Writing Samples
From Caring Times, A newsletter for friends of Hospice (Winter 2006)
City (Rochester, NY) October 25-31, 2006
From The Friends of the Mount Hope Cemetery Epitaph Quarterly Magazine, Summer 2022
Early Spiritualists: Isaac and Amy Post
From The Friends of the Mount Hope Cemetery Epitaph Quarterly Magazine, Summer 2022
There is no death, there are no dead is the foundational truth of Spiritualism, a religion that took root in America in the early 1800s, spurred in Western New York by the clairvoyant abilities of sisters Maggie and Kate Fox. In 1848, through raps signifying yes and no, they received messages from a spirit who indicated he was buried behind a wall in their basement. His remains were later found as he described them. Soon, the Fox sisters became widely known for their natural gift of mediumship.
Isaac and Amy Post sought answers and comfort after the death of their daughter Matilda, who died at age five in 1845. Isaac had a connection to the Fox sisters, having at one time been their family’s landlord. This led him to take an interest in them and Spiritualism. During seances held at the Posts’ home, he was impressed by the accurate messages they received from the spirit realm, knowledge they could not have otherwise known.
Plymouth Spiritualist Church, which was close to the Posts’ Rochester residence at 36 North Sophia Street (now Plymouth Avenue), was the first Spiritualist church in America. It sparked the establishment in 1879 of Lily Dale, a community of registered mediums in Cassadaga. The Fox sisters’ home was moved there in 1916 and subsequently burned to the ground in 1955. The current Plymouth Spiritualist Church, which retains the designation of the Mother Church of Spiritualism, is now located at 29 Vick Park A, in Rochester.
The Posts’ experiences of spirit communication by the Fox sisters led Isaac to develop his own abilities as a medium. The sisters, who often sat in a trance state in order to receive messages from spirit, inspired him to emulate their process in becoming a conduit for spirit interaction. As he grew more confident of the validity of the information he was receiving, he began to experiment with automatic writing, which involves releasing one’s ego self, and allowing room for spirit messages to flow while in trance.
Isaac used his role as a medium, and the knowledge given to him by those in spirit, to further dedicate himself along with Amy to supporting social reform causes. Part of this knowledge came from the task he gave himself of communicating with well-known people who had transitioned to the spirit realm, including Washington and Jefferson. He would allow himself to receive messages through automatic writing from those who wished to once more share their thoughts with the physical plane.
In Post’s book Voices from the Spirit World, Being Communications from Many Spirits, one notable communication came from Benjamin Franklin: “To me it seems of vast importance that this fact should be understood—that a mere change from body to spirit does not give either knowledge, wisdom, or goodness. It is only as the spirit is willing to learn, that progress can be experienced” (p. 148).
The messages captured by Isaac through automatic writing gave new and varied perspectives from what is referred to in Spiritualism as the other side of the veil. For the Posts, who were dedicated to making the world a better place for all, many of the messages served as edification of their life purpose.
Tobie Hewitt is a writer, medium, and intuitive consultant.
From The Friends of the Mount Hope Cemetery Epitaph Quarterly Magazine, Summer 2022
There is no death, there are no dead is the foundational truth of Spiritualism, a religion that took root in America in the early 1800s, spurred in Western New York by the clairvoyant abilities of sisters Maggie and Kate Fox. In 1848, through raps signifying yes and no, they received messages from a spirit who indicated he was buried behind a wall in their basement. His remains were later found as he described them. Soon, the Fox sisters became widely known for their natural gift of mediumship.
Isaac and Amy Post sought answers and comfort after the death of their daughter Matilda, who died at age five in 1845. Isaac had a connection to the Fox sisters, having at one time been their family’s landlord. This led him to take an interest in them and Spiritualism. During seances held at the Posts’ home, he was impressed by the accurate messages they received from the spirit realm, knowledge they could not have otherwise known.
