw me countless images then. He stood before my young son, merely a toddler. His beautiful, young, strong, character-filled hand rested gently on my son's head. They walked beside each other in a white expanse, holding hands easily. Remarkably, they also fit together quite perfectly.

A stunning, gorgeous, yet comforting golden-white light surrounded his elongated being and extended around my son. It radiated out twenty or thirty feet, pulsing with love and pure goodness.

"Why are you always with my children?" I asked, somehow knowing that his protection extended to the unborn daughter in my womb and the child that would follow her many years from now. In fact, now that I had felt his energy, I recognized him as a constant presence in my son's life (if not my own).

'You love them. When I protect them, I take care of you' he explained simply; or rather, it rang clearly through my knowing like a solid and easy realization that 'landed' within me.

"Well - I have waited this long... what advice or guidance can you give me? How should I live my life? What should I hold true and dear? What am I meant to do?" I asked, without asking.

'RUN. READ and WRITE' he instructed with cryptic simplicity.

"That's it?" I asked. It seemed to understate the challenges I was facing. "That can't be right. I have been carrying the burden of so many people's emotions. Am I not here to serve them in some way? Isn't it important for me to help them? Surely they need my support?"

I was unbearably transparent in my request.

'No' he answered easily, frankly, decisively, albeit with love.

Everything he conveyed to me was transmitted on a bedrock of love - it did not jolt or hurt or jar, but it certainly resonated loudly.

'They are IRRELEVANT to your spiritual goal. If you do (waste your time on that) - it is for your sake; not theirs. You must only Run. Read. And Write. In that order.'

I allowed that knowledge to settle into my being and it was improbably liberating; like sloughing a layer of skin or shedding an enormous burden as I considered the freedom presented by casting off the emotional and financial weight of my relations - the spiritual family I'd chosen to begin this life with.

It seemed that we had an hour or two of long conversation, him in his strange un-talking, un-thinking kind of way and me in my clumsy awakening. During that time, I learned innumerable things that gave me patience, wisdom and compassion for what was to come and what had already been. Those things were absorbed into my knowing at a biological and energetic as well as a spiritual level. They echoed in my awareness but did not rise to the forefront of my mind, as his other messages did:

'I Help You by Protecting Your Children'

'You must Run, Read and Write'

'Everything Else is Irrelevant'

Of course, not my children. He didn't mean that I should stop supporting them. They had their own journey and I was here to guide them on their way (to an extent). But as for my own journey, so much of what I had been carrying could be whittled away or released. The struggles I had born so long no longer served me.

He seemed to leave me then, with those vague reverberations echoing in my subconscious, filed away for later use, to be drawn up at a different time.

That morning, I woke with a profound sense of loss. I desperately wanted the beauty of my sleep to return. Such peace and happiness I'd never felt before. I needed more! It was hardly enough - that small respite from the storm that had been my sad and lonely life, painted with joy and accomplishment but ringing with isolation and fear.

I told my husband about my dream, and the realizations that I'd been given or received.

"Great - so I don't have to give your family money anymore?" he asked blatantly.

It was a fair question, and I should have had the courage to embrace the implications of my dream straight away. Sadly, it would take another decade before I freed my husband completely from their need.

I phoned my oldest friend and told her about my dream. She humored me with interested and encouraging comments then excused herself back to work.

I told my sister in passing, on the back of a different conversation, and it sank into the phone line with a disinterested thunk.

A few days passed, and I was unpacking our belongings into a new apartment on the second floor of a stately block of six, in a leafy suburb in a tranquil part of the city which we happened to live in at the time.

The afternoon was hot; too hot to be outside in the sun with a toddler, so I opened the windows to allow the sea-breeze to flow through our sun room (now office) while I unpacked the new home.

My son was only a toddler; barely walking at all. He still preferred to crawl or pull himself along on his bottom where he could. I did not worry when he shuffled around the corner of the French doors toward our study, momentarily out of sight. He could hardly go far.

Sitting sprawled on the floor among the books and albums we had collected, I began reminiscing about the decade that my husband and I had already spent together. How time flew!

I heard shuffling in the sun room and imagined that my son had pulled some papers from our office desk down onto the floor.

'I'll clean those up in a second' I told myself, folding over the pages of the album that revealed our last few outings together.

'Go and check on him' a voice in my head prompted me.

'I'll just put these albums on the shelf' I reasoned, beginning to slide the first of eight into our shelves.

'He can move quickly. He can climb' the voice reminded me.

'I just want to finish putting these away' I explained to myself. 'It's so hard to unpack with a toddler in tow. I need to steal every moment that I can.'

'Go NOW!' the voice commanded. The force of it punched a hole in my heart and mind and I knew I had to obey.

I glanced up toward the sun room as I rose to my feet. It was bathed in a powerful blanket of golden-white light, brilliant, shimmering, warm, soft and radiating, glowing, other-worldly. It was like I had slipped into a dream-like state where everything became especially silent and beautiful, moving in slow motion, with nothing but the shrill sound of the universe buzzing like a cicada in my ears.

I rounded the corner, my eyes to the floor, expecting to see my son buried under the desk, rifling among loose papers spread in catastrophic disarray. Instead, the floor was empty in the small corner of space reserved for our desk. My husband's desk chair was pulled out, and some papers had been strewn onto the floor. As I lifted my eyes, I was overtaken by an eerie calm.

