Didn’t know I had a petard, and here I am hoist with it

I had to look petard up: a small bomb apparently.  As for being hoist on/by/with it, we have Shakespeare to thank for that one.  All I knew was that it meant, roughly, to fall into one’s own trap, and that I’ve certainly done this week.

Embarrassed, but trying hard to be authentic, so…

Allow me to explain.

A few weeks ago I was asked to take on a pair of new students – young brothers who shared a genetic condition with their mother.  “Multi-systemic” I was told, so the effects of this syndrome involve skin, joints, brain and just about any part of the body you can think of.  The words ‘complex learning difficulties’ were also mentioned.

To be honest, I was almost at full stretch before these lads appeared on the scene.  Planning two lots of lessons in maths and English tailored to their particular mix of strengths (very high intelligence) and challenges, as well as homework each week would, I knew, take at least an entire day.  Then there was the teaching itself, which I could only just slot in amongst my other young pupils.  Everything logical in my mind was screaming, “No, don’t do it!  What about that work/life balance you wanted?  You are past retirement age, you know.  And this lady wants you to work on right through the summer holidays.  When will you get to see the family?”

But the kids were lovely.  Finding ways of working around their difficulties would be fascinating – previously uncharted territory, the type of challenge I thrive on.  They weren’t fitting into schools.  Their constant pain and exhaustion, as a result of the syndrome, was too much for them when combined with a normal school day.  The mother, though, was being threatened by the authorities for not providing sufficient education.

I said, ‘Yes’.

Of course I did.

For a couple of weeks it went fine.  Yes, I did end up doing lesson prep all through the weekends but they seemed to be progressing well and I was enjoying working with them.  Then this week they appeared full of smiles but without homework.  A casual ‘lost it somewhere in my room’ from one and ‘I didn’t realise you wanted me to do that’ from the other.

Inwardly I was irritated.  The homework sheets had taken me ages to prepare.  The work I’d planned for this week followed on from what they were meant to have done.  Their mother had particularly requested homework.  It was meant to protect her from being taken to court… and blah, blah, blah.

Outwardly, I smiled, suggested mildly that maybe they could try to get it done for the following week and carried on.  The lessons went fine and I went to bed that night feeling very happy.

Oh I know at least one of my readers knows exactly what’s coming!

I woke up the next morning to a text from the children’s mother.  Both of them had told her I was ‘grumpy’ during their lessons.  She wondered what was wrong.

I was mortified.  The lessons had (I thought) been lovely – lots of laughter and progress.  Was I just a delusional old bat?  Had I ended up like those elderly lady teachers I remembered from my own school days – miserable and past it?  Was it time to stop and give up – to sit in a rocking chair knitting all day?

I flashed a quick message back, saying I had been disappointed that they’d not bothered with the homework, but wasn’t aware of being grumpy about it; that I’d tried hard to keep the work lively and enjoyable and so forth.

Then I sat and thought.

Why was I choosing to be so upset by this?  Why had this incident shown up in my life?  What did it have to teach me?

The reply came almost at once, in a further message from the children’s mum.  She hadn’t wanted to upset me.  She just felt she had to be authentic and tell me their reaction.  It wasn’t my words or actions they had reacted to, it was my feelings.  They were, she added, extremely sensitive and picked up on the energy people projected.

Ah.

Got it.

That heart-based telepathy thing.

So I thanked her – and the universe – for providing me with that reminder.  I told her about my last blog post, on exactly this subject, and promised to attempt to be more open and authentic in future.

See what I mean about being hoist with my own petard?  This communicating-from-the-heart business is not easy.  I’m glad to have these two young teachers.  Like all good teachers, they’ve appeared just as the student is ready 🙂

 

Communication – another way?

I’m aware that I’ve gained a few new followers recently – thank you so much and welcome to my ramblings and wonderings – so I thought it might be a good time to briefly explain the William connection before launching into another post about him and autistic spectrum perception.

