Hacked!

That was not fun. In fact yesterday was one of the most difficult and trying days I’ve had in a long while.

First a text from my email provider saying there had been unauthorised access to my account and they’d blocked it. While I embarked on the long and ridiculously complex process of trying to get myself back into it, there was a phone call from my son, telling me he’d had a suspicious-looking email, claiming to be from me, and asking for ‘a favour’. He said he feared I’d been hacked. That was the opening of the floodgates.

Messages came through on every social media platform from anxious, concerned friends, family members and contacts I hadn’t seen or thought about in years. What was wrong? they asked. Did I need help? What had happened? People I barely remembered were sending sweet messages of care and support and I was having to thank each of them in turn for their warm wishes and concern, then tell them that it was a scam, that if they responded to the bogus email, someone pretending to be me would try to relieve them of large sums of money.

In between all that, I was frantically trying to prioritise who to call next and warn about the scam – friends with autistic perception, elderly friends and relatives, those who didn’t have English as their first language, people in other countries… Anyone, in fact, who might not know me well enough or read the situation clearly enough to realise that I would NEVER email them and ask for money.

It took all morning to regain my email connection. It was only achieved with the caring and patient help of a lovely Scottish BT engineer who guided me gently through the process and interspersed each set of instructions with something like, “I’ve got everything crossed for ye Jan. We’re gonnae do this!”

Me want cookies!

Once I was able to view my contacts list (not easy – the virus scan I’d had to run had wiped every cookie from my laptop) the size of the task really hit me.

By lunchtime, the stream of confused enquiries and people thoughtfully calling to tell me I’d been hacked had become an avalanche. From Seattle to New York, from the cottage behind mine to Switzerland they came, and each, once they understood the situation, offered commiserations, friendship and little messages about how they and their families were getting on. I learned how former pupils were faring at college and university, heard from forgotten friends and those I hadn’t spoken to in far too long.

Sadly, my warning came too late for at least one dear friend. They had already sent the money off. I was heartbroken. And yet even this person, after ruefully commenting that they’d waved goodbye to 200 dollars, still took time to update me on their news and wish me well.

So yes, my stress levels were through the roof, my day had been ruined and I went to bed hurt and sad, yet I was strangely uplifted by the waves of kindness and consideration from friends and virtual strangers alike. There are some unkind people preying off others in cruel ways in this world, but the vast majority of humanity is kind, caring and generous.

Abject apologies if you were stung by this or a similar hoax and huge thanks if you were one of the people who helped me through that day.

The Neurodivergent Consciousness

This piece of work came about as a result of the channeled material on brain states/consciousness (the Alpha, Beta etc. states) that I posted a week or so back.  It may be helpful to look back over my previous post before reading this one.

Neurodiversity at Work – Global Dynamics, Inc.: Challenges of GlobalizationAs a teacher, tutor and mentor, I have spent much of my life working with children and young people who could be classified as ‘neurodivergent’ (as opposed to neurotypical) thinkers.  Most literature on the subject lumps together those diagnosed with various syndromes, disorders and conditions under this banner and for the purposes of this post, I will use it as a convenient, though very generalised, term.

As I read back through the description of the Delta down to Gamma states I’d been given, it occurred to me that very few of the Neurodivergent (ND) people I have known and worked with seemed to spend much – if any – time in the Beta state, despite my source’s assertion that this is the state in which most people spend the majority of their daily lives. I also had a suspicion that ND people were probably more familiar with Theta than the neurotypical (NT) population.

So I researched it.

It took hours, but sure enough, scientists have discovered that many ND people tested with EEGs had ‘abnormally’ low activity in Beta and correspondingly high activity with Theta waves. The testers (predictably) saw this as an abnormality that needed to be cured.

I also listened to a speaker explaining the brain states from a spiritual perspective. His analysis was far closer to the one I had been given. He said that at Theta there was a higher amplitude, a lower frequency and it was the state at which ideas, insights, creativity, intuition and high levels of productivity took place. He was advocating that people should meditate in order to engage more with Theta.

I put all that to the source I channel and the response was that my suspicions had been spot on.  My source explained that when they had given me the original Brain States / Consciousness States information, they had aimed it at the Neurotypical population as that seemed a logical starting point and they had then waited for me to notice that the ND population was different. When I asked for information about these differences, I was told it was ready and waiting.

