It’s no coincidence that I chose a white feather as my website image. There’s a story behind it.
Years ago I dated, (for a short time), a Navajo man, but nothing serious ever really came of it. To be fair to him, I was very up front about my abilities. I figured if I was going to get involved with someone, they should know who they were getting involved with, as well. Plus, it was my way of weeding out the ones who wouldn’t fit into my lifestyle as a medium.
He was an average-looking guy, but had a knack for conversation, which was a plus. He had shared with me how he was raised from a young boy by his recently-departed Navajo grandmother. As he was telling me his story, I began seeing the image of a shorter woman with long-graying hair which she wore wrapped up into a bun on top of her head. She had typical Native American features and deep, expressive eyes. She had a firm, yet compassionate nature and let me know in no uncertain terms that she was there to continue to protect her grandson. I made note of her concerns and thanked her for sharing her energy with me.
A few weeks passed and he eventually invited me to his office for a tour and then lunch on the beach afterward. When I arrived to his office, I noticed a row of family photos propped on the ledge to his dry-erase board that was hanging on his office wall.
He noticed me looking at the photos and then pointed to one of them and told me, “That’s my grandmother.” I found it very odd. This was not the woman with whom I had spoken just a couple weeks earlier. The woman in this photo was clearly Caucasian, was much younger, and had long, brown hair, which she wore at its full length.
I looked at him strangely and told him I must have been off my game, because that was not the woman who had come to have a chat with me. He went on about doing what he was doing to get ready to leave for lunch, and I continued examining the row of pictures. Suddenly, just as I had seen in my vision, I saw a photo of the woman who I knew as his Navajo grandmother.
I whipped around and said, I’m sure with much excitement and a little aggravation in my voice, “THIS is the woman who came to me! Who is she? She said she was your grandmother.”
“Oh, her? Yes, that’s the grandmother who raised me. The one who recently passed.” I finally got it. He was testing me. So, yes, I was a bit miffed, but happy that I had seen correctly.
Conversations with The Grandmother continued while we were dating, and I finally felt her accept me as part of her “tribe.” Of course, as family, it was customary to be given a Navajo name. At that moment, I saw in my inner vision an image of a soft, white feather gently floating on the air, and I knew my name would be White Feather.