ANGELBLOG.CHANTELLYSETTE.COM: An Angel Takes Flight Part I: Michael Jackson 1958 - 2009 (Original Post

ANGELBLOG.CHANTELLYSETTE.COM: An Angel Takes Flight Part I: Michael Jackson 1958 - 2009 (Original Post - June 27, 2009)

An Angel Takes Flight Part I: Michael Jackson 1958 - 2009 (Original Post - June 27, 2009)

Hello Everyone:

It's been a long time since I sent any mail out. Well, that's part of my promise not to spam you all senseless.

But, something has occurred as I sit here finishing up my next book, and I'm just moved to share my feelings as emails continue to pour in from my friends, my clients, and my readers.

As I can see by the emails, a lot of you are hurting right now. I definitely share your pain and sorrow. (And so does Archangel Cassiel.) In response, I'd like to share a few thoughts regarding the shocking news about Michael Jackson.

I received a text message at 6:04 p.m. on Thursday from a friend, "OMG, Michael Jackson died today, did you hear?" I read the message three times before I thought it was some kind of really horrible prank. I simply texted back, "What?!" And that's when the messages began pouring in. After about ten minutes, I called a relative down in Tennessee and she didn't pick up the phone and say "hello" or "wassup?" or anything of the sort.

Her first words were, "Calm down. CNN hasn't confirmed it yet. My mom's on the other line. She just called and I'm gonna put you two on three-way."

From there, we all sat on the phone for what seemed like an eternity as we listened to CNN hold out on the confirmation. And the entire time I kept telling myself, "This isn't real. It's a bad dream."

That was two days ago.

I still feel that way today on an early Saturday morning. I'm wanting to wake up from this nightmare because I, like so many other people in the world, claim to be the biggest Michael Jackson fan ever. (I'm certainly the heaviest! LOL) I scoff at my own claim, though, because I was never one to collect things, so I don't have a shipload of memorabilia. All I really have is his vinyl and the tour books from his Victory and Bad tours which I attended here in Michigan. I have a few other things, but here's the strange part about all this...

For all of you who have read Azrael Loves Chocolate, Michael's a Jock, attended my lectures, or received consultation, you know I'm a great believer in signs and fate.

Well, three weeks ago, I had one plastic tote of MJ memorabilia. It was basically things from the Thriller era: a few stickers, magazine articles, a cheap, tattered glitter glove, a P.Y.T. silk tapestry and a few other things. Well, my landlord approached me as I came home one day to ask me about some things I had stored in the basement.

"Is that your tote outside there?" he asked. I looked on the driveway and nodded, wondering why he had brought it upstairs. Turns out when the basement flooded A YEAR AGO, my tote didn't make it through.

Now, I knew the tote was down there, but I wasn't worried as the water never made it up to the lid, which was sealed tight. What I didn't know was that there was a huge pressure crack in the side from things being piled on top of it.

Shaking, I pulled off the lid to see nothing but mold and sludge as everything inside had been sitting in water since last summer. Old video tapes I created from MTV airings in the 80s, my heavy metal collection of magazines and trading cards, and all of my MJ collectibles were gone. Gone.

I sat on the driveway and wept for an hour. I then called my good friend Jeremy and wept on the phone for another hour. He was the only one who knew how deeply I adored MJ and hence could understand how devastated I was over the loss of my collection, as tiny as it was. I was so broken that I didn't even ask myself the significance of such a big loss--what little I had left of my childhood was in that tote, and it was completely destroyed by fetid water and rot. It should have been a heads-up that something unpleasant was on the horizon, but I was too mired in my emotions to realize it.

Fast forward to Father's Day weekend. My landlord caught up with me again and said, "Go outside and see how your stuff is looking." Confused, I thought, what now? There wasn't anything else in the basement that I knew of.

I thought the man had put the destroyed tote on the curb for garbage pickup. It turns out that he went through slime, sludge and mold to set out my collectibles in the sun for some ol' fashion UV cleaning. Some of the Michael Jackson items looked salvageable, others were lost completely. But being as I have a high intolerance to mold, I couldn't browse long; I already had a violent respiratory reaction the first time I looked at the mess. So, I thanked my landlord, hugged him and treated him to his favorite, Coney dogs, for dinner.

