The guilt that comes with the gift
For the longest time I believed I was cursed, who else sees the deaths of others in their dreams or just feels it. What do you call that anyhow? A harbinger, a messenger? But what if those are messages you just can't bring yourself to tell others. Who wants this gift? Who wants to know? I always thought the pain of telling someone what I see, would be worse than the guilt I feel after it happens. It's a double edged sword though. What if these gifts weren't only based on messages of spirits who crossed over in my dreams, but a sense that can be detected on living people? Maybe this is what is leading me to a new calling , the healer. Let me explain...
Nov. 2013
I was enrolled in visual design classes at the community college here in Austin. We were all gearing up for our final project. This semester was just all around really awesome for me. My professor was an older Hispanic gentleman and was very reasonable and also very honest. This class in particular was a hard one for him because one guy just kept busting his balls for no reason at all. This guy already had an art degree and seemed to have a chip on his shoulder and during our critiques he would get offended if any advice would be given, especially by our teacher. So it made the class quite strained all the time.
We were so far ahead of most of the classes he had that we got to go on a field trip to his studio. We got to watch his employees (who were also fellow students at one time) make silk screens, saw the whole operation, even got to try it out. He had some super awesome posters, and I really admired his work. Since then I really developed a love of silk screen, and felt like I was onto something and really becoming a true artist. It just rung true in me, like a light beacon had shown through telling me go do this! Make art.
The next class I was working on my ankhs and goblets picture a reverse field M.C. Esher type project. Mr. Coronado was making his rounds in the classroom and would frequently stop at our computers to let us know how he thought our work was going, how we could improve etc. He leaned over my shoulder to see how I was doing and I had heard him coughing. This night I sensed something different about him, and I remember telling my friend in the class that he just looked different. I couldn't put my finger on it but I felt like he was sick. At the end of the class everyone left and I was taking my time gathering my stuff. I felt like I should say something to him about it, but what? Wouldn't it be rude to imply he looked sick? So I said something finally. I said 'Are you feeling okay?' . He was coughing, he said 'I don't know ,I'm fine-- it's a bad cold'.
So the next class in the evening two days later, we have a substitute. We all inquired where Mr. Coronado was because he never misses a class, and I figured he really was sick after all, which is what was told to us. The next class after that still no sign of Mr. Coronado. Finally, it was our final project and Labor day holiday approached so no class next time. We got word that Mr. Coronado had been in the hospital all this time, in critical condition. We finished class and went home to wrap up and prepare our finals. I was really worried by this point and figured it must be really bad, if they wouldn't even tell us what was going on. I finally said to my friend, I really worried about him--I mean he looked like he was really sick.
The next class I arrived late, I was unprepared. The only thing on my mind when I entered the room was how I was gonna wrap up this project because I was struggling. Everyone was already there, and some people were crying. A classmate looked at me, and said ' I can't believe it'. Then I heard the announcement I had missed. Mr. Coronado --Sam had passed on labor day.
It was so hard to be there in that minute I just wanted to gather up all my stuff and leave. I felt like running, I didn't want to deal with the pain of it all in front of a bunch of strangers. I didn't want to cry, I didn't want the feeling that I had in the pit of my stomach, that I already knew he was dying the last time I saw him. I just sensed it, and I pushed back even that feeling, I didn't want this, I didn't want to know! Then again all the guilt feelings came rushing back to me, I did the 'why me' thing again and I even felt guilty for feeling that way, when his family was grieving and I was worried about myself.
We were all invited to the funeral and also directed to our school counselors for grievance, and I opted not to go, obviously. I can't even handle dealing with grief. My way of dealing with seems to be silence especially with all the situations I have experienced. Maybe this is my way of finally letting it out? Who was I going tell, who could possibly understand. I mean did the school have a spiritual counselor? One who could tell me why I have to have these horrible feelings, why I see people cross over in my dreams, why the dead come to me, why I sensed these things for the first time in a living person?
