Highland Clearances

I chanced upon the following over on Bruce Moen's Afterlife Knowledge forum and it really got my attention, as this has been my experience of the lower to mid Astral as well. This was written in 2008, but it still applies, as this work continues (needless to say), by volunteers here and those whose job it is There to do such retrievals.

But lately I am finding all these areas between 21 and 27 becoming less dense, less extensive, less populated. I am told they are being "cleared up to 27" and also find 27 MUCH more extensive and expansive/expanding than it has been. It used to be a place of stillness for me, and I find it MUCH more energized and populated. By the same token, beings with whom I have visited extensively on Focus 27 are moving to higher vibrational reals as well. My mother, who formerly "worked" in the Healing and Rejuvenation Center is no longer there, and is found more and more frequently farther on--- like around 33/34 for me. The Gathering (both Bruce and Bob Monroe wrote about it) is 34/35. I find my "I-there" someplace like 42 or so, and beyond that I sort of lose my way as yet...... but I do know it keeps on and one.

So to my inquiry---

Anyone else finding this thinning? As there are fewer beings there, there is less thought to sustain the illusion and these towns and cities are thinning and dissolving back in to the quantum field from which the thoughts collapsed them in the frist place. Like the path to 27 is being rebuilt and reinforced so peole don't take so many little detours along the way, and 27 is growing in preparation.

All of my exploration has been about the Earth Changes for which The Gathering is occurring. These times and these changes are upon us. I got some truly startling and almost unbelievable information exploring The Gathering and interacting with the energies there, and look forward to more at Starline (at Monroe) in July. Such information is for a different post if anyone is interested.

Your experiences of this phenomenon are most welcome.

Bekka - Retrieval V

This was something of an experiment, and I felt quite sick at the prospect. I wasn't sure where I would find her, or who to 'be'.

Berlin, 1950

 In traveling down to the lower astral, I find myself in Berlin in 1950, beside the railroad station adjacent to her apartment building.  I love the buildings, and the cleanness of everything as compared to 2015, even in this situation. I have decided to be Ingrid Hemmendorf, a friend of hers in the BDM and NSF (women's org) during the war. Ingrid was also of a once well-off family. I am wearing a sage-green suit and pink blouse, lovely upswept hair -very blonde- and heels. Visiting clothes.

I go up to ring the bell and two men come up behind me. Not the Secret Police. Sepp in a dark-blue suit and pale blue shirt with no tie - casual wear; and Otto (Franz in disguise. 'Uncle Otto' who was actually a cousin once removed and only ten years older than Bekka). Tall, stately, dark. Like a film star, in a beautiful, expensive  dark suit. A welcoming committee. Sepp makes a joke about taking a holiday but being under dressed, compared to his companion. 

She buzzes the door open and we walk up the green-carpeted hall. The carpet is shabby, the walls rather dingy. There is a lift but it doesn't work, so we walk up the stairs to the first floor. Down to the left, then on the right is her flat. Number 13 (floor plus room, first floor, third room). Otto knocks on the door. She opens it, her face alight.

'Uncle Otto!' She clasps his hand. She is wearing a wool maroon dress and frilly apron (for receiving, not for housework), her hair done, with the front swept up and curled all round. Worn, but good shoes. The small flat is immaculate, but shows signs that she changed since the street door bell - the bedroom door is ajar and there is the smell of face powder.

She invites us all in and greets us warmly, one by one. Leading to the chairs  in the sitting room, she returns with coffee and sachertorte on a tray. Tiny demitasse cups. The tray and dishes all clearly are second-hand, but the cutlery is actual silver. 

"I am sorry that Karl is at school until later, so you cannot see him,' she says, sitting down and passing the items. The armchair  she sits in is square, of a shiny green fabric, second-hand. To its right is a better chair that Sepp sits in, myself on a kitchen chair and Otto on the small sofa, across from her. Otto holds up his hand.
'It is no trouble. We will see him later.'

