How Meeting My Angel & Having A Near-Death-Experience, Changed My Life!

machi-silvia-angels

Dear Readers,

People often ask me if I believe in God. Whatever you want to call it; God, Joe, Sally, Higher Power, the answer is “yes”, I believe.

I use to see my Angel, Dini, when I was young. I saw him (or it) right up until I had my near death experience after drowning from fluid in my lungs from a Tonic Clonic seizure. Although I can’t remember exactly what Dini looked like I do remember the impact he had on me during this very difficult time.

Even though I was young, I was never the same again. I had psychic premonitions and I knew things that my parents could not explain. Growing up in a small Catholic town in the 1980s this was not something that was discussed or even accepted as anything but my imagination. It is refreshing that today we are able to openly discuss these amazing experiences with support and unity.

Today I would like to share with you an excerpt from my book, Dear Cole, Never Say Never. 

You can purchase a copy of my book on Amazon, as well as view a full preview of the first few chapters.

Love & Light to you all,

Sincerely,

Cara Jones

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June 13/04

Dear Cole,

Things were going well in Australia for me. I spent my days
sanding all of John’s sculptures by hand as he began showing me the
different tools for carving. He helped me get over my fear of the
chainsaw, somewhat, but I knew it was something I was going to
have to face if I wanted to actually create a sculpture. I sat
there for hours sanding, my headphones blasting out tunes that kept
me in rhythm. It was the perfect way for me to learn to be with
myself.

After work, I would retreat to the cabin for a night of
reading and reflection. This is where the spiritual side of me became
stronger than I had ever experienced.

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I was doing Reiki almost every day and all the pain and
heartache I had bubbled to the surface. Your mother does not
have a good track record with men and had allowed them to burden
her heart with their irresponsible actions. I realized that, for the
past two years, I had been walking around the world with a void in
my heart. I felt I had so much love to give but didn’t have
anywhere to fully direct it.

I believe it all began as a child for me, but the trait grew
worse and my teenage years approached. You must understand, my
Sweet Child, that your mother has had an interesting experience, thus
far, in the lessons of life.

We all have our adversities, and I am always reminded that so
many other people are worse off. My adversity had caused a deep rooted
insecurity in me on many levels. Although I am extremely
optimistic and believe in love, I often failed to believe in love when it
came to loving me. I spent the majority of my pre-teen and
teenage years wearing a mask to cover my fear – my fear of dying,
not experiencing – not learning and never being… in love.

I guess the path to all of this began when I was five years
old and I introduced my brother and my mother to my imaginary
friend, Dini. I remember it as if it were yesterday.

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My Imaginary Friend

“He’s standing right there,” I announced with great conviction, “Can’t you
see him?” My brother, Chris, and my mother, Coleen, just stood there and tried
not to smirk too much as I so seriously introduced them to a being made of thin
air. “Cara, sweetheart, there’s nobody there,” my mother confirmed soothingly. I couldn’t understand it. How could they not see him; he stood so tall and beautiful.

I had been seeing Dini for months. The meaning of his presence was unclear
to me, but I loved having him around. Our conversation was limited, as if we
didn’t have to use words to know what each was thinking. I suspect now, looking
back, that Dini was a visitor preparing me for what was yet to come.

I was only five years old when he first showed himself to me. Shortly after,
I remember strange things started to happen to my body. The first time it
happened, I was lying in bed staring at my floral-print wallpaper when the room
suddenly started to feel, what I described at the time, as “fat.” Each time it
happened, fear crept up onto my skin and buried itself into my soft flesh. I
remember Dini always being there with a smile in his eyes which made me feel
such ease afterwards, but soon the episodes grew worse.

One day, while acting out Snow White in my best friend, Laura’s, basement
she watched me fall to the floor, thrashing and gasping for breath. Laura, thinking I
was playing, giggled as she observed my silly additions to the story. These
episodes had become such a common occurrence that they never fazed Laura or
me, too young to understand the depth of what was happening. My parents started
to notice my strange behaviour as well. One time, in particular, walking into the
mall, I felt the sensation creep up on me, I tried to control it but it was no use, fully
conscious my legs lost all control. I watched the walls of the department store grow lucid and alive, my tongue, thick and heavy, stood between me and my
ability to communicate. My mother tried to hold me up; she used everything in her
will to support me, but her daughter was falling away from her in more ways than
one.

Dini remained with me this whole time. He would observe in the corner
with his gentle and loving presence. I knew that no one could see him, but I was
so relieved that he made himself visible to me, especially during school. I began to
find that keeping up the charade of everything being adequate in my world was a
bit exhausting. Dini was the one thing that gave me strength when the abuse
started to happen.

Mrs. Talbot, my grade one teacher, didn’t understand. To her, I was just a
spoiled child seeking attention. Falling to the floor, staring into air when she asked
me a question, these were all signs of a brat trying to be one above the rest. The
only way she knew how to deal with me was to punish me. Soon my lunch was
taken away. I stood in the corner more than I sat at my desk. Her eyes became so
cold and her voice became coated with resentment towards me.

So shy and introverted, I couldn’t understand why a grown-up hated me so
much. All I wanted to do was make her happy so I never told my parents about
any of the things she did to me; I wanted to protect her. Dini explained to me in
his own way that she needed love, but loving her, I found most times to be an unbearable challenge.

