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Conversations with Mary: Messages of Love, Healing, Hope, and Unity for Everyone - Softcover

Raimondi, Anna

 
9781501156366: Conversations with Mary: Messages of Love, Healing, Hope, and Unity for Everyone

Inhaltsangabe

Prominent spiritual counselor and medium Anna Raimondi channels the Blessed Mother in this “insightful and inspirational guide to modern spirituality” (In Touch Weekly) that is a celebration of Mary as an inspirational figure for all people and religions across the globe.

At age five, in the backyard of her suburban home, Anna Raimondi had a profound experience. A contemplative child, she slid her body into the small grotto that once held a statue of the Blessed Mother. Anna remembers “a feeling of pure and unadulterated peace.” In that peace, she heard a voice. It was gentle and strong, and it said, “Anna, I am here for you always. Always come to me.” That was the beginning of their first conversation. And while many more followed, the ones included in this book took place in the last year and follow Mary’s emphatic, progressive message that she wants to be heard by all, regardless of religious affiliation.

Through Anna, Mary touches and teaches important truths about:

- A soul, its immortal nature and the lessons along each soul’s journey.

- Prayer, its power, the right way to pray, and the difference between surrendering to God and not taking responsibility for one’s actions.

- What happens when we die, with revelations into the realities of heaven, hell, purgatory, and reincarnation.

Mary also provides insightful answers to questions about terrorism, the world’s refugee crisis, racism, gender inequality, marriage equality, and more. Her "conversations with Anna are simultaneously illuminating, and provocative,” and she “offers wisdom and solace for all” (HuffPost).

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Anna Raimondi is a motivational speaker, teacher, intuitive, and author. She holds a BA in Clinical Psychology, an MBA, and is a certified hypnotherapist, grief counselor, and spiritual counselor. She has taught, worked with clients, facilitated retreats, and presented seminars around the world. Anna’s mission is to give others the tools they need to live their lives in joy, while following their souls’ mission. She lives in Connecticut with her husband.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Conversations with Mary PREFACE
There were two distinct events in my life that pulled me to Mary. The first took place when I was five years old. I can still feel the golden warmth of that spring afternoon. Crimson roses and dainty pink blossoms climbed up and through a small wooden whitewashed garden fence. I was alone in the backyard of the house I shared with my family in suburban Long Island. It was an average residential yard with verdant lush grass, a sturdy apple tree growing in the center, and a swing set built by my father, painted in red and white candy stripes on the right side of the lawn. There was also a small grotto in front of the apple tree where, at one time, stood a statue of Mary. The statue was long gone; probably broken and never replaced. I remember wearing an olive green and white polka dot minidress that my mother had made for me. Like any child on those first warm spring days, I was so happy to be out of the constrictive clothing of winter. As I sometimes did, that afternoon I slid my body easily into the space where the statue once was. I just sat and marveled at the day. I was that kind of a child. My eyes were wide and always absorbing the world around me. I was able to feel nature; the wonders of it all. The fresh clean smell of the dense grass was almost tangible to me. The soft breeze heightened my senses and woke me up to all that was surrounding me—both seen and unseen. I heard the gentle hum of the vacuum cleaner as my mother moved it around our small house; the stereo belted the voice of Vikki Carr singing “It Must Be Him.”