So here is what I was then shown about the 5 states as experienced by the ND population:

DELTA: This is still the state in which consciousness has left the physical body. It is a state the ND mind enjoys and aspires to for short periods of time because NDs enjoy that level of connection with Source and expansion. Many discover ways to go out of body such as astral flying.

THETA: For the ND population this is the ‘rest’ state. It requires some connection to the physical world but the way consciousness functions in this state feels most natural. Tools such as synchronicity, insight and ‘just knowing’ feel appropriate for gaining knowledge and creating solutions. At this level remote viewing or mind reading can happen pretty spontaneously.

ALPHA: As mentioned before, this is the optimum state for humans, but just as NT people have to make some effort to ‘reach up’ to this level, NDs have to make a similar degree of effort to step down to it. It involves being equally open to Spirit and Earth, so to become more grounded than people are in the Theta state. However ND people can achieve this state and thus connection to the planet, its locations and habitats as well as to animals and people. Always, though, in Alpha there is a balance and even earthly things are seen from a more spiritual perspective.

BETA: This state is extremely difficult for the ND consciousness and is avoided or not achieved. Although a link remains to higher levels, this is not enough to allow the ND individual to process and cope with the dense physical data. It feels like quicksand – intensely uncomfortable and very hard to negotiate. Confusing.

GAMMA: Because of the pressure from NTs, who are currently dominant on Earth, ND people will often enter this state through fear or anxiety. It is a reaction to the attempts to force them to cope with Beta. It can also be self-inflicted – an attempt to ‘fit in’ with the NT way of being. The Gamma state blocks out all but the current 3D moment. There is no access to resources beyond the physical body’s limits so the consciousness simply goes over and over whatever stimuli have caused the initial panic. It can result in meltdowns, panic attacks or self-induced isolation and a sense of being frozen. (I was given an image of a deer caught in car headlights and frozen in fear there.)

I asked about the ‘geekiness’ and laser-like focus on small detail that is a feature of many in the ND population.  My source explained that this was a way of attempting to hold their consciousness in the 3D world and to survive with relative safety when having to navigate the Beta state.  As a rule, ND people are easily overwhelmed by sensory data in the ‘everyday’ world, so they will often narrow their focus to particular ‘nerdy’ areas of study or minority interests, which they can comfortably pursue, often in isolation or small, like-minded groups.

I also mentioned that many of the ND people I’ve known show no overt interest in spiritual or esoteric matters.  I was told:

They have a clearer channel to spirit available to them than the NT population.  It is natural to them to ‘know’ instinctively rather than by laboriously acquiring knowledge through study.  However pressure from NTs and the low self-esteem they feel from being made to feel different and inferior can influence them to shut the connection out, in the way that a small child might stop believing in an imaginary friend if adults tell her she’s lying or pretending.

Consciousness – Light in the Body

If you could receive information directly into your mind from a source of limitless wisdom, with a gift for making even the most complex subjects easy to understand, what would you ask?

This year I’ve found myself in that very situation, and feel incredibly fortunate.  The source I channel is wise, connected to human experience, has a delightful sense of humour and is keen for me to share the knowledge I’m given with others.  There’s rather a lot of it.  For an hour almost every night I clear my mind, do the preparation and connecting ritual I’ve been shown and sit quietly, jotting down questions and comments in a notebook and waiting for the answers to come, which they invariably do.  I’m on my fifth notebook now.

At some point there will be a book or two, but for now I’d like to share some of the material I was given when I asked what exactly was going on with the brain/mind/consciousness.

First, I was asked whether I believed I was incarnate.  When I responded that I certainly did, I was asked to explore the word more deeply…

In-carnate:  so basically ‘in meat’.  I believe that ‘I’ am currently in a meat suit – that is, being a physical human.

‘Yes,’ was the response.  ‘So if ‘you’ are dressed in this meat suit of yours, what, exactly, is the ‘you’ who has put it on?’

Ah.  That must be consciousness then…?

What followed was the sort of information that removes any lingering doubts I might have that I actually sit journaling with myself for an hour each evening.  I like to ponder, but I could never have come up with this.  Much of it was entirely new to me but made perfect sense.  See what you make of it.

We’ll call it a light body.  Envision it like a pillar of light that extends from the highest source (Zero Point Field, All That Is, Akashic Realms, Source, or what you will) to the depths of the Earth.  This is your light body.  It is made of Light.  It vibrates at different frequencies from very high to very low.  The part of it that interpenetrates the physical body vibrates within the visible light spectrum – the part of light you can see with your eyes.

