Destination New Orleans, LA by Gina Vega
Tuesday 22, 2011 “The Saint of Saint Louis Cathedral”
In response to my soul, the need to see my daughter who always passes a vast deal of energy to me a trip to NOLA was greatly needed and my destination started off at the Sacramento airport 5:30 a.m. I bid farewell to my daughter-in-law and grandbaby as they drove off in the crowded airport drop-off lane. Airport security was organized and fast unlike I expected, it was 5:55 when I stepped foot into lock down. Not bad, I had a thirty minute wait so I took my time taking the tram and walked slowly to my gate. Much to my surprise the plane was already boarding passengers and I was the last to enter the plane. I was hungry and tired but knew I could revive myself in the Denver layover. In Denver, I ordered a sandwich and had a couple of beers at 10:30 in the morning. Soon after I finished my meal and drink, it was time to enter the plane to my destination. On the plane I ordered a Jack and Coke, took a snooze only to be awakened by the pop and splatter of a soda can, a passenger behind me dropped in the isle. With good luck the fizzling sprays of soda hit only the passengers on the left side of the plane. Upon arriving at the airport in New Orleans I was a little disoriented so I asked a flight captain if he knew where the front exit was. He chuckled and pointed to a long aisle up ahead and said, “I know how you feel there are not enough signs in this airport.” I thanked him and walked off to find myself outside in the humid weather of New Orleans.
My daughter Miss Gabrielle Larson arrived to pick me up shortly and my trip experience started as she rushed me over to have a drink called the “Kitchen Sink” at a nearby drive through daiquiri bar. This was it! I was here, “The Dirty South” where many arrived to live the night life of drinking and debauchery. But I’m drawn to it for another reason; it is an olden city filled with many lost souls, but with equal spiritual guides and angels. I needed to awaken something in me that has been dormant much too long, my guide. Time is running out for a friend who is danger and I know the only way I can help is seek the strength of a spirit guide. My first night started off immediately on my way to the French Quarter. (http://frenchquarter.com/history/shortquarterhistory.php) My daughter explains to me while I took many pictures that the architecture is more Spanish influence since most of the true architecture was destroyed by fire and natural climate disasters. When the Spanish took over they created codes and used native cypress and brick from floor to roof. As we wandered though the street I realized this was a night to just experience the environment. Walking quickly, then briefly, stopping into many small but immensely interesting galleries. My appreciation for art was enlightened and my enthusiasm for my own artistic talent was peaked. I feel that art is a god given talent and it is the direction my spiritual guide worked so hard to keep me on. At last we reach our first point of contact only to be distracted by the wonderful sounds street performers singing and playing their instruments. Minutes later, Miss Kaylee Hayes finished her work shift at Razzle Dazzle, one of many specialty boutiques along Royal Street. Next step was to await Miss Emily Beck, and with our bellies growling of hunger we rushed over to grab a tasty powdered sugar Beignet at Café Du Monde. Soon after devouring these delicious French doughnuts we made our way to Jackson Square. We gazed upon magnificence of the St. Louis Cathedral. To look upon it had such an entrancing effect, an unexplained pull of our energy as it stands since 1727, six years younger than the city itself. One could only imagine the many people and some now just mere images floating in the air. They visited this Cathedral as a home of consolation from the injustices of there worlds. (See history below) As we gazed at awe to this wondrous site Miss Beck snuck up behind us to bring us back into the now. We agreed that no real venture could start tonight so we headed to Yo Mamma’s where I had a most excellent Cock Fighter chicken Jalapeño burger, seasoned with the ten-year developed Yo Mamma Habanero Sauce. It was an invigorating feeling to be in the company of my daughters with food, drink and fun conversations. We finished our meals and drink and headed out into the street all deciding to make our way to Bourbon Street.
With our heads a bit cloudy we were out in the brisk air walking the streets again. Only we stopped to see the mysterious shadow created by the sculpture of an angel on the back side of the St. Louis Cathedral. As quickly as I set up my camera to take pictures I had my first site of a shadow standing next to the shadow of the angel. I zoomed the lens of my camera in yet not finding it, and then took a look with my eyes to see it still standing. Being a block away and the night made it hard to distinguish what I was seeing but it looked like a tall figure of a man in a black robe. I said nothing to the girls and continued to observe while taking a few pictures. My mind swam with amazement and fear. In the moment of taking my final shot I was pulled to the figure seeing my soul floating through a sea of energy. I stopped front center catching a glimpse of his thin face, long thin nose, and very long sideburns. Then I focus, only to see his hand reach out and I was compelled to bow and kneel down as I reached out to his hand with mine. In dealing with this sort of experience in my past I knew to look directly for long at such a figure could have ramifications. With all that is good so hovers the evil and I was not ready to see such sites. I kept my head bowed and my eyes closed. The smell of death radiated my conscience letting me know creatures did hover around this saintly soul. It is common among souls who have been placed here on earth to protect the weak. Evil surrounds them, tormenting them and trying to break them down. Yet this saintly figure of a man with stern facial looks carried the pillar of strength upon him, he gave no signal to the evil that surrounded us. Nothing was said between us and as soon as he padded my head with his other hand the body of my soul speedily traveled backward into my earthly body. At a distance now, I looked at the shadows instantly dissolve and traces of energy in the air also disappeared. It was as if I was traveling in continuum of time and again I was back to snap the final shot. The girls were exasperated that I would take such a long time to take a picture. And I looked to my daughter Gabby, only she understood.
