Dr. Betsie Poinsett, Bennett's Mom, came into my experience through her outstanding book "Mothers Who Cry in the Night," which was written after Bennett's untimely passing at age 21.  Betsie is a Shamanic Hypnotherapist, living in Georgia. In the years following her own loss, she enjoyed a powerful resurgence of life and purpose for assisting people going through life's transitions---using counseling, hypnotherapy, and soul renewal techniques. She has a space on her property where folks come and take personal retreats---experiencing soul-renewal sessions and getting in deeper touch with themselves through nature, just as Bennett did when he was here in 3D. Since his passing, Bennett and Betsie have had many personal encounters---where he demonstrates clearly for her that he is still around, still caring, and still involved deeply with humankind as we progress. In her book, Dr. Betsie describes many instances where Bennett's energy literally dragged her to specific persons (some of them personal friends of his when he was here)....so she could be of assistance to them concerning some problem they were having. Their connection is, by no means, severed!  It has simply changed form, just like Bennett himself!  ♥♥♥

The Dragonfly Collection: Songs and Poems by Bennett E. Poinsett
(click here for more info)

Bennett's personal symbol is the dragonfly. It was a Life Totem for him when he was in physical form, and it remains a symbol of his continued presence now. The very first "contact" Dr. Betsie had with his spirit after death involved the appearance of dragonflies over the Lake outside her home. I have included a special posting, courtesy of his mother, which describes this first after-death encounter with her son. Betsie has compiled a series of Bennett's Songs and Poems into "The Dragonfly Collection," which is available on her web site, along with her best-selling book. For those who will allow it, Bennett is often willing to reach out through his songs and words to uplift, encourage, and rejuvenate the soul!  It reminds me of a poem by Walt Whitman, written just before his own passing. My favorite passage goes like this: 

Camerado, this is no book,
Who touches this touches a man,
(Is it night? are we here together alone?)
It is I you hold and who holds you,
I spring from the pages into your arms--decease calls me forth.
O how your fingers drowse me,
Your breath falls around me like dew,
your pulse lulls the tympans of my ears,
I feel immerged from head to foot,
Delicious, enough."

Dear friend whoever you are, take this kiss,
I give it especially to you, do not forget me,
I feel like one who has done work for the day to retire awhile,
I receive now again of my many translations, from my avataras
ascending, while others doubtless await me,
An unknown sphere more real than I dream'd, more direct, darts
awakening rays about me, So long!
Remember my words, I may again return,
I love you, I depart from materials,
I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead."

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