Then I came to the realization that after 35 years of teaching and being a pillar in the art community and the Mexican -American culture, that we were the last students he would ever pass his legacy on to. I couldn't help but feel like I was meant to take this class, for whatever reason I was meant to meet him before he passed. I mean I had just switched majors and this was my first art class! I could of taken something else, I could have waited. At the same time I didn't feel like I knew him well enough to go to the funeral. I couldn't handle seeing people and his family crying, and so that makes me a bit selfish I guess. So I never got to say goodbye. Was there anything I could have done to prevent it? In my heart I do not believe so.
We had a new teacher from then on out, a colleague and friend of Sam's. Already the same student that was having issues with Sam was now having issues with the new teacher. It was frustrating enough to deal with this all. That started a huge explosive argument between the teacher and two other people and that eventually led to the student trying to get the teacher kicked out. Eventually all parties involved apologized. We all turned in our final projects and then the class was over. My final was a picture of Ankhs and goblets and scarabs that I had talked about-- and to me is was also a message from spirit who somehow was guiding me or reminding me that life continues on, and that we are eternal. If you look closely you'll see the anhks they are the periwinkle color.
I quit school shortly after that and not because of any of this but because my house was in jeopardy of being foreclosed, and I had to put my art school goals aside and go back to work for our family's sake.
To conclude, the empath in me always feels so much so deeply, but I have the hardest time trying to get this message out to people. I don't know what to say, how to say, or even how or why I feel the things I do sometimes. I've been trying to work on this, and yesterday I felt the little pang of spirit coming on again telling me that people were thinking about their loved ones who had crossed over. The guilt shot up in me again, that keeps me silent. Not because I knew before hand this time or anything. I mean I guess I'm just not confident in my gifts yet, even though I want to be. I wish I could deliver a clear message but I'm not quite sure how to communicate with either my spirit guide or people. I certainly don't like stirring up strong feelings and emotions for people or myself.
The truth is I'm not cursed. I was given this gift to help people, and I feel the tremendous amount of guilt when I don't or can't. I'm just left with the feelings of sorrow and no outlet to let it go. But again I'm trying to work on it.
R.I.P Sam--You were awesome, and thank you for everything you taught me. Your memory lives on in the heart of ATX, your art and students. If you are ever in Austin, stop by his studio.
http://coronadostudio.com/in-memory-of-serie-project-founder-sam-z-coronado
Nov. 2013
I was enrolled in visual design classes at the community college here in Austin. We were all gearing up for our final project. This semester was just all around really awesome for me. My professor was an older Hispanic gentleman and was very reasonable and also very honest. This class in particular was a hard one for him because one guy just kept busting his balls for no reason at all. This guy already had an art degree and seemed to have a chip on his shoulder and during our critiques he would get offended if any advice would be given, especially by our teacher. So it made the class quite strained all the time.
We were so far ahead of most of the classes he had that we got to go on a field trip to his studio. We got to watch his employees (who were also fellow students at one time) make silk screens, saw the whole operation, even got to try it out. He had some super awesome posters, and I really admired his work. Since then I really developed a love of silk screen, and felt like I was onto something and really becoming a true artist. It just rung true in me, like a light beacon had shown through telling me go do this! Make art.
The next class I was working on my ankhs and goblets picture a reverse field M.C. Esher type project. Mr. Coronado was making his rounds in the classroom and would frequently stop at our computers to let us know how he thought our work was going, how we could improve etc. He leaned over my shoulder to see how I was doing and I had heard him coughing. This night I sensed something different about him, and I remember telling my friend in the class that he just looked different. I couldn't put my finger on it but I felt like he was sick. At the end of the class everyone left and I was taking my time gathering my stuff. I felt like I should say something to him about it, but what? Wouldn't it be rude to imply he looked sick? So I said something finally. I said 'Are you feeling okay?' . He was coughing, he said 'I don't know ,I'm fine-- it's a bad cold'.
