01/11/2026
Today, I walked through an Air Force museum, surrounded by echoes of history and quiet reverence.
As we moved through the space, I felt it. That gentle, unmistakable tap from spirit. It’s a sensation I’ve come to recognize, one that cannot be mistaken for anything else.
I am still a work in progress, still walking the winding path of awakening and learning to trust my intuition, but this feeling… this feeling is familiar.
Whenever spirit reaches out, I always acknowledge it. A simple hello, offered with respect and openness. Most times, that is all, no words, no images, just the briefest moment of connection before the silence returns.
As we continued walking, we came upon a gathering, an event honoring veterans with quilts, each one stitched with gratitude, love, and remembrance. (If you’ve never seen these quilts, they are truly something sacred. My grandfather received one once.)
As we passed by, the message came clearly this time, not in words but in knowing. The spirit who had tapped me earlier was not there for me. They were there for someone in the crowd. My intuition settled on the truth gently but firmly: it was the spouse of one of the quilt recipients, a love no longer in physical form, yet still present, still standing watch, still honoring the one they loved.
The realization washed over me like a quiet wave. It was humbling. Sacred. Wild in the softest way.
This experience reminded me that the veil is thin, love does not end, and sometimes spirit only asks to be acknowledged—seen, felt, and remembered.
