Temporary Angels

By Robert Segarra

Do Angels exist? What do our dreams mean? What is a Temporary Angel? Is there an easier way to deal with the loss of a loved one? True life account of the author's experiences with the supernatural. In amazing detail, the author recounts specific pivotal events in his life that led him at a young age to the realization that he was being watched over by a "higher being" - and that he was being guided by this same individual, which the author refers to as his "Spirit Guide." Through his guide, he gains insight into his own life, plus the lives of those around him via dreams that occur during the day, as well as at night. The author describes his struggle in trying to deal with the prophetic side of his dreams. Often skeptical of what he observes in these vision-like sessions, the author battles his conscience in trying to decide whether he might be able to use these gifts to help others, or whether he might be better off keeping these dreams to himself - the latter being the case most of the time. The book ends with a scary and disturbing accounting of one of the most tragic events in modern American history - the terror attacks of September 11, 2001 - seen in a vision more than a decade earlier, and published a year before the actual attack.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Segarra
• Release date: Oct 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311396648

Robert Segarra

ROBERT SEGARRA is a New York artist, writer, and musician with many writing, art and illustrated pieces to his credit. Originally published in the summer of 2007 "STILL WAITING FOR THE SUN" details the difficult life of an unmotivated woman as she receives a very bizarre inheritance that just may change her life if she has the courage to accept it. The book has been re-edited and republished as of 2016. Other books include, "MILLION DOLLAR HARRY," "EVER DARK," TEMPORARY ANGELS" and "GODS & WEREWOLVES." The long poem, "HEAVEN" was published in 2016. Some of his other book projects are "CROW HILL & OTHER POEMS" and the illustrated children's books, "IF TIGER COULD TALK" - and the holiday favorite - "THE CHRISTMAS MOUSE." About a dozen of his screenplays have been produced as films and have aired on television, and screened at film salons and festivals. There are many other projects in the works as well. His poetry has won awards. His artwork has been favorably reviewed in USA Today, and in other publications. And, he has designed artwork, posters, flyers, and clothing logos for such institutions as The Easter Seals Society of New York. Over the years, his paintings have been a part of several New York City art exhibitions, a number of which have ended up in private collections. He writes, records and produces music as the one-man band, "BILLY J BRYAN & THE AX GRINDERS." The music can be found online at CD Baby, iTunes, Amazon and many fine e-tailers. And the music can be heard online, live and archived, at various Internet radio stations, such as EGH Radio, Wig-Wam Radio, Rocker's Dive Radio, Open The Door Radio, Lonesome Oak Radio, Howard's Power Pop Stew, Take-Two Radio, KSCR, Spotify and many others sites and stations.

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TEMPORARY ANGELS

TEMPORARY ANGELS

by

ROBERT SEGARRA

Copyright 1998 Robert Segarra

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Distributed by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition 2016

USA

i

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

- From the play, Hamlet,

by William Shakespeare, 1599-1601

Angels all are we, the Free Man and the Beggar be!

- Ariel, my spirit guide

This book is dedicated to my family and to my loved ones - they know who they are!

And to believers everywhere!

Acknowledgment

I need to thank my sister, Helen, for always encouraging me to write this book. For many, many years I had been struggling with the idea of writing a book of this nature, and had always been able to start it - yet for one reason or another, I was never able to complete it. Fear and uncertainty seemed to sideline me again and again. Each time that I got bogged down in this endless cycle, I would soon feel a deep sense of disappointment. And sure enough, this disappointment would eventually bring about the urgency to return to this project. The belief that this subject matter might in some way help those seeking answers and reassurance continued to gnaw at me. It was my sister’s faith that it indeed could that finally gave me the impetus and the courage to finish the project, and for that I am grateful.

I also need to thank Marjorie Danser for assisting me, as always, in helping to turn my chaos into some semblance of order.

A NOTE TO READERS

It was never my intention to make this book into a technical manual, or to fill it with complicated and complex philosophical and theological tenets. What I wished to accomplish in writing it was to chronicle the strange relationship that I’ve had for several decades already with a mystical entity, and to share with others some of the potentially helpful knowledge which this entity has disclosed to me, and that I’ve accumulated along the way.

More than a book on the supernatural or even a claim of psychic ability on my part, which I have never claimed to have, this book is more a journal with a message.

