Living with the Other Side: A Tale of Fairies, Sprites, and Spirits shares stories from the life of author Deborah Mills-tales of how fairies, sprites, and spirit guides brought miracles, peace, joy, abundance into her life. Beginning her tale
Living with the Other Side
A Tale of Fairies, Sprites, and SpiritsBy Deborah A. MillsiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Deborah A. Mills
All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4759-1529-7Contents
The Childhood.......................................1The Young Adult.....................................11The California Years................................16The Single Years....................................25The Hard Times: Illness Strikes.....................45The Current.........................................54The Animals.........................................65The End.............................................72
Chapter One
The Childhood
I could hear the music playing low and sweet. There was laughter on the basement stairs. From the cellar happy voices drifted back up the stairwell. I crept down the dark hall, not turning on any lights because I wondered why my parents were having a party. No one mentioned a party. I knew that we weren't meantto be awake. Glancing into my brother's room, he slept unaware of the fun he was missing. On past my parent's open door, wait, both were in bed, sound asleep, covers tossed off in the warm room, So there was no doubt that the fun from our basement playroom was not my parents! Suddenly at the age of 5, I faced the dilemma—of rushing back to hide under the covers or to see who had the nerve to party in our house without us. More curious than afraid, on my hands and knees, crawling closer to the stairwell, I could see a light. I glanced at the lightswitch above my head. It wasn't flipped on. Yet a light flowed up the stairs, creating a glow such as a full moon would shine into the dark starry night. Okay, now I had to see. Something bright flashed in the corner of my eye. Tinkling laughter light, almost so low I didn't hear it, sung in my ear. I let my eyes dart around the room, standing up to get a better view, but still only hearing the party just seeing little flashes dart out of the corner of my eye. Dancing with the fairies all night long, hearing the lovely gentle music in my head, the dim light of the sun crept up over the horizon. I quickly, quietly sneaked back to bed, covered my head with a smile on my young little face. This is where I learned about the fairies. This began my journeys with the other side, Living, playing, spending time with those who dance on the other side.
The night was always when the spirits come to play. Many children have, of course, their "friend" that only he/she can see, but I had several that I talked to at night. As I grew older, I see these friends in the daytime too as my guides visit whenever they chose to come, but early on I now realize that there is nothing to distract me from seeing them late at night when all is quiet, no one around me. We associate them with darkness because this is when we allow the spirits to walk with us, but if we would just listen in the day, each one would come 2but just as soon as we start to hear, our friend, our companions, someone interrupts so we see these friends as night. Thus began my journey of Living of the Other Side—of playing with the fairies, of walking with the sprites, of listening to the spirits every day.
My first visit at first I thought I was asleep but soon realized that I was not asleep. I was not afraid as there was nothing to fear. The great tall older Native American chief stood quietly in my bedroom doorway, not approaching me, not coming near so I was assured there was no danger from him. Traditional dress of leggings, moccasin boots up to the knees, skin was a lovely color, there was a bit of white light shining on the face, lined, drawn, sad brown eyes, he was a wonderful image staying in my heart, my mind for always. Gray long pigtail with feathers I later came to know as eagle, a sign of a great warrior, in his hair, his voice was soft spoken as he began to speak to me. He told me tales of the spiritual world. He gave me my special magickal name. A chant that I still use in the morning every day since I was 5 years old was given to me during the night. All night long, we talked. No fear, I never doubted that night, I was protected. Chief told me that he would always give me what I needed, wanted. As the years went by, in sticky times, in troubled times, he is always there. Often family has told me that I was like a cat, no matter how far down I fell, I landed on my feet. Chief was there to catch me. Whenever I felt afraid, worried, I remembered his words to me as he spoke to me of being chosen, that I was protected, that no matter what the situation, no matter how hard the troubles may get, I would be helped by that spiritual world, by the spirits that walk in the other side. As I was relaxed, calm, now the one I call Great Spirit came close to the bed, laid his hand on my head, kissed my cheek, then he was gone. Usually I had trouble sleeping at night, but I slept well, knowing that I was loved. Living with the other side, the fairies, the sprites the spirits let me feel cherished every day. This was my first spirit, my first guide. Over the years, Living with the Other Side, dancing with the fairies, singing with the sprites, Chief is the spirit who walked with me, teaching me, guiding me especially in times of heartache and troubles.