There is some short time of catching up - enquiries after friends and relative. She is happy, if wistful. I get the impression from her that she envies us our ability to 'move around', as she is 'stuck in Berlin' working at the coffeehouse. Sepp is slouched in the chair, Thomas-fashion, with the cake plate balanced on his chest. He rubs his jaw ironically, and drawls, 'Well, funny thing, I am going on a holiday to Bern, and when I was arranging it, I happened upon your uncle.... I was wondering id you would like to come along, and show me the sights, visit your family....' Worst non-sequitor ever. Way to be subtle.  It;s hardly even probable that  he would have encountered Otto in a booking agent's here in Berlin. But she is so happy to see them, she takes all of it at face value.

She looks at Otto, with a joyful, expectant, questioning expression. Is it possible? Possible to 'be forgiven' (for something that was out of her control!), welcomed back into the bosom of a family that she left at age 8. She and her boy. Otto is smiling. 'That's what I came here for, to ask if you would come  and stay with us at the Bergschlosse, you and Karl,,,' He looks at Sepp with a sardonic smile. 'The General is most welcome,' he says with courtliness. Sepp is smirking. Somewhere, Wolf and the other Habsburgs are bursting into flames. Bekka is very moved. 'Thank you, Uncle!' She repeats this many times.

'Ingrid can help you pack,' Otto says. 'We will wait.' He looks at Sepp. 

'There is sherry on the cabinet,' Bekka says, gesturing to the buffet under the window. The decanter and glasses are old, gold-rimmed.... Sepp looks like he has been invited to drink poison, but Otto, now smirking, brings over the glasses.

Meanwhile, I go with Bekka into the one bedroom. There is a very small 'double' bed, a dressing table, wardrobe, and chair. From underneath the bed, she  retrieves two battered old suitcases. A smallish pullman and a smaller dressing case.

'I'm afraid there isn't much to pack,' she apologises. Going to the wardrobe, there are two dresses, an extra school uniform, and in the drawers beneath, two sets of underclothes each, a pair of capris and top, and a scarf. (But it is an Hermes scarf.)

'That's quite all right,' I say. 'I'm sure there will be time to get suitable things in Switzerland.'

We pack up the few clothes and I put the items from the dressing table quietly in the small case. There are a few photographs: her parents, one of Otto, and one of the Berghof (! I am uncertain as to whether I should include this). I ask her if she wants to take these with her.

'Why?'

'Well, Otto seemed to imply that you would be staying.'

She stops folding the sheet from the bed she has stripped, and stares at me. Looking around the room, almost alarmed, she regards me in consternation.

'I didn't think of that!' Her hand goes to her hair. I smile.

'You look lovely. Perfectly presentable to your family.' 

'I must at least remove my apron!' 

She does so, then 'What about collecting Karl  from school?' She looks at her watch. 'It isn't nearly time.'

'I'll see.' I go out.

Sepp and Otto are exchanging rude stories. Otto is smoking a cigarette elegantly. I tell them we need Karl. Otto shakes his head, mashing out the cigarette in the tray.

'Not a problem.' He goes to the telephone - heavy, black, Lucite - and speaks to the 'operator' then rings off. 'Tell her he is being sent for.'

I do and help bring the cases out. She has put on a little round cocktail hat - a circle of velvet and net with cherries - lipstick, and dark gloves.

'Hubba hubba,' says Sepp, and whistles through his teeth. She blushes. Otto comes and takes her hands.

'You look lovely.'

There is is a sound at the door,and Karl bursts in, an 8 year old boy in shorts and coat - his school uniform. Looking exactly like Otto as a child.

'Mamma!' He runs over and flings himself on her. (I understand that she has actually been all alone, forever waiting one afternoon for him to come home from school.)

'Well, he certainly is one of us,' Otto says drily. He makes a bow. 'Hello, boy. I am your uncle Otto.'

Karl stops and looks up curiously. ' You look like Grandfather.' (The picture on the dressing table.)

'He was my uncle,' Otto says.

'Liebling,' says Bekka,' we are going on a journey with Uncle and the General to visit my aunt Sophie in Switzerland.'

'When, Mamma?'

'Now,' says Otto.

At that, all rise and do out, downstairs, and to the train station adjacent. Here 'Ingrid' will leave them, and when they stop, they will be in Switzerland here. I turn to Bekka. 'It was so good to see you again my dear! You will write?'

