A Very Difficult View by Tina Erwin

       The following story is one that will appear in a future ghost book, however, because there is so much controversy about this topic in the news these days, I thought perhaps that it would be helpful to share several views that appear in this story.

       So many times, people take sides, believing that their view is the only view, the only righteous viewpoint. But sometimes, there are so many important ways to look at something that there cannot simply be only one correct view.

       We all like to think that we control our future, that we have a say about what will happen to us, but sometimes, karma, for whatever reason, throws us a curve ball and a critical decision is required. For some, an agonizing decision.
When you read this story, when you approach this with an extremely open mind, perhaps you will come to know the torture of a dilemma that takes two people to create, but ends up ultimately being the responsibility of only one person. That one person has to make a life or death decision and that decision will echo out for better or worse for an eternity.

Perhaps you will still hold tight to your view after you read this. But perhaps, you will be a bit less judgmental in your perspective and a great deal more compassionate because most of the time, things are not exactly what they seem. Life is not always black and white.

That Terrible Feeling© 2012 by Tina Erwin  

“I’m So Bad, I’m so Bad, I’m So Bad, I’m so Bad . . . .”

       My close friend Mary called complaining of a headache in the middle of her forehead. She said she felt an uneasy, heaviness surrounding her, and that she just didn’t feel well. This was very unusual for her because she always enjoys wonderful health.

       And it was precisely because she is always in such good health that the ‘heaviness’ didn’t feel normal. She said it felt as if there was a presence with her, something other-worldly. She would have felt self-conscious telling me this but by now, we had been friends long enough that telling me she felt like there were multiple ghosts with her was not that unusual. This is an exceptionally psychic lady. She was wondering what this could be and asked if I could help her.

       I remote viewed my friend’s house, and in this particular case she and I were both pretty astonished with what we found. My friend could sense what she thought were only a few ghosts, but what tipped her off was her pounding headache, almost as if it was someone or perhaps a group of people pressuring her. 

       Usually when you have that kind of ghostly spiritual pressure, the energy can manifest in physical symptoms of either: nausea, lethargy, headache or all three. Fortunately, she only had a headache, but she did not want it to become anything greater. I told her I would take a look.

      

“Who Are All These Women?”

       Once I started to work, I could readily see and feel this astonishing scene. It took me a few minutes to sort out exactly what I was seeing. It looked pretty toxic.

       It looked as if I had stumbled upon an opening to a very dark place. How can I describe what that looked like? How does one convey the sheer volume of emotion that I could see?

       When you work in these realms, you can see the emotion that surrounds a person. That emotion can be dark, looking sooty and dirty. It can be depressed and look flat and gray. Some emotion is rage filled and does look extremely red and angry. In this case, we saw what looked like thousands of women in a state of severe depression, women who hated themselves. The colors that surrounded them ranged from gray, to black sooty swirls, to flashes of angry, red electricity.

       Who are all these women, I asked myself.  I knew I needed to figure out why they are here.

       Sometimes to help a soul or a group of souls, you have to learn why the specific group of souls in front of you has been presented to you and how you can help them. Not all souls require the same type of assistance. Some souls want you to listen to their story. Some want forgiveness, which is not up to me to provide. Forgiveness has to come from within a person but if a person feels that what she has done cannot be forgiven, she will literally send herself to hell to be punished. My job is to ask for assistance from the Heaven World on their behalf. Other souls want you to tell them what to do or to help them to understand where they are. These souls in this particularly terrible place needed more than just directions, they needed the very essence of compassion itself.

       It appeared to me that this was a unique group of souls with similar issues. I could see some women weeping, some screaming, some were rocking back and forth, muttering to themselves. I had no idea who these women were or why I was seeing them, but I knew I had to offer all of them immediate assistance.

       When a soul is in a terrible state of deep depression or self-hatred, it is necessary to facilitate an energetic frequency elevation so that the soul can begin to make that transition to the Heaven World. The issue is that when a soul is in tremendous despair there is a huge frequency disparity between where they are and where he or she needs to be to cross over. At least some part of them has to heal enough to make the transition. Usually, the presence of an angel readily facilitates this process, which usually takes a few minutes.

       As the Angels of Transition began to assemble, I watched the women recoil in horror as the angels began to approach them. I was bewildered as it appeared as if the presence of the angel was more of a torture, than an assistance. I realized that obviously, I was missing something huge.

“I Wanted to Keep Her, I Wanted to Hold Her”

       I decided that I needed to hear their stories, so I began to approach several women and gently encouraged each to tell us her story.    

       The first woman I approached was sitting in dirty, bloody clothes. Her hands were bloody too, although it seemed that her hands were symbolically bloody as if they represented the energy of her action more than anything else. She would not tell me her name. I had to gently encourage her to share her sadness. I repeatedly assured her that I would not judge her; that I was genuinely here to help her without any prejudice whatsoever.

