By Pichaya Avery
Golden-tongued Wisdom waking dreams are associated with spoken words; however, messages can also come from other audible sources, such as the one I experienced two days after Christmas in 2020. I awoke with a feeling of agony in my heart. My father had been on my mind constantly for the past several months. This freezing cold winter morning was no exception.
Over the past six years, he had been very ill due to kidney failure, and recently his health had declined dramatically. I yearned to fly home to visit him and the rest of my family in Thailand, but COVID—19 restrictions made it difficult to return. Upon entering the country, I would be subjected to a fourteen-day, mandatory quarantine before I could see my family.
While thinking about my father, I heard four loud knocks coming from the front door. When I opened it, I was surprised to find that no one was there. I wondered if the knocks were a waking dream from Divine Spirit, somehow connected to the pain in my heart.
A few days later, Mike and I drove to the river to feed Steller’s jays, Scrub jays, squirrels, and Shadow, the feral cat. Before we arrived, I told Mike that I was looking for a waking dream. As soon as we started to lay down peanuts and bird food for the jays and squirrels, we heard a bird cry.
Mike recognized the sound and told me it was a hawk. Usually when I see a hawk sitting on a tree, it tells me to pay attention. A crying hawk is even more powerful as a symbol.
What is Divine Spirit telling me? I wondered. When we returned home from the river, I received a message from my mother informing me that my father was in the ICU. This was the fifth time in the past six years he had been admitted to the ICU. I had a strong feeling this would be his last.
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. the next morning from a restless night. Feeling on edge, I made a video call to my family in Thailand. My mother, two sisters, and a relative were standing by my father’s bedside. My youngest sister and my nephew, who live in the south of Thailand, were able to be with our family remotely through a video call in this sacred moment.
Through the screen, I could see my father’s peaceful face, his breathing slow and steady. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I asked one of my sisters to place the phone next to his ear. Softly, I whispered, “Dad, I love you. I want to sing you a love song, the song of HU that we’ve sung before. Please be at peace.” Surrounded by love, an hour later on January 5th, 2021, my father gently made his transition.
One of my sisters called the next day and asked me to write a eulogy for my father’s funeral, which would take place at a Thai temple. After contemplating on finding the right words, instead of writing a simple heartfelt statement, I composed a eulogy poem. My family knew nothing about my poetic side that I had hidden away for decades. The following day, using my phone, I recorded my voice reading the poem and sent the audio recording to my family to play at the funeral.
I attended the funeral on January 11th through a video call. During the ceremony, I heard the sound of an Asian Koel, my father’s favorite bird, singing in the background. When it was time for the cremation, the Asian Koel sang a few more times. After the ceremony, I asked my family if anyone had heard the Koel singing. With puzzled looks on their faces, they all shook their heads and said, “No.”
I was grateful for these audible waking dreams—these powerful messages from the unseen world. I realized that the crying hawk and the four knocks on the door were nature’s gentle warning about my father’s imminent translation. The Asian Koel, with its melodious call, reassured me that my father was happy and free on the other side. In these sacred messages, I found not only comfort, but also a deeper understanding of how love transcends the veil between worlds—whispering its Golden-tongued Wisdom when we are willing to listen.
From Seven Signs from the Universe, pp. 184-186, by Michael and Pichaya Avery
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