The Mask of King Richard

Jun 26, 2019
The tomb of King Richard III at Leicester Cathedral
This will tickle your noodle if you think too much about it.  Listen.  It's with the active process of listening where you'll learn the most.

Richard's bones were recovered in 2012 and I'm pleased to say that he lived long enough to witness.  It must have been odd for him, having to watch it on TV, first with its static-filled reception that was then followed with a recipe for success.  It's almost a guilty pleasure, really.

There's a part of my father that we never discussed, and that was how difficult many of his lives had become for him.  True, I wasn't there, well I wasn't at all of them, although it's obvious with a reputation that Richard had developed for himself.  It wasn't just this life that I'm referring to, it was all the others that made enemies of him, too.  He was my father though, and I loved him.  I still miss him, although quite often he feels right there.  You can hear him when he whispers, and if you knew his attitudes as I do, you would know how to respond.  He wasn't just a grumpy old man.  He was the man upstairs.  Of course, he had the basement to tend to, although that wasn't always of his own doing.

Life can be difficult for many people, but for him, there always seemed to be this undercurrent of enduring pain and a sort of...everlasting love that was filled with a mysterious wonder.  He has his own karma to tend to, just as everyone does, but this tangled mess from the War of the Roses really pulled him under.  It must have been a horribly wretched life, as it most closely mirrors his own.  The thorns, really?  Can you imagine the thorns coming from those rose bushes?  It must have been horrible with the way he died.  He was a heavy smoker, as many from his years had been, and he died unexpectedly after a few years of declining health, back in 2016.

Although he isn't here, we do still converse, he's around quite a bit actually, having been promoted to the angelic realm shortly after his death.  I think his passing was mostly painless, and not entirely unexpected from what I have gathered.  His shortness of breath had left him gasping for air for months on end; it was discomforting to see a loved one in pain, knowing that death is an inevitable passing.  And this is where I have found one of his gifts from this life: learning how to pass him into Spirit, learning how to communicate with him, and learning how his messages affect the work that I'm currently committed to.  This, according to author Robert Moss, is the work of a traditional psychopomp — a guide that is called to assist in the crossing over of a loved one — and a role that I have become all too familiar with since the passing of my own immediate family.

It began with Margaret, my grandmother, beginning in 2007 and extends into the lives of my aunts and uncles, and this is one of the strongest learning curves for a person that works with spirit, that is identifying loved ones in the afterlife and learning how to understand what they're communicating.  My father has appeared as many things, a gray-haired elder not the least of them, yet he doesn't have a body.  He exists in Spirit, divining messages and clarifying situations that remained unclear while he was still alive.  My father's lineage differs from my own, as well, and we are just now beginning to see a unification of the family tree that was broken so long ago.  People are being born in the right way and to the right people, in order to correct the course of action that took place so many years ago.

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