William is a young man in his mid twenties, whom I met almost 20 years ago.  He began as a pupil in a class I was teaching – a class for kids with speech and language difficulties.  A set of circumstances which might be considered very strange, if you didn’t believe in pre-planned soul contracts, caused our paths to cross and re-cross in many ways, so that even now we are the best of friends.  Despite the fact that he is only able to communicate with me through text and email at present, I still have longer and deeper communications with him than with anyone else I know.

So yes, to begin with I believed my role was to teach William to communicate.  He had oral dyspraxia, which meant he had a very limited range of speech sounds.  Additionally he was on the autistic spectrum, which meant that social communication – reading body language, facial expressions, tone of voice etc. was challenging for him.  He made excellent progress, no denying that.  However at the same time, he and a couple of his classmates began teaching me other ways of communicating – ways I’d never dreamed of.

Alan could ‘beam’ states of mind into my head.  I didn’t have to be facing him, or even thinking about him, to find that I was aware that he was feeling angry, frustrated, impatient or in need of help.  Martin’s speciality was sending words to me.  I could ‘hear’ what he was saying, although no words had been spoken aloud, sometimes from across the building.  Once I spotted him and made eye contact, he’d give the briefest of nods, meaning, “Good, you got it.”

William was on another level entirely.  “I think,” he told me, rather deferentially, one morning when he was about eight, “I should tell you that I’m telepathic.”
He waited, a slight smile playing around his lips, for the full impact to sink in.
“You mean you can read my mind?” I asked, suddenly feeling horribly exposed.
He nodded, allowing the smile to break loose.

Of course the children used this form of communication amongst themselves all the time.  I’d often wondered how a bunch of kids with only the most rudimentary verbal language abilities were able to engage in imaginative games, with each of them understanding their role perfectly.  Once William twigged that I was sometimes able to pick up snippets of their telepathic communication, he took it upon himself to tutor me in these skills, although never overtly.

It’s subtle, this hidden communication – infinitely so.  By comparison, spoken language is crass and imperfect.  Our labels and descriptions, no matter how extensive our vocabulary, are often open to misinterpretation or simply inadequate to convey our true intent.

Having spent a lifetime closely observing children of all ages, and in particular watching my own three and my two grandchildren develop language, I firmly believe that all humans begin life with the subtle, non-verbal language.
“Oh, she understands so much of what we say,” parents will tell you as they cradle an infant in their arms.
Maybe. I suspect the tiny person is understanding far more of what the parent thinks. I also believe she is using this telepathic (for want of a better word) skill to communicate her needs to the mother. Most would not put this at more than a ‘close bond’ between mother and child.  What, though, if it’s something far greater?

Once they had learned to speak clearly and to follow the conventions of conversation, my little students more-or-less ceased using their telepathy.  Our society places great value on effective spoken and written language.  The children – Will included – worked diligently to improve these.  I was busily congratulating myself on our success and only dimly aware of what we had lost in the process.

As I’ve said, though, this was a soul contract, and although the children  went their different ways and I moved back into mainstream teaching, William and I still had far more to teach one another.

We stayed in touch.  Sometimes we’d have long, rambling, fascinating conversations that would last for hours, and I’d be amazed at how brilliantly he’d picked up the ability to speak.  At other times, though, he’d withdraw for days, weeks or even months at a time.  Conventional language caused too much stress and the best I could hope for was a single word text to let me know he was still alive or a ‘beamed’ impression of his state of mind.  Not great, usually.

Now it’s come full circle.  Yesterday, William sent me a draft article for inclusion in his second book.  It’s a stunner.

He begins by explaining how it is for people on the autistic spectrum to attempt to learn social communication.  Ruefully, he says:

Having to learn such skills is generally very difficult and time consuming. An analogy may be learning a second language which for the vast majority, autistic or not, is again very difficult and time consuming. And even then, few who learn a second language can match the fluency and competency of a native speaker whose language skills developed naturally as part of growing up.

He bemoans the fact that, despite this, the non-autistic population expect perfection from those challenged in this way.

