Kwan Yin

Kwan Yin had nothing to do with horses that I know of, or dogs, or cats, or birds, or goats either for that matter. Besides, I went searching for answers about my mother. I wanted to know things we didn’t know, what none of us knew. “Talk to me, Mom,” I said, as my channeling session began. “Oh, and in case I forget, where is Grandma and Grandpa buried? Everyone says Carmichael Cemetery, but there is no Carmichael Cemetery.”

I watched the channeler; a dear friend of mine. I found my center, I stilled my mind. I waited. It had been a long time since I heard my mother’s voice. I wondered if I would recognize it. Yes, I knew it wouldn’t be her voice, per se, but I would recognize her manner of speech, her vocabulary. Wouldn’t I? Surely she’d say “Mercy” at least once or twice. Who came through was Kwan Yin, goddess of compassion. Did I know her? Why come to me?

She was pleased, she said, pleased with my caring, my affinity for the earth. Pleased with me? I liked her. I wanted to know more. Legend has it Kwan Yin is divine energy of not only compassion, but wisdom. She is the embodiment of pure intention and mercy. Mercy?

I don’t know of anyone more compassionate than my mother. She would have fed the world if she could. She would have nursed all of the sick. She would have buried the dead. Kwan Yin is infinite in her desire to protect those in need. She is the one that hears the cries of the world. I see the similarity.

When we were children, and if ill, my mother would hold a cold washcloth to our foreheads. She would bring us warm tea with lots of sugar and buttered toast. She would make us poached eggs. She would sit at our sides. She would tell us it is time to be well now, to get up out of bed, and move around. She would not allow us to be “in a rut.”

I listened to Kwan Yin, and listened and listened. Do you understand? I don’t know. I think so. My mother would scoff at me over this, I am sure. You either know or you don’t. Carmichael’s? Did you offer them something to drink, something to eat?

“You love the trees. You love the earth.” I do. And horses, yes. And dogs; too many dogs over the years. No, just enough. Not another one. Prayer, praying, hair piled high. Pretty dresses. Jeans for me. Are you coming for dinner? Yes. I’ll come hungry too.

I hear voices. I hear Kwan Yin. I hear my mother.

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