Untangling the Knots
By Kathleen Hoy Foley
I am not going to give that guy a message from his dead father, I whispered to Phil. But that old familiar sensation of density and pressure, of walking through glue when a spirit energy is close and wants to connect was increasing. I’m not going to do it, I insisted. I have my rules and boundaries. An opportunity must present itself and must be very obvious. I never search—I only respond. Those are my parameters and I stick to them.
Bringing up a deceased loved one to a stranger is always risky. Not everyone is okay with the concept of communing with the departed, and I wasn’t up for the stink eye and banishment from the premises with silence and a long, cold stare. Plus the guy—tall and lanky, well north of fifty if I had to guess—looked way too reserved, far too intellectual with his nose buried in a book as we browsed, apparently unnoticed, in his antique shop.
So, I ignored him and his dead relative, kept my eyes on the treasures, and soon escaped to another room. Just another undeliverable message… On the bright side, I’d spared myself all possibilities of the stink-eye curse. Then the guy poked his head in…friendly, chatty, artistic, kind… Still I resisted. Until the opportunities began appearing quicker than I could shut them down. The man’s dad was persistent. He needed to talk to his son. Sorrow and promise weighted the air.
A bruised boy becomes a bruised man. But when a boy is bruised by his father—the most significant, most influential male in his young life—he is more than bruised, he is deserted. Stranded alone on the pothole-strewn path to manhood. Shut down by his principal mentor. Left to his own undeveloped devices to get where he does not know he is going. And the bruising within keeps widening, tunneling, quietly becoming entangled with love and anger, guilt and responsibility. Along with the historical demands that pit personal growth and emotional survival against duty, expectations, and obedience to an unworkable image in an unmanageable dynamic.
So it is that the beautiful boy even as a beautiful man may not identify this bruising—this emotional damage—caused by his father as trauma, but trauma it is. And the knots of that trauma keep tightening.
And so, on that day, in those very humble surroundings of small trinkets and minor valuables, a father in spirit worked against all odds—including a reticent medium—to reach across dimensional planes to attempt to heal the heart of his son. The son said “yes.” The time was right. The energies aligned in harmony. So, I delivered the message:
Your dad knows. He gets it. He really gets it. He wants you to get it, all of it. He is profoundly sorry about it. He will not burden you by asking for forgiveness. He only wants you to know that he now understands. And he totally supports and encourages you to go all the way to the bottom of it and express every single thing about the pain he caused you. He does not want to be an obstacle to your growth in any way. Say it all. (Even the things you think you’re not supposed to say or think.) This is the path to your healing. And, yes, now he is in a very good place because he finally understands what he has done.
I don’t know what the “it” is that the father was referring to. It is not my business to know. What is certain is that the love this father expressed for his son is unconditional. And that kind of love—born from the deepest depths of profound understanding and self-evolution—has the power to transform.
Healing is a long, slow journey of twists and turns. But whenever the son decides to go down its path, his dad will be present, guiding him to the source of trauma hidden within the bruises of betrayal and disappointment. The older soul will be embracing the younger soul’s tender heart with unconditional love and complete support as together they explore the tangles and knots of secrets and consequences in his boy’s search for clarity. The old man will ensure his son’s safety on a path that often feels so frightening, lighting the way forward for his beautiful boy: forward into freedom.
In case you’re wondering, this message is not at all unique. Though I go through my little hissy-fits of anxiety when I’m presented with an opportunity to deliver a message, it always comes through the prism of profound, unconditional, evolved love. It does not matter whether the communication comes from a late relative, a departed childhood friend, a long-ago, mostly forgotten, deceased acquaintance, or the gentle light of an unknown, invisible guide. It does not matter whether the message is given directly, overheard in a crowded room, carried by the wind to a listening ear, or stumbled upon by a reader.
If the message resonates, it is for you. And be assured that there is a loving, evolved spirit who is—and has been—reaching out to you.
It’s a beautiful thing.