Twenty-one years of severe shoulder and rib pain had taken its toll. Thousands of dollars on alternative therapies, thousands of hours of rehabilitative exercises, and countless hours of prayers and pleading with the universe, and it came to this?
For the umpteenth time I begged once again in desperation for understanding about my physical pain, and this is what I heard. “The hospital incident, Summer. You need to forgive,” the voice of Spirit said. As the voice spoke to me, the vision was resurrected and I was there in the hospital once again. How was it that after 65 years I still had more to learn, more to forgive, more to understand about this? Damn. The memory came back with full force. I grabbed my autobiography and a box of tissues and read about it, as the tears flowed:
We were all in the hospital under observation for various medical symptoms “they” could not explain. I was under observation because of one-hundred-and-six degree fevers that came without warning and caused convulsions that had my parents in despair. I hadn’t been in the hospital more than twelve hours when a nurse, a woman in her mid-thirties who easily looked fifty, attended my crib. She did not like me from the outset, although it’s hard to imagine someone not liking an infant. She hovered over my crib, gazing at me with sunken gray eyes. She had black, shoulder length hair that was combed straight, and then it flipped up at her shoulders. Her generously sprayed hair didn’t move at all, like the hair on a cartoon character.
I gazed back at her, looking at her with love and wonderment, praying that she might pick me up and hold me. Oh, to feel human touch again! Instead, she turned and walked away, as the doctor entered the room. She brushed past him, their shoulders briefly touching.
“She’s dehydrated,” she said coldly.
“Yes, she is,” he replied, equally devoid of emotion as he stared down at me. He turned on his heel and quickly walked away without even a glance at the other babies.
The nurse returned to the side of my crib and stared down at me. I felt no fear, but for some reason I could not move. I just stood quietly, staring back at her as I gripped the rail of the crib very tightly with both hands. She held a cold metal tray in her hands. I wondered if my sustenance might be upon it. I waited. She stared. I waited, and stared back at her. The doctor returned and stood by her side. She put the tray down, and then grabbed me around my rib cage. Her fingernails dug deeply into my spine. I was helpless as she lifted me from the crib. Sadly, there was no embrace, and no warm milk to soothe me. Instead, something went into my lungs, and something into my right arm. It didn’t hurt. I simply surrendered to the experience.
All I remember now is that I spent half the night hovering above my crib, looking down at my body, and the limp, sad bodies of the rest of the babies. In my innocent quest for understanding, I did what was natural to me. I asked God, “What can I do to help them?”
“You will help all of them, Summer. You will help them all to stand tall again,” He said.
But first, He explained, I would have to make an important decision then and there: did I choose to stay on earth, or go home? He left it up to me. The decision was obvious. I had to stay.
Gently, carefully, I was lowered back into my body and began to shiver with the cold.
Those babies and I had been subjected to tests that were random and biased and rooted in a system that did not yet understand the life and awareness that exists in a small child. I was not the oldest child in that room, but I was the one who could stand.
It was a strange preparation for a life where I can’t say “no” when a soul cries out to me for help, and where I always choose life, even when sometimes death has seemed to be the easier choice.
I often recall the cries of those children in that hospital observation room. I felt their fears, and I heard their cries of disbelief that there could be so much neglect. I know the love that they carried deep within when they were born.
There is ancient wisdom and understanding in the eyes of an infant. Hope and wonderment for the earth exists. When you gaze in the mirror at your own eyes, learn to become the child again, willing and vulnerable enough to see how vast the universe is, and how infinite your Being. How great thou art! Surrender and remember the origin of your Self, and it is there that you will find and touch the face of God within.
I am gifted with memories of a life that others may struggle to believe is real. This is my story of how, from my birth, I knew who I was, why I came to the earth, and how desperately I sought to know the Love of God, and share it with the world.
I finished reading. And, after 65 years I was just now beginning to/willing to understand the lesson of forgiveness. Yes, this happened, but I’d shrugged it off. Shrugged my shoulders as if that incident didn’t matter. But, it did. And, I subsequently became unhinged, manifesting in a shoulder that spontaneously unhinged back in 2005. (The mind/body/spirit connection is remarkable!)
The hospital has since been torn down. I have since been built back up through forgiveness. A 65 year wait, but a healing within minutes! Today, my Chiropractor heaved a sigh of relief when he felt my ribs give way at last. My shoulder cried for a little extra attention which he gave with a tug.
So, yes, that childhood incident happened. But, this healing happened too. And, it was worth the wait.
[Excerpt from The Cellars and Ceilings of Summer: The Autobiography of Trance Medium, Summer Bacon. Available on Amazon.https://www.amazon.com/Cellars-Ceilings-Summer-Autobiography-Trance/dp/B08TN5SV4S?crid=3LAYZTLGQMSOK&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.a6nDbcoZpxmBCla6vlkpkA.Ib8ou9uZNL2pPvj-NSAKIwBp1tQdQ9IEEEt8DfN78Po&dib_tag=se&keywords=the+cellars+and+ceilings+of+summer&qid=1783021700&s=books&sprefix=the+cellars+and+ceilings+of+summer%2Cstripbooks%2C200&sr=1-1]