Then, as I sat in the grotto, a feeling of pure and unadulterated peace overtook my body. I felt giddy with excitement although I had no frame of reference as to the reason. Every one of my senses became more attuned. I felt the cool stone beneath my little hands; its hard smooth surface under my thighs and buttocks. I smelled the sweet aroma of lilacs that graced the perimeter of the yard. I didn’t dare move for fear this state of being would pass. I heard sparrows above my head shifting on the branches of the apple tree behind me and took notice as they sang their morning songs to the world. And then, among this symphony of sound, I heard her voice. It was gentle, yet strong. She said, “Anna, I am here for you always. Always come to me.” A total unconditional love overtook me; there was a feeling that was and remains so extraordinary and so difficult to describe in words. People always say this—I know—but it is very true: Our language is too limited to convey spiritual feelings or to describe the wondrous feeling of Mary’s presence.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move for fear that this sensation would leave. And then suddenly, there she was, directly in front of me. Mary was smiling at me; her hands reached for me. I didn’t reach out; I was stunned. I felt paralyzed. I knew without a doubt that this was Mary, although she didn’t look like the renderings I had seen of her in books or even in churches. She was dressed in a well-worn brown robe; the fabric appeared rough, but radiated warmth. There was a light brown dress underneath. She had olive skin, wide, soft mahogany-colored eyes and coffee colored hair that hung to her waist where a hemp belt was tied and held her dress together. She wore a tan colored covering adorning the top of her head, but no hood. Her face stood out in repose. Her penetrating eyes captured my attention and communicated with me in a way that I can only describe as speaking to my heart. I didn’t just hear her words; they became mingled with my very essence—my soul. I didn’t want this rapture to end. I remember just sitting there for what seemed like hours, catatonic, as I basked in the overwhelming love of this beautiful vision. Later, I would tell my playmates of the Lady in the grotto and we would make a game of talking to her and asking her to make our dreams come true. We were children and open to all of the miracles that God put before us. The feeling of that first time still lingers and makes my heart skip a beat. And that, I believe, is what perfect love does to us all. I know what real love is. Mary showed me.

I sat for a while in the grotto. It was as though she had swaddled me in a cozy blanket of warm love. When I finally reentered the house, the sun was still kissing the mimosa tree by the back door, its pink flowers rising up to embrace the warmth of the rays. Everything seemed quieter; the birds chirped softly. The music that was coming from the house was muted; Vikki Carr was replaced by the mellifluous crooning of Dean Martin. I climbed the steps to the back door and saw my mother directly in front of me, seated at our dark brown kitchen table. She was drinking a cup of coffee and slowly inhaling a cigarette. My mother was young then, around twenty-six. I remember she wore white pedal pushers. The house smelled of Pledge and bleach and the pungent aroma of coffee; a haze of cigarette smoke lingered and left a stale peppery odor.

I walked over to the chair opposite her and sat down, my feet dangling. I asked her if she had ever seen or spoken to Mary. Without looking up she took a drag off her cigarette and turned a page in her magazine. “Mary who?” she asked.

“Mary, the lady in church,” I gingerly answered.

My mother lifted her head. Her eyes met mine. A long silence passed before she rested her cigarette in the ashtray and told me, as matter-of-factly as she could, that she wanted to know what this was all about. And so I told her what I had seen, that Mary had talked to me. She wasn’t nearly as shocked or dismissive as I would imagine another adult might be. You must understand that my mother was a believer long before me. Both my parents were deeply religious. She gently expressed that she believed some people were truly gifted and that if I saw Mary, then I should continue to pray and believe. My confession turned out to be a joyous occasion for my family. When my father learned of our conversation, he mirrored my mother’s sentiments.

In retrospect, I realize that this was the perfect way for Mary to introduce herself to me and at the most ideal time in my life. I was simply a child, not yet marred by convention or the judgment of others. I led with my heart and was in tune with my soul. I felt the power of God in nature but was too young to give voice to it. Mary alleviated all my fear and her love washed over me and held me still. There was something about her beauty, serenity, and love that filled me with immediate faith. In my innocence, I had no reason to question why she was coming to me or how this was possible. All I can say is that the experience was profound.

While I now hear her and sense her in all that I do, I have never actually seen her in that way again. I try not to question why and I understand now, after years of hoping to see her again, that I don’t really need to see her with my eyes. Feeling her presence around me and within me, really connecting to her essence, is far more important. What she looks like doesn’t matter; it is what she says and how she makes me feel that is far more significant.

Decades later, on a bitter freezing day in the winter of 1989, I left the building where I worked, bundled in a puffy coat zipped up to my chin, my eyes peering out from a tight ski hat. It was the lunch hour. I was in my late twenties and felt as though my life was going nowhere. I was married and yearned to have a child, yet couldn’t conceive; my job was not fulfilling and I felt that I was just robotically going through the motions of life without passion. I was disillusioned with life and becoming depressed. At the time, I was working on Madison Avenue. I detested my job and it added to my feelings of...

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