It was a cold December day and all the students had just returned from
playing outside, each face showing the rosy complexion of a Nova Scotian winter.
You could hear the hustle and bustle of each classroom preparing for the big
Christmas concert for our parents. Mrs. Talbot suggested that we practice our song
in front of the grade two classes before our big debut the following week. I was so
excited and so extremely nervous. We all considered the grade two class the big
kids and I had a huge crush on a boy named Jason LeBlanc who would be sitting
right there with his eyes on me. As we lined up, I stood tall, ready to give a perfect
performance. When I looked up and spotted Jason in the second row, I blushed at
the very sight of him. The music started and we all began belting out our heartfelt
Christmas carol when I felt that familiar feeling starting to possess my body. My
body started sinking to the floor, my eyes stayed focused on Jason and I tried
fighting my legs, with all my might, but it was no use; the feeling was stronger
than my five- year- old will. I lay completely flat on the ground looking up at Mrs.
Talbot, who was now leaning over me with a stern look of disapproval painted
across her middle-aged face. She grabbed my arm and tried yanking me up to my
feet, to no avail. “Get up, Cara,” she demanded, trying to keep her temper to a dull
roar in front of the other teachers. All the children were giggling and I prayed to
God to make me vanish, but God didn’t answer. Instead Mrs. Talbot decided to teach me a lesson for my disobedience and, when I finally gained control and was
able to stand, she slapped her hand over my butt three times in front of the whole
class as a warning to them not to cross her.

Dragging me to our classroom across the hall, she continued to torment and
accuse me of maliciously making a fool of her and the rest of the class. Tears
streamed down my delicate cheeks as I stood in the corner the remainder of the day
praying to God to make it stop and for Mrs. Talbot to like me again. In the
unconventional way that God likes to work, he answered my prayers.

It was three days after the incident at school and I had caught the flu so I
stayed home to recuperate. The day after my experience with Mrs. Talbot,
my mother and father sat me down to ask me all kinds of questions, desperate to
find answers. What was happening to their little girl? I tossed and turned, playing
and trying everything to get them to talk about something else. I had no idea what
was happening to me and I sure didn’t want mom and dad to worry about me so I
just decided not talking about it was the best answer.

After spending the day comforting me, as I ran to the washroom vomiting
from the stomach virus that polluted my body, mom finally got me settled into a
good night’s sleep. Quietly, she crept out of the room, gently closing the door
behind her. Mom went into the living room where my dad was on the sofa. As
they sat inter-twined, the light from the television flickered revealing the tired expressions on both their faces. A loss for words left the couple quiet and
hypnotized by the imagery flashing before them. They basked in the calm and in
an instant the storm arrived with a bang.

“What was that?” mom bolted up at the sound of a pounding thud against the
wall. Feet not touching the ground, she threw open my door to find me in a
catatonic state, my face changing various shades of blue, gasping for air. “Dear
God, Fran, quick.” Dad, already behind her, ran to the phone and called our
neighbour, a registered nurse who happened to be off duty.

“Cara, sweetheart! Mommy’s here. Wake up baby,” my mother repeated as
tears gathered on the edges of her eyes. “Mom, what’s wrong with Cara?” my
brother, Chris, inquired as he peered into the room in shock at the sight of me.
“Honey, go back into your room. Your sister’s going to be okay. We just need to
take her to the hospital so she will feel better.” The terrified look on Chris’s face
was enough to put my mother over the edge.

As soon as the neighbour arrived, she ordered my father and mother to help
her get me into the car, fearing I would not survive waiting for an ambulance. Dad
with super strength and, unwavering determination to save his little girl, lifted my
stiff body as if it were stuffed with feathers. Securing me in the car, mom
continued to call out my name while dad ran every red light all the way to the
hospital. Upon arrival, I was whisked away to emergency where nurses and doctors attempted to suction me and bring me back from the flat-line state I had slipped
into after drowning from the fluid that so quickly filled my lungs. For a few
minutes, I died.

My View From the Ceiling
I heard the door close as mom left my room and, for a moment sleep felt
close by. Soon that feeling was replaced with a rapid wave of fear. When my eyes
adjusted to the darkness in the room I saw Dini standing in the corner. He told me
not to be afraid and that soon I would return. With the end of that message I found
myself rising and watched the situation unfold from the ceiling of my room. I felt
no pain, no fear, only lightness as I observed my parents trying to bring me out of
my catatonic condition.

Dini remained close. I could feel others with him and had an understanding
of all that was occurring. I watched the doctors work fiercely on my body
determined to revive the limp, precious six year old who lay before them. Soon, as
quickly as I had floated away from my shell, I was slammed back into it, all
lightness exchanged for heavy pain. My head throbbed, fear was back and
confusion overcame me as I tried to figure out who I was, who they were, where I
was and what had just happened to me.

Sleep crashed upon my body like a wave and, for the next two days, I drifted
in and out of seizures. They rushed me to Halifax for treatment. Dini was gone
and I never saw him again. As if he prepared me for the dramatic arc of the story,
he exited stage right, instilling knowledge in me to survival and overcoming all
that lay before me. My six-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend the miracle I had
been given but, upon reflection; I was never the same again.

This was the beginning of my spiritual journey here on earth,
Cole, something that has remained with me and my sense of purpose
to this day. I have always felt a sense of empathy for everyone
even when they wronged me like Mrs. Talbot. As I continue to
share my story with you, I want you to know that people make
mistakes and, in those mistakes, obstacles are created, but it’s
often those obstacles and how you overcome them that become the
biggest, most profound, teachers in life. I hope someday you will
understand what I mean, but I pray that you will understand
through an experience less freckled with pain.

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