'Yes. Thank you for coming, Ingrid. It is good to see old friends.' There are presses of both cheeks. I watch them  go through the gate and wave them off as Otto hands the cases to a porter. The green train starts off slowly.

I can feel her happiness. She will heal in Switzerland, with family and friends, and move on to her life here, one of us. Helping others, perhaps. Immortal. The dark wound of the past erased.

***

Convo with Franz. I thank him for stepping in, and playing it to the hilt.

K: So, what will this freeing of Bekka accomplish for me, if anything? (I understand perfectly well what it will accomplish for her.)

F: An easing of the 'tragedienne' complex that Claire has mentioned, specifically of 'putting yourself last' and into situations that are impossible to extricate yourself from without help from us. It will also clear out any lingering feelings of 'not belonging'. The nearer she moves to Switzerland, the better she and you feel. When she is there, in the bosom of her family, the realisation of what kind of holiday she is on will dawn [that she is dead] and she will begin to work on experience - processing, releasing.  She may then be in Switzerland or anywhere else here she chooses. For you, the 'desire to be just a housewife' will wane, as well as freeing  the energy surrounding the conflicts regarding hearth and home.

Young women of the BDM

 

Bekka-esque

Sepp

Sepp and Ursula

 

 Otto, Regina, and kinder

Otto

Otto as a child. Both Bekka and her son Karl looked like this.

* Legacy. The Karl here mentioned is Otto's son. The article below was written in 2004.

Karl Habsburg and two relatives are demanding that property worth hundreds of millions of pounds, including several castles and about 50,000 acres of woodland, be given back to the family in a claim filed with the Austrian Restitution Fund for the Victims of National Socialism.

Mr Habsburg, 42, dropped the aristocratic "von" from his name before becoming an MEP for the conservative Austrian People's Party. His father, Otto von Habsburg, is the head of the family.

The intervention by the dynasty's future patriarch has given fresh impetus to a campaign launched by other members of a family whose empire once stretched across much of central and eastern Europe. They say that if they win, the property will be placed in a trust for the benefit of 160 surviving Habsburgs.

"We don't want to be treated like second-class citizens any longer," said Christian Habsburg, the Euro MP's cousin, who co-filed last week's claim. "The Habsburgs were dispossessed by the Nazis and should be handed back property by the state, just like all the other victims of national socialism.

"We are talking about properties that my family had privately owned that were seized by the Nazis in 1938 and then taken after the war without compensation."
Research conducted by Otto's brother, the late Carl-Ludwig von Habsburg, revealed that Hitler had personally directed the campaign against the family.
The best-known asset is Laxenburg Palace and its extensive park, just outside Vienna. The palace, which dates to the middle ages, is open to the public and a popular destination for Viennese day-trippers and tourists. The total value of the disputed property has yet to be calculated, but the forests alone are worth about £135 million.
Although the Habsburgs were robustly anti-Hitler, there is disquiet in republican Austria at the idea of the Nazi restitution fund being used to aid the former royal ruling family when many Holocaust victims are still awaiting compensation. Austrian governments have previously said that they oppose paying money from the fund to the Habsburgs.
Yet Herbert Golsong, a Washington-based lawyer representing the family, said: "This was an act of Nazi revenge. It was a personal instruction from Hitler because members of the Habsburg family were employed in anti-Nazi propaganda abroad, especially in the US." The family had also helped Jewish people to flee to America, he said.

Miss Patty - Retrieval IV

This was somewhat unexpected, given my lifelong familiarity with this life; despite certain experiences - uncontrollable grief, anger and bitterness when at Monticello - it never occurred to me that she might be stuck. Erm, was/is this rescue the thing I was/am supposed to do about this (and not write a book)? Well, if so, here it is. May the release of energy from this heal all concerned and free up new ways of being.

I was very surprised to see her at Elk Hill on the James (a property owned first by her father, where she lived with her first husband, the grounds of which Cornwallis destroyed in his march through) and not at Monticello, which at first blush would be 'more logical'. However, like victims of amnesia, it appears that she went back to a place and time before a great deal of the crashing horror of the life occurred. Yes those are subjective words. No apologies.

