Page 34 - February 2021

focused and completely lost in what I was
doing, no longer conscious of time or of

my surroundings, and after a while I could
no longer hear the incessant and endless

sounds of truck engines that emitted
from what I called the “dirt farm” that
was located on the property behind the

townhouse where I lived then in Bedford.

I never understood what it was they
were doing at the dirt farm. I knew their
business was in some way connected to

New England Nurseries, a gardening
center that was just a short distance up

on Route 62, but every day, as I sat at my
desk perfecting my ability to connect to
spirit, and learning to trust more fully in

the words I was receiving, those trucks
were there, pushing, pulling, re-stacking

and rearranging their piles of dirt -
that most basic element of the physical
planet on which we live and rely.

Surprisingly, it was in those moments
when my focus most intensified, not

on the noises and the distractions of
this physical world, but on my own
consciousness and the consciousness

of the universe as well. The louder the
trucks became the easier it was for me

to connect with spirit and the more
the words flowed. There was a sense of
drifting in those moments that was truly

liberating. It was in those moments that
I would let go of the doubt. It was in

those moments when I felt gifted and
blessed. I knew happenings like this
were rare, but I was not dreaming. It

was real. I felt alive. I felt free.
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