What's left of my collection--and I've no clue what's left--is still drying out. But even if I had lost it all, I had at that point thought I found refuge in my Buddhist teachings of detachment. But, who am I kidding? My 5x7 MJ stickers were in there! You know, the PYT yellow sweater-vest pic, the charming pic of MJ in his king outfit, and the brown leather jacket pose? I tried chanting and meditating my way through the tears only to be an epic failure at it. I'm sure Archangel Chamuel just hung his head in shame at my refusal to let go of material things.

After all, a tote full of trading cards would be nothing compared to what I'd lose next.

Fast forward to June 25. At approximately 1 p.m. EST, my area got hit by the worst summer storm I had seen in a long while. The sky was green, there was an eerie silence and then all hell broke loose. I panicked as tornado sirens blared and as hail pounded the windows. I wasn't afraid for my safety, tho. If it's my time, it's my time. I was just trying to desperately finish my manuscript to submit to the publisher on Friday; I was praying that we wouldn't lose power.

Well, around 2 p.m., the lights went out.

The blackout affected the entire area, shutting down restaurants, street lights and stores for miles. Because I'm on the same power grid as a major traffic signal and an urgent medical care center, however, I was confident the crews would get that grid up first--as has happened many times in the past.

So, I decided to take a nap until the power was restored.

At 5:30 p.m., I awoke with the worst abdominal pains I'd ever had. Usually, the angels will get me out of bed with leg cramps--as they did on the morning of 9/11 when my spirit guide woke me up to pray just minutes before the first plane hit the WTC. Though the pain wasn't in my legs this time, I still felt that this was an "emergency call" coming in from the Other Side. I got up, got a glass of water and sat back down on my bed. Oddly enough, the acute pain disappeared almost instantly, but I was left dealing with separation anxiety from my poor computer. The power was still out.

I sat in silence wondering why the angels woke me. I was literally waiting for the anvil to fall as I stared out the window at the rain. At first, there was a sense of urgency and then a sudden sense of calm came over me that left me confused and peeking up at my ceiling asking, "Well? What's going on?"

I didn't get an answer, but then out of the blue, a song came to mind and I just started humming it--"We Are the World." With a chuckle, I wondered why the song would come to mind as I never really liked it anyway. (My mother played it WAY too much when I was a kid.) But as I mention in Azrael Loves Chocolate, the angels will always connect to you in ways you're receptive. Music is one of those vehicles for me, so I thought about MJ for a minute, prayed he was well (as I always do), and then dismissed the song.

At 6:04, I got the text message.

All night I paced my dark abode, shaking my head in disbelief. The power was out, so there was no computer, no radio...I didn't even have my iPod charged so I could listen to music. All I had were the angels.

"Michael..." I whispered the archangel's name.

"It's going to be all right," he whispered back.

"Is it real? Is he really gone?"

"You know the answer to that," the archangel responded. But I didn't buy it. I instead found comfort in the notion that MJ got tired of this world and faked his death to get out of the limelight and away from the countless paparazzi that never gave him peace. I held onto that all night and into Friday.

When the power came back on around noon the next day, I hit the internet to watch all I'd missed. (I don't own a TV. Why bother when you have the net?) But even as I watched news clip after news clip, I remained firm in my denial.

Then, I shut down YouTube, shifted gears to get back to writing and picked up the manuscript I had to finish. Before I began, I opened up my music player and clicked on my favorite MJ tune, "Earth Song".

I completely lost it. I fell back on the bed, screamed, wailed, sobbed...and almost threw my laptop across the room. Thank God I had a modicum of restraint left.

I felt like the magic had left this world, that we somehow had gotten cheated out of what I thought would be MJ's glorious comeback. But then I had to remember my own philosophy: God makes no mistakes. Michael Jackson bowed out exactly when he was supposed to.

Still, it hurts like hell. I'm still hurting, still sobbing, even as I type this. I saw so much beauty in MJ. I know a lot of controversy followed him, but as I say in my book, there is divine purpose behind everything...the beautiful, the ugly and all that's in between.

Posted by Chantel Lysette at 7/22/2009 4:04 PM