The Flowering Moon

Blooms of velvet whispers from beyond the veil

PS: Don’t forget the feather — John’s reassurance re the extraordinary signs we are sharing in this post.

As I headed out the backdoor on the morning of Tuesday, May 5^th, I noticed the feather skewed on John’s hat. Are you moving the feather, I poked. When I arrived home a few hours later the feather had been lifted and intentionally resettled from crown to brim.

PS: Don’t forget to mention the feathers — plural, I felt John laugh.

In its usual position, the barn owl feather rests on the crown with the quill pointing at the wall. The repositioned quill was now pointing towards the front of the house and the little feathers that typically sit on the other side of the brim had been relocated to the table, towards the back door — as if someone had blown a gentle whisper on them.

I felt John’s confirmation, re sharing a couple of extra-ordinary miracles ...

I was in the middle of editing the draft of this post and a bit reluctant to share the photo of his mirage, another of his blue aura, and an edited snippet (minus my spoken words) of the loungeroom blind swinging — because there’s an intimacy about them. The visitations come with a message.

What is intimately personal about our reciprocity remains private — the courageous step into the vulnerability of sharing what is here, is with the intent to cultivate hope:

The extraordinary-ness of interdimensional communication with our teams of guides has the potential to become routine, with the belief that it is possible.

Our soul kin are not as far away as is humanly conceived. It is the creative consciousness of one’s imagination that opens portals, just as it is imagined lack that keeps them closed.

To call John’s blind swinging and feather arranging ordinary is not to underestimate or take it for granted — they are a gift; an offer of unconditional love. Always a WOW. As ordinary a sign as any other routine-ness about our heart centred habits when he was in physical form.

My gratitude and love is not only expressed in words, though they are important. As with thought, they carry the energy of their intent. Besides, there are many signs that are non-verbal energy exchanges in the multidimensionality of unconditional love. The body being of the Earth is a portal for our human aspect to access its own and other’s expansiveness.

Sometimes I summons John’s energy — to connect; to blend — other times his energy drops in, just as he sometimes did when he came from another room to the one I was occupying — just checking, he would smile. As I emailed the recording of the poem to Geraldine early Sunday morning, the bedroom blind started to swing. An acknowledgement; an invitation.

The poem had started appearing on paper the night before, just prior to sleep — I had woken twice during the night to scribble a scratch of John’s itch:

What was not said is irrelevant — that I couldn’t physically speak. What wasn’t spoken was felt; in the same tongue as now — soul to soul.

I left my body in an abundance of love and gratitude — and here we are — and so it is.

The portals were already open ... I lay with you in my lifeless-ness, for I had not lost my being-ness ... and now we feel into our complete expansive-ness ...

When we meet it is in the eternal current of our present expansion — in a fluidity of bliss.

John, the pragmatist — a smile emerged as I wrote. And so came the reiteration of his answer to the fundamental question posed in the previous post, Does what was not said during John’s illness matter in the context of now — or then?

I had been on a full moon walk at the labyrinth with a couple of other local women Saturday evening. We are on the cusp of Winter here, so I was back home early, before darkness swallowed our landscape. Time enough to continue my quiet contemplation — such stillness opens portals. An invitation.

I would never have dreamt — in our millennia of lives — that these posts would evolve with our continuing love story. I imagined at the beginning I would be posting a handful of poems that had flowed onto the page; wee odes to our comparatively new-ish state as interdimensional lovers.

Here’s the poem from our first post on Substack, February 2024, The Healing Heart:

Archangels’ galactic, silent descent …

Navigators of helpers and healers,

Suspended in the timeless present …

Guardians of the Eternal.

He came in the night …

Behind closed eyes, in illuminating light,

Riding the slip stream of Angel dust …

Seeds of love strewn across the Heavens.

Surrender the myths of the dream …

Archangel Michael’s harmonious wings,

Shields of protection nurturing our embrace …

In synchronicity of peace, of love.

It’s one of my favourites because the experience remains distinctly vivid; its glow flows in my veins — a whole body sensation.

It was Christmas morning, 2021. I was waking and in a lucid state of dreaming. I could feel the whoosh of wings against my skin. John and I were cocooned in an embrace, tucked deep underneath an angel’s colossal wing. I had a sense of knowing that it was Archangel Michael. I was both observer and participant.

The backdrop was the vantablack, star studded sky that I often visit in meditation. I feel this galactic landscape to be home. There are symbols that are repetitive, and since have become part of the library of signs that John and the team share in their messaging and guidance.

These meditative and lucid dream state remembrances are similar in reveal as the past life recalls I have experienced. An akashic library of memories where our soul chooses the most relevant to share with their human self. We write the records with our emotional being-ness, thus, our healing ripples energetic shifts across all timelines. It is a concurrent collaboration.

These experiences are as real as any that are solely in our physical reality. How they manifest is of our creation; of our imagination. My soul delivered a visual representation based on my cultural context, what Simone perceives angels would look like if they had form, and/or, how angels represent their energy in whatever form necessary for human kind to understand their presence.

Whether Archangels have huge white wings is irrelevant; what is truth is that John and I were being held in the protective angelic energy of unconditional love — in the eternal present.

