July 11 was the first night I spent in my own bed after sleeping in Corey’s bed and living her life in Knight’s Valley for the first month after she catapulted off the earth. I slide gratefully under the sheets a little before 11, and as I close my eyes there it is: the clutching. I have the clutching feeling again, I say her name, I can’t help it, I want to be with her so badly, I want to clutch her to me. I cry myself to asleep.
I awake two hours later from dreamtime where I have been sitting in a room with a small group of people who know Corey, including her fiancé and her dad’s sister J. and two of his younger brothers. In a small preview room we watch a Corey movie, an abstract version of her life. When we get to the point where she went off the cliff, there is a pause, and an older sketchy sort of guy starts talking as if he knew her really well. Corey’s uncle Bob and I are offended by this and Bob speaks up about it.
At this point I am overcome with how much I miss her and I say, “I really want to see Corey.”
I walk into the large auditorium and there center stage is Corey. She is wearing shocking pink stretch pants and is on her bum balancing with her legs apart in the air. When she sees me, she does an expert flip and lands on the stage. I am so happy to see her and I start jogging down the steps.
I have so much joy and I can’t get down the dozens and dozens of steps fast enough.
I really want to get to her and as I am nearing the space between the last rows of steps and the stage I say, “I wish I could just jump this gap,” and somehow I get an “okay” inside and I gather all my breath and all my energy and jump, and as I am jumping I see it: there are worlds and stars and galaxies in the gap below me.
I land at the stage near her but I am positioned in the air, about ten feet in the air, opposite Corey, and I understand that I am being held up so that I can have this visit. I am thrilled to be this close to her. She is completely alive and three-dimensional and if we lean a little we could touch. She is completely in the flesh, completely Corey as I always knew her.
I say, “I really want to hold you,” and she lets me know in no uncertain language: “Can’t do that.” She says it in this super happy, buoyant way, “Can’t do that.”And I say, “I really want to take you back with me,” and there is talking and discussion and explanation and she says, “Can’t do that.” She is strong, and sassy, and extremely firm.
It is clear to me that she is with a traveling troupe of spiritual magicians, elders, and angelic helpers who are backstage waiting for her and she has been put in physical form for just this moment so I can recognize her and have this time with her--and receive this painful, tough-love message from her.
She will never be in physical form again the way we knew her. We cannot hold her and we will never be able to bring her back. Who she was is gone--but who she is is still emerging.
In this, and in visits with her friends that I will tell you about in the weeks to come, Corey makes it extremely clear that the only way we can be with her now, the only way we can help her or ourselves now, is to move out of our personal pain and into the place of pure spiritual knowing that at some level, all is well. At some level, this is part of Corey's spiritual program. Like everything she ever did in her life, she did it immediately, with passion and whether anyone liked it or not.