Plymouth Spiritualist Church, which was close to the Posts’ Rochester residence at 36 North Sophia Street (now Plymouth Avenue), was the first Spiritualist church in America. It sparked the establishment in 1879 of Lily Dale, a community of registered mediums in Cassadaga. The Fox sisters’ home was moved there in 1916 and subsequently burned to the ground in 1955. The current Plymouth Spiritualist Church, which retains the designation of the Mother Church of Spiritualism, is now located at 29 Vick Park A, in Rochester.
The Posts’ experiences of spirit communication by the Fox sisters led Isaac to develop his own abilities as a medium. The sisters, who often sat in a trance state in order to receive messages from spirit, inspired him to emulate their process in becoming a conduit for spirit interaction. As he grew more confident of the validity of the information he was receiving, he began to experiment with automatic writing, which involves releasing one’s ego self, and allowing room for spirit messages to flow while in trance.
Isaac used his role as a medium, and the knowledge given to him by those in spirit, to further dedicate himself along with Amy to supporting social reform causes. Part of this knowledge came from the task he gave himself of communicating with well-known people who had transitioned to the spirit realm, including Washington and Jefferson. He would allow himself to receive messages through automatic writing from those who wished to once more share their thoughts with the physical plane.
In Post’s book Voices from the Spirit World, Being Communications from Many Spirits, one notable communication came from Benjamin Franklin: “To me it seems of vast importance that this fact should be understood—that a mere change from body to spirit does not give either knowledge, wisdom, or goodness. It is only as the spirit is willing to learn, that progress can be experienced” (p. 148).
The messages captured by Isaac through automatic writing gave new and varied perspectives from what is referred to in Spiritualism as the other side of the veil. For the Posts, who were dedicated to making the world a better place for all, many of the messages served as edification of their life purpose.
Tobie Hewitt is a writer, medium, and intuitive consultant.
I am a heretic (Published on Medium.com)
I am a heretic. Dictionary: noun, a person believing in or practicing religious heresy. Well, that is as clear as mud. Which religion? Different religions might provoke different sorts of heresy. In my “religion,” which is nature-based, for lack of a better term, I believe one should do no harm. When innocent trees are being cut down, I hear them screaming as though on the pyre in Salem. A man bought the land next door and cut down all the trees so he could construct yet another marina/campground. When I first encountered the carnage, I felt betrayed. These trees had done nothing but cleaned the air for us and offered homes to myriad birds, and now they were lying together horizontally, one on top of each other, which is not the way trees are supposed to be.
I believe nature is everything here on this planet that exists naturally, from seedlings to people to the river to the birds. I mean everything! Nature is that which grows and which sustains that growth. Nature exists in cycles of birth, life, hibernation, death. We are part of nature, but we do far more damage to our environment than that environment does to us, though once in a while we cause so much imbalance that nature can not constrain herself, and there are hurricanes and tsunamis. But mostly, nature minds its own business and yet is generous enough to share with us that all may be sustained and nurtured.
Heretic. Back to the dictionary: noun, a person holding an opinion at odds with what is generally accepted. Generally accepted. By whom? And where? And why? And on what authority of truth? I am surrounded by junipers. They create berries, which ants prepare to be turned into ghost beads, which are sacred to the Navajo. The junipers create, they share, they are revered for their generosity. But, I am sure the man who cut down the trees does not revere the trees, does not think of what they share. His opinion is at odds with mine, and with that of quite a number of my friends and associates, who also hold to the tenet of first do no harm. When we need a stick to serve as a wand, we do not tear it from the tree, but instead find one beneath the tree, which has freely released it so that it may be found. That stick will retain the essence of that tree and will generously help us in whatever endeavor we are manifesting.
Nature is generous. We are part of nature, but we are not as generous. When a raven leaves a feather in a safe place for me to find, I give thanks. When spring comes, and the leaves and flowers unfurl, and the vegetables begin to sprout, I give thanks. My thanks would be heretical to one who espoused a narrow dogma that places man above nature rather than within her. My awareness of our spiritual identity would be heretical to those who believe there is only one who is chosen to have such an awareness and everybody else must adhere to some story created to ensure obedience based on nothing more than dogma. I am a heretic when I acknowledge that no particular dogma created by man has any shot of containing the truth that nature displays.