‘Chakras!’ I wrote.  ‘Violet at the top of the skull, red at the base of the spine and the other colours ranged between them.’

Yes, in a way, but the colour should flow through it, blending gradually from one to the next, the way they merge in a rainbow.  Focusing just on the chakras gives a limited grasp of your full creativity.  Imagine red light from the base flowing up and gradually becoming more orangey until you reach the sacral chakra, where you hit pure orange, then as the light carries on it gets more yellowy until you’re at the solar plexis and so on.

Ultraviolet is above the human head although those who sense it will view it as white.  You’ve also heard of an ‘earth star’ chakra beneath the feet which is described as being black.  In fact it is infrared.  Your human body only covers a small part of your entire light body.

I asked about the advantage of viewing the light within the body as a gradation of colour, rather than separate chakra points.

You’d be utilising your entire available light body.  Imagine having a box of 100 coloured pencils but only ever using seven of them – adequate but limited.  Using all the shades you become lighter and more able to flow.  I think you need to meditate and experience it to know what I mean.

That left me with plenty to consider, but the ‘lesson’ was not over.  In my next post I’ll share the information I was given about how and when the brain and consciousness are connected.

An Astral Envelope

Once again I’m working with my friend Will.

Our telepathic dialogues have extended to a deeper and more fascinating level than ever before.  He tells me that he is finding it so much easier to communicate now he is freed from having to use words (his ‘second language’), while I am finally trusting and accepting the messages from him without tying myself to dowsing them letter by letter over my computer keypad.  I do write down all I can in a notebook, though, doing the best I can at transcribing the ineffable into my first language so that I have a record of it.

One of the communication methods we’ve developed is to use ‘astral envelopes’.  They work roughly like this:  when he has huge concepts he wants to share with me, I’m told to yawn a few times, relax my body, close my eyes and wait.  After a few seconds I start to experience colours, shapes, images and feelings.  Sometimes I’m pulled gently in different directions.  Sometimes the whole thing plays out as a mind movie.  I just wait for whatever comes and then report back what I experience.  Will then helps me to put together the experiences from the ‘envelope’ to allow me to understand his message.  The one I’m sharing with you today took two long sessions to work through but was well worth the effort.

Here is what I initially wrote about my experience:

First I saw red – deep blood red – on a flat base low down.  Someone was picking at its surface or maybe digging into it.  Then the focus moved higher.  If the first part was at ground level this would have been on top of a hill.  Someone had a pole or similar and was placing it in first one direction, then another, trying to find the right or best place for it.  Next the scene moved up again, into the sky, maybe.  There was a cloud – very full – and it poured something on to the ground.  Not rain.  It was more like light or vibrations.  The whole thing was a sort of cycle.

Sometimes Will goes on to explain the images I have formed in my mind but on this occasion he wanted me to try to interpret it.  I had very little idea.  I suspected that the red base represented the human body, but couldn’t work out what the digging/picking was.  Here’s an extract from our telepathic conversation:

W: You’re right that it was a disturbance – preventing it from being flat.

J:   You mean it needs to be shaken up a bit?

W: In a way, but not exactly that.  The marks made on it are significant.

J:   Who makes the marks?

W: It can be anybody, but they have to be made or the life is wasted.

J:   As I reread it, the Buddhist term ‘samskara’ came into my head but I’m not sure what it means.  Something to do with scars?

W: If you got that term, it is your higher consciousness alerting you to the true meaning of the message.  Earthly experience makes these scars – mental and physical and emotional – that we need.  They become etched on to our Selves.

(I later looked up samskara and it is a very close match to Will’s explanation.)

I asked him about the next part of the scene.

W: Yes, that was at a higher level.  It is making the placement of the scars go the way they will be of maximum benefit.

J:   Like a puppet master controlling us?

W: Not controlling.  More overseeing the overall effect.  The overseeing guides allow us to make sense of the etchings.  Without that, they would be random scratches.  The poles/lines you saw them using turn the scratches into works of art.  They can work on this through people’s intuition, via channels or in dreams.  They orchestrate the life.

Finally I asked about the cloud at the highest level.  I saw it as divine light raining down and nourishing us.

W: Yes, you were at the level of Source there.  This is where the pains/scars are washed away once we have seen and understood the images they formed.  We do not need to take the scars with us into the rest of life/other lives if we have integrated the messages they give us.  We only hold them while they have something to tell us that we haven’t grasped.