1959 was a time of wonder, a time where we kids sat out on the stoop without worry, we played in the street when the fire hydrant was opened up, the waters flooding we splashed played in the water rolling our jean legs up to the knees. Every neighbor knew the neighbors. We were as likely to be spanked by the next door mother as our own. The same milkman brought milk every day. The same postman, sometimes sitting with the mothers, the fathers to drink a cup of coffee or cocoa before going on the way, delivered our mail. In the summer the ice cream truck singing its tune showed up every-day. We usually had our nickels ready in our hand, holding it tightly not to lose it. My mother had said no, it was too close to supper that day. I was sad, sitting on the stoop while everyone else ran to the truck, laughing gaily deciding on the fudge-sicle, the orange-sicle or the rocket-ship popsicle. I remembered what Great spirit told me, so I sat just focusing on that truck, that ice cream man, thinking of a fudge-sicle, cold, sweet, chocolate dripping down my hand. In a few minutes he stood in front of me, handing me the ice cream on the stick. I ate it, but knew that it was wrong, so I buried the stick under the azalea bush near the steps. At this point, at 5, I learned the beginning of creative visualization. The Law of Attraction taught to me early in life continues to be a tool, where fairies dance, sprites sing, and the spirits walk with me. Creative visualization is a good tool when living, walking, being hand in hand with the spiritual world, the fairies, the sprites, the spirits.
Between the dresser, and the wall was a heater vent in the floor. Stacks of books, stuffed animals, wooly blanket, gathered in that corner. There was the Halloween candy bag that lasted until Christmas, candy canes, peppermint, divinity fudge one piece at a time until Valentines, chocolate hearts, Hersey's kisses until Easter eggs, marshmallow rabbits, chocolate bunnies were savored. There is one good thing about the friends that crawled into the cubby place with me; I didn't have to share my stash with my friends there talking to me. I curled myself up, closed in with the 25 stuffed dogs, cats, tigers,1 whale circling me at peace as my friends talked to me, sharing bits, pieces of past lives, of the life to come, whispers of the ghosts in the house, laughter of the good times to come. Feeling serene, at peace, with love in my heart, I knew that there I was in my safe haven, my calming place. Each day, the peace in my heart, my life grew teaching me strength as I lived with the Other Side. Sharing my candy with the fairies that danced around me in my shy, lonely childhood, I was able to sing with the sprites, walk the spirits.
In those days we had no fear, no worries of strangers snatching us, we had no doubts that we were safe as long as we stayed near our homes. We roamed the streets, the woods, the neighborhood at will. The year was 1961, seven years old, I often found myself in the woods alone across the street from the house. Even before I knew what a tree hugger was, I hugged the trunks of trees, when upset over a friend, or my parents, or brother, the trees spoke to me. I could hear their whispers of comfort, of strength as I often sat on the rough brown, with green moss oak trunk that had fallen from the storms. Oak tree is hard wood, so its strength, its power flowed into me quieting my spirit with renewed joy. I turned at the sound I heard behind me. A young blond man with flowing hair down his back was present. He stood in the light from the sun. Sunlight engulfed him as if he was in a bubble of the light. Transfixed I waited for him to speak. With baited breath, quietly listening because I knew this was important. Again I had no fear, instead a sense of peace, of warmth filled me as the fluid voice flowed. A powerful tone, a quiet calmness filled the wooded setting with sunlight streaming through the trees as he, too, never came too close. The presence I felt was nothing like any person I had encountered in my young years, but the heart felt close, as if we had been friends forever. We spent some time just chattering about things I loved, the woods, dancing, music, ice skating, the games I played, friends that gathered in my yard every day. Time passed by so that soon I needed to go back home before someone came looking for me. The bright blue eyes turned sad as his last words spoke of a great sadness that would come for my family that week. "When the time comes to feel sad, don't be as she will be in a great place, happy, whole again." Very young, at home my thoughts turned to lunch, games, my dolls, my own dreams. We were planning a Valentine's party in our basement for the brownie troop. What fun. Excited, this party was going to be the best ever. The cellar was decorated with cardboard heart cutouts strung on string hanging from the ceiling beams the tablesclothes, one white, one red, the centerpieces ruffled standup hearts with rose petals and candy hearts scattered around each one. Balloons also floating over the tops, the playroom downstairs transformed into something magical to my eyes. I wasn't thinking about the young blond man or the words he had shared earlier the day before. The call came. Although the troop would still have its party at my home, I wouldn't be there. My grandmother had made her journey to the other side where she was at peace, at home again, happy, whole again in a great place. As we settled in my great grandmother's home that night finally I saw her walking in the house, touching each item she loved, resting her eyes on each face as she passed them by. I sat up, she turned her head, lifted her hand to wave a small slight wave, then she was gone. Some say I dreamed this, but I know that this young man, who as the years went by came to me in times of trouble, was St Michael, The Archangel, was just teaching me how to listen, how to be ready, to share with things I hear from the spiritual world when living with the Other Side. Death comes soft, gently, allowing the fairies to dance around the ones meeting their loved ones, the sprites singing with each one, as their soul, joins the spirits to walk with each other.