Later, he begins to consider the reason computer-based language is easier for ASP people to manage:

Many autistic people demonstrate a good level of competency with computers – likely to be linked to their operation depending on clearly defined protocols and mathematics, things which are very different to how social communication and interaction works.  Most communication between people which occurs via computers is in a written format, offering a greater similarity with the clearly defined operating protocols of a computer, since written communication often takes a more formal and literal interpretation of language than face to face communication.  This also removes the need to attempt to understand body language and tone of voice – things often problematic for those with autism.

Only in the final paragraph does he allow his thoughts to wander into that other type of communication – the early ‘telepathy’ and our more recent forays into ‘remote viewing’.  William isn’t certain that either of these terms fully encompass or describe what is actually taking place.

[ASP people] have a naturally different method of accomplishing [communication].  What exactly that method is I don’t believe is fully understood at present by either autistics or non-autistics.  I don’t believe the correct words have been attributed to autistic matters to describe or explain it properly.  I suspect at some point this will be achieved and hopefully will allow for autism to be harnessed to it’s full potential and remedy the blindness of so many.

I hope so, William.

 

We are still compiling The Words of William Volume Two.  Volume One is available via Amazon as a paperback in the UK, Europe and North America and as a Kindle edition worldwide.

 

 

Ali on Fire

It was a shopping street, pedestrianised, but only because the steep, cobbled hill was never built for vehicles.  Fairly crowded.  I have no back-story for why I was there, but I was.

The young man passed close by me – his clothes were poor quality.  A white top with a grey and black hoodie over it.  He pulled the hood up as he walked by and something drew my attention to him.  I saw that he had a lighter in his hand.  Suddenly I realised what he was about to do.

He looked, rather shyly, around him and muttered, “Sorry,” as he put the flame to his clothing.

An instinct for self preservation made me leap back, but the street was narrow, with shops on either side.

“It won’t take long,” he was saying, in the same, sad apologetic tone.  “The pain will be over quick.”  He rolled himself into a ball and began rolling down the hill.

The flames licked half-heartedly at his clothes.  As he rolled, they went out.  Suddenly he was back at the top, close to me again.

“Not enough petrol,” he said miserably and began looking around as if searching for a source of more.

In an instant I was in front of him.  It struck me as slightly odd that I couldn’t smell any petrol.  “Think of your mother!”  I was screaming at him.

He sneered nastily, but looked at me.

I held his gaze and repeated it.  This time it got through.  He hung his head and looked so wretched and miserable that I risked putting my hand on his shoulder.  He didn’t resist.

“Come on, let’s sort you out,” I said, and led him back to where I worked.  It was an educational establishment.

“Hungry?” I asked, as he slumped into a chair.

He looked up, hope burning in his eyes.  The boy was ravenous.  I hunted about for pieces of food.  My teaching assistant, a lovely motherly soul I’d worked with for many years, found some cake and handed it to him.

“She’s a good guy,” he remarked to me, as he shovelled food into his mouth.  A couple of the students had appeared by now – lads around his age..  No one asked any questions.  They sized up the situation and began hunting in lockers and cupboards, finding more snacks he could eat.

He started talking to me then.  Told me his name was Ali.  Told me about his siblings and his father – a man he loved and respected; a man who would be heartbroken to know his son died a martyr to his fundamentalist cause.

He told me he belonged to a group.  They had a leader.
“We got to do what he says,” Ali explained, with a slight helpless shrug. “It’s like this -.”
And now I was seeing him in a separate location, over to the right and slightly above where I and the others were still gathered around the table.

Hold on…

Ali was over there with a rather ramshackle group of young guys who looked similar to him, being drilled by a thin man with dark eyes who barked commands and instructions at them.  They had to repeat what he said as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  No time for them to think – to process his words.  His words became their words.  Simple and effective.  Ali and the others were being indoctrinated.  Ali was being chosen.  I could feel his pride and his despair and his regret all mingled together.