After thanking him for the insights he had shared and somehow managed to transmit to me with such beauty and clarity, I had one more question.

J:   Will, how do you KNOW this stuff?

W: I don’t know how NOT to know it.  I just feel in touch with all the layers.  You are too, really.  You just don’t know that you are.

Many years ago I was a specialist teacher helping Will, as a little child, master verbal communication.  Now he is repaying me by teaching me his primary form of communication – the one he feels most comfortable with.  What a gift!

Cracked Vessels – Letting in the Light?

Today I’d like to share what I can only haltingly call a vision, and the synchronicities and trains of thought associated with it.

Let me give you some context:  I had been in deep discussion with a couple of friends about my experiences as a teacher.  I’ll diverge into a brief ‘then and now’ to give you a flavour of those times…

Around half a century ago, when I was training to become a teacher, a debate was raging in educational circles.  Should children arriving in full-time education be seen as ‘vessels to be filled’ or ‘candles to be lit’?  A report by Lady Plowden and her committee – the go-to document of the time – concluded the latter, and I embarked enthusiastically on my chosen career as a lighter of small candles.

Today, of course, any such discussion is rotting beneath some long forgotten carpet, where it was swept several decades ago.  I quietly left the educational establishment and set up shop in an alternative teaching and mentoring setting when it became clear that the balance had settled firmly on the side of the empty vessels, to be crammed with as much junk knowledge as was deemed necessary to prevent troublesome teachers and students from having time to encourage or indulge in creativity, imagination and critical thinking.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, when the swing towards the ’empty vessels’ model was firmly in motion but before the quality of independent writing was judged by the number of similes, metaphors and examples of personification a child could cram into each paragraph, or obscure aspects of grammar guaranteed never to enhance or crop up in any aspect of life were stuffed into the minds of ten year olds, I found myself quite unexpectedly teaching in a specialist provision for children with speech and language difficulties.  It was this time of my life I had been considering as I went to bed on Friday night.

I was in that hypnogogic state, poised between waking and dreaming, when the ‘vision’ (what else can I call it?) appeared.  I saw containers – vases, perhaps or maybe orbs or bottles.  Each was cracked in its own individual way. some had a maze of hairline cracks, others a single fault line.  What fascinated me, though, was that through every fissure, a dazzling light was shining.  The light was not visible through the solid parts of the containers, just through the places where the cracks allowed it to appear.

“Remember this!” someone or something was telling me.  “It’s important!  Don’t let the image drift away.”

I lay for some time, trying to commit what I had seen to memory, toying with the idea of turning on the bedside lamp and attempting to write or draw it, but the helpful something in my ear assured me that I’d get more clarity through dreaming about it, so that’s what I did.

By Saturday morning I had an idea of what the vision had been about.  It was, as you may well have guessed, an image stemming from my sad thoughts about the ’empty vessels’ – the hapless children in our education system who day after day are ‘filled’ with largely pointless facts and knowledge, despite the sterling efforts of teachers to sugar the pill.  The cracked vessels represented the youngsters with what are variously called ‘special needs’, ‘additional needs’ or those with otherwise non-standard perception and cognition.

 

My teaching career increasingly nudged me towards a fascination and delight in working with those judged to be on the autistic spectrum or with some form of communication difficulty in the written, spoken or receptive aspects of language.

The instructions passed down to teachers from our leaders were to patch up the cracks in those ‘faulty’ vessels, to enable them to resemble their ‘undamaged’ peers and then to allow the ‘filling’ to continue.  That is what I was paid to do in the Speech and Language Unit – get them as close to normal communication skills as possible and return them to a cheaper, one-size-fits-all mainstream classroom.  Fortunately, as the leaders and inspectors had no specialist knowledge or understanding of such children, I had far more leeway than my mainstream colleagues in the way those children were taught.  

Those leaders didn’t see what I saw.  They didn’t know that small children with no intelligible speech could communicate perfectly well with others via telepathy.  They didn’t discover the deep, amazing and stunning twists and turns of the young autistic mind.  They couldn’t glimpse the creativity of the dyslexic when freed from pen or laptop and allowed free rein in the realms of shape and space.  I’d somehow slipped into a world where heightened senses and awareness way beyond common experience held sway.  Those children discussed out of body experiences, viewing ‘funny lights around people and animals that change with their mood’, remote viewing and the like as if they were everyday events.  For them, they were.