        The energy of the angel standing by her, glowing brightly in this chilling place, was the only hopeful element present. Perhaps it was the angel’s presence that gave her enough positive energy to begin to open up with her story.

       “I’m so bad, I’m so bad, I am so bad.” This was all she would say at first as she sat there in her red stained clothes, her arms wrapped around her thin, black stocking, covered legs, just rocking back and forth, back and forth. She behaved almost as if she were in some type of unending catatonic trance.

       I reassured her that whatever it was, that I could help. I also explained that if she were not worthy of help, then I couldn’t be there. After a few minutes she began to slowly speak, almost as if she was choking on each tortuous word.

       “I don’t – exactly --- know --- how it - it happened. One day (she sighs heavily here) I realized I was pregnant and I knew that I was going to be damned forever. The church says that being pregnant out of wedlock is a sin against God. The priest said that I am forever dammed to hell. I see that angel, but the priest says that God cannot love or ever forgive me. I am a sinner, a sinner. What’ve I done to my child? What’ve I done?”

       Her sobs opened my compassionate heart to her. What a terrible sentence her church had imposed upon her! I could not tell exactly what era of time she was from, but from the look of her clothes, I guessed she had lived sometime about 150 – 200 years ago. I encouraged this poor soul to continue.

       “Tell me, what happened to your baby? Did you get to keep her?”

       Again, she rocked and cried for a while before she could continue speaking. I asked the angel to place a healing blanket on her shoulders.

       “I wanted to keep her! I did! I wanted to hold her, at least once, to feel her sweet skin against my face. I wanted to kiss her pretty little fingers. I longed to rock her and comfort her when she cried. I didn’t care that God had damned me. I wanted her so much; I loved my little girl. She had such a sweet face. . .” At this point her sobs would have surely broken the heart of the hardest person.

       I let her regain her ability to speak, knowing that simply sharing her story was healing in its own way. Sometimes you have to get the darkness out and her torture was a lethal dose of guilt.

       “The priest in the village said that I could not keep my child because it was a crime against God. So immediately after she was born, the midwife showed her to me and took my baby from me. I never saw her again. Pretty soon, a barren woman in a nearby village ‘had a baby.’ I knew that was my baby. This woman was barren because she should never have had children. This ‘new mother’ was cruel to my little girl. My child had a terrible life with her. I heard the gossip about her and my baby. It was all my fault. I should have found a way to care for her. I should never have let them take her from me, but I was only fourteen and my father didn’t want another child, he didn’t want his child around reminding him of what he did to me.”

       I took a deep breath. Incest was and still is so common. However, it didn’t matter to this woman, she loved the life growing inside of her but the circumstances of her life precluded her from ever parenting this child.

       About this time, another woman spoke up.

       “They done took my little baby boy from me and give him up to an orphanage. My family didn’t want me to shame um with no bastard child runnin’ around. After daddy found out I was pregnant he done beat me so hard. He called me a slut an’ a whore but it t’were my brother who done this to me! How was I gonna tell them? I weren’t allowed to visit my son in the orphanage either or my daddy woulda’ beat me even harder. I cried every day for what seemed forever. I never got to see him again.”

       A new voice penetrated the darkness. The courage of the other women must have empowered her to tell us about her painful situation.

       “When the priest found out I was pregnant, he kept me out of sight in the convent when I began to show. I had a big belly. Once my adorable baby boy was born, I overheard the priest tell the Mother Superior to take my son outside, kill it and bury it. How can a priest who got me pregnant order someone else to kill his own baby? The priest said that God wanted the baby dead to punish me for my sin of being a woman. I wish they had killed me too.”

       More and more women began to tell us their stories. We could hear their cries. The darkness, rage and the sooty atmosphere was their grief, their guilt and their self-hatred.

       “Despite the women’s movement, the freedom we thought we had in the sixties, once I got pregnant, that ‘freedom’ went out the window. My boyfriend told me that he wouldn’t marry me if I had our baby and he insisted that I get an abortion. He said that when we were married, and had more money that we could have a baby. He said it was just a bunch of cells anyway.

       The day of the abortion, he went to the clinic with me and helped me through the ‘procedure.’ He was totally elated when the ‘procedure’ was over. He told me that now we could plan our wedding. I threw up. I had murdered my baby and he was elated. We broke up and I never saw him again. I have considered myself a murderer all of my life. I don’t deserve any angel you send to me.”

       “Well, if I had been able to have an abortion, at least I wouldn’t have had to watch as my child was given to someone who didn’t love her.”

       Yet another woman spoke up.