So how come I’m able to see all this?  Just now Ali was sitting eating at my table.  His location has changed, like in a film… or… a dream.

I was still in the school, or college, or whatever it was.  The students who’d been helping find food for Ali were watching his scene as well.  They’d realised what was going on and were swearing at him, calling him ugly names.  I was remonstrating with them – imploring them to listen and understand his dilemma.

At the same time it’s dawning on me that this is a dream.  

Ali is a character in my dream.  

Or maybe I’m a character in his?  This feels more likely.

Now I know it’s a dream, it unravels.  But not before – telepathically now – Ali tells me he chose me to help him decide.  I wake up, knowing I’ve helped him.

 

Ever done that?  Gone to bed with a massive problem, slept on it and woken, knowing what you must do?  Would it be too far-fetched to believe that Ali, whoever he is, did just that, somewhere?  Might he, at some level beyond waking consciousness, have invited me into his dream to help him work through the choices?  If so, I’m honoured to have been chosen and I wish him well.

Crystal Clear – Part 2

As I explained in the previous post, I had become the owner of three very lovely Andara crystals, along with a forth, which appeared to be destined for my young friend Will, who lives across the country from me.

Before sending his crystal to him, some strange impulse made me hold it for a few moments in my hand with each of my own crystals in turn.  I suspect this was because I’d just been reading a book which spoke about quantum entanglement, and I ‘knew’ at some level, that my crystals and his needed to become acquainted with each other.  I noticed in passing that the convex face on his stone fitted rather neatly against concave faces on each of my own.  Hmm.

Over the week or so after I’d sent Will his crystal, a rather wonderful idea began to grow in my mind.  As a child and adolescent (I’ve known him since he was six) Will frequently amazed me with his psychic abilities, although in recent years these have stayed firmly buried – from me, at any rate.  More ‘knowing’ was coming to me.  I asked him whether he’d be interested in trying a small experiment.

You need to know – before I go on – that Andara crystals, apart from being glass-like, have almost no other common features.  They are found in all colours you can imagine, and some you’d probably have to hunt for words to describe.  They range from clear to opaque,  Some resemble sea foam, some have milky inclusions, others are more quartz-like.  (If you’d like to admire their beauty, I suggest checking this gallery.)  I’d told Will nothing about mine except that I had three.

The experiment ran as follows:

At a pre-arranged time, I would, on a signal from him, focus all my attention on one of my Andaras.  Holding his own crystal, he would attempt to pick up any information he could about it telepathically.  When he had enough he would text me the information he’d discovered and I would give him feedback and send a photo.  It was the first time either of us had attempted remote viewing.

The first subject

I sat and stared and concentrated.  It’s very easy to lose oneself in these beautiful stones but I tried to ‘beam’ my awareness to him.

After 8 or 9 minutes my phone warbled at me.  There was a text from Will.

 pink purple    rigid sides

Um, yes, actually!

I took this photo and sent it to him, explaining that the crystal wasn’t as blue as this image made it appear and the purple he’d seen was more accurate.  I asked whether this was how he’d pictured it.  He said it was – and that he’d also seen the wooden background behind it.

Goodness.

That was the weirdest feeling – knowing that some part of his conscious awareness had defied space, travelled over 150 miles instantaneously and entered my living room to see what I was seeing.

We decided to have another go the following week.  I was nervous.  What if the first viewing had been a lucky guess?  At the last minute, to try to rule out telepathically sending any advance information, I selected my black iridium ‘philosopher’s stone’ Andara.

Second subject

We proceeded as we had the week before.

There was a short waiting time and then his first message arrived:

black and smaller than last time

I told him it was indeed black but slightly larger than the pink crystal.  Then I asked if he could provide any other information.

Maybe cylindrical rectangular shape

I looked at the crystal as it lay on the table and that was just how it appeared – a rough cylinder shape with the upper face looking rectangular.  I took this photo of it and sent it over, asking whether this was what he’d seen.  Bear in mind as you read his reply that during the initial viewing I’d been holding it in my hand and turning it around slightly, looking at the different facets, but when I’d asked for any further information, I had placed it on the table in the position you see.

