The Invisible Choir

by Tessa Lynne

  There is a similarity to my one contact with Michael. When I first arrived at John’s office complex, I experienced a heightened level of awareness. I have a vivid memory of exactly where I parked, the brilliant June sunshine, the pink seersucker dress I was wearing, the white sandals with three inch heels. And a tiny bell sounding in my head, a “ding, ding, ding” to signal a momentous event. It was all in stark contrast to the embarrassment I felt when I left.

  This was about the time Amelia said my destiny with Michael was changed. Is John my new destiny? He is an attractive man, but I felt no connection when we met. Besides that, he was married then, and he still is. I know his wife. I easily push thoughts of him aside.

  I want to take action. I want to find Michael and go to him, but I have agreed to not search for his home address, and besides, Amelia said the hospice is in a city even more distant.

  There is another possibility. I have reached out spiritually to a few clients who were in extreme distress, attempting support beyond what is possible in a therapy session. I did not tell them what I had done, but each of them mentioned having had a sudden feeling of lightness and hope at the same time that I reached out to them.

  I spend some time in meditation and then reach out to Michael. My heart and mind come together to send a message to him, though I do not know, in any ordinary sense, who he is, or where. I believe I have reached him, more deeply and more personally than I have the others. I feel a strong connection. I know that Michael has a son. I have known him before—in a past life.

  Soul Mates

  10/19

  I have been impatient, eager to tell Amelia of my attempt to reach Michael. She offers to communicate with his guardian, closes her eyes, and withdraws. When she returns, I see a look of intrigue on her face, hear a hint of wonder in her voice.

  “You did reach him. He had a dream in which he saw a woman—he believes her to have been an angel. It has given him comfort. He will know, upon his return to the spirit world, who you are.”

  To know that Michael experienced my presence helps to ease the tremendous loss I feel. I ask Amelia if she can tell me more of what might have been.

  “In 1973, if the two of you had met more decisively, you would have left your marriages to be together.”

  I know with certainty that Michael has a son, but I ask her to confirm it.

  “He does have a son, who was two years old at the time. Together, you would have had a second son. Then the spirits of your daughters would have been born to you. That was to be their destiny.”

  I feel a shooting stab of pain in my chest and know the origin of the term broken heart. My abs clench in a reflex to ward off another blow. My right hand clutches repeatedly at the pleats of my linen skirt. The pain envelops me, dulls my senses. As if from a great distance, I hear Amelia’s voice.

  “You have had a number of previous lives together. You are significant others in the spirit world—eternal spirits. You were granted permission by the Creator to be together for eternity.”

  A few moments pass. I start to breathe again. Here in my office, I cannot abandon myself to my feelings. I need to talk to regain my equilibrium. I ask Amelia if we are soul mates.

  “That would be an equivalent term, but it is not the one used in the spirit world. Eternal spirits do not share every lifetime, or even most of them. Many lessons are meant to be learned with others. In the lifetimes you have had together, there has always been a known alternative, another man—you have always chosen Michael.”

  Our time is up. I need to put a damper on my emotions as I visit with Sally for ten minutes.

  When I leave my office, I open the floodgates to feelings that are a mix of discovery and loss, joy and sadness, gratitude for what I have learned, and deep remorse for what we have lost. We are soul mates—it is impossible now for me to forget about Michael.

  If I could reach him once, I can do it again. Exactly how it is possible is not clear to me. I first connect with my spirit through meditation, and then I envision the one I am reaching out to and their spirit. I engage with my spirit, from my core to my heart, and generate an energy that I bring somewhat to my mind and transmit to that person through their spirit.

  I meditate for twenty minutes and then concentrate my thoughts on Michael, but I do not feel as close to him as I did two nights ago. I let go of trying and relax into being. Time passes. I feel a surge of concentrated energy from deep within my body, my soul. I make a conscious effort to channel that energy through my spirit, through Michael’s spirit, to him—a combination of effort and no effort.

  A moment later, I have an overwhelming sense of having connected with Michael. To say my heart is filled would be far from adequate to describe it. I experience a welling up from within, a warmth emanating from my heart, and the deepest feelings of love, connection, and contentment. It is not that I want to connect and then wonder if I succeeded. I know that I am with him. It is a process—external as much as internal—not wishful thinking. The strongest feelings last for about five minutes and then gradually diminish; they have not yet left me an hour later.

  I feel stronger. My wish for Michael is that he, too, will gain strength. There may be a chance for another remission. I sit here, still in awe of what is possible. My sense of having known Michael has been replaced by certain knowledge—we are everything to each other.

  Mahalia

  10/22

  I wake up to find that the feelings of last night have not yet left me. I was there with Michael, and I am still in awe of the depth of our contact. I think of telling the girls, but it is too private and too strange. These last few days have been so utterly surreal that I keep listening for the theme song from The Twilight Zone to be playing in the background.

