On Friday, June 07, 2013, the people killed in the Hindenburg crash on May 6, 1937, finally moved on.
That morning. As in about 76 years after they died.
Yes, most of us have heard about the crash of the Hindenburg. How it was landing on the East Coast of the U.S. and caught on fire and exploded. There’s even a video of sorts.
If you’re like me, that’s about all we’ve ever thought about it. A tragedy that happened a long, long time ago. Grisly and sad.
We didn’t think that the people who died in that disaster might still be hanging around.
I sure didn’t until this morning, when they suddenly showed up as a group at my house. Yes, the dead from the Hindenburg disaster.
Yes, I work as an intuitive, and I love my work, from intuitive consultations to helping people connect with the spaces they live and work in with the form of space clearing my crystal partner, Fallon, the Citrine Lemurian Quartz, and I created called Space Cooperating.
But sometimes it is simply quite strange. I believe that intuition and intuitive work can and is practical and eminently useful in our common sense everyday personal and business lives. I want plain ordinary everyday people to call me to help them connect with their intuition to make their lives better.
And then things like ghosts show up.
How I Started Working with the Dead
Now I’ve actually seen ghosts since I was about 9. But I never paid much attention to them, because, come on, really, ghosts? What do they have to do with me (or anyone)?
A lot, I’ve discovered in recent years. I’ve worked with the dying and the dead, with connecting people with their deceased love ones, and especially with those who have not moved on and have no one left to speak for them or to them.
I don’t know how that happened.
I do know that I work with my dad, who runs what I call the Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side. Dad died 19 years ago, on June 30, 1994, and several years ago he started coming through, joining me in my intuitive work. A lot of which seems to be focused on the dead. When the dead move on, as in, they have left their bodies and are ready to move on to the ‘etheric’ side, they go to places like my dad’s way station. Everything does, in my experience. Trees, animals … dead nuclear power plants (as in the Japanese plant that died in the March 2011 earthquake).
One day, discussing our work together, my dad was telling me about his chosen work now: taking care of the dead as they rest up, before their guides come and collect them and they move on to review their lives and take up new experiences (in new bodies or not). He discovered after he died that he could see the living looking for the dead, and the dead looking for them. With laser-like precision, he could link them up.
Convenient, I guess, if there’s a job for that. Which, apparently, there is. His job to link them up and mine to ask him to. (Talk about keeping it in the family.)
That is what happens when people come to me to talk with the dead. My dad goes and gets them and brings them back to have a conversation with us. Not stupid things like names and favorite songs. Real things like what they are experiencing and what they think. I don’t accept clients who want to test me or the dead: I only accept clients who are ready for a transformative experience (and who understand that sometimes the dead they want to speak with just don’t show up, and something or someone else does).
These living people pay me, which means I can pay my bills. Always a good thing.
But the dead who have no one to speak for them don’t pay me, and they show up a lot. More and more frequently. Yes, there’s the aspect of service, and I’ve donated a lot of my time and talent over the years. But there’s also the question of the drain on an intuitive’s energy: this isn’t a regular job, the work days are necessarily short, and I have health limitations, so I have to be very careful.
I tend to direct the unpaying dead to my mediumship students: I work with my students to help the dead move on: I supervise, guide, encourage, and step in where necessary. It’s good training and I learned this way: you get to figure out how you work as a medium without the pressure of living clients (like an unpaid intership).
But I need paying clients, and even my guides have chimed in and urged me away from ‘the dead without money,’ because the more energy I direct to them, the less time I have for the realities of supporting myself. And, just as important, at a certain point treating this work as a regular business (profit and loss) helps ramp up your energy and fine-tune the work itself (and I’ve long since reached that point).
But things changed with the Hindenburg dead. When they showed up, I knew my life was forever changed. It was as if I’d been preparing for this, and I was ready for it.