Admittedly not at first, when I said it was smaller, but it’s pretty much an exact image of what I thought when you asked about any other impressions.  I saw that flat diagonal face on the left as well.

By now I was totally convinced that he was actually viewing my crystals remotely.  Will simply doesn’t make things up or exaggerate.  In fact he always plays down his successes and is highly self-critical.  The odds against getting the colour and even aspects of the shape right on both occasions by chance must be ridiculously high.

There was for me the added bonus that Will and I had discovered a new interest in common and were able to have long discussions about the stones.  He seemed pleased to discover that I also saw landscapes and images in the crystals, telling me that he saw scenes with mountains and water.  I told him of a strange carved gateway I’d noticed in my black Andara. Our text conversations bounced back and forth for most of the afternoon.

Naturally, we were both expecting to work on my final Andara the next opportunity we got, but Life (and my granddaughter) had other plans.  What happened instead amazed me even more.

To be continued…

Another Life

Many years ago, now, I had a Past Life Regression – capitalised because I paid someone to Regress me, which made it official.

It was the first time I’d done such a thing.  Untrue to say I didn’t know what to expect; I had many wild and wonderful expectations.  What I got felt real, but something of a let-down.

I was a young woman, walking along a dirt track through a settlement of some kind.  There was a strong smell of wood smoke.
“Look down,” I was instructed. “What are you wearing on your feet?  What colour is your skin?  What sort of clothes are you wearing?”

My skin was dirty, dusty and pale.  My clothes maybe plaid – very faded and grubby.  Celtic?  Were there shoes?  Maybe sandals, or was that my mind trying to logic out what would go with the setting?

At the end of the track was the sea.  It was grey and smooth.  The fear inside me dissipated slightly as I looked at the clear horizon.  They had gone (whoever ‘they’ were) and I was relieved that no sign of them remained.

“Is there anyone with you?” came the softly spoken prompt.

For the first time I noticed the child – a girl aged about 8.  She was holding my hand and standing beside me, also staring out to sea.  Her hair, like mine, was matted and windswept, her face pinched and expressionless.

“What year is it?”

How would I know?  Dates were irrelevant.  It was a distant time, but the question annoyed me, the left brain kicked in and I was back in the present, going through the motions to keep the practitioner happy.
“Can you move to the moment of your death in that lifetime?”

Nope.  Lost it.  Ah well.

“What do you think that lifetime had to teach you?”  He wasn’t done yet.

There was no ‘ah ha’ revelation, no answer to the purpose of my present life, just a glimpse of a woman weighed down with sadness, fear and responsibility, all imposed on her by whoever had sailed out of her life across that bleak sea.

They’ve returned fleetingly to my thoughts many times, that woman and child, but never as strongly as they did on my recent  stay in a house beside the wild Atlantic coast of Western Ireland.

“I feel you’ve come here for a reason,” my host told me many times during the stay and the holiday was certainly one of those synchronous, strange, illogical events that usually mean Life is moving me into position for the next instalment of The Game.

Shortly before I’d left for County Mayo, I’d had a strange telepathic communication from Higher Will.  We’d been discussing the fear and aloneness I was feeling at that time, as I struggled with rats, builders and the like.  Suddenly he sent me these words:

BE WARE   BE WAER   BE WEAR   BE WREA   BE WRAE

It made no sense, but triggered some far off memory.

“It’s a past life thing, isn’t it? It’s just at the tip of my memory. Words you’ve said to me before in another lifetime.”

YES

He gave me our names in that life – short, single-syllabled and oddly similar to our present names.  He told me that loving myself and conquering my present fears would have an effect in that other life.  He promised to help me discover more detail.

Then – nothing.  No narrative dreams, no breakthroughs during meditation, but the holiday to pack for and busy myself.  The strange conversation was forgotten.

