A Walk between the Clouds: Messages from the Other Side

by Patricia A. Leffingwell

Overview

Patricia Leffingwell, a high school reading teacher in Florida, received an ominous message from a prominent psychic medium. This message threw her life off track, and Leffingwell soon found herself propelled into an incredible, self-revealing spiritual and paranormal odyssey.

Through difficult trials leading up to and following her spiritual awakening, Leffingwell became aware of her own psychic abilities. We are all born with them, but these abilities are often blamed on overactive childhood imaginations. We thwart our own connection to the other world, but this avoidance can easily become acceptance in adulthood—if we open ourselves up to illumination.

A Walk between the Clouds: Messages from the Other Side is an adventurous and enlightening memoir, in which Leffingwell shares her own other-worldly encounters and teaches you how to keep your own psychic journal. Once you realize there are no coincidences, you will be open to seeing the psychic phenomenon in your own life—and in doing so, you will feel fulfilled, informed, and divinely peaceful.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781450280983
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	01/19/2011
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
File size:	3 MB

Read an Excerpt

A Walk between the Clouds

Messages from the Other Side

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By Patricia A. Leffingwell

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Patricia A. Leffingwell
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-8097-6

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Chapter One

In the Beginning ...

Treasure your memories; they are seeds from which literature grows.

As a young child, I vividly remember my mother's intuitive feelings about friends or family only hours before they arrived at our front door completely unannounced. On several occasions, Dad and I watched her set extra places at the dinner table when we were not expecting guests, but by the time we sat down, we always had extra mouths to feed. At other times, she would awaken to see a bright white light surrounding a familiar face. In almost every case, the person passed away at the exact same time she saw them in the light.

These gifts were apparently shared by many on her side of the family, and I came to accept this as normal behavior for her. It was not, however, something we would talk about openly for fear of how friends and neighbors would react. This was during the late 1950s and early 1960s when psychic ability of any sort was not an acceptable practice, especially in the Bible Belt of the Deep South. I, on the other hand, had never experienced a psychic phenomenon, and I didn't want to. Then in my early twenties, I was awakened by a dear friend who appeared to me in the middle of the night. The following day, I sadly discovered that he had been killed that very night. I was not aware of it at the time, but on that night, I had received my right of passage. There was no doubt that I was my mother's daughter.

During the next several decades, I remained interested in the paranormal. Whenever the chance arose, I would read books, visit supposedly haunted houses, and sign up for ghost tours when we were vacationing. I have always enjoyed talking to others who have experienced similar phenomena or have had intuitive thoughts that they believed to come true. At the time, this was all simply a curiosity of mine. I never thought of myself as a ghost hunter, medium, fortune teller, or anything else that could be considered a psychic, prophet, or healer. It was a hobby that I enjoyed.

I had been working as a corporate advisor and business manager prior to changing careers to become a high school teacher. In early 2000, I embarked on a pathway of spiritual growth and development along with my dear friend Pam Bridges. It was also during this time when life presented me with tremendous challenges and obstacles. I now know that these challenges were building blocks preparing me for what was ahead, but at the time, I wondered from day to day how I would survive. I was in the process of making a major career change, working with my family to overcome the passing of both an aunt and an uncle, dealing with my husband's sudden stroke and his more recent open heart surgery (having now fully recovered from both), grieving the senseless murder of one of our best friends, and all the while, caring for my elderly mother as she bravely fought a lengthy illness prior to her death. We each have our own crosses to bear, and these were mine.

It is especially at times like these when we instinctively and intuitively find ways to deal with what life presents us. I initially adopted meditation as a way to reduce my everyday stresses. I quickly found this to be my safe haven; it became my escape from daily stresses and a time when I felt protected by an invisible, comforting warm blanket of love, peace, and tranquility—if even for a few minutes each day.

During those first years, I avidly became interested in ways of improving my meditation, began studying the chakras, and read anything I could find pertaining to angels and spirit guides. Pam's knowledge of past life regression, reading auras, and psychic intuition was also developing. Then, ten years ago, we visited the world-famous Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp in Cassadaga, Florida. My first reading with a medium proved to be much more than I had bargained for. He told me things about myself that absolutely no one could have known. Pam and I have continued to visit Cassadaga two or three times each year, and we always leave feeling our energy levels rejuvenated and stronger in our convictions about the pathways we have chosen. We have come to call it our "retreat."

A reading I received in January 2007, when the theme of this book actually begins, will remain with me for the rest of my life. I am not certain what I was expecting to hear as I sat down for the session, but it certainly was not, "You were scheduled to die, but the universe has changed."

Chapter Two

The Awakening

"The whole of life is but a moment of time. It is our duty, therefore to use it, not to misuse it." Plutarch

"You were scheduled to die, but the universe has changed." This haunting phrase continued to play in my memory as I awoke from my first surgery in July 2007. Is it still Monday the twenty-third, or did I sleep through the night, and it's now sometime Tuesday, or possibly Wednesday? How long have I been asleep? I wondered. As I lay there listening to the sounds and voices of the busy surgical intensive care unit (SICU), I tried to piece together the events of the past few days. I knew that I had returned to my Florida hometown, but how long I had been back and the details of exactly how I ended up in the SICU were still a bit fuzzy.