The Hindenburg Dead in My Living Room
It was early morning on Friday, June 7. I was preparing medications and breakfast for my sick dog, Alki, and breakfast for me and Grace the Cat. I was listening to the Weather Channel’s report on Tropical Storm Andrea (the pro bono work I do mostly involves working with land and weather systems, so following hurricanes is necessary).
I was only vaguely listening to the TV in the background. I heard them announce a promo for an upcoming show on weather-related disasters, and then they switched to interview someone on the crash of the Hindenburg and the weather that day.
I was appalled to hear it described as a “flying bomb,” because of the hydrogen fuel. The Hindenburg crash was a terrible accident: they simply didn’t understand what they were doing, and bad weather and static charges also figured in.
When I heard that I felt a huge wave of compassion rush through me: compassion for the engineers who didn’t get it until it was too late, compassion for the dead who must have been terrified and who died stupid deaths, compassion for those left to grieve.
I think it was the wave of compassion that triggered the sudden appearance of the Hindenburg dead in my living room. Suddenly the room filled up with angry, shouting people who were clearly reacting to the news story.
“They killed us!” “A flying bomb?” “He did it!” There were so many voices saying so many different things that I was momentarily paralyzed by the shock of their sudden appearance and the vocal mayhem.
I held up my hand and yelled, “Stop! Everyone be quiet!”
In the sudden silence I spoke to them (I don’t often see the dead who show up, and I didn’t see these, but I could feel a lot of them in the room and their feelings).
“They didn’t understand it was a flying bomb,” I told them. “I am so sorry for you, it was a terrible accident, I am so sorry for you. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, no one did it on purpose.”
Already tired, and knowing I had a busy schedule that day, I decided to call a student and friend whose regular assignment is to sit with her guide and help the dead he brings to her move on.
When we were on the phone, our guides and my partner, Fallon, joined us. I repeated what I had already said. There was one dead person cowering in the corner, off by himself, clearly being ostracized by the rest.
I sensed a spokesman, a group leader. “Is there a Henry here? Could Henry step up and speak for the group?”
A man stepped forward and looked at me.
“I’m sorry that you all died so horribly,” I said. “Do you know how long ago that was? We’re talking to you from the 21st century. It’s 2013 now.”
They went silent. My friend could see the shock on their faces, and I could feel it, like an electric shock.
“That man in the corner. He didn’t do it,” I told the Hindenburg dead. “It wasn’t sabotage. He was innocent. It was an accident. They didn’t know hydrogen would explode like that.” I paused. “Believe me. It’s true.”
My friend chimed in, saying she thought there were about 30 people there.
“I’m sorry for all of you,” I said to the ghost leader. “But the Hindenburg crashed in the 1930s. There’s no one left in your families, unless they were very young. They’ve all died and moved on. We can help you move on.”
They processed that as I went on. “That man in the corner, he is innocent. He didn’t sabotage the Hindenburg. It was an accident.” They looked at him as I addressed him. “You can come and join the group, right, Henry, can he join the group?”
They hesitated and agreed, and the man who was hanging back stepped forward.
My friend and I then introduced our guides and Fallon (Fallon always amazes the dead, and clearly makes working with them easier, I think by somehow gathering trust, or, perhaps, authority). We also pointed out my dad, standing in the doorway to his Way Station, which is a cabin in the woods near a green meadow.
“That man is my father,” I told the group. “He has a place where you can rest up, until you’re ready to move on. Look, some people are gathering, your family members.”
Indeed, my friend could see people gathering behind dad.
In short order, the Hindenburg dead moved on, and Fallon sealed the doorway (I call it the Doorway between Dimensions because that sounds cool, but somehow Fallon can make sure that portals or openings between different dimensions, including between the dead who haven’t moved on and those who have, is safely sealed when we’re done).
When they were gone my friend and I talked. I pulled up an article on the Internet, found that the Hindenburg had crashed on May 6, 1937, and that 35 passengers and crew died, plus one ground crew. My friend was pretty close in her count of ‘about 30.’ We were moving fast: sometimes we actually get the names of the dead and the dates they died, but our intent here was to move them as quickly as possible. We were in shock, and the dead had waited long enough.
