Updated: Mar 24, 2022
"Abide in Me" (John 15:4, KJV)
Beyond my awareness, God's grace offered refuge so that simultaneously and reciprocally, God abided with me and I with him. This refuge first came to me while comatose, but I sought it repeatedly once conscious. My painting Abide represents a living thing--a tuber, from which an iris blooms. Rooted to the earth from which it receives life, it abides until conditions are right for it to bloom. Not visible, it lives still. And so I, not visibly conscious on this plane of existence, lived still.
Always there was light, not The Light, but illumination. Although I could see no particular person or object and discerned no source of that light, the light simply illuminated; it remained consistent no matter where I went. I observed no walls, no ceilings, no floors; I moved in, not up or down or through, always within.
That light revealed to me deep sorrow and sadness such as I have never known before or since. I absorbed all of that sadness and regret and pain. Not a vessel through which sadness moved, I became sadness, and anguish; I sweated regret; I vibrated pain; and at the moment when I felt as if there had never been any existence but this, Amy was there with me to let me know it was time to move on, and so I followed her (ironically the opposite of our life experience, when Sharon and I led and Amy followed, now Amy led me). There was distance between us, yet we were always connected. Physical distance never compromised our connection. I felt no surprise at seeing Amy, nor did it seem15 years had passed since I'd seen her. Amy’s physical presence was just the same as when I last saw her: shoulder length hair that curled naturally, an ankle-length dress that hinted at the figure on her curvaceous frame, a sweet countenance on her face. I travelled with Amy, though without walking, or riding, or gliding. We were just where we were as needed and then in a different place as needed. I didn’t know if we had a destination, but never hesitated to follow her. Then Amy stood on one side of a body of water with a strong current moving right to left, and I stood on the other side. We looked at each other.
Suddenly, I felt Dad's presence with us. I never saw him as a physical presence as I did Amy, but, I remembered him--big brown eyes, broad smile, dark hair, big dimples. The essence of my Dad, however, was palpable, and his jovial and optimistic energy familiar. He was excited and happy, and I could imagine him saying, “I do believe this is the best . . .“ a phrase he often used to describe just about anything: The best meal I’ve ever had, the best movie I’ve ever seen, and so on. Tom Deaton was an eternal optimist, but never a foolish one. He remained positive despite a childhood clouded by sadness (a brother who drowned at 12 and a violent, alcoholic father) and poverty; and he kept moving forward, always expecting the best. His essence saturated the atmosphere: he was everywhere. We needed no voices and no words; we felt complete knowing, telepathic and instant. I understood precisely their responses to me, and they knew mine to them, separate thoughts, but immediate understanding.
Then, from outside me, a strong, sure voice directed me, “Logan needs a mommy.”This statement was the only I heard from outside the shared, telepathic communication with Amy and Dad.I intuited Amy and Dad, but I heard this voice.This voice had no anger or malice or urgency, just startling clarity--it was an unquestionable statement of fact.