When I moved from one county in Tennessee to another last year, I knew I would have to get my address changed on my driver’s license and apply for car tags in my new county. There were so many other things pressing for my time and attention then, I decided to wait until later. I had renewed my license in my former county at the end of September (2019) before I knew where I would be living once my divorce was final. Therefore, I didn’t get the “real” Tennessee license that everyone is supposed to have by this October 2020. Besides, I didn’t have all the “proofs” needed to get that upgrade.
Well, the “plan-demic” started in March about the time I was ready to make the trip to the county clerk and DMV. So. I continued to wait. In July, I got my renewal notice at my new address from the county I lived in last year. Still avoiding a trip and long wait at the government office, I renewed my tags online. I had been assured by a clerk that I had corresponded with via email that my county would automatically update since my new address was in the system. Well, that didn’t happen. My tags went to my old address and had to be forwarded to my current one. I was going to the DMV after all.
There can be no mistakes when we put our trust in God. Everything that happens does so for a reason, even if we never know the reason. In my book, Celestial Shamanism, I talk about anchoring codes in places where we are led. Our government offices certainly could use some prayers, light codes, and starseed presence. So last week, I went to county clerk’s office.
Upon walking in, I realized I had jumped a timeline. No one was wearing a mask. Co-workers and customers were standing next to one another, leaning over the shoulder to get a closer look at the computer screen. A lady in the back asked if I was there to renew my license and I said yes. She waved me to come to her desk where there were no warning signs to keep my 6-ft distance. It was business as usual, like it was before everyone starting panicking about a virus. I actually enjoyed sitting there chatting with the nice woman who had changed my county in the system and issued me a new county sticker for my tag. She even gave me a tissue to wipe the road dirt off my plate so I could stick them on before I left.
You mean we’re done here? I can’t stay and talk to her about the lovely kids in the photos on her desk? The entire process only took five minutes.
Passing through the lobby on my way out, I knew the timeline I was in was folding. One woman in line was wearing a face mask and looked at me like I was crazy when I smiled and said hi as I walked by. That’s when I noticed the signs posted and stickers on the floor marking the 6-foot safety zone that the virus could not cross. Wow! This timeline magic is cool! We are creating our own reality! Let’s see how this plays out at the DMV.
I was back into the current 2020 timeline when I reached the DMV for the first of what would be two trips that day. The energy of fear was palpable. Everyone was standing six feet apart and wearing a mask–two had clear helmets with face shields that looked like part of a haz-mat suit from Walmart. It was like walking into a movie set filled with compliant actors following the rules. I could tell this place was not going to be friendly to a naked face so I put on my space-themed mask that I sewed from scraps leftover from my grandson’s quilt.
I used the kiosk machine to log-in. No telling how many hands without using alcohol gel had touched that screen before me. And there was no way to stand six feet from another person while waiting in line to see the clerk at the front desk. It was there, after being in the office for at least ten minutes, that my forehead was shot with a digital thermometer and I was asked to read a statement about my exposure to Covid-19. I read it and waited for clerk number 2 to tell me what to do next. She finally looked up at me.
“Why are you still standing here?” she asked.
I replied, “I want to get my my new address on my driver’s license.
She grunted and said, “Wait over there.” Without as much as a finger pointing to which of the areas roped off with yellow caution tape where I might find a seat, I wasn’t sure where to go. So, I stood there and waited again. I could feel she was getting frustrated, but this felt like a silly game to me. “Go to the glass room.” she snapped.
Oh, goodie! The glass room, and not the crowded hallway where ten people had no choice but to disobey the mandate of 6-foot social distancing. I sat down in a chair that had taken on the 55-degree temperature of the room. My ego was like a horse in a stall waiting for the chance to kick down the door. My spirit was like, “Settle down, enjoy the humor of the moment. You can play Solitaire or Toy Blast on your phone while your sweat freezes on your body. Do some light language, too.”
About two games later, my name was called to come to the window where a plastic chair with yellow caution tape was playing hall monitor and preventing me from getting close enough to get my legal documents under the slit in the protective plexiglass window. At least my germs were staying separate from those of the nice clerk on the other side. She was super friendly when she told me I didn’t have all the documents I needed and would have to go home and get a divorce decree to show why my name on my social security card was not the same as it was on my fragile, but original, 60-year-old birth certificate. But first I needed to stand in front of the blue screen where my naked face (no mask or makeup) and grey hair was captured on film to be displayed in my wallet for the next ten years.
She said I would not have to wait in line when I came back to her. I made the ten-mile trip home, tore out the files in my office closet and found the divorce decree. I drove ten miles back to the DMV. Donning my space mask, I walked up to her station and waited for her to finish with the gentleman ahead of me. The clerk next to her had been informed/warned that I would be returning so she called me over and graciously helped me complete my real TN license. It was quite simple and I knew that I was anchoring light codes in a place that desperately needed more love and light.
It was a humorous experience and yet sad to see the fearful and stressed condition our world is in. I am grateful to have met and interacted with the people I met that day and to be driving legally having jumped through red (or yellow) tape and timelines to anchor light codes for the benefit of all.