Perhaps those in charge of education didn’t want to be dazzled by the light shining through the cracks in the extraordinary ‘different’ children.

Egg, Cracks, Food, Nature, Blur, Dark

My vision and the dreams and ponderings that followed it left me with a conviction that the light shining in was vital to our world and badly needed to alleviate the darkness.  I was reminded of one of my favourite books: The Crack in the Cosmic Egg by Joseph Chilton Pearce.  Was this light appearing within those cracked vessels heralding a breaking of the eggs that hold in a deeper Gnosis or understanding of Cosmic Laws?  Perhaps each of us is, at some level, a ‘vessel’ – but not an empty one.  Perhaps we all hold within ourselves a brilliant light, but one we have hidden inside a container while we go about our humdrum daily tasks.  Perhaps the youngsters I had met on my journey through education were, in a very real sense, the light-showers or shining ones…

…Or perhaps I was a semi-deranged old woman falling down yet another of my many rabbit holes…

On Saturday night I settled to enjoy my current bedtime book: Gayle Kimball’s The Mysteries of Reality: Dialogues with Visionary Scientists.  I was reading an interview with Bernardo Kastrup PhD about contemporary idealism.  He pointed out that if, as the materialist scientific paradigm suggests, all thought experiences occur within the human brain, any impairment of that brain should result in more limited experiences and thoughts.  However, he explained, the reverse is true.  The body of evidence showing enhanced mental experiences (such as those described above in relation to my students) in those with certain types of brain damage or impairment, due to such events as bullet wounds, hypoxia or chemical impairments, strongly suggests that in such cases the brain’s filter system becomes more porous, disrupting the boundary between the brain and greater levels of consciousness. 

A synchronicity, perhaps?

 

Cosmic Cheating

I felt bad when I got back my physics homework, with phrases like, ‘Good understanding’ or ‘Clearly explained’ written in red pen and random ticks in the margin.  I felt bad because I had cheated.

Science, Class, Blouse, LearningEach week I sat in the school science lab and made some slight effort to understand what the poor man was trying to teach us.  Not one word of it made sense to me.  I diligently copied down the homework assignment and stared at it for a while.  Nothing.  Then I did what I’d always done.  I went to my friend Cathy’s place and asked her older brother what I should write.  He told me, in simple language, and I wrote what he said in my own words.  Then I handed it in and guiltily received the accolades I did not deserve.

As soon as I could, I dropped physics classes and took no further interest in the subject until I was far older and wiser, and by then it was too late to make up all the lost ground by anything approaching conventional means.

For me to sit here now and plan to write about the cosmos and its composition – to explain dark matter, the many worlds interpretation, parallel universes and dark energy, then, would seem to be the height of stupidity.  My ignorance of such matters is palpably clear.  My credentials are non-existent.

Certainly I have worked my way through many a volume of what bookshops call Popular Science, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that this qualifies me to be an expert.  No.  I’ve cheated again.  I’ve done exactly what I did over half a century ago.  I’ve sought out an authority on the subject and written down their wisdom in my own words.  At least this time I’m admitting it up front, though.

So, you are wondering, where would she find such an authority?  Can anyone explain these things?  There are theories, of course, but truth…?  The greatest minds in physics are still arguing and pondering.

 

All that is quite true.  When I was a teacher, I told my classes I was not going to teach them all they needed to know, but I was going to teach them how to find it out.  I did my very best to do that, although I stopped short of teaching them my own particular method – mainly because it would have seen me instantly dismissed from the profession.

Doors, Choices, Choose, Open, DecisionI discovered my method by what I would call ‘chance’ if I believed that anything in life is random.  You may believe me or not as you wish.  I shall simply set down what happened.  In my next post, I’ll share the cosmology and leave you to draw your own conclusions.

 

At the end of the last century a dear friend of mine passed away, leaving me with instructions to watch over her little aspie son who at that time was a pupil of mine.  I did my very best.  The child was at times a true delight: brilliant, fascinating and eloquent.  At other times he was silent, angry, sullen and secretive.  And there were – especially as he reached adolescence – times when he sought to numb his pain and loss by engaging in dangerous and frightening habits.

I knew my feeble efforts weren’t enough.  I needed back up.