* The photo above is of Plynlimmon, nearby in Goochland, because the present house at Elk Hill Farm is  Gothic revival, built in the 1830s. The original house was a frame house (like ten-thousand other Virginia gentry houses, not really much to write home about.)

I found her sitting on a chair before the window, looking out at Elk Island in the river. The date was June, 1776. Yes that year. She had just had another miscarriage, was ill (diabetes type I) and depressed. She had supposed to be at The Forest in Charles City already with her sister and brother-in-law/cousin, and everyone was coming to look for her, having received frantic letters from Mr. Jefferson in Philadelphia.

So, I thought, Oh Lud, how shall I manage this? Realising that it would be very difficult to tear her away, she being very stubborn (her worst fault). So I thought, well, why not use the two people who came to me as a preschooler as young girls, her sisters Elizabeth and Anne? My dear Amy had actors as two of her sisters (Nancy [Anne] and Tibb [Tabitha]), actually so it should be fairly easy.

Amy and I arrived in the hall outside of the bedchamber where she sat; the door was open, so, it was a matter of scratching on the door (a family habit) and walking in.
K/E: Sister, at last!
She turned, somewhat listlessly, while we took off out bonnets, but her eyes lit and then grew teary.
P: Oh my dear sisters!
There were embraces and cheek-kisses.
A: Sister we have been so worried when we had no word of you! So we decided to come and fetch you ourselves, thinking perhaps that you needed assistance.
Oh Amy, well done!
E: Francis has been beside himself, receiving letters by every post from our friend. [Mr. Jefferson]. Had you none here at all?
I knew that she had not of course. She shook her head and so I held out a thick packet of letters, tied up in pale blue ribbon.
E: These are all this month gone.
She looked at them rather fearfully, paling, and shaking a little, her face then a changing canvas of emotions - happiness, sorrow, wistfulness.
P: Oh my dear Betsey! Thank you! You are an angel!
She took up the letters with gladness - and put them directly into her pocket in her skirts.
P: I shall read them anon.
She promised.
A: You shall, as WE are going to kit you out and bring you right along! No argument now!
Have you anything ready fit to wear?
She looked askance at the rather shabby old gown, a work gown, threadbare and mended - almost shredded, and at the undressed hair flowing loose. It was comical to see Amy as Nance was then, the littlest of the sisters, both in age and size, fussing about like a little brown hen. Patty looked toward the wardrobe press in a kind of confusion.
P: I ... think so...

Well, she had been there for such a long time in a daze, that surely fashion was the last thing on her mind. (Even though she had been in life quite fashionable and not a little vain.)
At this moment,  her servant Bett appeared in the doorway, cheerful, managerial, bustling. I hid a smile. Madame in disguise.
B: Now lamby, you come along and we's all will set you to rights. Look here and see what Mary come up with in the guest room -
Mary was Bett's eldest daughter. In comes Mary with a chemise a la reine, the most fashionable of French frocks at the time, designed to appeal to that forgotten vanity.

 All the bustle of changing and arranging has at least taken her attention off the window which had exerted such an hypnotic fascination for so long. When all is done, we take her downstairs to the waiting open carriage and all sit together.

Driving along the river road smoothly (not bumps and ruts and other inconveniences of 18th Century travel),  I ask her what she was waiting for at the window. The pleasant expression of enjoyment at the dappled light vanishes and she looks catatonic again.
P: I was waiting for Mr. Skelton.
Eek. Her first husband. This is worse than I thought. She has retreated entirely to before her marriage. I glance at Amy, who says firmly,
A: No, Batt and Tibb and Jackie and Pa are all gone, Patt. So is Betsey's Dick, and Janey.
She nods at me. husbands, siblings, children, nephews.
Patty shakes her head as if waking up.
P: Why, yes of course, how foolish of me!
Her hands are tight on the reticule strings in her lap. I think she might get lost again, but she turns to me earnestly.
P: Have you heard from Maria since your loss? [a mutual friend]
I assure her that I have, and begin talking about many other friends. Keep her in her present. That's progress.