Times were easy then. Neighbors trusted each other with children, homes, one parent to one friend was parent to all. Slumber parties on a warm summer night we stayed outside playing until the fireflies started lighting their bottoms, until the stars lit up. Five to ten young pre-teen girls threw their sleeping bags down on the concrete floor, scattering stuffed dogs, rabbits, pjs, hair pins, hair brushes around. These young ladies were getting ready to sit up all night. Lights turned out, one lone flashlight in the middle of our circle. We hold hands giggling in the dark. Rapping on the window sends us screaming to turn the lights on, run up the stairs, only to find boys rolling laughing at our antics. Still it is time now. We turn the lights back out, I am not sure that everyone here sees what I see, the ones standing behind, the ones holding out their hands waiting to be heard. Not to be different I stay silent, yet the voices shout out at me. Still I'm quiet ignoring spirits nagging at me to stop. We start the game. One pigtailed girl, slight, small frame lies down in the middle of the circle. Chant starts, "she looks pale" the words go around the circle, "she looks sick" again it circles each young girl whispers barely heard as she says the chants, it goes through all the different levels, my eyes get bigger as I see the woman come closer. She reaches out, wants to stroke the hair of the young woman at the head. As she does, the head girl starts screaming, crying, the woman draws back into the shadows. Lights go on, my parents gather the girl who is crying about her sister. We had forgotten her older sister had been killed in a car accident the year before on her way home from college. The girls are all in tears now. My guides are shaking their head at me sadden that I didn't listen, stop this before it got too far. Some go home, the rest of us settle whispering softly no one yet ready or able to sleep. Yet next week, at the next sleepover we start the game again, waiting for the spirits to rise, to come to talk again as the fairies, the sprites, the spirits live with us from the Other Side.
My world is always full of color. In youth, to look at the teacher, the friend, the store clerk there was always the color around them, as well as right behind them always new friends to talk to, to reach out, to speak to hear the messages for that person. She was playing on the monkey bars, hanging upside down with her knees holding on tight to the top bar. Next to her, also hanging upside down was the angel Michael holding on to her hand. There was a yellow light next to her shining over the young girl, the angel. Along the edges, there were tinges of gray, not black but gray areas. I know that most people think there is always a white light but yellow is a color that signifies uplifting, stimulates conversation, opening up the solar plexus chakra where we can start to bring empowerment, vitality, will power, personal strength. This color helps the digestive system, colon, stomach. As I watched her play, I saw the wince, the grimace as she pulled herself upright to fall down to the ground. I looked at the spirit next to her waiting for the cue. I knew that this young guide holding her hand meant something was seriously wrong. I was young, too young to know these things. I knew there was a lesson for me to learn here as angel of death walked with her hand in hand. She picked herself up using both hands on the bars to pull up. He lingered closer. I was not surprised when she lifted her hand to her face because he kissed her cheek. I wanted to do something, so I shouted out NO! but my lesson was that this was not something I could change, but we could give peace during the hard times to come. Yes, just 2 months, she was gone, yet I spent many years with her sibling as my close friend. We often called her back to join us in the park to play where she laughed every time, no wince, no grimace but always a bright wonderful smile of peace. In days when I felt so down, trying to find my inner child, I call to her to dance with the fairies, sing with the sprites, and run in the golden light of the sun, in the flower garden with the spirits.
Very tired, very ill, with stomach aches, body aches, fever, barely able to talk, there was no school for me that day. Just my luck, this was the day all my Girl Scout troop was meeting to have a big campout for overnight. My grandmother guide, the grandmother who was Native American wise woman, in her long dress, pigtail hanging down her back with her pouch of herbs lingered nearby. She sang as she sat nearby whispering in my ear, that I will be glad that I missed this day. Ha, there is no way that missing a great sleepover would be a good thing. She nodded, the gentle smile on her face showed that she knew that I was young, not ready to hear the message yet. Then there he was again, long blond hair hanging down his back.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Living with the Other Sideby Deborah A. Mills Copyright © 2012 by Deborah A. Mills . Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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