Yes, I’ve had conversations with ‘dead’ people from time to time. I certainly don’t seek them out, but there are times they need to share information, and the fact that we are currently on opposite sides of the veil doesn’t seem to matter much in my case. I’ve never heard from OZ before, though, so the fact that he’s now keen to chat is rather intriguing.
I call him OZ because those were his initials. In life (well, his most recent one) we didn’t see much of each other, despite the fact that he was my paternal grandfather. He is a shadowy figure in my memory. I have one clear image of him bending down, laughing and holding out his arms to welcome me into his home as a very small child. I hear a soft, gentle voice with a mid-European accent. I have old black and white photos of him cradling an infant me in his arms or standing proudly in family photos. I have his writing desk and a much-loved pastel portrait of him as a young man, which hangs in my living room, but that’s about it.
His origins were shadowy, too. He was a barber-surgeon (amongst the tools of his trade was an amputation saw, which my ex-husband now uses for joinery!) and as far as I know, he grew up in Bohemia, or modern day Czechia/Czech Republic in a small mountain town very close to the German border. As a young man, he emigrated to London and married a policeman’s daughter.
When I was a child we visited his home often enough, but my brother and I were always left outside in the car, as apparently OZ was too ill to cope with children. I often wondered whether he wanted to see us as much as I wanted to see him. The snippets of his life I managed to pick up fascinated me. I heard how he’d take my dad and his brothers foraging in Epping Forest, always knowing which mushrooms were safe and delicious. I learned from Dad his way of using hands-on healing to cure migraines. In fact, I learned so well, that I was one of the few people Dad would trust to touch him when he was suffering from one. Apparently I ‘had the touch’.
My mother once told me of a strange healing machine she’d seen OZ use. She said he would turn lots of dials and knobs on some electrical contraption and could even cure people at a distance.
Oz died when I was 8 or 9. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral.
I’ve always felt we’d have got along well. Like him, I’m the family weirdo – a bit of an embarassment to the rest with my interests in all things numinous and metaphysical. Maybe they kept us apart for a reason…
So anyway, last week I received an email from a friend who is deeply interested in diet and its effects on the body at all levels. One phrase in the email stuck in my mind: “It’s all electric – PH.” I thought I’d written back, asking for clarification, but apparently the message wasn’t sent.
A few days later I was listening to an hour-long video talk from an American sound healer. It was basically a sales pitch for an upcoming course she’ll be running; the usual stuff, with long, rambling introduction and minimal amounts about the modality itself, because she wants you to buy into the course. There were nuggets of information in there, though. She was talking about subtly altering the resonance of the electrical field around the body. “It’s all electrical,” she said, pointing out that we even use electricity to jump-start a body after a heart attack.
‘So THAT explains the tingling/fizzing I get in my hands when I practice distant or hands-on healing,’ I thought to myself.
I don’t use a tuning fork or Reiki symbols. I just feel into that elecrical field and let the fizzing pour into it from my hands until it feels right. Sometimes it feels too ‘acid’. Sometimes it’s very weak. I don’t do much. I just let it flow until things feel like they’ve stabilised.
Recently my daughter, who is a relaxation and massage therapist, has found that many of her clients ask if she’s doing Reiki on them, because the energy she sends out through her hands feels therapeutic. I laughed when she told me and said she must have inherited her great-grandfather’s healing hands.
Well it seems I was right. Just as I’d had that mental jolt of the phrase ‘It’s all electric’ being given to me twice in a week and had that thought that it connected to the healing my daughter and I can do, I found my head moving until I was eyeball-to-eyeball with OZ’s portrait on my wall. He was looking at me. He was saying into my head, “Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly how it works.”
The next day, he gave me the name of his mysterious healing method with the machine: radionics.
I checked it out. No idea how the machine itself works, but the concept and methodology sound ridiculously familiar. The UK association offers two-day courses explaining the basics of radionics. But, warned the site, you can’t attend unless you are an experienced dowser. Well that won’t be a problem! I’m off to book myself a place on the next course, and I can be sure OZ will be there with me.