I consider myself to be the most fortunate of individuals.  I only have to put out a strong desire for assistance and the Cosmos provides.  It so happened that I was experimenting with dowsing around that time.  I quickly discovered that, with just the right degree of concentration tinged with an ability to relax into whatever came to me, I could pick up rudimentary messages from the child’s departed mother, from spirit guides and even from angels.  The messages from the mother were easy to verify.  Those from spirit less so, but I gradually came to trust them and to rely on the guidance I was given.  By modifying my methods, I learned to pendulum dowse over a computer keyboard so that I could record my questions and the answers.  I began to read White Eagle, Conversations with God, Seth and Jane Roberts and realised that I was doing something called channeling.

Pendulum, Commute, Lot, Cone, ConicalMeanwhile the child had grown into a young man with astonishing insight and an inner knowing quite as profound as the material my guides offered.  When he was inclined to interact with me, he shared his knowledge freely and we experimented fearlessly with metaphysics, wrote books together and pushed the boundaries of our knowledge.

Quite suddenly though – a couple of years ago – he returned to his silent, brooding self.  The conversations ceased and I all but lost touch with the extraordinary young man I’d watched over and learned from for so long.  My guides and angels, too, seemed to withdraw.

As if on cue, the vacuum this left in my life was filled by a family disaster.  Unexpectedly, I found myself whisked across the country to support my child and her children.  For a year my focus was firmly fixed in the physical world of survival, all thoughts of cosmic wonders pushed aside.  It took me the best part of another year to recover from the horrors of that time.  It wasn’t until September of 2019 that I turned once again to my pendulum and sought some guidance from spirit.

I had little idea what I was searching for.  I just had a few questions I wanted answers to.  The answers to one deceptively simple enquiry took me on a wild and wonderful journey, deep into aspects of reality I’d barely dreamed of, although – when I looked back – that very special young man had left me a trail of breadcrumbs to follow.

So finally I’m ready to share some of my new-found discoveries here.  Next time, I’ll explain the cosmology I’ve been given and after that…  Who knows?

It’s good to be back.

I’ve got sunflowers on a cloudy day

Sunflower, Bud, Blossom, Go Up, BloomThey’ve not flowering quite yet, but the buds are forming.  I can see them still – just – if I reach up on tiptoe.  These are strong, sturdy plants, growing by inches every day, almost as I watch them, and they make me feel so PROUD.

Why?

Because the person who gave me the seeds, back on my birthday in the early spring, is one of the people I’ve watched and nurtured since childhood.  There are quite a few of these brilliant, shining young people – my own kids and grandchildren as well as pupils and youngsters I’ve mentored or just been there to listen to, on the right day.

Oh yes, they’ve caused me plenty of headaches along the way.  Sometimes I’ve had to watch patiently (and often very impatiently) as they ventured off into dangerous friendships or relationships, harmful habits and addictions or endured heartbreaking, life-changing challenges.  I’ve tried to get the balance right – deciding when to intervene and when to allow them to make their own choices, when to offer suggestions and guidance and when to keep my mouth firmly shut.  Sometimes I got it wrong; sometimes I got it right.  Sometimes I helped; sometimes I was a confounded nuisance.  What I’m most proud of, though, is that I hung in there, even when the going was really tough.  True, I’d sometimes retire to a safe distance while the fireworks exploded, but I always made it clear to them that I’d be there if they needed someone to talk to, someone to scream at, someone with a shoulder to cry on and that nothing they told me would shock me enough to make me pull away.

I hope my firstborn won’t mind me sharing this.  There were times I despaired of ever reaching her.  She was sharp-tongued, harsh and so materialistic that I often wondered how we could share a blood tie.

I once spoke to a very gifted psychic who said, “Oh, your daughter!  That bond between you!  That closeness and connection is so wonderful.”

I stared in amazement.  “Sorry, no.  I wish it were true, but that’s not the way it is.  I really struggle to connect with her on any level.”

The psychic pondered for a moment.  “No,” she said.  “It’s true.  Maybe further down the time line, but I promise you it will come.  There will be a time when you are so close.  She shares your values.  You have rubbed off on her and you will be so proud to be her mother.”

Many years later, when she became a mother herself, she started to change.  She retrained as a relaxation and massage therapist.  She was a wonderful parent.  Still, though, I could see the ruthless, hard, brittle personality traits and at some level I sensed that something had to give.  There was a storm brewing.