"You're awake!" announced my nurse cheerfully as she entered my room. "Can I get you anything?"

"Ice or water," I managed to whisper. When I tried to speak, it felt as if my tongue had been glued to the roof of my mouth. My throat was desert dry and scratchy. The nurse explained that they had only recently removed my breathing tube, which caused the intense, parched feeling deep in my throat.

Over the next few hours, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I lay there listening to the rhythmic chirping of not only my monitors but those of others in the nearby rooms. I remember at times being acutely aware of the peace I felt as the calming voice repeated, "You were scheduled to die, but the universe has changed."

After what must have been several hours, my husband Ralph was allowed in for our first visit. I will never forget seeing the relieved smile on his face as he bent over to kiss me. I now know that my surgery was at 6:30 p.m., July 23, and he was allowed to see me somewhere around ten o'clock that night. It was only then, while visiting with him, that I became aware of the massive bandages covering my head. As we talked, my short-term memory began to partially return. Although it had vanished, I was able to remember the intense pain I had been suffering from a severe headache that began the morning of July 18.

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I had been on vacation in Arkansas with my childhood girlfriend Mary Lou Sampson. We were born and raised there as only children, and over the years, we have become more like sisters than friends. Living four states apart has kept us from being able to visit as often as we would like to do, so a few years ago we decided to spend at least part of our summer vacations exploring our Ozark heritages and Arkansas's immense beauty together.

On this particular summer, I had flown to Little Rock on July 11. My plane arrived late in the day, following a five-hour layover at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Severe thunderstorms throughout the entire southeast had grounded or delayed most aircrafts in the region. What was to have been a five-hour trip rapidly became more than ten hours. My body was exhausted when the Delta jet finally taxied up to the arrival gate in Little Rock, and I was delighted when Mary Lou announced that we would be staying home for dinner. We enjoyed what remained of the day by relaxing at her house and had a peaceful dinner with her elderly father, who was then living with her. In many ways, he had been like a father to me, and I greatly enjoyed spending time with him. No matter how much time had passed, when we were together, it felt like time stood still. We laughed and told stories from our high school days that will never be forgotten—even though some should be erased from history completely.

The next morning, following a delightful Cracker Barrel breakfast with my Aunt Bettie, we drove first to Branson, Missouri. Two days later, we traveled the beautiful, winding back roads to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where I encountered my first spiritual photography phenomenon. (This angelic experience will be discussed in a later chapter.) We returned to Little Rock on July 16, and the following morning I flew down to New Orleans, Louisiana, to meet my husband.

History repeated itself when I tried to leave Little Rock. Turbulent summer thunderstorms delayed my departing flight and then again postponed my connecting flight from Memphis, Tennessee. Almost two and a half hours late, I finally stepped off the plane in New Orleans. Ralph had driven to New Orleans from our home in Palm Bay, Florida, two days earlier. He was standing there waiting for me as I walked down the arrival ramp, and I remember being so happy to see him. Having lived in Mobile, Alabama, for eighteen years before relocating to Florida, New Orleans used to be an easy two-hour drive from home and had become one of our favorite vacation spots.

This was to be our first visit since Hurricane Katrina devastated the entire northern Gulf Coast the night of August 29, 2005. We had no idea what to expect once we arrived, but we were praying that our favorite places had either survived or had been rebuilt. Ralph had called ahead and made dinner reservations at Tony Angello's for that evening. Tony, the father of a longtime friend, had only recently reopened the restaurant, which had been a total loss due to Katrina's flooding. I vividly remember hearing news reports of how the Lake Pontchartrain levees had collapsed, sending the raging Mississippi River into residential neighborhoods. Everything in the area was instantly buried under the muddy and deadly water. Due to its close proximity to one of the levees, I knew then that Tony's was lost, for what I thought was forever. For this reason, I could not wait to have dinner again at one of the finest restaurants the Crescent City has to offer. Tony Angello's was back!

Our daughter Kimberly, her husband Chandler, and our grandson Conner had driven over from Mobile to spend a few days with us. They met us at the Hotel Monteleone in the French Quarter where we were all staying, and then as a family, we spent our first evening together enjoying the Italian delicacies prepared by Tony.

Over dinner I had shown everyone the digital spirit photographs that I had taken in Eureka Springs. Conner was fascinated with the pictures, and I told him stories of the ghost sightings reported in the 1886 Monteleone. As recently as March 2003, a team from the International Society for Paranormal Research made contact with more than a dozen earthbound spirits residing in the building. Conner immediately wanted to go on a ghost hunt when we returned to the hotel that evening, and I certainly did not argue with him. With his parent's permission, he and I went rambling through the halls and stairwells in search of whatever or whoever might want to make its presence known to us. Conner was so cute walking through the hallways asking, "Is anyone here? Do you want to tell us anything?" Unfortunately, we were unable to see or photograph anything that night; however, I promised Conner that I would take him on another expedition the following night.