I am a heretic when I hug a tree and listen to the wisdom it has to share. I am a heretic when I watch the sun rise, the moon light the night, hear the rustling of unseen creatures, and give thanks, and feel the light of grace wrap around me. For he is ignorant who does not acknowledge that the world in which we live is the gift of the Creative Spirit to sustain our journey to and from the physical plane and to help us learn that the most important thing is love, through which all is created. (659)
I am a heretic. Dictionary: noun, a person believing in or practicing religious heresy. Well, that is as clear as mud. Which religion? Different religions might provoke different sorts of heresy. In my “religion,” which is nature-based, for lack of a better term, I believe one should do no harm. When innocent trees are being cut down, I hear them screaming as though on the pyre in Salem. A man bought the land next door and cut down all the trees so he could construct yet another marina/campground. When I first encountered the carnage, I felt betrayed. These trees had done nothing but cleaned the air for us and offered homes to myriad birds, and now they were lying together horizontally, one on top of each other, which is not the way trees are supposed to be.
I believe nature is everything here on this planet that exists naturally, from seedlings to people to the river to the birds. I mean everything! Nature is that which grows and which sustains that growth. Nature exists in cycles of birth, life, hibernation, death. We are part of nature, but we do far more damage to our environment than that environment does to us, though once in a while we cause so much imbalance that nature can not constrain herself, and there are hurricanes and tsunamis. But mostly, nature minds its own business and yet is generous enough to share with us that all may be sustained and nurtured.
Heretic. Back to the dictionary: noun, a person holding an opinion at odds with what is generally accepted. Generally accepted. By whom? And where? And why? And on what authority of truth? I am surrounded by junipers. They create berries, which ants prepare to be turned into ghost beads, which are sacred to the Navajo. The junipers create, they share, they are revered for their generosity. But, I am sure the man who cut down the trees does not revere the trees, does not think of what they share. His opinion is at odds with mine, and with that of quite a number of my friends and associates, who also hold to the tenet of first do no harm. When we need a stick to serve as a wand, we do not tear it from the tree, but instead find one beneath the tree, which has freely released it so that it may be found. That stick will retain the essence of that tree and will generously help us in whatever endeavor we are manifesting.
Nature is generous. We are part of nature, but we are not as generous. When a raven leaves a feather in a safe place for me to find, I give thanks. When spring comes, and the leaves and flowers unfurl, and the vegetables begin to sprout, I give thanks. My thanks would be heretical to one who espoused a narrow dogma that places man above nature rather than within her. My awareness of our spiritual identity would be heretical to those who believe there is only one who is chosen to have such an awareness and everybody else must adhere to some story created to ensure obedience based on nothing more than dogma. I am a heretic when I acknowledge that no particular dogma created by man has any shot of containing the truth that nature displays.