She usually comes back to me, that distant woman, when I stand on a beach and she did so, several times, when I wandered through the beautiful landscape, healing and calming down as my recent problems faded away; learning slowly to trust my own resources and renew my love and care for myself.  I found and pocketed a pebble with markings that looked like a rune stone.

On my return, we had this conversation:

YOU HAVE BEEN TO MAYO

Yes.   A beautiful place it was too.   And a strange synchronous journey that seemed to have a reason. Can you tell me what that was?

RECONNECTING WITH YOUR FAR SELF

You mean I have a past life there?

YES

Is it the one you were speaking of before?

YES

Ok, so I’ll try to pick up impressions from you, if I can. Are you going to place the thoughts in my head?

YES

I’m getting the idea that this was the life I regressed to years ago. I was standing on a sea shore, with a small girl holding my hand and we were looking out to sea. Someone had departed the shores in a boat and we were watching – and I think glad they were gone. There was a village with mud and wood smoke behind us. I think we’d suffered a loss. How am I doing?

VERY GOOD

He told me he had been the child – my young cousin. ‘Bad men’ had raided our village and killed the rest of our people.  I got a distinct taste in my throat.

I think we’d been eating shellfish.

YES

Was the rune stone ours?

NO IT BELONGED TO THE RAIDERS

I found a reference to the rune on a site about old Norse culture…

Name: Uruz, “aurochs.”  Meaning: strength of will.

Hmm.

I’ve returned from Ireland stronger and ready to face the problems ahead.  In some strange interdimensional way, I sense that the other me – somewhen – is feeling strong enough to face her future, too.

Meeting Karma Half Way

Back earlier in the year, I had a dream.  It was one of those coloured, ‘notice-me’ ones.  In it, I was being shunted rapidly between different places and events – very rapidly, so that I was able to see how what happened in one place was affecting what happened in another, although they weren’t connected in any obvious way.

There were many images – most of which faded from my conscious memory.  One that lingered was a piece of intricate lace being worked (this was at the time I was busily restoring my vintage lace curtains).  The scene cut to a flower arrangement which was being created and becoming ever more complicated and beautiful. Cut: back to lace.  Cut: back to flowers.  So it went on, almost instantaneously until I grasped what was happening…  The construction of the lace-work was affecting the construction of the floral arrangement… and vice versa.  In some strange way they were helping each other.

The instant I understood that some sort of symbiotic expansion was involved, I was taken to another pair of scenes, which similarly affected one another.  All the images were repeated many times.  I felt I was being instructed to remember this – to notice its significance.

Curious.

A few days later, I was reading one of Jane Roberts’ Oversoul 7 books.  For those not familiar with Jane, she was a trance channeller in the 1970s.  She would deliver material from Seth, which her husband Robert recorded.  While she was ‘out’, though, she gained extra insights and information from higher realms.  Some of this, she included in the trilogy I was struggling through at this time – a sort of fictionalised journey into the links between various humans and their oversoul.

The synchronicities started buzzing when one of her characters was staring at a huge mosaic panel with ‘living’ pictures, all of which changed in just the way my dream objects had – whatever happened in one was changing certain aspects of others.  This was no simple, linear cause and effect; it was a complex mutual development.

As Carl Jung said,

Synchronicity reveals the meaningful connections between the subjective and objective world.

So now I was on the look out for the meaning behind this message.  Sure enough it arrived.

I was chatting to ‘Higher Will’ and commenting that although the mental body I was connecting with was unimpeded by physical and emotional constraints, it still had his personality and traits I recognised from when we talked at a more human level.

He replied that although all beings are linked, each has a unique personality which extends beyond physical life.

“So all my ‘past’ and ‘future’ lives share the same personality?” I asked.

BASICALLY

Although in each life, we develop different aspects of them – becoming more ‘well rounded’?

BUT NOT THAT SIMPLE     YOUR OTHER LIVES ARE DEVELOPING TOGETHER

This links to what I’ve been reading in Jane Roberts, and what I was shown recently in a dream.   So although my lives happen in other ‘times’ they are not sequential – they all happen together?