Once again we were on the trodden path and while walking Gabby heard the familiar voice of Glen a friend and life-long native of New Orleans, in Jean Lafitte Blacksmith Shop. It is one of the oldest bars in New Orleans. (See history below) He waved to the bartender to serve us a drink, and we enjoy the atmosphere of this old candle-lit tavern as the weather broke out into a torrential rain. Looking out into the darkness of this rain I can see images of drunken men singing as pirates disrupting the silent mood of the rain. I can see them kicking the rain puddles like boisterous bullies challenging the patience of the people who once lived in this French Quarter community. I knew these sorts of images would now be around for me to see and this would be an adventure etched in my mind. Still the night offered the mood to keep moving. We brave the rain only to find ourselves taking cover in another local bar, Lucky’s of St. Charles, closer to home as the rain poured again, and then yet another bar, Igor’s, after that. New Orleans can always count on Igor’s being open. When Igor first opened his bar, he put the key on the streetcar track to be run over because he wouldn’t need it. The only time he needed to lock up his bar was during Katrina and this involved a thick chain and a padlock.
We arrived to their humble abode at 3 a.m. in the morning all ready to lay our heads down. Only my thoughts did not let me fall asleep as quickly as the girls. I laid awake for a bit to speculate about the man in the black robe. Yet once in deep sleep I dreamt that he was a man of great spirituality, a true believer of God, yet he did not follow the rules of the house of religion. He almost despised the other pastors; they were out of order taking money from rich guilty men in order to strengthen the riches of the church. He was not popular for his intolerance of them and often took action in any way to protect the weak and poor. I get the impression he has killed before and I have some connection to this. I get an impression he was a Franciscan monk and now bears a mark, he shows me a burn on his arm; it is a staff of justice and a mark that I wear in a tattoo. I drew it after having a gruesome dream in which I rescued others from harm. In my dreams this is a sign of a warrior of God who has killed in order to protect the weak. Once the path is chosen by God to protect the weak you cannot ever take a seat in heaven. Your soul is bounded by blood to stay on earth. It is a great responsibility to fight to keep a balance of all that is good here on earth whether it is in life or in the afterlife; it is never-ending. He accepted his fate as a protector knowing he would never be allowed in heaven. When I woke I couldn’t help to feel some sorrow for his soul even though he is a herald of God. I questioned why I had been drawn to this specter. Who was he? What connection do I have wearing this mark? Did he have some clues I seek to aid my friend in his spiritual dilemma? This encounter only left me with more questions. One thing for sure, this definitely taught me that I was not yet ready to face such forces. Perhaps the forces my friend is dabbling with are more powerful than I originally thought. I needed the strength of this monk and wonder if I would encounter him again and discover who he is. After this sort of experience anything can happen. New Orleans is a place of great mystery and I realized if I needed to make such connection this was the place to start. The girls rushing to get ready for work at nine a.m. and the smell of brewed coffee helped me pick my tired bones out of bed to get ready for another day of sightseeing.
St, Louis Cathedral
Founded in 1721, this iconic, triple towered church faces the Mississippi river. The beautiful murals within the church were painted by Erasmus Humbrecht. Below the foundation rests eleven bodies, including Adrien De Pauger, Knight and Chief Engineer, who made the plans for the Cathedral and the City of New Orleans. Visited by Pope John Paul in 1987. By Gina and Emily
http://stlouiscathedral.org/early_history.htmlJean Lafitte Blacksmith Shop
History claims that this candle-lit bar was the hang-out of the Pirate Jean Lafitte and his crew hundreds of years ago. Placed in the quieter end of Bourbon Street, this purposely ragged building offers eerie atmosphere, with a piano bar in the back room in which guests can make requests as they choose. Built sometime before 1772, rumor has it that Lafitte brothers operated it as a legitimate business which was in truth only a façade. By Emily Beck.
A MESSAGE FROM PAUL DALE ROBERTS:
I thank Gina Vega for allowing me to edit and distribute this incredible travel blog. New Orleans is magical, I know....I went to the 1983 Mardi Gras, I will never forget that moment in my life.
Tue Dec 27, 2011 9:14 pm