Read Online Afterlives of the Rich and Famous by Sylvia Browne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sylvia Browne
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replied, “Because that’s the way God made us.” For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a good follow-up question.
We get to choose our own visages on the Other Side, and we can change them whenever we like through simple thought projection, especially when we visit a loved one on earth and want to be sure they recognize us. The one exception to that choice is that we’re actually bestowed with increasing physical beauty as our spiritual advancement increases—another of the major differences between here and Home, come to think of it. Sadly, we on earth usually come to learn sooner or later, whether we want to or not, that there’s no reliable connection whatsoever between physical appearance and spiritual advancement.
The Waiting Room
It never fails—just when I think Francine and I have covered all there is to learn about the Other Side, I find out there’s more, not because Francine’s holding out on me, but because, as she tirelessly puts it, “If you don’t ask the question, I can’t give you the answer.”
I knew that when we’re about to descend into a new lifetime on earth, there’s a long, beautifully designed process involved to guarantee that we haven’t made the decision lightly, there’s nothing haphazard about it, and we’ve taken every possible step to ensure that our brief trip away from Home will accomplish every goal we’ve set for ourselves. We’ve chosen our Spirit Guide. We’ve exhaustively designed our chart. The body we’ll inhabit is taking form in the womb of the woman we’ve selected to be our biological mother. We lie down on a table in a sacred, soothing room in the Towers, with the sunset pastels of the sky filtering in through the blue glass façade. We’re surrounded by comfort and support from those special, loving souls who are trained to keep us confident and unafraid.
I thought that was all there was, that the next step was our spirit entering the fetus in the blink of an eye, at the exact moment we choose. I was wrong.
One morning when she was six years old, my granddaughter Angelia told me about an astral trip she’d taken the night before. She routinely traveled to the Other Side while she slept, and she especially loved visiting the peaceful hush of the Towers. On that particular night she’d come across a room she hadn’t noticed before, with a vast window covered by a veil. Like every other child confronted with something hidden, she was curious and wanted to know what was behind that veil, and she took a step toward the room. But Francine, who’d been watching her, stopped her and said, “I’m sorry, Angelia. You can’t go in there.” Angelia couldn’t remember exactly what else Francine had told her, but by the end of the conversation she understood that behind the veil, inside that room, spirits about to leave Home to inhabit an infant body were actually diminishing in size, being transformed from their thirty-year-old physiques into babies themselves.
Honestly, I’d never given a moment’s thought to that very last part of our trip to earth. I guess I assumed that one minute we’re in our thirty-year-old body on the Other Side and the next minute, somehow, poof, we’re occupying a fetus. I shared that assumption with Angelia. Who knew it would be one of the dumbest things she’d ever heard me say? She rolled her eyes, she shook her head at my hopelessness, and her hands went straight to her hips as she replied with utter exasperation, “They can’t come in without getting little, Bagdah!”
With all the confidence of an older, wiser (and completely wrong) woman, I discussed with Francine this assertion that there’s a place spirits go to “get little” before they come back to earth, and wasn’t it typically adorable of Angelia to come up with such an imaginative dream? I should have seen this coming—it wasn’t a dream at all; it was an astral trip, and Francine had indeed stopped Angelia from going into that place in the
We get to choose our own visages on the Other Side, and we can change them whenever we like through simple thought projection, especially when we visit a loved one on earth and want to be sure they recognize us. The one exception to that choice is that we’re actually bestowed with increasing physical beauty as our spiritual advancement increases—another of the major differences between here and Home, come to think of it. Sadly, we on earth usually come to learn sooner or later, whether we want to or not, that there’s no reliable connection whatsoever between physical appearance and spiritual advancement.
The Waiting Room
It never fails—just when I think Francine and I have covered all there is to learn about the Other Side, I find out there’s more, not because Francine’s holding out on me, but because, as she tirelessly puts it, “If you don’t ask the question, I can’t give you the answer.”
I knew that when we’re about to descend into a new lifetime on earth, there’s a long, beautifully designed process involved to guarantee that we haven’t made the decision lightly, there’s nothing haphazard about it, and we’ve taken every possible step to ensure that our brief trip away from Home will accomplish every goal we’ve set for ourselves. We’ve chosen our Spirit Guide. We’ve exhaustively designed our chart. The body we’ll inhabit is taking form in the womb of the woman we’ve selected to be our biological mother. We lie down on a table in a sacred, soothing room in the Towers, with the sunset pastels of the sky filtering in through the blue glass façade. We’re surrounded by comfort and support from those special, loving souls who are trained to keep us confident and unafraid.
I thought that was all there was, that the next step was our spirit entering the fetus in the blink of an eye, at the exact moment we choose. I was wrong.
One morning when she was six years old, my granddaughter Angelia told me about an astral trip she’d taken the night before. She routinely traveled to the Other Side while she slept, and she especially loved visiting the peaceful hush of the Towers. On that particular night she’d come across a room she hadn’t noticed before, with a vast window covered by a veil. Like every other child confronted with something hidden, she was curious and wanted to know what was behind that veil, and she took a step toward the room. But Francine, who’d been watching her, stopped her and said, “I’m sorry, Angelia. You can’t go in there.” Angelia couldn’t remember exactly what else Francine had told her, but by the end of the conversation she understood that behind the veil, inside that room, spirits about to leave Home to inhabit an infant body were actually diminishing in size, being transformed from their thirty-year-old physiques into babies themselves.
Honestly, I’d never given a moment’s thought to that very last part of our trip to earth. I guess I assumed that one minute we’re in our thirty-year-old body on the Other Side and the next minute, somehow, poof, we’re occupying a fetus. I shared that assumption with Angelia. Who knew it would be one of the dumbest things she’d ever heard me say? She rolled her eyes, she shook her head at my hopelessness, and her hands went straight to her hips as she replied with utter exasperation, “They can’t come in without getting little, Bagdah!”
With all the confidence of an older, wiser (and completely wrong) woman, I discussed with Francine this assertion that there’s a place spirits go to “get little” before they come back to earth, and wasn’t it typically adorable of Angelia to come up with such an imaginative dream? I should have seen this coming—it wasn’t a dream at all; it was an astral trip, and Francine had indeed stopped Angelia from going into that place in the
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