What I Learned
I believe this is what caused the sudden appearance of the dead from the Hindenburg in my living room.
- The dead know that there are people who can see them and who can help them move on. That’s what brought them to me (and to others who can see them and are willing to help).
- The wave of compassion I felt for them—nothing more or less than unconditional love for those who died horribly and stupidly—created an instant opening for them.
- My partner, Fallon, is able and ready to react quickly to these sudden events and has the rare dimensional energy to facilitate them.
Some other thoughts.
- It never occurred to me that the dead from mass tragedies would not have moved on. It makes sense, though. Individuals don’t move on that easily, and groups would be confused.
- The dead from events like the Hindenburg crash died suddenly and horrifically, and had no time to process it. Their shock when I told them that it was now 2013 makes me wonder if they aren’t stuck in the experience of the event as well (in my experience, most of the dead are shocked to find out the year I am talking to them from, which is why I think this). They clearly had no idea that years had gone by. They weren’t still living the exact event. They clearly knew they had died. But time as a linear experience for them simply ended, or somehow stretched. (Many people speculate on time not being linear to begin with, but that’s a topic for another day.)
- The dead from 9/11 moved on immediately, from the stories I’ve heard. Many people today are aware of the process and the trauma, and there were many living people who reached out to help the angels and guides who came for the dead that day.
- People have asked me: “I wonder how many times that has happened?” Meaning, how many times has someone helped the Hindenburg dead to move on (I hate the term ‘cross over,’ we need another less charged term to describe what really happens and not the mystical woo-woo associations of current terminology). Okay, the answer to that is: I don’t think anyone ever helped the Hindenburg dead to move on. In my experience, once the dead move on they are moved on and can’t go back to that in-between state. Even my dad who is clearly aware he is dead and has clearly wanted to come and comfort me, as in when my soul mate died in 2012, can’t come back from there. It just isn’t possible. We can talk, but they can’t leave their dimension. And we can’t go there until we die (I know that from personal experience, too, attempting to help a dog move on and getting knocked off the ‘bridge’ between dimensions by a guide).
- The dead from past events appear to have no one to speak for them. Back in the 1930s perhaps there weren’t people who thought of helping the dead: religion still doesn’t do that at all (but, then, religion doesn’t do anything but guilt).
- Since I so vividly became aware of the dead at mass tragedies, I am thinking of a way to gather other intuitives to focus on these events together to help in the transition. It will be a huge energy drain and be safer in a group. Physically. Emotionally. Intuitively. Every way.
So Now What?
I think my guides told me that I shouldn’t work with the random dead who show up without money because I need to earn a living, true, but also because I was getting ready, on a soul level, to work with the mass dead from past tragedies.
Because when the Hindenburg dead showed up, it felt, oddly, right. That this was work I can do: I am compassionate, level-headed, quick-thinking.
But for right now I am stunned. A bit daunted. And, somehow, ready.
Anybody else out there want to help?
© 2013 Robyn M Fritz
We can always talk about the last thing we ever thought we’d do. This is only one of mine. At the same time, it’s one of the things I’m accidentally most proud of. I say accidentally because I never thought I’d talk to anyone who was dead, let alone my father. These days people hire me and my partner, Fallon, the Citrine Lemurian Quartz, to talk with deceased animals and people, from helping them to move on to the other side when they’ve died or to come back and talk. You can check it out in this video.
What if you had an amazing ability, you stepped up and learned how to use it, and one day it all came together in a perfect moment? I saw that happen yesterday with a friend who is also one of my intuitive students.
When people come to meet me and Fallon, they want to know what he is. Fair enough.
Being out in the world with a crystal ball is fascinating. My partner, Fallon, is a Citrine Lemurian Quartz, a rare planetary and dimensional energy. 
