Source is not your ego, your personality or any trait or characteristic of your being. Source is not your belief structure or your religious undertakings. Source is Divine Infinite Wisdom. Some call It God, Energy, Allah, Yahweh – it is known by many names or none.

You can ask your source about anything and it will answer. It answers by giving you a feeling. If you feel calm and peaceful – that is your answer – which can be interpreted as yes. If you feel more confused and at unrest – this can be interpreted as no.

As you develop your own relationship with your source you will find what form of communication works for you. There are no hard and set rules and this is a very personal relationship – one that no-one but you and source together share.

********A Very True Story********

I saw a woman's spirit leave her body. I watched her die.

At eighteen I worked full-time in a nursing home as a nurse’s aide. Populated with people in their later years, most of them lived out the rest of their days at this small convalescent hospital in La Mesa, California.

I worked the graveyard shift, eleven p.m. to seven a.m. Standing nearly five feet eleven inches and generally not afraid of too much, I worked this shift with three other women, all of them older and wiser than me. Older, big, and black, not-intimidated-by-much-women, they each in their own way took me under their wing and taught me my work.

Our job involved turning, changing, and caring for these people. Many were bedridden and required extensive care. We would do our runs every two hours starting at the end of the hall and working back towards the nurse’s station.

Very early one fall morning, at about three a.m., the time came to once again turn my patients, check and empty catheters, and force fluids on anyone awake.

I pushed my cart piled high with incontinence pads, towels, and wash cloths to the end of the hall and ducked into the ward on my left. Each ward contained four bed housed with patients unable to communicate. In this particular ward, each patient contained a tube inserted through their nose into their stomach for water and food.

I felt sad for these women as I could never tell if they knew what went on about them.

Bedridden, bedsore, generally pretty stiff, and locked into fetal positions on their sides, the patients lay as eerily quiet as the room.

I entered the ward and immediately felt drawn to the second bed over on my right. The small lamp over the bed cast a cone of light directly over Ellie’s head. A small woman with short salt and pepper hair and drawn into the fetal position on her left side, I knew I needed to turn her over.

Unconsciously I pushed the cart away from me as I approached the end of her bed. I felt drawn to just look at her. It felt like I just entered a church. A deep peace and quiet lay upon her. I gently moved to the foot of her bed and placed one hand on the footboard. Standing, she would only be about five feet tall and couldn’t weigh more than eighty or ninety pounds soaking wet. A light sheet and blanket covered her.

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