When I first had my ankle pinched, Carlos said maybe it was Mary, since she died of cancer, telling me to get checked for cancer. Getting a cancer check I could do! It would be an hour or two, and then done. OK, I’ll get more than one! I’ll check my breasts, my uterus. Or maybe I’m supposed to be getting to those nine Masses. I’ll pay for 9 Masses! Any task that has a time limit, that doesn’t mean a lifestyle change. Meditation, sheesh. Here I am writing instead. Yes, Resistance is my middle name.
Meantime, a couple of mornings ago, over coffee, I was telling Carlos about a dream I’d had in which a dog, probably our dog, vomited and in the huge mess, several sizes bigger than the dog itself, that came out I realized there were mesh bags containing animals without hair and two kittens who desperately needed to be released from the bags, or born.
I began to hear a sound, and I interrupted the part of my story where I do manage to free the kitties and hairless animals. It was singing. The voices were high and clear and pure like voices from a boys’ choir. All I could think was celestial song. I stood by my kitchen counter, thinking, I am listening to angels. I held my hand in the air for minutes, listening.
“Hear that?” I asked my husband.
“Yeah,” he said, with furrowed brow.
And then the sound changed. Its high pitch lowered, and I realized I was listening to a pack of dogs barking.
Perhaps weirder things have happened in my life but I sure don’t know when. Was I suggestible because I had just read the article about the lady who speaks to angels, and written about her? Do I need my ears cleaned, my head screwed on straight? Or was I hearing a message of love?