I am a heretic when I hug a tree and listen to the wisdom it has to share. I am a heretic when I watch the sun rise, the moon light the night, hear the rustling of unseen creatures, and give thanks, and feel the light of grace wrap around me. For he is ignorant who does not acknowledge that the world in which we live is the gift of the Creative Spirit to sustain our journey to and from the physical plane and to help us learn that the most important thing is love, through which all is created. (659)
Homage to Ferlinghetti (published on Medium.com)
When I heard Lawrence Ferlinghetti had passed over, my grief nearly overwhelmed me. I had hoped to meet him one day and thank him for his words set just so that a fissure opened and allowed light to shine through, and allowed perspective to shine through, to allow an intolerable love to shine through. Intolerable? Because the weight of loving, in the presence of darkness, presented in words that allowed only glances of light captured in words—IN WORDS—on a page could cut through the dross like a sword wielded by a knight for right, and not might. But, I can hear you say, the pen is mightier than the sword. Well, exactly—while swords fall in battle, words cut through to the core, the crux, and expose the torn flesh to see the intolerable beauty, the eternal light (of truth). Why does this word “intolerable” keep opening and filling the space on the page as my hand follows the pen across and back to the beginning? Intolerable—the word astounds me. In the sense of unbearable, in the sense of overwhelming, though welcome, as some things are that pivot on meaning. Intolerable. Even in the darkness, the intolerable darkness, there is always light, always that glory, that grace that comes through, seeps through between the lines, the crevices, and gives me moments of hope and peace. Intolerable because we should know what is intolerable and face it head on with ink splaying across the page that never ends because it is time unbending and bending through space. Is this an essay or a poem? Am I guided or am I alone? And is there any such thing as alone? Solitude, yes! Alone, not so much. Oh, I know that no one is lost on the other side of the veil, and I mean lost in the sense of unaware of the direction to go. I mean that moment of not knowing which way to turn to escape the body and move toward the light that we contain that contains us. An intolerable beauty for an instant of epiphany, or realizing it is all truth, it is all light. That the sages knew, remembered, perceived more than could be dreamt on this plane in this brief space that looks confined but is instead infinite—wider than my two arms outstretched, wider than the space between the idea and the pen and the pen and the ink. An illusion—the picture frame has been entered, there’s no going back, there never was—we are all still and moving forward.
When I heard Lawrence Ferlinghetti had passed over, my grief nearly overwhelmed me. I had hoped to meet him one day and thank him for his words set just so that a fissure opened and allowed light to shine through, and allowed perspective to shine through, to allow an intolerable love to shine through. Intolerable? Because the weight of loving, in the presence of darkness, presented in words that allowed only glances of light captured in words—IN WORDS—on a page could cut through the dross like a sword wielded by a knight for right, and not might. But, I can hear you say, the pen is mightier than the sword. Well, exactly—while swords fall in battle, words cut through to the core, the crux, and expose the torn flesh to see the intolerable beauty, the eternal light (of truth). Why does this word “intolerable” keep opening and filling the space on the page as my hand follows the pen across and back to the beginning? Intolerable—the word astounds me. In the sense of unbearable, in the sense of overwhelming, though welcome, as some things are that pivot on meaning. Intolerable. Even in the darkness, the intolerable darkness, there is always light, always that glory, that grace that comes through, seeps through between the lines, the crevices, and gives me moments of hope and peace. Intolerable because we should know what is intolerable and face it head on with ink splaying across the page that never ends because it is time unbending and bending through space. Is this an essay or a poem? Am I guided or am I alone? And is there any such thing as alone? Solitude, yes! Alone, not so much. Oh, I know that no one is lost on the other side of the veil, and I mean lost in the sense of unaware of the direction to go. I mean that moment of not knowing which way to turn to escape the body and move toward the light that we contain that contains us. An intolerable beauty for an instant of epiphany, or realizing it is all truth, it is all light. That the sages knew, remembered, perceived more than could be dreamt on this plane in this brief space that looks confined but is instead infinite—wider than my two arms outstretched, wider than the space between the idea and the pen and the pen and the ink. An illusion—the picture frame has been entered, there’s no going back, there never was—we are all still and moving forward.
This Too Shall Pass (Published on Medium.com)
Traffic jam? This too shall pass. Bad weather? This too shall pass. Bizarrely irrational government? This too shall pass!
I wish I’d had this phrase to support me when I found myself at age 11 friendless after a surprise move to another college town when my dad got a new teaching job. I wish I’d known it when my first ex-husband left after seven weeks of marriage. I wish I could have used it after I lost the teaching job I had dreamed of and worked toward for years because the department needed to conform to a new edict for diversity in its teaching staff. Would the phrase have stopped any of this from happening? No, but perhaps it would have given me a moment to pause and wonder what was next, because there is always a next, and often it is better than you could possibly have imagined.
