Gods on the Train

Or how Spirit interrupted my rage playlist

On Thursday morning, I boarded a train to Glasgow with my Feminist Rage playlist queued up as “chill music.”

Sometimes, when life threatens to get unbearably mundane, Spirit sends us a shake-up — or, as I like to call them, a mini-reawakening.

Spirit must have known I needed one.

When Kundalini starts rising, and creativity is unleashed, things can feel pretty great for a while… until we hit the rage stage.

And I had hit that stage hard.

It came after realising that I was on the countdown to post-menopause. Suddenly, I was no longer okay with a long list of things I had let slide for ages. One of those things was that I still hadn’t managed to get a driving licence at 56.

So, on the morning before boarding that train, I signed up for a driving theory test in August and downloaded a practice app.

There were many other things on that list — most too private to air in a public newsletter.

Sitting on the train for a few hours gave me the dubious luxury of mulling that list over in my head while the music played. I was really getting going with the unprocessed rage.

I could tell when a red face stared back at me in the train WC.

“Okay, Lisa, take a few deep breaths,” I told myself. “You don’t want to die of a heart attack before you’re even guaranteed post-menopausal.”

The First God

Within a minute of having those thoughts, my sister rang from Sweden.

We spoke for a while about my trip to see my middle child in Glasgow — they manage media projects there — and she told me how her daughters are doing. Then she shared an amazing story about an answered prayer.

She had her eye on a place of business she needed access to quite quickly because of changes within her company. So she said a brief prayer to Spirit and handed all her worries over.

Then she decided to go for a walk.

Only minutes later, she found herself face-to-face with the property manager of the very place she needed access to. They all but signed the agreement then and there.

“Damn, girl, I need to pray more!” I told her.

Gods at the Table

After a lovely visit with my trans middle child (they/them) in Glasgow, I found myself on the train from Edinburgh to Darlington the next day.

I had booked a seat at a table. When I arrived, an elderly couple were already sitting there. They smiled and nodded as I took my seat, and I immediately felt a warm sensation in my chest.

I had brought my newly acquired oversized Visconti-Sforza deck with me to get better acquainted with it, so I spent some time quietly shuffling and looking through the cards while the couple opposite — who looked to be in their early seventies — read their newspapers.

Not long after I put the deck away, the lady — whose first name began with E — leaned over and asked if I wanted to borrow one of the papers.

When I politely declined, she asked, in a soft Edinburgh accent, “Are you interested in the Tarot, then?”

“You could say that,” I laughed.

What followed was a lively conversation that lasted until I stepped off the train at Darlington.

They were travelling to London to visit a daughter and their grandchildren.

“Oh, I have a daughter in London too,” I said.

That was not the only thing we had in common. In fact, the list of shared threads grew longer the more we spoke.

She was a natural medium from a bloodline of seers, and he was an energy healer.

His first name began with L.

E and L.

El.

God.

The thought passed through my mind as a quiet sense of destiny settled over the moment.

He told me the story of how he discovered his healing gift. While they were on holiday in Corfu, a woman walked up to him in a restaurant and said, “Did you know you’re a healer?”

He had no idea what to say.

After returning home to Scotland, he stood in front of his bathroom mirror and asked his healing team to step forward. (I chose not to ask about the bathroom mirror.)

Apparently, the force of their energy nearly knocked him over.

I didn’t doubt him for a second.

First, there was the energy I felt when I sat down. Then there were his eyes — bright blue, ancient somehow, yet younger than his years.

At one point they told me they were both eighty years old.

“You’re clearly benefitting from the strong flow of healing energy,” I said.

They nodded and smiled.

E had beautiful eyes too — a golden hazel brown — and a deep curiosity about my work. It came as no surprise to discover she was a Gemini and her husband a Sagittarius.

When my stop finally arrived, I felt genuinely sad to leave them.

It felt as if I had met a pair of guardian angels.

Or perhaps the God and Goddess themselves, travelling incognito.

All I know is that I no longer feel the need to listen to rage music.

Spirit looks after its own.

Always.

I suspect I’m not the only one who has met a god or two on public transport.

If you’ve ever had a moment like that — an encounter that felt quietly orchestrated — I’d love to hear about it.

Love,
Lisa 🌹

angelorum.co