Deborah L. Kelley

Garden of a Desert Rose VIDEO

 Preview of

Garden of a Desert Rose:  A Spiritual Mystery

Granny's Visit Even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God. —Aeschylus (525-456 BC) The unseen visitor noticed a current 1982 calendar dishrag, reeking of mildew, carelessly tossed atop a pile of dirty white undershirts. She tried to kick it off with her foot. It didn't work, but she really didn't care. She was focused on delivering a message to a young woman, her granddaughter, who was in grave danger. The visitor would do the best she could to address the sleeping woman's inner child and lift her limited awareness into a vaster awareness of Self. She had to work fast, and yet she needed to wait for just the right moment. She watched for signs that Lenny was betwixt and between conscious and unconscious awareness. As she watched Lenny's eyes roll just a certain way, she zapped the top of her head with electrifying non-physical fingers. The touch of her hands sent patterns of energy into Lenny's inner decoding system. The visitor smiled, looking down at her pink flowered cow creamer, sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. While she had been on earth, the creamer had been one of many treasures given to her by her husband. Now it belonged to Lenny. Then she looked down at the darn dishrag and kicked it once again. It didn't budge. "Maybe next time," she whispered. She thought of Home and then, she was there. "I just heard Granny," Lenny whispered to empty space. But Granny was dead. No question about it. Yet there was not a single doubt in Lenny's mind that she had just heard her Granny voice. "A Center stays where it is," she'd said. "You are a Desert Rose. Now grrrrooow!" The last word sounded more like the growl of a tiger. It could also have been, "Now go," or "Now glow." She wasn't sure. She reached up to rub the gummy mascara and sand from the corners of her eyes. With one arm, she swept heavy bedclothes off the top of her warm body. The air felt chilly. Lenny's feet were on the floor before she realized that she was standing. She stood silent as a statue until her brain wrapped around what she thought she'd just heard. Standing, confused and more than a little disoriented, she looked around the bedroom for Granny's ghost. She had seen her before in a lucid dream. It wasn't that spirit communication was something new to Lenny. It was ingrained into the tapestry of who she was because she'd experienced it firsthand. Otherwise, like many other people, she'd probably think it was hogwash. She got up, walked toward her dressing table and plopped down, Indian-style. Her pink-and-green-striped satin vanity bench felt cold pressing against her ankles. She surveyed the landscape of her pale complexion. Her eyes were red from too little sleep, and too much wine and tearful poor me girl-talk whining had left her senses dulled. Yet Lenny sill sensed Granny's presence. Her room suddenly felt too dark and lonely. On her vanity sat two tall lamps with tiny fringed shades. She switched one on and then the other. Together they cast a warm golden glow over her chilly bedroom. But her body still felt cold, covered in goose bumps from her encounter. Was the voice really Granny's? It was forceful and know-it-all. That was definitely Granny's style. Although if it had been Granny's ghost, she didn't bother to wallop Lenny on the head with one of her whipping Bible verses. The voice didn't sound happy with Lenny. And Lenny knew she wasn't happy with herself. Was her unconscious mind mirroring her own inner anxieties and frustrations with her life? She didn't know.