  On this mild Sunday afternoon, I have to be out on the island. I take a path, little more than a deer trail, through faded, rustling rushes, remnants of cattails floating in the air. The scent of autumn is at its most intense, redolent of entropy, yet holds some promise, a single note, of spring. A hard frost in the night, the morning crisp, now brilliant sunshine brings hints of summer.

  The enormity of the loss I have felt has been eased by my connection with Michael last night. I feel his presence as I walk in reverie, warmed by the sun.

  Then, shattering the stillness, I hear a voice. It is distinct from my thoughts, and clear.

  “I am Mahalia.”

  A few beats of silence.

  “I return often, for the elements to be found here and for the children.”

  The words come from my right, as if someone is walking beside me in conversation.

  “I feel a deep grief that we cannot be together. His name was also Michael in an earlier life, Philip in another. Amelia is new, but Zachary is an old friend who has been with us in the past.”

  The voice speaks to me of Michael.

  “His spirit is kind and giving and full of love. He does not seek to control, as did the other—who had never been my choice—but you did not follow my guidance. I knew Michael was waiting, but I did not know where to find him.”

  A longer silence and I think that is all. It is not.

  “There has been much joy for me in watching your twins grow. I knew they were to arrive, but I could not fully convince you. They too have been with us before.”

  The voice continues, at a diminished volume, with long pauses.

  “We do not easily suffer fools ... I am well pleased with the conduct of your life … I will always be with you … we will walk together.”

  I am again in awe of my experience. Mahalia must be my spirit, the one who has been present in my other lifetimes and holds those memories. More accurately, it is I who play a part in this lifetime she has chosen. I think of how I heard her name, Mah-huh-lee-uh, the accent on the first syllable, the second one very short, the last two soft and musical.

  The girls are both home tonight and want to watch a video of Ghosts, which I haven’t seen. I am surprised to hear an old song playing: “U
nchained Melody,” by The Righteous Brothers. I watch the movie but my mind is more on Michael. The song reflects the torment in my soul. It is Mahalia who has yearned for his touch, and now I join her in that desire.

  The movie is over and the girls have gone to bed. The song continues to play in my mind. I reach out to Michael again, singing the song to him, willing him to hear me. I feel a strong connection—achieved more easily—there is now an open conduit from my soul to his.

  10. Odyssey of the Spirit

  MONDAY MORNING—MY CONNECTION WITH MICHAEL has not been severed. I need to make a conscious effort to cut that tie and turn my attention to clients. I see Sally last and Amelia appears. I tell her I reached out to Michael again, ask if she can verify it, and she withdraws for a minute.

  “You did make contact with Michael. He was aware of what he considers to be some outside source—you have touched him deeply. He told his son that he had a dream that has brought him serenity and fulfillment.”

  I ask her if there is any hope that Michael will recover.

  “There may be a chance of another remission. Even so, it would not be possible for you to be together.”

  Her voice is deeply empathetic, but I hear the certainty of a final answer. She responds to the disappointment that must be written on my face.

  “Child, destinies are not easily altered. There is much that has to be considered.”

  I am glad to have made a difference, but also sad and full of regret. I need to do something, take action. I tell Amelia that I would like to explain it to Michael—who I am, what he has been experiencing—express it in a letter. She will ask Eli. It is he who must grant me permission.

  I sit here in my wing chair in the corner of the ell-shaped living room, with a view of the spacious yard that reaches back to the ridge of the hill. The round table beside the chair is stacked with books, an exotically scented candle tucked among them, a cup of oolong tea resting on the highest one. Charkey has jumped up and purrs in my lap as I rub his ears with one hand, hold my pen in the other.

  I have been writing a letter to Michael, and rewriting it, trying to convey what is in my heart and the extraordinary circumstances that have brought us together. I flash on an image of him here with me, but there is no point now in thinking of what might have been—or so I try to tell myself.

  10/26

  I take a final look at my letter, make a few changes, but no words I put on paper can express what is in my heart. If Michael has felt the same deep connection, he will be reading the pages of my soul; the exact words will not matter. I finish it in time to leave for a late morning appointment and then three more this afternoon, the last one Sally.

  To my surprise, Zachary is back. He tells me his meeting with the Council went well; they are pleased with his guardianship of Sally. He has been informed of recent events in my life, and he has just paid a visit to Michael.

  “He has been quite unwell in recent weeks and has been asleep much of the time, almost comatose. The vision and dreams have affected him profoundly, and he has been writing of his experience in his journal.”

  Zachary says he has told Eli of my desire to write to Michael.

  “Eli is not in favor of it, but I reminded him that your spirits are of equal stature and that you have often been paired in past lives.”

  I show Zachary the letter. He reads it, an intent look on his face, then says that he is touched by it. And then he departs even more from his usual reserve.

  “You are not an easy one to be a type of guardian to. You tug at my emotions.”

  Amelia also wishes to speak to me, and I read the letter to her.

  “I can see why Zachary is touched. I will share it with Eli and suggest that he pay a visit to Michael. I have spent some time with him today. He has been more alert; thoughts of you consume much of his waking hours. He is a very determined man.”

