The Curse of the Question Mark

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Danny, despite his speech difficulties, has an interesting turn of phrase.  He’s just 10, and yesterday we had our first tutoring session of the new school year together.

“So what’s been going on in your life over the summer?” I asked.
“Dood stuff!” he announced, proudly. “I had my birthday, and I dot a digital damera and I’m detting a laptop soon!”

He must have noticed my raised eyebrows. I know his family’s financial situation isn’t great.
“The laptop’s from a jarity,” he explained. “I don’t know what ‘slexia is, but my mum wrote to them and they’re divving me a laptop so I can do my homewort.”
“Well that’s brilliant, Danny,” I enthused.  “Aren’t you a lucky boy!”

Lucky isn’t really the word that springs to mind when you first come across Danny.  The youngest in his year group, he does daily battle with all aspects of academic study at school.  Words appear to fly around the page and refuse to lodge in his memory; numbers resist all attempts to become bonded or otherwise related to one another.  Several speech sounds remain stubbornly inaccessible to him, despite years of therapy, and his tendency to writhe, fiddle, daydream or mumble his way through the interminable school day must have driven many a teacher to distraction.

Despite all this, Danny remains a cheerful child with a gift for optimism and humour.  He’s one of the many special young people who have so much to share with those of us who are willing to embrace different ways of learning and being.

“Do you really not know what dyslexia is, Danny?” I asked, despite my personal aversion to the term.  “Would you like me to explain it to you?”

‘Explain’ is one of his trigger words.  I should have remembered.

“No,” he replied hastily, “I thint I remember now.  It means I darn’t learn properly.”

Well that set off one of my own triggers!  I drew a quick cartoon brain.  I drew two dots and a straight line representing stimulus and response between two points in a neurotypical brain.  Then I drew the response to a stimulus in his brain – all manner of weird and wonderful connections firing off simultaneously and the resulting wavy synaptic line that connected them all in new and exciting ways.

“You learn DIFFERENTLY Dan,” I told him, as I traced the routes on my drawing with my finger, “and if the teacher wants a quick answer, that’s difficult for you.  On the other hand, if she wants an original answer – one that no one else would think of – then yours is the perfect brain for that.”

He looked slightly hopeful but sceptical.

Mario Kart DS Bundle

“What are you like at computer games?” I asked.
“Brilliant!” he grinned. “I’m the best in the family. I tan beat everyone.”

Several minutes of sound-effect laden role play followed as he demonstrated his prowess at Mario with an imaginary DS.

“I’m not surprised,” I told him.  “Your brain is perfect for that.  It can keep track of all the different things going on at once – the number of lives and energy levels, the route you need to take, dangerous enemies and obstacles…  All those bits of your brain that work at once can handle that far better than most ordinary people.”

Danny seemed happy with that, so we turned to some of the work I’d prepared – the gentlest of introductions to algebra, such as

9 + ? = 13   or  15 – ? = 10

Danny stared balefully at the page for a moment, then rose in his seat, peering down at it with great disdain.

“Dwestion Marts!” he announced with gravitas.  “My arch enemy!  I hate you, Dwestion Marts!  You never reveal what you are hiding!  Durse you to hell forever!”

And that’s the way it goes – a typical weekly session with Danny, the boy who can’t perhaps answer the question, but has penetrated to the heart of its intrinsic essence with a clarity the rest of us can only gasp at.

How utterly dull our world would be without the likes of Danny.

“Have you ever written a story, then found out it was true?”


The title of this post is a question that was put to me by a 7-year-old girl I was working with a few years ago.

I knew exactly what she meant.  I even quoted her in Life: A Player’s Guide.

Of course the book I wrote wasn’t a story.  I truly believed every word of it as I wrote it.  I just never imagined I’d be given such fantastic proof and validation of what I’d said.  And I certainly never would have expected it to be playing out in my own lifetime in such a dramatic fashion.

What follows is quite a personal story, and I could have chosen to keep it to myself.  In many ways that would have felt more comfortable.  There’s something so amazing about it, though, that I feel I want to share it.


So here goes… a True Story:

Well yes, ok, you do get some very funny looks – and a few not-very-funny comments – when your best friend is an ex-student, on the autistic spectrum, and you’re almost too old to be his mother.

Regardless of all that, we spent many long and happy days together when he was a child and teenager.  We spent hours on the phone and on interminable train journeys, chatting about science, theology, spirituality, channelling, dowsing, philosophy, time travel, past lives and all the kinds of stuff we both found fascinating and most of our friends and family members found downright weird.

Then – well – he grew up.  The phone calls and visits became fewer and further between and eventually stopped.  An occasional word or two in reply to a text was the best I could hope for.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking.  That’s the way it should be.  The young man had the sense to stop hanging out with his ex-teacher and found more suitable companions.  Good job too.

Except he didn’t.  He seemed to retreat into himself and speak to no one.  I’d have been fine about it if he’d gone off to enjoy life with mates and found a girlfriend or two, but I hated the thought of him being all alone.

So now you’re saying, ‘Ok, the brown stuff happens.  You did your best.  Get over it.’

But I couldn’t.

You see I know how LIFE works – for me, anyhow. I wrote the Player’s Guide.  There’s a whole section in there on synchronous relationships – the ones that are ‘meant’; that have clearly been pre-planned at soul level before we started on this particular lifetime.  In those relationships, people come together in order to fulfil some particular purpose.

If you’ve read the book, or seen similar ideas expressed elsewhere, you may be saying, ‘Yes, but you had about ten years.  Surely that should be enough to achieve whatever-it-was?’

You’d think so, wouldn’t you?

It was just that I knew – deep in my soul – that there was more.  I knew I was missing something vital.  I knew it was all happening like this for a reason.  I just couldn’t figure out what that reason was.

So what else does my book say?  It says we believe everything in our lives into existence.  I believed there was an answer, so there was, and I set about hunting for it.

That has been a long process – long and painful.  So many kind and well-meaning people have tried to help from a human perspective.  None of them has understood that I was searching for an answer from a soul perspective.

English: A woman walking a prayer labyrinth

Then, a few weeks ago I discovered – on WordPress, no less – a couple from the United States.  The lady, Cynthia, channels a group of Spirit Beings known as The Council.  Her partner, Bob, asks questions and meticulously records the answers.  They offer this service on their blog, modestly titled ‘Ask The Council’.

I started flicking through their posts. This was all so familiar – and so RIGHT.  It was like listening to the words of Seth and other higher dimensional beings whose words I’d read and marvelled over.  These answers didn’t come from wise and thoughtful people – they came from Spirit; from a Higher Consciousness.

I felt an instant resonnance with what was being said.  With mounting excitement, I wrote my question for The Council.  Then I waited.

I believe we are all souls – great, expanded, powerful beings – who have chosen to spend some time being human.  I believe there’s a deep and important reason for this.  My book explains all that.  I also believe there is help available when it all gets too difficult.  That help can come from all manner of sources, so why not a blog?

Yes, I received an answer from The Council.  It told me several things I’d known or suspected, and many others I had no idea about.  It completely transformed my understanding of this very unusual friendship and its purpose.  It made perfect sense of matters I’d never understood and it made me incredibly happy.

If you click on The Answer from The Council, you will be able to see what I was told.

Maybe you have a few questions about your own life, too?