The one thing I’ve wanted most in recent years is to have someone to talk to who understands. More than a listener or even a voice of confidence, I’ve longed for a guide – a wiseman to come along and say to me, “I’ve been where you are and I have the roadmap to where you are going.” I’ve searched high and low without any such luck. However, I have continually received the puzzle pieces leading me further into the unfolding of a story beyond my human comprehension of what’s possible.
If I truly go back to the beginning, I find myself in my earliest memories as little girl who sleepwalked and scared the bejeeses out of my mother. She complained that she’d wake sometimes in the middle of the night to a wide-eyed little me staring her in the eyes as I repeatedly asked, “Who are you?” and then would correct her when she answered with, “No, you’re not my mother. So, who are you?” She laughed it off and it wasn’t a thing I’d think upon until recently as these strange revelations about myself and my identity beyond this lifetime stay top of mind.
Next, I would travel further into the future remembering a key moment when I had my first ultrasound while pregnant with my son. Let’s call him Jake. When I saw the structure of his bones and listened to his heartbeat a type of joy I’ve never before felt washed through my system. It wasn’t just an excitement of an expectant mother. I’d felt that with my first child. This was different. It’s like I was looking at the arrival of something that was bigger than motherhood. My soul knew him. And in that moment, I recall a strange phrase repeating in my thoughts, “He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s mine.”
His birth into this world didn’t just bring a new child into our household. It birthed a new version of me. One that I would work very hard to keep a secret. He was born on August 17, 2001. And immediately upon returning home from the hospital I remember having a dream unlike any dream I’d ever before experienced. This dream was lifelike to a point that I woke up sweating and labored; as if I had just stepped out of that scene with all of the physical symptoms to indicate I’d actually been there – on the scene of a plane crash. I still remember the images of the pieces of that American Airline jet falling from the sky and the tail wing logo. And I was so shaken by this dream I even put up a big fight with my husband at the time, demanding that he cancel all of his business trips that required him to fly. He thought I’d lost my mind. And I started to wonder if he was right – knowing my behavior wasn’t rational. But then just a few short weeks later, the plane crashes of September 11th shook this world, creating a sense of silence in our own household that went far deeper than the external pain and shock in the country outside of our 4 walls. He knew I’d seen something in my dreamspace. I knew it too. Neither of us could explain such a thing but a distance between us began formulating in the awkwardness.
The night of September 11th also marked the first time I felt the presence of a ghost and even spoke out loud to my great grandmother as I sang the song, “Amazing Grace” to my baby boy in a rocking chair upstairs. I was half asleep and in a twilight state of conscious as I sang the lyrics and then suddenly asked out loud, “Granny Dotta is that you?” My words puzzled me. I even caught myself asking, “Who just used my voice to speak to my ancestors? I don’t do that,” shaking my head in confusion. Something in me sensed her presence and responded without my rational thought or control.
Years later we experienced strange happenings in a home we leased in Raleigh, North Carolina. The toys would go off at random hours in the night by themselves. My son’s 4-wheeler that was kept on the back patio began sounding off nightly, until my husband finally got up one night to remove the batteries. About 5 minutes later it went back to making noise without any electrical source. That’s when my husband concluded that the house was haunted and demanded that we move back to Houston.
And when I received my first dream after meeting the Nigerian woman who showed up on my doorstep in 2016 claiming God sent her and I was her assignment, the dream opened with a scene of my son falling down in a race and not getting back up to keep running.
Yes there’s something special about my son tied to my mission and to the great mystery of this prophetic book I wrote in 2015 that I’ve seemingly been living inside of as a type of parallel reality to the characters of fiction and fantasy.
Remember Skyla ended with the widow finding a book. It was authored by someone who had the power to reveal to her the future of her own life – an unread chapter and a proposal of what must happen next in a time when she believed she’d finished all she’d came here to do on this earth. But before she found the book, she was caught inside of a strange game of clue that seemingly was orchestrated by a source that wasn’t human. The angels. The ancestors. God. An author of new beginnings, great surprise and redemption where hope was lost.
Well, tonight is quite a special night as my son surprised everyone with what he pulled over the last 24 hours in driving from Texas to California without even stopping for a nap. He was on a mission and whatever was powering his actions and protecting his car that wasn’t even sound enough to drive to the grocery store, let alone across the country is not of human strength and plan. I know God’s pen is in this grand gesture. I know the angels created a hedge of protection around him. I know something very significant is taking place right now.