There, standing on the precipice of our second story open window, was my 15 month old son. One hand held the window frame beside him loosely. One foot rested haphazardly on the ledge. His other foot extended out, as though he were standing on something mid-air. His other hand reached out toward the same thing, almost waving or grasping. His countenance was happy, peaceful, amused. He stared at a point in space that did not coincide with the ground or the bushes or the massive Morton Fig Oak that sheltered our window and the entire building facade from the sun.

That same golden-white light was beaming so brightly from below, my mind caught for a millisecond on the dream-like quality of it - it didn't really make sense. The light from above was dappled, through leaves and branches, but the light from below, where my son fixed his gaze, was brilliant, soft and radiant in its beauty. It lit his face and body and half the room. He giggled softly as though someone said something funny to amuse him.

I called my son's name ever so gently, so as not to startle him. His eyes met mine and they were enlivened but peaceful, as though he were in the middle of a delightful conversation with a friend. The instant he saw me, he seemed to realize that he was up to mischief, but he calmly and peacefully waited for me to correct him.

I walked very quickly but smoothly and gently towards him, holding my breath, almost singing in a calming tune:

"Hold on, Baby - stay right there" I whisper-sang, not even daring to inhale my trembling breath.

He smiled gently, not moving a muscle.

It felt like a decade before I reached him, but it was a mere fraction of a second. In that time, I lived and died a thousand lives, and in each one, I praised every form of divinity that would let me keep my son.

Finally, after an eternity, I reached out and wrapped my arms firmly around him, pulling him back from the ledge.

"Hi Baby, whatcha doin' up there?" I asked gently.

"Tall man" he babbled. "Holding a leaf. A flower."

"What's that?" I asked as I collapsed on the floor with him, hugging him so tightly that I thought I would break his little bones. My heart sped up so fast that I feared it would climb though the walls of my rib cage like an alligator emerging from a swamp.

"Man big. Talking. Flower" he babbled happily, trying in earnest to explain something to me.

"Please don't EVER climb up there again!" I told him firmly. "That was VERY dangerous. You could have fallen down and got hurt VERY, VERY badly!" My tone that said much more than my words about my fears.

"Tall man. Holding flower" he repeated. His face shone with a beautiful peaceful exuberance. He was trying to console me, to reassure me that everything had been OK.

After I closed every window in the apartment and placed him in my direct line of sight, I called my husband and demanded that he return home immediately with sixteen solid metal childproof window locks for every window in the apartment. Then I took my son for a two hour ride in the pram, to keep him at ground level, and out of harm's way, until we had eliminated all risk of possible injury in the apartment.

To my husband's credit, by dinner time, he had installed all of the said locks which prevented us all from opening any of our windows more than two inches during that long hot summer, and certainly prevented a toddler from sliding through.

Several days later, I had occasion to mention to my brittle sister what had transpired.

"That must have been the angel from your dream holding him up" she suggested. "You said he was tall, right?"

I thought of the pose I had found my son in, when I'd rounded the corner, stepping out into the abyss beyond the window pane, placing weight onto that foot suspended in the air, surrounded by that unnatural ethereal golden-white glow from below. Of course - in her candor, my sister was right.

Raj was the tall man my son spoke of. If he lifted his hand above his own height, he might easily have reached the point in space that my son's foot rested. And his color of light was the exact same hue that surrounded my son. He had visited me to tell me that he was caring for my children. He had shown me that he was watching over my son.

More than a decade has passed and I have not seen Raj again; at least, not directly. But when I visited 'My Crystal Lady' - a reiki healer - about the intense morning sickness I was experiencing with my third child, close to nine years later, she mentioned in passing how much my 'Little Indian Guide' enjoyed the company of my third child.

I laughed out loud. "I thought he was extremely tall!" I exclaimed. surmising she spoke of Raj.

"Well - you know why he came to you like that - he says" she reported with a sacrosanct tone.

I wondered why Raj only revealed himself in the service of my children's well-being, rather than to inspire my own trust and faith in him or some other form of divinity or the universe itself. Was I not a child too, when I needed him most? Why did he not support me through my earliest challenges? Why did he not protect or guide me then?

But of course he did. All of my life, I've heard his 'voice' and others like it. It is the instant, certain knowing that guides me in right and wrong, the gentle, calm reminder that helps me navigate when I reach for it, but allows me to flounder when I do not. And sometimes, silence is the best answer and guide. At times, we must go it alone; we must do the work we came to do.

I'm profoundly grateful to Raj, for the spark of intuition (and the insistent voice in my head) that raised me from the floor that day, to reach for my son in the window before he fell.

I'm grateful for all the wisdom and guidance I receive: in the signs and synchronicities of life; in the dreams and instances of dejavu; in the quiet voice in my calm quiet center that speaks in the simplest, most forthright way; in the messages that I receive from others; in the responses my body gives me that tell me I'm on track; and in the flashes of recognition - as though something lives in my subconscious, buried in a dream from long ago.

So for me, life is An Unfolding; a Constant Awakening from a Deeper State of Rest and Glorious Peace, and I can hardly wait to go Home.

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