       “I was twelve when the stranger abducted and raped me. I didn’t know what sex was but I got pregnant anyway. I didn’t want that nasty life in my body – the child of a rapist! I was glad for the abortion when my parents put me through it. But the rest of my life I felt so confused. After all of that, I never even wanted to be with a man or even think about having children.”

       “I was raped at 22 and I had his black baby. I tried to raise the child. I did. I did everything I could think of to try to love this little boy, but no matter what I did, when I looked at him with all that kinky hair, I saw the man who raped me. Finally, when he was three, I gave him up for adoption to a bi-racial couple that wanted him very much. I hoped he was happy. I still feel terrible about this. I should have had an abortion rather than having him and giving him up. Which was worse? I am eternally tortured by what happened to me and to this child.”

       “My son got his girlfriend pregnant  - twice! and he insisted she abort both babies – and she did. He’s a doctor! She’s a nurse! How can people who are supposedly dedicated to doing no harm do this? They are married, and have two kids now. But when I see them I feel that I can still see the other two children standing there. They haunt me. I should have taken them. I should have talked my son and his wife out of aborting those babies. I deserve to be punished. I know why I’m here.”

       “I had ten abortions before I finally got married and had my two sons. Hell is where I belong.”

       “I got pregnant by the Earl himself. I was his chambermaid and one day he just ‘took’ me. I had his bastard child, which he of course denied. But I loved this child. Finally I had someone in my life to love.

       The Earl was furious that I kept his child and he banished me from his manor house. He made sure that no one else would ever hire me. It took me a long time to find a place where I could live with my child and make a living. Finally, the vicar in a nearby village took pity on me and hired me to be his housekeeper. At least now I had a roof over our heads but life was hard for my son. Everyone called him a bastard. I felt horrible for putting him through that. If I could, looking back on it, I wish I could have had a way of ending the pregnancy rather than put him through a lifetime of torture.”

       Quietly, the angels began placing healing blankets around the trembling shoulders of each woman.

       And the stories continued from all different time periods and various stacks of time including modern times. I was quietly taking it all in, sending them love and compassion. When enough of them had finished, they all were finally in a place where I could speak to them.

“I want you all to understand that you are each very much worthy of God’s love, that no one is ever in any position to judge you. It is my sincerest hope, that you can all feel the profound compassion overflowing from my heart. I am sending you all my love, and I wish I could hug every single one of you.

Sometimes we cannot know exactly why something like this happens. However, this moment, as we are all together I am offering you the healing of the Light of Compassion, the Light of Christ Consciousness and the hope that you can heal, that the love you have had for the children in each of your situations was not in vain, did not go unnoticed. Let no one judge you. I am offering you the hope that someday you will be able to cease judgment of yourselves. Perhaps in time, you will be able to forgive yourselves.”

The agony of each of their positions was staggering. I wanted to comfort each of them individually, to hug them. But I knew that only the true comfort of the angels and the transition to the Heaven World, would allow these women to begin to heal. My job was simply to assist them in their transition – and to hear their stories without judgment or prejudice.

       I also explained that once they each crossed over with their angelic escorts, that there would be Divine Beings there who would help them understand the life just lived. The angels nodded to me that they were ready to escort these women to the other side when I gave the word.

       The scene before me slowly but surely began to brighten as healing began to penetrate the very soul of each woman.

       I watched as one by one, the warmth of the divine blankets allowed the women to stop crying, and to begin to stop punishing themselves. One by one the angels compassionately guided each woman into the light until the scene closed and they were all gone. It was my sincerest hope that eventually once they were on the other side they would each be able to be reunited with their children.

Epilogue

       Mary’s headache left once I had finished assisting these souls. I found it such a revelation to be a witness to the spiritual and emotional burden that women of all ages have suffered over the centuries, with an unwanted pregnancy. Their guilt and grief was so tremendous that it lowered their soul frequency to a point that they could not cross over without help. I felt honored that I was able to assist them. I still have no idea how many women were helped that day. I suspected that it could have been thousands since I could not adequately count the women I could see. Also, once the angels appear, there is a great deal of chaotic energy between the angelic divine energy and that of the tortured souls. Eventually, with sharing their stories, healing blankets and the basic fact that they were each receiving attention, they were finally able to make that miraculous transition to the Heaven World. I always find hope in the gentleness, the tenderness and relief that the angels bring to each soul. Doing this work is extremely humbling.  

******

       I found myself impressed by Mary’s deep sense of empathy and her dedication to the service of assisting all of these women once I told her what had happened, and what was causing her headache. Mary is a tremendously compassionate person. Her kindness is based on the fact that she had experienced numerous miscarriages, and had lost a child due to a terrible illness. Perhaps because of these experiences, she was especially vulnerable to the plight of other women and they literally sought her out for help. We may never fully know for sure. However, her compassionate effort to help whoever was there was the most important element of her service.

       ********

       Sometimes, you simply don’t know the entire story.