It was a warm spring day in Los Angeles. I was in my early twenties at the time, and lived in a lovely guest suite above the main house of an old Mediterranean villa in a rather posh neighborhood. My grandmother lived downstairs with her husband, Joe. It was a special arrangement I had with them. I would help with chores and errands, a sort of part-time assistant, and in exchange I didn’t have to pay rent. It was a wonderful agreement while it lasted. On this particular morning I woke up in the light filled upstairs room with a song at the top of my mind. It was a song I knew fairly well, though I couldn’t tell you why it was echoing through my head upon waking that morning. I can simply tell you that it was.
Now I’m not the type to wake up quickly – to jump out of bed and feel ready for my day. I like to take my time. I’m sure eventually I rolled out of bed and got dressed, and per the usual, crept downstairs to have my morning coffee and a bite of breakfast. The part I remember distinctly was what happened immediately after breakfast. I got up from the kitchen and went to check on the old couple, who had been up before me and already retreated back to their bedroom. The master bedroom was down at the end of a long corridor off the great room at the entry to the home. I wandered down the corridor towards their room and continued singing to myself – as the song was still very present in my awareness. And this is when something strange happened. As I sang my way down the corridor I could hear the song singing back to me in the distance. And when I arrived at the threshold of my grandmother’s bedroom I could hear it loud and clear. Nan and Joe had the TV on. They were watching an old black and white film. I couldn’t tell you what film. But there it was clear as day emanating from the television – “The Battle Hymn of The Republic.” I remember it so well because at the time I found it odd. In those days I wasn’t particularly familiar with the concept of synchronicity. I was definitely spiritual, but more in a vague sense. At this point it had been at least an hour or two since I’d woken up with the song fresh in my mind. I had been humming it all morning. And now the TV in my grandmother’s bedroom was playing it back to me. Not the kind of song you hear every day! So yes it struck me as odd. I might’ve even said something to my grandmother. But then of course I went on with my day and forgot about the incident all together, until many years later…
It was 2020. By this time I was in my mid-thirties, married and with a small daughter, living in the suburbs on the fringes of LA county. COVID had taken hold and we were all in lockdown. On this particular day, the country was simultaneously erupting in riots, post George Floyd. It felt like the apocalypse. Tensions were high. People everywhere were panicking for a myriad of reasons, and I was one of them. I didn’t care much for COVID and disagreed with the extreme measures we took, especially here in California. I was in the midst of a personal mental health crisis prior to the COVID outbreak, and all the ramifications of the outbreak sent me even further down the spiral. I didn’t fear COVID. I feared the oppression it triggered. As for George Floyd, I would’ve been out protesting with the rest of them if I wasn’t in such a hopeless state. In California there was a mask mandate, and one of the first things I did post Floyd was hop on Etsy and order masks emblazoned with the “Black Lives Matter” rally cry. Suffice to say, it’s a cause I feel very strongly about. So on this particular evening in 2020, I was scrolling Facebook before bed and happened upon a post that caught my eye more than all the other posts about COVID and the riots. It was a picture of a young black man at a protest holding up a sign that read, “We’re not trying to start a race war. We’re trying to end one.” It was so simple and to the point. It struck a chord deep within me… so profound I still have goosebumps recounting it as I write this. One of the last things I did before bed that night was repost that image to my Facebook feed.
Several hours later I awoke with a start, to realize I was frozen in sleep paralysis. A syndrome I was extremely prone to in my late teens and early 20’s, but rarely if ever experienced anymore. On this particular night I woke up around 3 am in a state of paralysis in my bed, and I could hear the battle hymn echoing softly in my left ear, as if wafting on a breeze. I quickly snapped out of it, tossed and turned a bit, and went back to bed. But in the morning I remembered. And not only did I remember my strange paralysis the night before. I remembered that day many years earlier in my grandmother’s room. By 2020 I was much further along my spiritual journey and realized with no uncertainty that it wasn’t a coincidence. Although I knew the song itself, I knew nothing of its history. So on this day I was compelled to investigate. And this is what I discovered…
“The Battle Hymn of The Republic” was written during The Civil War, in 1861, by a woman mind you – Julia Ward Howe. She was an abolitionist writer, and along with her husband, an active leader in the anti-slavery politics of the era. On the morning that she wrote this song she was staying at a hotel in Washington DC, after watching Union soldiers practice for battle. The song was first published on the front page of The Atlantic in 1862, and over time became widely adopted as a popular American patriotic song. An abolitionist song.
It wasn’t until after I read the whole account that I put two and two together and remembered the image I posted to Facebook the night before. I honest to God had no idea what the song was about until that moment and when I understood it in the context of everything that was happening I was equally astonished and certain of its message. I shared the experience with my (then) husband. The whole story going back to the beginning, and I told him unequivocally – judgment is coming. That’s what I felt quite distinctly. The dream was a message. Judgment is coming. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of history.
I considered writing about it at the time, but didn’t have the words. I think I knew I would eventually.”
(Courtesy of my 13-33 The Prodigal)
Fast forward again, to August 2021, over a year later. I had separated from my husband and was living on my own. A casualty of COVID (among other factors). I was going through a potent upgrade in the midst of Lion’s Gate Portal, in the dog days of summer when our sun aligns with Canis Major, and we’re flooded with light codes from Sirius. On this hot August night I was lying in bed listening to a Lion’s Gate activation and I fell deep into a meditative state. I was subdued for quite a while, and as I slowly drifted out of meditation and came to, I was suddenly compelled to sing the old battle hymn. Again I couldn’t tell you why… I just knew I needed to sing. I didn’t even think about it. It was simply there. And so I sang for a while, over and over the verses, many times until it felt complete.
Karma is a funny thing. And for whatever reason lingering in the annals of my past, this song plays an important role in my unique fractal geometry. There is something I am carrying that traces a thread back to the battle hymn. If I could tell you what happened the following summer during Lion’s Gate, and subsequent months of 2022, that would only add to the peculiarity of this narrative. But that’s a story for another time, if I ever choose to share it. What I will say for now, is whatever karma I’m meant to clear, although I’ve only grasped bits and pieces, I believe I am well on my way to repaying my debt in this lifetime.