We are still traveling along the pleasant river road, and I suggest that she might want to look at her letters, that we won't mind, and a little distractedly, as if she has forgotten them, she says 'Oh Yes' and removes them from her pocket. There are many tears and kisses of the words of the one on top. I hide my smile. The girl who used to read novels is still alive in her.  She bursts out:
P: Oh! he has been asked to go to FRANCE! to assist Dr. Franklin as Minister.
Her eyes are shining.
P: France, France, France!
I think of her eldest daughter, who was a coltish tomboy as a little girl but who cherished her own time in France. It had been a girlish dream, for Patty, amongst her father's French essays and sermons and plays, borne up by the interest her first husband had in that country also. She is as excited as a girl.
P: He says I am to await with you and we will leave directly he returns -[reading]- this Tuesday week... That's tomorrow! Oh Lud!
She is blushing like a girl.
E: That is why we came. Francis had the same intelligence of him.
Making it all up of course, but, look at her.
P: Oh, Betsey! You are such a clever thing!
She hugs me impulsively.

She doesn't seem to notice that no night or day is passing, or that we do not stop at taverns or friends' houses on the way. That's as well. We are suddenly moving up the hill towards her childhood's home, a modest house amid pine, tulip, and walnut trees. She is straining to look, as there in the half-circular driveway, is a familiar horse. She digs her fingers into my arm.
P: Oh he's here! He's here!
And with that He indeed appears from the house and Elizabeth's husband with him. The carriage has barely stopped and she has scrambled out and flung herself on him. Uncharacteristic in public, but not among family.
P: I received your letter!
She is exclaiming.
P: Oh France! France!
He is smiling his sardonic smile.
T: I thought you might be glad to see me too.
He teases.

She is happy and over the moon.

Inside the house is much discussion of logistics. A ship has been commissioned for them. Various friends are helping to secure supplies. And, a letter from Lafayette's wife Adrienne, in French, welcoming her to her country and hoping to embark upon a deep and lasting friendship.

Everything now will change, as they indeed embark on this alternative history in the holoworlds There. The changes for myself as a 'downline' remain to be seen [if any]. But watching her dance about her childhood home on light feet in those few 'days', reunited with her husband and daughters, I feel less conflicted about the life and its 3D outcome.

The pull of that life from my earliest childhood was because she needed rescuing. It cast a long shadow. But all that is done. When they take their leave, bound for new adventures, we wave them farewell from that curved driveway that now is barely discernable among the ruins of the house in the 3D.
K: Well done!
I say to Amy. She is smiling.
A: Yes.

Belonging

As I have mentioned earlier in this blog, the death of my sister in the days after we were born left me feeling that I was 'all alone out there', that I didn't belong anywhere or to anyone. Being weird - fey - from the beginning also made me an outsider, other. If I have had a neurosis, or challenge to overcome, it has been of feeling that I belong. I have discovered that a good part of this is purely chemical, for when I take taurine or lithium or just nutritional yeast with all its amino acids, I feel this sense of separation less, or not at all.

Nevertheless, in times of stress or crisis, I go right back to that feeling of 'not belonging', feeling at odds with the present time and culture and that the world doesn't want, let alone appreciate what I have to offer. Now, this is not a 'poor me' story. I am just reporting on the inner landscape. My (also vastly intelligent) cousin cannot believe that a smart person such as myself could ever suffer from this. It just isn't in his worldview at all.

So.

All my life I said 'I am my father's daughter, because I am nothing like my mother' (I do sound like her and have the same sense of humour, but those are minor, in my opinion.) This from having regular communications from both of them, all my life, on an etheric level.

Well, as it happens, I am indeed my father's daughter. I am more like my father's side of the family than I could ever hope to dream. Not merely physically, although that too. We have the same intellect, the same (sarcastic) sense of humour, the same talents, the same values, and orientation to life. Over and over again this is shown to me, these last three years.

And then today, the ultimate: after my ranting about the moral turpitude of one of our local business owners, another cousin of mine said to me that our Nana, my father's mother, would be so proud of me and love me so much, that what I had said reminded so much of her.

I belong. To this tribe. This vast rollicking, hard-working, loving, brawling, never-give-up clan.
I am theirs and they are mine.