Early the next morning, July 18, Kimberly and I met in the lobby and went for an enjoyable power walk through the French Quarter and along the levee. We meandered around Jackson Square and then strolled up and down Chartres, Royal, and Bourbon streets before making our way back to the hotel. I have always loved early morning sunrises no matter where I am, but there was an almost mystical feeling as we walked along the levee separating the Mississippi River from the historic city below it. The combination of fresh air and exercise, mixed with the highly contagious spirit of New Orleans, caused us both to feel energized and refreshed when we finally returned to the hotel.

The next item on our agenda for the day was to attend a jazz brunch at the Court of Two Sisters. This historic restaurant, another of our favorite places to dine, is located four blocks from the hotel at 613 Rue Royale. Kimberly and I agreed that we would all meet in the hotel lobby a little after eleven that morning and walk there together. There are very few visits to the Quarter when Ralph and I do not attend one of these brunches fit for a king. The area, known as Governor's Row, was the home of many early Louisiana politicians. The original resident of this building and the first to call it home was Sieur Etienne de Perier, who, in 1727, became the royal governor of colonial Louisiana. He was commissioned to permanently replace French Gov. Jean Baptiste Lemoyne, Sieur de Bienville, who had been recalled to France to face charges brought against him by his many enemies. However, Governor Perier's term in office was cut short in 1733 when Bienville returned to Louisiana and assumed his duty as Louisiana's governor.

The restaurant's name came much later when two Creole sisters, Emma and Bertha Camor, turned the building into a notions shop and supplied most of New Orleans's aristocratic women with clothing, perfume, and lace brought over from Paris. The sisters died within two months of each other in 1944. Emma was eighty-six years old, and Bertha was eighty-four at the time of their deaths. The love these two sisters shared for each other and for their home continues in present time. Many late-night guests at the restaurant have reported seeing Emma and Bertha sitting together at a table, still enjoying each other and their beloved home.

It is impossible not to feel their loving spirits or to be touched by the building's history while dining under the stately Spanish moss-draped trees in the old brick courtyard, listening to the dancing water of the fountains, and being entertained by excellent jazz musicians. And if that's not enough, all of this is happening while you are sipping mimosas and being delighted by the taste of the finest New Orleans cuisine. What's not to enjoy? Thank you, Emma and Bertha!

Following the brunch, Kimberly and I walked across the narrow Rue Royale to explore a small boutique featuring retro '60s clothing, which was making a fashion comeback. The rest of the family went back to the hotel where we were to join them in an hour or so. Almost immediately after entering the shop, I felt the pangs and early signs of a headache. Within only a few minutes, I knew I was getting an all too familiar migraine, and it was coming on quickly. The owner of the shop was burning incense, which I first thought might be aggravating my head, so I walked outside to breathe a little fresh air. Kimberly completed her purchases, and I told her that I needed to go back to the hotel, take something for my headache, and lie down for about an hour. I thought after that I would be as good as new.

Ralph was surprised when I had returned to the hotel so quickly, and I hated to tell him that I was developing a migraine. We both knew this probably meant that I would have to sleep in a darkened room while the medication took effect. But this was by no means a typical migraine. As soon as I swallowed the medication, I became violently sick to my stomach and passed out. This was before one o'clock in the afternoon, and I honestly do not remember anything until the early hours of the next morning. Ralph later told me that he had talked to me throughout the day and that I had answered him. At some point later in the afternoon when Ralph had gone to the hotel lobby to meet with Mr. Tony's son-in-law, Kimberly came to our room to check on me. She grew alarmed when she beat on our door with no response from me at all. She also said that she called the room several times but I never answered the telephone. Later Ralph wanted to see if the hotel had a doctor on call and even offered to take me to a New Orleans hospital. I apparently argued with him and adamantly declined both suggestions. Again, I do not remember any of these conversations, and I am also certain that I was completely unconscious all day in the room. It would seem that if I were in some state of semi-consciousness that I should remember something from that afternoon, but to this day I remember nothing after returning from our brunch and becoming sick.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from A Walk between the Clouds by Patricia A. Leffingwell Copyright © 2011 by Patricia A. Leffingwell. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Foreword by Rev. Don Zanghi, DMin....................ix
Preface....................xi
Acknowledgments....................xv
Introduction....................xix
Part One....................1
Chapter One: In the Beginning ....................3
Chapter Two: The Awakening....................7
Chapter Three: The Message....................15
Chapter Four: The Orb Encounters....................23
Chapter Five: Spirits in the Ozarks....................33
Chapter Six: Angels, Spirits, and Ghosts....................41
Chapter Seven: A Spiritual Greeting....................53
Chapter Eight: Full Circle....................59
Part Two....................69
Chapter Nine: Soul Searching....................71
Chapter Ten: Déjà Vu, Dreams, and Intuition....................81
Chapter Eleven: Spiritualism: Mediums and Myths....................95
Chapter Twelve: The Mysterious World of Orbs....................105
Chapter Thirteen: Angels....................115
Chapter Fourteen: Ghosts....................125
Chapter Fifteen: Synchronicity and Symbols....................137
Reflections....................151
Resources....................153
Bibliography....................157