How the Guardians Work

Okay, so you know I've been a bit upended by things that happened this week. Here's the deal, without names. And it goes to the heart of how the spirits I call the Guardians (or Guardian Angels, though I've never seen wings) work.
About 3 days ago I suddenly discovered--and I never knew it before; most of you guys know I'm an admitted Luddite with new fangled gimmickry--that there is a "stats" button on this blog. I don't know if it was always there or not, but I happened on it.
So I pressed it and was surprised to see that I could see the hits this blog got this week; what stories were most viewed on this blog (Mushrooms in India and Swim Team 101 are by far the most looked at and they're freaking old!) and so forth.
And on the stats page, which I didn't think I had ever since google ads cut me off for a burst of ad money about three years ago, it also noted which urls people came from to get here. And which key words were plugged into the computer. And on that list of key words used this week which wound up finding the blog was "peter gorman, c". (I told you, no names, but it was a name.)
Seeing that almost floored me. Utterly unexpected. This was a woman I lived with, was in love with, for a long time a long time ago. We have not been in touch for a long long time. There have been times I've been tempted but she had a family and no matter how drunk I got I never pulled the trigger (that I remember) and called. Doesn't mean I didn't think about her sometimes. She was a wonderful person. And gorgeous. And she never spat at me. Or hit me with a baseball bat. And forgave me my idiocy and emotional cruelty. I loved her for all of that. I hated her for all of that.
And to see our names together, separated only by a comma, meant she was trying to get in touch. So I looked her up--which I have not done for a couple of years, but probably do every couple of years just to see if she's doing okay--and saw--with sadness--that she's recently lost her husband.
She was very true, so I'm sure it was and is hard on her.
So I figured she was feeling rootless and trying to figure out how to get in touch.
I did not call her. Instead, I put a notice up on this blog telling her I'd love her to call if she wanted.
I woke up the next morning feeling like a predator for writing that (I was not being predatory that I knew of when I wrote it). So I took it down and chastised myself for being a prick.
A few hours later I checked the phone messages and saw her name on them. No message, but her name and a number. I looked it up: It was her hometown, or close to it.
I called the number. I got a machine and left a message--which included the fact that if this was who I thought it was I could hardly breathe.
She called and we talked. It was fantastic to hear her voice; sad beyond belief as well because she's so hurt by her loss. Like with my sister, I wish there was something I could do; there is not.
But what was strange was this: She said she had not been the person linking our names on google which wound up finding my blog. And I don't think she's a reader of the blog.
So how did I find the "stats" button and see the linked names, look her up, post a request that she call, have her notice it in the few hours it was up, and then have her call?
If I press the keywords for a month on my site, our linked names don't appear. They've only been used a few times and so only will appear in a "week" worth of stats. Not longer.
So let's go over this: I find the stats button on the specific week in the last 25 years when someone has linked my name with her. I put up a notice to call me and take it down in maybe 10 hours, but she sees it in that time and calls.
Now, when I talk about the guardians, whatever you call them, you have to realize that the odds of any of that happening are zero. Not one in a million, not one in 10 million. Zero.
But it all happened.
The guardians wanted us to recontact. For what, I don't know. But it was arranged so amazingly, so cleverly, that it is beyond description.
For me the difference between an hallucination and a real vision is that a vision is something that you could not have imagined if you'd made a list of 10,000 things that might have happened given a certain set of circumstances.
This is so far past that it's in its own ballpark.
What does it mean? I don't know. Maybe she was just being polite in responding to the blog request. I do know that some spirits somewhere thought it imperative that we speak.
And that's good enough for me.
PS: I loved hearing her voice.