  Last week, Amelia expressed some remorse that she had told me about Michael, that she hadn’t checked more thoroughly when I asked about my destiny. Tonight, she shows no regret.

  “Do not tell Zachary, but I would not do it any differently if I had the chance to do it over again.”

  I do not have to think twice before replying, “Neither would I.”

  Odyssey of the Spirit

  10/30

  I have reached out to Michael every night and when I have had time during the day. I am eager to hear word of him. Today it is Zachary who comes first. He has visited Michael again and thought I would be interested in reading some of his journal entries, shared by his guardian. It seems an invasion of Michael’s privacy, but that doesn’t stop me. Amelia comes while I am reading. I glance up at her.

  “Eli has consented to your letter being delivered. He knows that you and Michael will find each other in a future lifetime, but his heart is not unaffected by your plight. He wishes to bring Michael some comfort in the time he has left on this earth, and he believes your letter will ease his mind.”

  While I feel a quiet pleasure at her news, I am intent on reading Michael’s journal entries. Zachary takes her place, waits for me to finish, then changes the subject and forces me to return—from a far off hospice bed and the man who occupies it.

  “You may be asking yourself why we are willing to assist you in this unusual endeavor. It is, in part, because you have been approached and also due to the status of your spirit. Beyond that, it is because of your acceptance of what you have been told. It was not immediate, but we had expected to have to fight for every small increment of your belief. With others, it has often been a long process. It is to your credit, and to that of your spirit in guiding you, that you have been an adept student. You have searched your previous knowledge and beliefs and have asked pertinent questions that have led us to reveal as much to you as we have, and to now support you in your desire to communicate with Michael.”

  Zachary says that, not only may I write to Michael, but he will be allowed to reply. Amelia will be our courier, by some method beyond my comprehension and at odds with my rational mind. She will take my letter and place it inside the cover of Michael’s journal. I am to tell him to leave his answer there. She will retrieve it and give it to me at Sally’s next appointment. My acceptance of all that has happened thus far leads me to now accept, on faith, that Amelia can transport our letters without the use of physical means.

  I ask Amelia if, now that Zachary has returned, she will be leaving, this temporary assignment completed.

  “There has been a conference, of sorts. As you and I have discussed, my appearing to the alters as a strong female figure is assisting them in their healing process. I will remain as Sally’s guardian. Zachary will now be a less constant presence as he continues with his mission of approaching others.”

  Amelia pauses, then looks at me intently.

  “That is one reason. The other reason I requested to stay is that I want to remain a part of what you have started here. You have astounded many in the spirit world with your success in reaching Michael and with the depth of your connection to him. Your efforts are being followed with great interest, and I want to continue my involvement.”

  Amelia says goodbye and Zachary returns.

  “I have just come from a visit to Michael. He was awake and listening to music.”

  I can’t resist. I have to ask him to describe the music. From his reluctant, rather awkward, attempt, I am able to recognize the song as “Unchained Melody.” (I have not mentioned it, either to him or to Amelia.)

  Now I wait. It will be several days before I might expect a letter. Like Amelia, I want to pursue this. I pause to consider what “this” is. I pick up and read again the entries from Michael’s journal—it is a spiritual journey in the most literal sense. I have traveled with my spirit to his dreams and to his side.

  I get an image of my spirit looking for Michael over the years, and it comes to me: this has been an odyssey of the spirit—years of wandering and searching by Mahalia—with a final, valiant effort to reach him, a
ssisted not by Greek gods but by angels. Did she ever think that her search would culminate in a spiritual connection and not a physical one?

  Odyssey triggers an image of another echo of Greek mythology, with its mix of gods and mortals, hero journeys, and destinies lost and found. In telling me of my destiny, Amelia unleashed a reverse-themed Pandora’s Box. In the myth, it was filled with unknown evils; this is a golden treasure chest. It is filled with goodness, joy, love, and light—released and set free as possibilities. I have to follow them. I must listen to my heart.

  Michael’s Journal Entries

  10/20

  To the lady in my vision—if you hear me, come again. I know you, but I don’t know who you are. If we never walk together down the twisting roads of time, I will hold you always with me in my heart.

  I have tried to explain to Vince what the dream meant to me. He thinks I’m delusional due to the pain killers. Maybe I am, but it seemed so real. Who can she be? I feel that I should know her.

  10/21

  I can’t get her out of my mind. No pain killers last night, I want to have a clear head. Someone was here—it was not a dream. She touched my hand. Has the leukemia affected my brain? Sometimes I feel as if I am traveling down a deserted road all alone, but now I don’t feel so alone. Who is she?

  I am surrounded by a presence. I know it is her. How can I explain it to Vince when I can’t even explain it to myself? I know it’s not the pain killers. I haven’t had any since yesterday. She haunts all my waking thoughts and disturbs my sleep—a disruption I welcome.

  10/22

  Vince has another date with Tara. I think he is serious about her. Oh, to be young again. He was upset with me because J.T. told him I’ve been refusing my medication. I practically had to do handstands to prove to him I didn’t need any.