The conspiring universe
Some of the responses from my last blog regarding buying my home back ran along the lines of “magical story”, “inspiring” and so forth. As with most things in life, the back story is often more painful. The way my son and I arrived in Sedona had all the plot twists of a universe conspiring.
I was with two of my oldest meditation cohorts. We operated as one mind, so it was noticed when one of us went rogue during meditation. Jon said to me, “Regina, where are you?” I told him I was somewhere over a sacred site in Sedona I had once seen. At once, a “voice” said, “Come here.” One of the others, Linda, heard it at the same time. After the normal chilly willies, I went to the computer and made reservations to fly to Phoenix, then drive to Sedona following nothing other than “Come here.”
When my meditation partner and channel, Linda, and I arrived in Sedona, we went to the sacred site upon which a Being said “All change begins here” followed by “Do what you can, do what you must, but be here.”
The next day, just for kicks, as I had no intention of pulling Stuart out of the Waldorf School he’d been attending for nearly 13 years, I went looking at property. Through a bizarre series of events I ended up in front of what was to become my home, where a little For Sale By Owner sign was knocked over on the ground. I called, the owner let me in, I was frozen in place with the chilling feeling that I didn’t have a choice in this.
With no solid plan in place, I put a bid in, feeling pulled forward by something unseen.
The day my offer on the home was accepted, I received a phone call from the Waldorf School Stuart attended. My son was being ejected from the school for some high school tomfoolery. This had never happened in the history of the school. No serious offense, just an attitude followed by a little bad judgment. Stuart was out of town at the time of the call.
He arrived home from a fencing tournament at Notre Dame early the following Monday morning after traveling all night through snow storms. Exhausted, he still wanted to go to school. It was then I told him about the fateful phone call – he would be leaving his surrogate family by the end of the week. A single tear streaked down his cheek, followed by “Mom, we’re going to Sedona.”
In Stuart’s usual grace-filled style, he stood in front of his Waldorf class and said that something in his soul must need change to have created this situation. Teachers and students were crying – one of their own was being banished. Within a week he was in a Sedona school.
I was devastated and humbled. His soul had made a sacrifice for me, perhaps for both of us, so I/we could start the new life waiting in Sedona.