So the next class in the evening two days later, we have a substitute. We all inquired where Mr. Coronado was because he never misses a class, and I figured he really was sick after all, which is what was told to us. The next class after that still no sign of Mr. Coronado. Finally, it was our final project and Labor day holiday approached so no class next time. We got word that Mr. Coronado had been in the hospital all this time, in critical condition. We finished class and went home to wrap up and prepare our finals. I was really worried by this point and figured it must be really bad, if they wouldn't even tell us what was going on. I finally said to my friend, I really worried about him--I mean he looked like he was really sick.
The next class I arrived late, I was unprepared. The only thing on my mind when I entered the room was how I was gonna wrap up this project because I was struggling. Everyone was already there, and some people were crying. A classmate looked at me, and said ' I can't believe it'. Then I heard the announcement I had missed. Mr. Coronado --Sam had passed on labor day.
It was so hard to be there in that minute I just wanted to gather up all my stuff and leave. I felt like running, I didn't want to deal with the pain of it all in front of a bunch of strangers. I didn't want to cry, I didn't want the feeling that I had in the pit of my stomach, that I already knew he was dying the last time I saw him. I just sensed it, and I pushed back even that feeling, I didn't want this, I didn't want to know! Then again all the guilt feelings came rushing back to me, I did the 'why me' thing again and I even felt guilty for feeling that way, when his family was grieving and I was worried about myself.
We were all invited to the funeral and also directed to our school counselors for grievance, and I opted not to go, obviously. I can't even handle dealing with grief. My way of dealing with seems to be silence especially with all the situations I have experienced. Maybe this is my way of finally letting it out? Who was I going tell, who could possibly understand. I mean did the school have a spiritual counselor? One who could tell me why I have to have these horrible feelings, why I see people cross over in my dreams, why the dead come to me, why I sensed these things for the first time in a living person?
Then I came to the realization that after 35 years of teaching and being a pillar in the art community and the Mexican -American culture, that we were the last students he would ever pass his legacy on to. I couldn't help but feel like I was meant to take this class, for whatever reason I was meant to meet him before he passed. I mean I had just switched majors and this was my first art class! I could of taken something else, I could have waited. At the same time I didn't feel like I knew him well enough to go to the funeral. I couldn't handle seeing people and his family crying, and so that makes me a bit selfish I guess. So I never got to say goodbye. Was there anything I could have done to prevent it? In my heart I do not believe so.
We had a new teacher from then on out, a colleague and friend of Sam's. Already the same student that was having issues with Sam was now having issues with the new teacher. It was frustrating enough to deal with this all. That started a huge explosive argument between the teacher and two other people and that eventually led to the student trying to get the teacher kicked out. Eventually all parties involved apologized. We all turned in our final projects and then the class was over. My final was a picture of Ankhs and goblets and scarabs that I had talked about-- and to me is was also a message from spirit who somehow was guiding me or reminding me that life continues on, and that we are eternal. If you look closely you'll see the anhks they are the periwinkle color.
I quit school shortly after that and not because of any of this but because my house was in jeopardy of being foreclosed, and I had to put my art school goals aside and go back to work for our family's sake.
To conclude, the empath in me always feels so much so deeply, but I have the hardest time trying to get this message out to people. I don't know what to say, how to say, or even how or why I feel the things I do sometimes. I've been trying to work on this, and yesterday I felt the little pang of spirit coming on again telling me that people were thinking about their loved ones who had crossed over. The guilt shot up in me again, that keeps me silent. Not because I knew before hand this time or anything. I mean I guess I'm just not confident in my gifts yet, even though I want to be. I wish I could deliver a clear message but I'm not quite sure how to communicate with either my spirit guide or people. I certainly don't like stirring up strong feelings and emotions for people or myself.
The truth is I'm not cursed. I was given this gift to help people, and I feel the tremendous amount of guilt when I don't or can't. I'm just left with the feelings of sorrow and no outlet to let it go. But again I'm trying to work on it.
R.I.P Sam--You were awesome, and thank you for everything you taught me. Your memory lives on in the heart of ATX, your art and students. If you are ever in Austin, stop by his studio.
http://coronadostudio.com/in-memory-of-serie-project-founder-sam-z-coronado