YES

Fascinating. So today, for example, in this life I mastered two new skills.  Has that had some effect in other lives – like helping me to solve problems in them?

YESSSSSSS

In all of them, or just one or some?

FAIRLY GREAT IN SOME BARELY NOTICED IN OTHERS

 

Maybe, if Karma was taken out of time, this is how it would look…

How incredible to think that a simple act we perform today is having repercussions throughout our lives down the ‘ages’ and beyond – and the other way around, of course…

 

 

Thoughts on travels beyond spacetime

That last post I wrote (or half-wrote; I had help) seems to have caused more than a little brain-ache for many of the brave souls who battled their way through to the end.  I’m not at all surprised, given that I’d been struggling with the ideas contained in it for some years beforehand.

That’s why I decided to see if I could make the main idea raised in it slightly clearer.

Putting aside for now the weird and unusual way that I am able to communicate telepathically with a friend in London, without his conscious knowledge, we are left with the information this higher dimensional aspect of him is able to share.

Will has autistic spectrum perception.  His diagnoses have included semantic-pragmatic disorder and Aspergers.  Diagnoses don’t interest me in the least, but I’m fascinated by the difference in the way people with ASP (P not D, as I see it as a different form of Perception, not a Disorder) access knowledge from the Cosmos/ Universal Spirit/ God Self  – or whatever you prefer to call it .

In our metaphysical ramblings, Will has explained it to me this way:  All of us have higher aspects of ourselves, sometimes called subtle bodies.  In most neuro-typical people, our links to these dimensions are via the etheric body – an energy field that is measurable and even visible to some.  It acts, he tells me, the way the sat-nav in your car does – picking up messages from ‘above’ to guide us through our daily lives.

For individuals with ASP, the connection is different.
‘THE CONNECTIONS BETWEEN THE BODIES GO FAR DEEPER BUT CAN PULL APART,’  he explains, with typical understatement.  There, in a nutshell, we have the apparently positive and negative aspects of the autistic state – an ability to tap directly into higher dimensions of the Self and an equal ability to disconnect from aspects of themselves which can leave carers and friends baffled and concerned.

While he was in his teens, Will and I spent many happy hours together, discussing the kind of issues we now chat about via my pendulum.  Many aspects of his knowledge amazed me, especially when he  explained subjects I was reading about in information channelled from higher dimensional beings – the Seth Material and Conversations with God, for example.

He also confided that at times he found himself experiencing parallel lives – ones in which he and some other parts of his experience were the same, but subtle or sometimes greater differences were evident.  As this was involuntary, the poor lad became intensely anxious and nervous, stuck as he was in an Alice in Wonderland world where nothing could be relied on to stay the same.  I wonder if Lewis Carroll had similar experiences…

 

These ‘other lives’ have troubled and fascinated me ever since.   The closest I came to a rational explanation was a passage in Conversations with God, in which physical life is compared to a CD rom, containing every possible outcome for every possible choice we make.

Let’s assume for a moment that this cosmic CD exists (akashic records, perhaps?) in some realm beyond space and time.  While we are in our skin-suits – being human beings – we normally select one ‘track’ from the CD rom at a time.  As Will pointed out in my previous post, each time we make a choice, our personal time line changes. We jump to a new track.  It was this aspect of infinite pre-destiny/choice that prompted me to use the analogy of a video game in my book LIFE: A Player’s Guide.

So not only do I have ‘past’ and ‘future’ lives (the quotation marks are there to remind me that time only exists as an aid to sequential cause and effect in our 3D existence) but each of my lives – including the present incarnation – has an infinite range of options.  That’s where the Law of Attraction fits in, I suppose.  We can select which of the myriad lives we wish to put our consciousness into – miracles included.

The next part of Will’s master-class explained how the personality or essence of oneself permeates each of those lives and – this is huge – how what we do in one life has an effect on every other life: past, future, probable or possible.  That, though, will have to wait for another post.

 

 

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