The angels were speaking in energy language. Imagery language. A stream of sense impressions, sparkling breadcrumbs in a glitter trail I only had to follow.
Reflection 3: Sea of Miracles
Hello, Love.
As I’ve been rereading Sea of Miracles with you this past month, I’ve been reflecting and remembering—about so much more than the words and ideas in this book.
I’m looking back at my own life.
Not only at the beginnings of the angel column in Woman’s World, but also at the early moments of my own initiation into the angels’ ways. Ways that I came to understand as far more than signs and winks from lost loved ones.
The angels were speaking in energy language. Imagery language. A stream of sense impressions, sparkling breadcrumbs in a glitter trail I only had to follow. Step by step, it led me into a remarkable conversation—and relationship—that’s still unfolding today.
In this reflection, I’m remembering those first waves of realization. The moments when I’d look up from a pile of letters and marvel at another miraculous rescue or dream - what a privilege it was to be their witness.
They Were Not Hiding
I remember the first time that I realized - this is so much more than a pile of angel stories. The moment I gasped, hand to heart, realizing: They want us to know them. I’d always believed angels did their work secretly. But the firsthand accounts I was reading told a different story.
The angels weren’t shy - and they weren’t wiping our memories clean after encounters. They were stepping forward—openly, insistently, repeatedly. Responding to prayers. Showing up at crash sites and emergency rooms. Delivering comfort, reassurance—and when needed, rescue and healing.
And I wasn’t just reading about them. They were moving closer to my life—which was good, because I really needed them.
Six months before I was assigned to launch and ghostwrite the column, I was in what people might call a “hard season.” Working full-time. Caring for aging parents. Supporting teenagers on the brink of leaving home. I was exhausted. Overwhelmed.
And then, peri-menopause hit - hard. I could manage the hot flashes and mood swings. But the migraines—those were relentless.
They came like clockwork—twice a month, on the full moon and two weeks later, when the moon went dark. Each headache lasted two days - with a warning day, as it approached and a hangover day, when I’d have to be back at work. When a headache hit, I couldn’t function. I’d collapse onto the sofa, alternating between nausea and a kind of deep, narcotic sleep—even though I was taking only Tylenol and Advil.
This went on for almost two years.
But something else was also happening.
The rhythm of the headaches—their arrival and departure—became familiar. Predictable. And as I always have, I began to notice patterns.
The first thing I noticed: the headaches weren’t really in my head. They were around me, like a room.
I wasn’t just having a headache—I was inside one.
It was a field of pain.
This fascinated me.
Eventually, when I felt the twinge of an approaching migraine, I didn’t panic. I didn’t get angry or afraid. I got curious.
What would I learn this time?
And that curiosity created distance. The pain didn’t vanish, but it moved farther away. Hovering like a presence on the horizon. Watching me as I watched it.
I realized: It’s not trying to hurt me. It’s aware of me. It’s holding me.
That part is hard to explain—but let me try.
It was as if I’d entered a muffled chamber. As if I were inside an enormous… well, head—where waves of pressure, light, and sound moved across an open field.
I was in the center, watching—even as I was feeling. And I sensed that the pain was trying to protect me—or maybe the headache was communicating with me. Not in words, but in images. Mental pictures of tight places in my body. Instructions I simply understood—how to soften, how to release.
Was it my body speaking?
Was it the headache?
I didn’t know.
But strange as it sounds, I began to look forward to the migraines—not the pain, but the encounter. The learning.
Over time, I came to understand: the headaches were much more than pain. They were fields. Teaching spaces. Cocoons—not just of sensation, but of listening.
Other Teachings Began to Arrive
Out of the blue, friends began giving me things: a Caroline Myss book. An Abraham Hicks tape. In Myss’s books, I found something I hadn’t known I was missing: a context for what I’d always seen.
The world as symbol. Life as pattern. Everything as story.
I read Anatomy of the Spirit, Why People Don’t Heal, like a starving person tasting something my soul remembered but hadn’t found in this world.
Yes. This feels right, I’d nod as I read.
But it wasn’t just that the words felt true. It was as if they were encoded with confirmation: I have always known this. And knowing someone else knew it too? That was priceless.
Then, I began to hear a voice. Abraham? I wondered. The guide that Esther Hicks channeled was the only one I knew of. Still, I sensed this was different - it was my guide - with wisdom tailored to my specific life. Actually, it wasn’t just one guide - there were several. Archangel Michael, dream teachers - and of course, there was Mary.
People started stopping me on the street.
“Wow,” they’d say. “You look like Mary.”
“Mary who?” I’d ask.
They’d laugh, shaking their heads.
“Mary Mary… you know.”
The first time, it was funny. The second, weird.
By the third, I was paying attention.
What’s going on?
Then—things changed again.
The Prayer That Became a Promise
It was the worst migraine I’d had in months—maybe ever.
I’d barely recovered from the last one when it hit. It slammed me onto the sofa. I couldn’t speak. I moaned in pain.
On the second evening, as the sun began to set, my husband sat beside me. He’d spent the day bringing me tea, cool washcloths, sips of water. At last, he settled on the couch beside me, folded my legs over his thighs, and began to gently massage my feet.
That tender act opened the floodgates.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I sobbed, the tears coming in great, gasping waves.
And then, spent and emptied, I slid toward sleep.
And there, in that liminal space—as if in a dream—I sent up a prayer.
Not a polished one. Not a ritual.
Just a whispered exchange from a woman at her edge:
Please take these headaches from me.
By then, I understood the migraines weren’t purely physical.
This pain wasn’t punishment. It was energy. Blocked energy.
That’s what the headaches had been teaching me.
I couldn’t name it yet. But I understood it instinctively:
I’d been calling for light—and the light was trying to come.
But I couldn’t just receive the light. I had to direct it into something that mattered.
And so I added one more request to my prayer:
Please give me something meaningful to do.
And please—oh please—make it about more than just me.
I lay my gifts at your feet. Put me to work.
Then I slept.
In the morning, the headache was gone.
I felt washed clean—but as I made breakfast, I wasn’t thinking about the prayer or the promise I’d made. I just went to work.
That day—maybe it was the next—I was called into my editor’s office.
“We have a new project,” Naomi said. “And Stephanie (the magazine’s top editor) thinks you’re the right person to launch it.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“A column about angels.”
That’s how it began.
Not with a grand vision or assignment from heaven.
With a headache and a prayer.
When the angel letters began to pour in, I was mostly too busy to notice what was happening in my life. But I did notice this: I had only one more migraine - a mild one - and then, they were gone.
Up next:
Sea of Miracles - Chapter Seven: Resonance, Energy and Patterns
I hope that you’re enjoying this unfolding process. It is a great joy to open the pages of this book with you and to share my reflections along the way.
To read along, you’ll find all the Chapters in the Index.
I welcome your reflections - how it’s landing with you.
I welcome, also, your questions, your puzzlements.
Ask me anything. I will always respond.
Buy an e-copy of Sea of Miracles here.
Join our new spring workshop: The One Who Blesses.
Read the course description here.
And in case you missed my last post,
The Only Medicine that Can Break the Spell of Our Split World, it’s here.
Wishing you a bright weekend of rest and all the gifts of the emerging spring.
xxoo
Amy