La Musee D'Orsay, Paris, France
I made a call to room service.
me: 'Sir, if you please, I have had a bad stomach ache and can barely eat. Would you send fruits and bread for me, and French Toast for my boy? And orange juice?'
him: 'Yes, I can send. of course.'
I was overwhelmed to find a huge glass bowl filled with all kinds of fruits, wrapped up in cellophane with a bow! As well as all the bread I had asked for.
(When we left the room, I wrote a note to maid service about the extra fruit and bread, because of my stomach, please not to throw it away but to let it stay. I also gave five Euros to her.)
In The Afternoon:
Because of my stomach, we did not make it out of the hotel until afternoon. Gingerly I walked hand in hand with my son toward the Eiffel Tower. I was disappointed because for this day I had wanted to see the Musee D'Orsay, and my son had wanted to go to the Eiffel Tower 'like last time'.
At the Metro station, my boy got an overwhelming desire to go on it 'someplace'.
We sat on a bench and looked at the map. All of the print is tiny on the free map. We decided to go to the Musee D'Orsay. There was a woman who spoke English, and helped me understand the connection to the RER, which can be hard to ride, even for someone who is fluent in French. The stations are announced rapidly on the overhead speaker, but the train stations themselves aren't always very well marked.
Next thing I knew, I was standing with my son before Millet's 'The Peasants' and also 'The Angelus'.
Light shone through the masterpieces to me. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude at the chance to share them with my son. The last time I had stood there was almost twenty years ago.
I need art. I need art for my soul. I adore art. Fine art. I make a point to see it whenever possible.
The day flew by with the Impressionists and post-impressionists. Degas. Rodin. Monet. Van Gogh. Vuillard. Delacroix. Mamet. Renoir. Whistler. Millet. Cezanne. Gaugin.
You see, an artist captures the essence and the energy of the moment in their art, as well as their energy. It is alive and frozen in time forever. This is the first time I could 'read' it with my aura interacting with the art.
Van Gogh's is the only spirit that 'came through'. 'You like it?' he asked, very distant, very calm as I looked at his self-portrait in blue. I sensed in his life, his 'script' or 'purpose' had been to create, to help others, and to be lonely. I could see he could 'see' the 'Light' (all the swirls in the background) and was painfully multi-dimensional. He seemed to me like a Michael Jackson, a great talent, a rough life...
I also noticed the doctor-patient relationship, that was preserved in his art: a painting of his psychiatrist, and also of his physician's garden.
Hunger hit for the first time in days. There was a small restaurant on the fifth floor. I wanted tomato soup and quiche Lorraine. The service was abysmal. My son and I thought to leave, but something inside said, 'Wait!'. The young man serving us was kind, and most appreciative I gave the order in French. He said my French was good, what country were you from? I always say the same, 'California'. I also explained my son is here to learn French, we had just spent twenty days in the Loire Valley, and would he mind speaking in French only with us? The service was impeccable. My son developed a love of well-made quiche! I let him eat most of our 'shared' piece, and ate the rocket (arugula) salad.
The WC is upstairs from there. I saw yet another 'Sirian hello!' to me there too. Only one of the hand dryers had it, and by chance it was the one I used:
As you might know, Sirians are also on earth as whales and dolphins, and they help balance the 'Grid'. I had not one but two 'Sirian hello-s' at Azay Le Rideau:
dolphin pattern in the lace window dressing.
The other was a tee shirt on a spanish Dad of a kid who met my boy.
I understood the whole point of the day as we transferred from tour Eiffel RER station to BirHakim Metro. In the corner was a thin man in a suit, head bowed down in shame, with very low energy, holding the sign, 'Please To Live' in French. My son asked, 'Mom? Should we help this guy?' and I said, 'No!'...but then I had a wave of insight pass over me:
- no one should have to live like that in the Higher Dimensions.
- the kid entrance to the museum was free
- who am I to judge?
- Paris and St. Germain are very much connected--what if this was Him or an Angel?
- this was a teaching moment to show my kid not to ignore those in need
So I gave my son five euros in coins, and he put it in the man's hand.
The man looked up. He had beautiful blue eyes, and was very clean. But there was a gleam in his eye. He wanted chemicals. And now he could get them! Was I right or wrong in this case? I don't know.
What I do know, on a Soul Level, is that this was the 'test' for me today, and I 'passed'. I also am guided to 'share' this test with you.
The fruit and bread were still in place. And the maid had left every new thing possible--including an emery board and bath salts (we have a shower stall only). Was it the note? Or perhaps the big stack of children's books in French to read at bedtime?
A Final Note:
Even if you do not speak another language, foreign travel is a great way to help make peace happen on earth. Other people are curious about where you are from, and about you. I had someone ask to see an American Dollar. Many here would love to see Los Angeles or California or the United States. And if you learn another language--you are never too old!--you will show the people where you go how much you care about them, and how interested you are in how they live their life as well.
If you can imagine this in the stars, on a galactic scale, you are well on your way to enjoying life as a member of galactic society!
Aloha and Mahalo,