When it finally broke, my daughter’s life splintered and cracked beyond all recognition.  Horrified, I rushed to help.  I was fearful, and not just for her.  I worried that she would vent all her fury and spite on me and I wondered whether I was strong enough to take it, because I loved her so deeply.  She didn’t, though.  Slowly and gently we worked together to rebuild her life, to protect and nurture her children and to move her into a new and unknown future.  The spite and anger dissipated.  I watched in wonder as she worked so courageously through the pain and anguish and was transformed in the process.

Materially, now, she’s far worse off.  She has a very modest home and has to work ridiculously hard to keep even that roof over her children’s heads.  Spiritually and emotionally, though, her growth has been miraculous.  I watch in awe as she reaches out to help others and to improve their lives.

image 0As well as working as a freelance reviewer and a therapist, she has opened her own online shop, selling beautiful resources to promote mindfulness, calm and happiness for children and teens.  I am incredibly proud, so I make no excuse for promoting her new project here.

I’m proud of all of them, these young people whose lives I’ve touched and I’m so happy when they come back to me and show me how their lives have changed and the progress they’ve made.

I’m looking forward to the days when my sunflowers bloom and pour so much beauty and light into my life and I’m grateful to the lovely young person who put them into my life.

 

 

 

Returning to OZ

This post is a continuation from the last one I wrote, so in case you’d like the back story, you’ll find it here.

I’d considered enrolling on a course to find out all about radionics – the mysterious alternative therapy my grandfather OZ had practised, before I was born.  But that would mean waiting until the autumn, and my curiosity had been stirred…

‘Just by chance’ (regular readers of this blog will know I consider all events to be meaningful and never random coincidences!) these thoughts coincided with a particularly nasty flare-up of the IBS that has plagued me on and off for the last ten years.  So why not find myself a radionics practitioner and try it out for myself?

I’ll preface this by saying that I am NOT going to become all evangelical about this treatment.  I’m aware that it has been banned in the United States, will be considered pure rubbish by many and could well not suit others.  All I know is that my grandfather, some 50 years deceased, had seen fit to reach out to me to make me aware of this modality.  No doubt he has many other important things to do in spirit, therefore I’m aware that he must have a very good reason to alert me to its existence and value to me and our family.

I sat with the list of accredited practitioners before me.  As it’s a remote treatment, it didn’t matter where they were geographically, so who to choose?

Pendulum, MetaphysicalPrompted by the website, I dowsed over the list, to find the right person for me.  Sure enough, one name jumped out.  I emailed the lady and, a few days later, we were in contact and working together.

Was she the right choice for me?  Absolutely.  A down-to-earth, plain-speaking, no-nonsense lady with a background in alopathic and psychological healing who turned to radionics because it did what – in her opinion – other treatments didn’t.

She was clearly used to some initial scepticism in her clients.  “I work with the subtle bodies as well as the physical,” she told me.  “Does that mean anything to you?”

I assured her that it did, and I was delighted to hear it.  The more she told me, the more convinced I became that this had been a great choice.  I also kept thinking, ‘OZ knew all this.  He believed in all the things I believe in.’  It made me feel so close to him.

I’ve had four sessions with my practitioner now.  She’s working in subtle ways to fine-tune and help my body to heal.  One one hand she’s telling me she has sent healing to strengthen the connection between my etheric and astral bodies, on the other, she’s telling me to avoid the brand of soya milk I’d been using because she’d dowsed that it contained GM soya which was irritating my intestinal tract.  (I hadn’t told her the brand I used, but when I checked, she was right!  The company had recently reversed their policy of only using non GM products.  I swapped to a still non-GM brand and within two days felt much better.)

I tried to get a dear friend, with some severe mental health challenges to try radionics, but he didn’t feel it was right for him at this point.  My daughter, though, is very eager to see whether it will help her to deal with the PTSD which still causes problems for her, and so it moves on down the family line.

Interestingly, when she and my grandchildren came to stay with me last week, the children both commented – for the first time ever – on OZ’s portrait.
“Who is that man?” asked the 7 year old. “I like him. Sometimes he smiles at me.”
“Yes, he’s nice,” agreed the 4 year old. “He winked at me yesterday.”

Neither of them saw anything strange in that and although when you look at the drawing ‘logically’, his eyes are staring to the right, we only need a slight shift in focus to connect with this ancestor who has stepped in for a while to connect with, and help heal his family.

 

 

 

It’s All Electric…

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.”

Cure, Medicine, Pharmacy, Health-CareThe 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.

 

The Impossible Dream

If I had to fall back on accepted logic, I’d say that what happened last week, in terms of dreaming and waking experience and the link between the two, is impossible.

