Since your OBE to the Other Side, have you experienced anything like it again?
I have experienced only glimpses, such as a searing intensity of love or an especially deep sense of peace that surpassed the ‘norm’. These moments were fleeting, but nonetheless powerful and I am very grateful. I liken it to discerning a floral note of beautiful perfume in the air; it’s intoxicating and stops you in your tracks, and then it’s gone. I might be reading something or watching a movie, and the most unexpected thing will trigger a memory of that experience. And it is always sensory, rather than simply recalling an image.
I was recently on a train to the city and felt unconditional love for every person on board. I paused to think about each individual I could see. I held space for the harried young mother, and the student listening to music, and the dozing tradesman, who each have their own dreams and joys, heartaches, and challenges. The universe loves us equally.
And there’s something else. Like anyone, I appreciate an act of kindness—whether I witness it, or whether I’m on the receiving end. Since my OBE, at times this gratitude makes me want to burst. It’s as though initially, I can’t hold it in; every cell is standing to attention as the emotion engulfs me. In that moment, my body struggles to contain my response (of course, I do contain it, or I’d probably be arrested).
Lovely though it would be, I think it’s by design that we don’t experience that other worldly intensity every day. I believe it would keep us tethered to the Other Side, rather than here. After all, we made a conscious choice to leave the world of the absolute (where love exists unopposed, as so beautifully expressed by Neale Donald Walshe) to experience duality, dealing with good and bad, hot and cold, kindness and cruelty.
What about twins, where only one is born or survives?
Twins—like parent/child pairings, or siblings—make Soul Contracts on the Other Side to play out various roles here. And like anyone else, they retain free will in deciding to leave earlier than planned, or (even at the last minute) to not arrive at all.
Souls who design a shared arrival as twins are naturally planning an intimate, shared experience that extends far beyond a birthday. They are often seen by others as a “package” and that can prompt challenges around seeing themselves—and having others relate to them—as the individuals they are. Parents might unwittingly foist the same expectations on each twin, when they built in different talents, interests, humor, and physical constitutions to their personalities.
I can only imagine the sense of loss that a twin endures when one either is miscarried, or otherwise passes away. I can only say that the people I have interviewed express it variously as losing a limb, or a vague, persistent sense of feeling incomplete.
From the soul perspective, the souls designed to arrive together, but also knew ahead of time that one (or both) might ultimately choose not to be born, or else to depart in infancy, childhood or later in life. Of course, honoring the choice of their sibling to do this, sparks deep and far-ranging ripple effects for the surviving twin. This can range from a type of survivor’s guilt to anger and abandonment.
One young woman I spoke with (a college freshman) lost her twin brother in fifth grade to a car accident. She felt that she grappled with an additional aspect of loss amid her grief, compared to her parents and siblings. In the years since, she has made progress in coming out her shell; her brother had been the gregarious one and had helped her make friends. His absence removed her safety net, but she eventually grew to find her own voice and her own tribe. Could she have learned to do this without the pain of losing him? Absolutely. His exit point was always designed and timed by him at the Soul Plan level. As scorchingly painful as it was for her, his departure intersected with her development spiritually. It ultimately gave her a more defining sense of self.
Why are lessons always so … hard? I know the whole idea is growth, but sometimes, can’t we just coast?
I get it. And you’re right, lessons often involve hardship or other obstacles. But I’d like to gently challenge you on the idea that all lessons are negatives to be endured. Our language often reinforces that. When a child burns their hand on the stove we might say, “See? I told you it was hot. You’ve learned your lesson.”
But lessons also arrive in the most delightful, charming and joyful packages—and we design to experience these as much as the trials. Lessons in forgiveness are infused with grace for everyone involved. Both parties feel lighter. Unburdened. Consider other experiences that prompt us to slow down, to savor the beauty around us, and in our relationships.
We design to weave a tapestry of joy through our lives, from the thrill of being asked on our first date, to tossing our hats in the air at graduation, to holding a baby.
The biggest joyful lesson, as you’ve no doubt considered, is unconditional love. That deep-seated, no-holds-barred, love-you-no-matter-what, that provides such a bedrock for so many of us (I say ‘many’, because some souls will not experience that this time around, and it’s so easily taken for granted).
We do plan periods of coasting amid the tumult. We design times of smooth sailing, not only to rejuvenate, but because that sense of calm and happiness is its own gift.
This post is part of our series of blogs on soul plans by Alicia Young. You can read her previous posts HERE.
Alicia Young is an Australian broadcast journalist and author who met her guardian angel at age three. She has written six awarding-winning nonfiction books (and is working on her seventh title). The latest, Visit from Heaven: A Soul’s Message of Love, Loss & Family recounts a transformative experience in which she met the soul of a little boy on the Other Side. Today, she speaks and consults on Soul Plans around the world, both privately and to groups (often virtually, in a Covid-19 world). Learn more at www.soulplans.net. Alicia welcomes your questions at: firstname.lastname@example.org (her central email address). This column does not seek to substitute professional support.