Sacred Stories
She has had a Karma chakra chart with the corresponding colors laying on her desk at work for a month or so. She was straightening up and getting ready for an appointment. Everything was normal on her desk. She plugged in a new CD with healing sounds from crystal bowls and that reminded her of her friend, James, so she said, “Hi.”
Her phone buzzed. She got up from her chair to go to it. It was just a friend checking in.
She looked at her desk, and noticed five tiny crystals laying in a little pile on the chakra sheet!
She had JUST been over there and there was nothing there. There were no crystals there when she had picked up the sheet to re-read the Sacral chakra because her tummy was hurting. “Now, I have five baby ones and I don’t know where they came from,” she said in a text message to a friend, “I lined them up on the paper.”
Her friend sent a text message back, “It seems you do know where the tiny crystals came from! We keep getting better at recognizing and honoring and receiving help from non-physical.”
Here is the photo, along with her response: “Life can be so fun!”
― Thích Nhất Hạnh, No Death, No Fear
The day my mother died I wrote in my journal, “A serious misfortune of my life has arrived.” I suffered for more than one year after the passing away of my mother. But one night, in the highlands of Vietnam, I was sleeping in the hut in my hermitage. I dreamed of my mother. I saw myself sitting with her, and we were having a wonderful talk. She looked young and beautiful, her hair flowing down. It was so pleasant to sit there and talk to her as if she had never died. When I woke up it was about two in the morning, and I felt very strongly that I had never lost my mother. The impression that my mother was still with me was very clear. I understood then that the idea of having lost my mother was just an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother is always alive in me.
I opened the door and went outside. The entire hillside was bathed in moonlight. It was a hill covered with tea plants, and my hut was set behind the temple halfway up. Walking slowly in the moonlight through the rows of tea plants, I noticed my mother was still with me. She was the moonlight caressing me as she had done so often, very tender, very sweet… wonderful! Each time my feet touched the earth I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine but a living continuation of my mother and my father and my grandparents and great-grandparents. Of all my ancestors. Those feet that I saw as “my” feet were actually “our” feet. Together my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil.
From that moment on, the idea that I had lost my mother no longer existed. All I had to do was look at the palm of my hand, feel the breeze on my face or the earth under my feet to remember that my mother is always with me, available at any time.