“This too shall pass” is one of several mantras I use to control my primal instincts toward immediate action, i.e., the fight or flight response. It helps me remember that whatever situation I find myself in, from small (spilt milk) to large (insanity in Washington), the situation will, in time, pass.
Everything that happens in the world happens before our eyes, instantly, on news or social media, and it seems as though there is no escape from the constant barrage, but there is. You can take a break and focus on something a bit more positive. Read a good book, practice meditation, go for a walk or a run. You can separate yourself from the immediacy of information overflow. By the time you plug back in, the crisis you missed will have shifted to the next one or the one after that. You can save your angst for the new crisis or you can simply say, this too shall pass.
And it will. I promise. Like the thunderstorm wreaking havoc on your property, everything will indeed pass. The planet will survive. We will clean up. The government will be changed to a more compassionate one that realizes they serve us, not the other way around. People will embrace those who aren’t mirror images of themselves, and everybody will sit down at the same table, pass dishes, and recognize the oneness we share, and this time we will know we can not return to the old status quo.
We are at the beginning of a major change, some of which is not so much a part of humankind’s purview as it is part of the universe’s growth cycle. The events that are happening and the ways in which we are challenged by and respond to these events are part of the evolution of the soul to a higher vibration. Yes, this will take a while. It’s a long process, but what is happening now is challenging us to be our best selves as we face what is and work toward what can be.
Here is a brief exercise that can help you manage as we await for these times to pass: close your eyes, breathe in a deep cleansing breath and exhale; do this two or three more times. If you are driving, don’t close your eyes; just breathe. And as you breathe, you can rest assured that, whatever the situation you find yourself in, this too shall pass.
Traffic jam? This too shall pass. Bad weather? This too shall pass. Bizarrely irrational government? This too shall pass!
I wish I’d had this phrase to support me when I found myself at age 11 friendless after a surprise move to another college town when my dad got a new teaching job. I wish I’d known it when my first ex-husband left after seven weeks of marriage. I wish I could have used it after I lost the teaching job I had dreamed of and worked toward for years because the department needed to conform to a new edict for diversity in its teaching staff. Would the phrase have stopped any of this from happening? No, but perhaps it would have given me a moment to pause and wonder what was next, because there is always a next, and often it is better than you could possibly have imagined.
“This too shall pass” is one of several mantras I use to control my primal instincts toward immediate action, i.e., the fight or flight response. It helps me remember that whatever situation I find myself in, from small (spilt milk) to large (insanity in Washington), the situation will, in time, pass.
Everything that happens in the world happens before our eyes, instantly, on news or social media, and it seems as though there is no escape from the constant barrage, but there is. You can take a break and focus on something a bit more positive. Read a good book, practice meditation, go for a walk or a run. You can separate yourself from the immediacy of information overflow. By the time you plug back in, the crisis you missed will have shifted to the next one or the one after that. You can save your angst for the new crisis or you can simply say, this too shall pass.
And it will. I promise. Like the thunderstorm wreaking havoc on your property, everything will indeed pass. The planet will survive. We will clean up. The government will be changed to a more compassionate one that realizes they serve us, not the other way around. People will embrace those who aren’t mirror images of themselves, and everybody will sit down at the same table, pass dishes, and recognize the oneness we share, and this time we will know we can not return to the old status quo.
We are at the beginning of a major change, some of which is not so much a part of humankind’s purview as it is part of the universe’s growth cycle. The events that are happening and the ways in which we are challenged by and respond to these events are part of the evolution of the soul to a higher vibration. Yes, this will take a while. It’s a long process, but what is happening now is challenging us to be our best selves as we face what is and work toward what can be.
Here is a brief exercise that can help you manage as we await for these times to pass: close your eyes, breathe in a deep cleansing breath and exhale; do this two or three more times. If you are driving, don’t close your eyes; just breathe. And as you breathe, you can rest assured that, whatever the situation you find yourself in, this too shall pass.