Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Freedom .


I had a strong push today to talk to old friends I haven’t seen in a while: Jeannie, Barbara, and The Treat. Unfortunately, I don’t have their phone numbers or I’d call them. And even a Google search turns up nothing. Damn. Jeannie and Barbara changed their last names, and I guess maybe The Treat went to Nicaragua to do his humanitarian thing after all.

So instead, I take a 20-minute meditation. I didn’t used to get all the visual flashes in meditation that I do now. I somehow felt I was inept at meditation because other people got big screen movies when they closed their eyes. Not me. One brief flash and it was cause for celebration, even if I had no idea what the flash was about.

Today, I get a full sequence. The Archangel Michael walking through my house with his sword, pausing at three altars, sending out a silent warning beyond the boundaries of my home and quoting from the Bible until I hear the words coming from my own lips: “No weapon turned against me shall prosper.” He does not take kindly to those who would do me harm and he intends to expose them.

The Treat pops in with a boisterous “Yowza!” when he sees what I’m up to. Michael shushes him, so he goes to my grandma’s floral chair in the corner of my bedroom and sits down with a whispered “Yowza!” and a grin. Freak that he is, I do believe he wants to watch me meditate. That makes me smile.

My eyes are closed and yet I clearly see my hands reach out in front of me, palms inward and fingers touching. The Goddess Brigid is there. The Goddess of Light whom I’ve been aspecting for almost a year since my divorce was final. The Goddess of writers, of poetry, of mothers and childbirth, of healing, of fire, of the sea, of bunnies and fertility, of weaving and craftmaking and getting things done.

Flying By Night novel

She reaches out to me and as our fingertips touch, I see the prism of light between us. Like a 4-inch long marquis-shaped diamond of light. It’s energy. It’s Life. It’s a gift. I feel something above me open or pull back, like a door or a veil. My ears are popping. I’m told my DNA is changing, I’m shedding the toxicity of the old life I’ve already shed and I’m revitalizing.

As the Goddess stands before me, I look down at my body and see a large golden chalice forming along the length of my torso. Its base is in my root chakra and second chakra but it’s tall enough to reach high into my ribcage. It’s part of my body. As I’m flat of my back, it lifts up, the cup rising to stand on its base in my root chakra.

There is liquid in it, but not a drop is spilled. I can see the waves in the liquid but not the color. I can’t tell if it’s water or blood, but I’m told it’s the Cup of Life, the Cup of Love. It’s not taken from me. It’s blessed and the cup becomes part of me again.

Then someone, either Michael or Brigid, hands me a shield. It’s not round and it’s not square, yet it’s both. Something about it reminds me of the Depression Glass platter that matches my grandmother’s pattern. I wonder why the references to my grandmother. She died of cancer when I was seven.

The shield seems translucent. It’s powerful and I reach for it. I don’t know where I put it, but I take it into my body. I bring it close to me and it absorbs into my aura, becomes part of me.

There’s an odd sensation all around me that I’m being watched and protected and blessed.

When I open my eyes, the lump doesn’t hurt at all. I can hardly feel it now. But my second chakra—where the chalice was raised and returned to me—is pulsing hard and burns, and I’m fully aware of it.

The room is quiet. No sword-carrying Archangel. No Goddess of Light. No Treat watching from the shadows. Yet a sense that I’m not alone.

For some reason, I’m suddenly a lot less worried.


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