I do not consider myself to be a psychic, a medium, or clairvoyant in any way. I don’t know exactly what this thing is that I have, and all I do know is what I’ve experienced. And if I can only relay one message successfully to readers, it would be perhaps a message of comfort and reassurance. For while the vast majority of the themes and information contained in my dreams and visions have included everything from the commonplace to the ridiculous, still others have brought dreams filled with images and insights of a highly personal nature - knowledge that could possibly be of great importance not only to myself, but to many around me as well. These dreams can often involve a significant loss of some kind, and this very important fact has had a profound effect in changing my own attitude toward them, and has helped alleviate some of the skepticism I had often felt regarding their possible usefulness to others.

Loss of any sort is usually traumatic, but the loss of a loved one and of those close to us can be especially traumatic to deal with. The unknown is always difficult to come to grips with, but death need not be as scary as it is for most of us. For while a long drawn out illness can be extremely devastating to both the sufferer and the family, and will most likely shake the most steadfast of beliefs, death itself is a peaceful and necessary evolution of the spirit, one which everyone and everything that has ever been alive is undoubtedly going to experience. And in reality it is far from the terror we have been led to believe it is, and I can say this with certainty because I have received messages that I sincerely believe came from those who have passed away, and have upon occasion relayed these same bits of news and personal details to those it concerned, and have subsequently seen the looks of comfort on the faces of those intended to hear them. And while I myself had always been more than slightly skeptical of these very things I have been witness to, I have since become convinced that we are eternal, and that those whom we may have lost are never truly lost. Those who have passed are always with us in another form, and we too will one day pass, and we too will persist as well, and we will all persist together.

It was my intention to write this book in more than thirty small chapters, and I have written it in this manner because this is in keeping with the way that Ariel speaks: he speaks in short snippets, and in short sentences, and in constructing a manuscript of this kind, I wished to convey the essence of my communications with him in as true a fashion as possible. However, as I have often done with other projects, I have cut the manuscript in half, and altered it slightly - judging the timing and reception of this information to be not quite right for the way the book was conceived.

There will undoubtedly be more questions than answers for anyone reading this, just as there has always been for me, but if this book can help just one person begin to understand the endlessness and the unlimited possibilities contained in our universe and in ourselves, then I will have accomplished at least part of what I set out to do.

DREAMS & APPARITIONS

Chapter One: The Boy Of My Dreams

One of the earliest visions I can remember ever receiving was that of an accident involving a little boy and a car. At the time I had never even heard about clairvoyance or of precognition and I knew nothing about the mechanics behind such events. But on a warm day in June, many years ago, when I was about 8 years old, I got my first real taste that I can remember ever getting regarding dreams I’ve had that have come true.

The air that day seemed filled with electricity. Everything around me seemed bathed in excitement and endless possibilities. There was also a sense of melancholy, though I didn’t quite know why at the time. The last day of school was just weeks away, and for many of us students, for as much as we enjoyed each others company, and for as much as we made each other laugh and howl when we should have been studying, which served to make the school year just that much more bearable, the end of the semester couldn’t come quick enough. School was just about to let out for the day, and we were all eager to leave for home. The final bell, the one marking the end of our last period, buzzed, and it was all we could do to stifle our cheers that the week was finally and unequivocally over. Friday had mercifully and at last arrived. We were very anxious for school to be over and done with, not just for today, but for the rest of the semester, and the remaining few weeks would basically be a mere technicality, because for all intents and purposes, the school year was a done deal, and we would be sleepwalking through whatever was left of it. That’s the way it always was, ever since I could remember. It was like salmon swimming upstream - they didn’t know why they did it, they only knew that it was something that was part of a balance in their world, and this was ours. Like those fishes, we would be blindly going through the motions over the next two weeks or so, and then we would be somehow completing a necessary cycle in our own lives. We knew that we would still have final exams to get through before that could happen, but there was no denying it, summer vacation was just weeks away, and the freedom that the summer recess brought each year was palpable. There was something in the air that we students, much like starving hyenas, could smell. There was something in the air that we could detect. But there was also something else waiting for me personally, and I could not for the life of me put my finger on what that was.

In a moment we were escorted down the darkened gray-painted stairs - stairs which we had mechanically climbed up and down countless times during the semester, and over the years, by our home-room teacher. We did our best to avoid the discarded, though still sticky wads of gum that our fellow indolent, and sometimes mean-spirited students, would spit out for the rest of us to step on. And if that wasn’t bad enough, we also struggled to avoid the spilled grape and orange soda puddles that invariably also ended up somehow accumulating on the stairs, even though eating and drinking outside of the lunchroom was forbidden. Mysteriously we never managed to figure out exactly how these puddles would always find their way to the stairs, but somehow they magically always seemed to.

In another moment we found ourselves at the exit doors, with only my teacher and her final words standing between us and freedom. She had this sadistic characteristic, where after an interminably long customary pause, she would mercilessly make us wait