As the team communicated in the illusion of the afterlife:

The afterlife continues the evolution of the soul; bringing the past into presence with an alchemy of memory that blends timelines into — just being-ness. We energetically go wherever and whatever dimension our soul wants to traverse — within our field of vibrational resonance. We enter each other’s realities just as we do on the Earth plane — we are multidimensional. The afterlife is simply another realm in which you use your imagination for creation — as viable a reality as any other.

Perhaps a paradox that I credit the discipline and rigour of two research degrees for maintaining a collection of field notes; electronic folders and files of photos, videos, and annotated personal journals that link the synchronicities of daily happenings.

As stated in a recent post, John sometimes shows his blind swinging presence to others because we share a purpose; to cultivate hope that post death communication is possible and that we can therefore continue our relationships with our soul-kin, the ancestors.

We are a multidimensional consciousness and thus built for interdimensional communication.

The year after John died, I joined Moira’s Women’s Circle. I have mentioned these in previous posts, so as a quick recap, she would have us participate in mediumship type activities. John had come through on a couple of occasions, when Moira invited present spirits to make contact with their person via another in the group.

One of the women receiving John’s energy — he had already confirmed it was him through relaying an explicit detail about how I dressed him for his cremation — put her hands to her temples because they were throbbing. Moira explained that spirits are often so keen to get their message across that they do not realise the intensity of their energy.

John told Moira he was learning to manipulate energy.

Besides John’s routine ways of communicating, he has in other instances shown me something quite extraordinary. I now understand that the following two manifestations of John demonstrate that this illusion of material density is exactly that.

In December 2020, I took a photo of what we colloquially call a woolly bush — a native shrub that is commonly potted and sold as an Aussie Xmas tree. A friend had gifted me one so I placed a few token baubles on it and sat it on the front porch. The second anniversary of John’s death was approaching and it was my first Summer holiday period without him or Mum. She had died in March that year. I took an obligatory snap to send to my friend.

The photo is dated December 15^th, 2020 at 10.22am. For context, the space between the front porch and front gate is about 4 metres. I was on my own ... apparently.

I live on a cross intersection on the wide main road that runs through our small town. I opened the photo to send to my friend, and see two images of John. A mirage of the same man standing in two different positions, dressed in the same clothes. They are not crystal clear, though the stance and shape is John. The windproof black jacket, the shorts, the hat, the workboots — John. In the top bauble he is looking out over the side street. In the left hand bauble he stands facing the back of me; his right arm pointing down Main Street with his head turned in that same direction.

I immediately sent the photo to my sister instead — look into the baubles, what do you see? Billy-Bob, her reply; her nickname for John-Boy. Followed by something like WTF?

2020 was the, one day at a time recovery year. I didn’t give it any analytical thought any more than I do now — these are communications of love through intuition, not the property of intellect and academic debate.

I trust that his decision to show me how I knew him in form was for the healing benefit of what it brought me at a time of deep grief.

I also unwittingly took a photo of John’s aura on January 4^th, 2025. I had taken a photo of my mother’s rose; the one that decorates the privacy screen on my deck. There, in front of the leaning gum tree is John’s blue aura — it holds the echo of his physical form and he appears to be walking towards the front of the property. He often wandered around the garden and for many months after he died, I would look up expecting him to walk through the glass doors at any moment. Reassurance.

His presence has been a type of graduation; from form to knowing his energetic signature in formless-ness — a continuing love story. The blinds, the feather on his hat, the music — the confirmations and affirmations of what is telepathically received — a poke, a laugh, a nod, an invitation to meditate and blend energies — all acts of intimacy, of love.

And this is how I continue to receive John — his energy is palpable, like a liquid honey ... and combined with both memory and imagination — in meditation and in other dreamscapes — we experience a euphoric fluidity of bliss; in an expanding energetic portal as one.

The following poem is dedicated to Geraldine Hughes, for all of her love and support beyond the public pages of this platform. Thank you sister Geraldine A. V. Hughes . We love you.

The Flowering Moon

I sense his rousing

as I step with ease

into the budding evening;

his rise palpable

in the warmth of a flowering moon.

Hovering on the horizon,

a summons to witness

the unseen — yet known,

beauty in another season.

I wandered the labyrinth

cloistered in the contemplative

shadow of clouds;

harbouring a promise

of another illuminating night.

Still — I swayed in the headiness

of the return journey;

sensual are your swooning whispers,

spoken with a velvet tongue

that resonates a grounding vibration of love.

We dream in a stretch of stardust,

an opening of the folds,

a thinning of the veil between our worlds;

a blooming expansion,

in this, our union of souls.

John's mirage in the reflection of the baubles, December 15, 2020

John’s Aura: January 4th, 2025

John swinging the loungeroom blind on March 8th, 2026. His messages here were informing “We Are The Feather And the Wand” post.

I send our gratitude for the connections and readership on this platform. Thank you for being here. Sending much love.

This time next week I will have headed off on a camping trip with beach and brunch buddy Di. We are ditching the waves and driving our campervans to the red dirt of the South Australian Outback; off to explore the Flinders Ranges.

I do not expect I will be posting for 4-5 weeks, until I return home and get into the slower rhythm of bunkering down for Winter. In the meantime, when I have reception, I will continue to read my favourite Substackers over my predawn coffee, and catch those magic sunrises as the magpies warble in the beginnings of another day.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.