I also know it’s time to pause, get out the treasure chest and take inventory of where I’m at in my quest to find the book that appeared at the end of my manuscript I wrote in 2015 called Remember Skyla. And this time, I might be starting at the end working my way backwards because I believe I might have finally found the mystery book. But just like the work I wrote that never made it to print. This too is a manuscript that’s not yet published. And the author of this manuscript now lives in Heaven.
I was given a copy of Hotel California just a month after I woke up to the voice telling me, “Find your lost buried book.” The man who is now a widow of the author asked me to look it over and asked for my help and advice in publishing it. But I didn’t read it. I was too caught up in the haze of trying to make sense of the dots connecting my own life to the other lost book.
Again the manuscript found me 3 years later when the man gave me a hard copy of the manuscript as I was visiting California on a layover. You would think I’d have been a little more attentive on this second appearance of Hotel California as I’d just left a regression hypnotherapy session with Dr. Anne Marie where my Granny in Heaven led me to Marylnn Monroe – just 3 days before I walked into Valerie’s office and saw a huge poster of Marilynn Monroe covering the wall of her office where she wrote this manuscript. Yes, I took notice. Yes, I messaged Dr. Anne Marie to tell her about the shocking connection. But I still didn’t read the manuscript. Although this time my reasoning was different.
You see as soon as I started reading Val’s book. My entire system began going crazy. I was having vivid dreams and feeling out of body panic attacks. It’s as if the words in the pages were activating visuals and memories that I couldn’t process or understand. I was too confused and embarrassed to explain this to anyone so I simply put the book down hoping that these symptoms would go away.
Here I am now typing this message tonight while laying on the sofa next to Val’s desk, staring up at that poster of Marilyn Monroe, while my son – the subject of my prayers and letters to God I’ve sent into the heavens for exactly 6 years now (to the very week of today) is sleeping sound in the room directly underneath me.
Could it be that all along God was trying to show me an angel in my path in the man who had loved Val, took care of her until she passed away and was divinely sent into my life as an answer to my prayers for me and my son? I was looking everywhere except at the obvious thing right before me the entire time.
My husband’s divorce was final on May 30, 2019. Then I lost my son on June 7, 2019 when he moved out to care for his Dad. I then visited a friend and stayed in a hotel in California – visiting the twin peaks at Point Magu on the weekend of February 23rd and had the profound experience of a portal opening at the very moment my Granny had passed just 3 years later. That prompted me to have dreams of moving to California – which I did in the Spring of 2021. Exactly one month later I met Mr. B, Val’s husband and he visited me and my daughter on the anniversary of his wife passing.
Does my book unpublished, “Remember Skyla” from 2015 have some sort of connection to Val’s book that remains unpublished from 2020? Did she download the book from the Heavens after my visit to California in 2020 opened up the portal at the Twin Mountains? Is this the mystery book from the ending of my script that holds the key to unlocking something so beyond my human comprehension that could connect the puzzle pieces of this divine game of Clue I’ve seemingly been trapped in for nearly a decade?
In my past life regression session with Dr. Anne Marie last Summer in Florida, the recording retells the story of a lifetime that ended with me dying at the bottom of ocean after going overboard a ship. In these scenes I was with a man who I loved on the shores of a place that looked a lot like the Rocky Mountain banks of Southern California. He betrayed me and allowed another man to take me captive on a ship and sail away. I didn’t get to see how I went overboard – whether I was killed or jumped off the ship in suicide during that regression. But I did receive information about who those characters are in my life today. One of the men was my ex-husband and the father of my son in this life. The other man is a friend I met 20 years ago who lured me to California in 2020 and drove me to Point Magu.
In other dreams I’ve had over the last year I’ve seen me with the California man and my son in various scenes. All of these images show my son as a small child. Something in me knows that I lost my son and that had something to do with my death in that past life. Something else in me believes that I’m living inside of a story of redemption for both me and him. And something deep inside of me says that when I do find the strength to open this book written by the writer named Val who’s husband has repeatedly asked me to read it, I will be opened up to see something beyond my wildest dreams.
So I guess this is where it begins. This is where I allow myself to believe in the angels who have been guiding my path and embrace the gift of Hotel California – a script placed in my hands for a divine reason.