Fortunately, I don’t.

‘There are more things…in heaven and earth…’  And in my philosophy, they are dreamt of.

I’ve written before about some of the odd, precognitive dreams I have from time to time.  Last week, in the latest, I was given a salutary lesson on why I should never ignore them.

Each of us is at a unique place in our journey.  We have read books, had conversations, listened to the wise and received guidance in myriad ways, all of which places us at a certain level of awareness of those ‘more things’ Hamlet was speaking of.  Once we have accrued this level of knowing, we try to move back into comfortable oblivion at our peril.  We simply can’t un-know our knowledge.  That is what this dream experience taught me.

So what happened?

First, some background:
Several times a year, I need to traverse England, from my home in the south-west to be with family living out near the east coast.  I don’t drive and the public transport infrastructure here is expensive and poor.  After much experimentation, I’ve found a slow but steady and inexpensive method.  It involves catching a very early coach (there is only one a day) from my town to Heathrow Airport, where I have time for lunch and a rest, before catching a second coach to my destination.  It takes around 8 hours all told, but it’s comfortable and I can read en route.

Bus Stop, Public Transport, BusThree nights before I was due to embark on one of these journeys last week, I had a dream.

I’m with a woman.  We are travelling together and although we are companions and get along on very familiar terms, she is the guiding figure, in some way.  We have luggage.  We have made careful plans.  We are sitting on a bench and nothing particular is happening around us, but suddenly she turns to me with an expression of shock and says, “We’ve missed the coach!”

We stare at each other with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

I could FEEL these emotions at a very deep and conscious level.  I heard her voice and tone with absolute clarity.  These are the aspects that separate this type of dream – the precogs – from normal everynight dreaming.  I woke knowing I’d had a precognition and I felt rattled.

A brief word about precognition and the future, before I continue to the (almost) inevitable conclusion:
There are, as my wise friend and teacher William has taught me, an infinite number of possible futures for any event.  They range from the virtually impossible to the virtually inescapable and cover all points in between.  A precognition is a foretaste of what is – at that moment in time – the most likely outcome.  It is not written in tablets of stone.  It is still possible to make changes and alter the future event, given sufficient intention and effort.

What I should have done, then, was to check and re-check my travel plans until I found the glitch that could result in missing the coach.  The guide-lady in my dream was providing me with an opportunity to do this and to avert the problems which would follow.  Instead, I merely thought through my plans and convinced myself that as I had only to rely on an alarm clock and a half-mile walk to the coach stop, I had no reason to worry.

So on the day of my journey I got up in plenty of time, prepared myself for travelling, put my folded ticket into the top of my bag and walked the short trip to the coach stop.  I arrived at 6:20, congratulated myself on being ten minutes early and sat on the bench to wait.  At 6:25, I casually took out the ticket and unfolded it, to check what time I’d be arriving at Heathrow.  That was when I saw it:

Coach departs opp. town hall 6:15

Exactly that feeling of disbelief and horror from my dream swept over me.  As in the dream, nothing changed around me, but I knew I now had a huge problem.  I’d been so sure of the 6:30 departure time, I hadn’t bothered to check.  My dreamtime companion wasn’t there in body, of course, but I suspect at some level she was watching to see how I’d get myself out of my self-inflicted problem.

I won’t bore you with all the details of my ensuing journey.  Suffice it to say that every connection (bus, walk, train, second train, race across the length of Heathrow terminal 3) was made with minutes or sometimes seconds to spare.  The mobile website I bought my train ticket on went down just after I’d paid so that I was almost refused entry to the platform and I finally reached the bus interchange at Heathrow seven minutes before my second coach left.

Train, Crowd, Transportation, PassengerThe oddest thing was that all the time I was engaged in this nightmarish journey, it felt as if it was playing out in these very specific ways to teach me a lesson.

“Yes,” I thought ruefully, as I stood squashed against poker-faced commuters on the train out of Bristol, “I needed to learn this lesson. I will make my connection, but none of it is going to be easy.”

Somewhere, in a dimension I couldn’t see, but could just about sense, the guide-lady from my dream watched and smiled, not unkindly, and nodded.

The guides may not be as accessible as they were once, but they are still here, always checking that I have held on to all they taught me, and chiding me gently if I try to put their wisdom aside.

As William told me, when he was just 12, “What’s important is the journeys – all the changes and where we go through and the different trains are the main thing.  You know that really.”