Thank you, Dad.

Addendum: In the midst of writing this, I had a phone call from my dear friend Mary Wiseman, who interprets Lady Washington at Mount Vernon, thanking me for an 18th century embroidered pin cushion I sent her for her interpretation. She called it, the very spirit of the 18th Century embodied as it lay in her hand. She re-iterated to me as she has many times that I am 'too gracious, kind, knowledgeable, rarefied' for this world, that I should be teaching 'all this' - arts and graces, as well as the spiritual - to people in some historic place, and lamented that she wasn't in a position to make that happen, as she once was when we were at Colonial Williamsburg together.
But I get it. I belong there too - to the ageless, to the ages, to times past and ways past, ways of being past.

Yes. I do.

Gatekeeper

Yesterday, a friend of ours died. Between the notice of her still being on life support early in the morning and our arrival shortly before noon, so many things went down, not least realising WHY George was unexpectedly back from his learning session early. It is one of his jobs to act as 'ferryman', which he has done for many years of our time. It was only 'since' his life as George Mallory that that expression has been the one to show up, on Everest and elsewhere. He is not the only ferryman of course; he has his regions, while others have theirs.

My purpose was also front and centre as we made our way down our mountain to the hospital. I am the gatekeeper, as in the one who sits in front of the labyrinth. I'm here to make sure people who are transitioning understand that they are doing so, that they will be met (by George, their own guides, family and other beloveds), and that they will be taken care of. I am also there to reassure the bereaved that we go on. That they may talk to their beloved any time they wish. That the communication flows both ways.

I have played this role so many times in this life, by 'accident' and by intent. The message, the thread, if you will (thinking of Theseus here in the great labyrinth of Crete) is of primary importance to the various components that make up this 'I' here. In the simplest terms, it is why I am here, to prod the memories of others, to reassure them of what they know: we go on. You are not alone. You will be taken care of. That sounds pretty basic, elementary. But in these critical times of birth and death (I also welcome the incomings, and remind them that they are still connected to all that is There) my presence alone has helped people. It is my service here. Kindness. Compassion. Support.

It's not about fame, or money, or the gratitude of others. It is about the doing. Like Hester Prynne, 'when came the dawn the helpful inmate was no more to be found, shunning both praise and recompense'... They are reminding me to 'finish the line'. so I shall: 'it might be pride, but it was so like humility that it worked a change of hearts on the people of the town toward her, a softness which she neither wanted, nor, perhaps, deserved.'

At any rate, I am grateful always to bear witness to these powerful, critical times. It is an honour to serve.

Thank you, Michelle. We love you.

"You remind me of a Man..."

Old Hollywood film buffs will recognise the title of this post as a line from The Thin Man books and films. It really was meant as comic relief for the subject of this post.

Out on an errand today, we fell into talking about 'the War' - that is to say, World War Two. And it occurred to me that the young lady 'a part of "me"' was then had almost no experience of non-military life, being first a sort of Girl Guide involved in the war effort, then a secretary to a military official, then the wife of a young officer. How strange to come into civilian life after the war!

At any rate, I was curious enough to look up the man for whom she worked until 1944... and was stunned to realise that he looked exactly like the new CFO of the Archdiocese where I worked for over 8 years. The old CFO had retired, and on the very first day of the new man's tenure (which wasn't even a full day) I went home with the worst migraine of my life. I was always wary of him, until the day I left due to increasingly poor health.

I am not saying that I think that he WAS the same man - I think it unlikely - merely that he looked and acted like him, and I, having an instant aversion I could not explain, manifested this as stress which affected my adrenal condition. I don't blame the CFO, who was hardly the sort to be aware of ordinary undertones let alone the au dela. It was my reaction.

But it does tell me a lot on very subtle levels about the young woman's actual inner life and real feelings, which were mostly opaque even to her.

The world is a very funny place.

Broken Faith

Retrieval II, Parts of Self

I am again in the common area of the EcoVillage, by the covered barbeque platform. Is is a brilliant day. Now, I barely have time to think of asking for fellow-travellers and Joe and Maggie show up.
K: Don't you guys have something more important to be doing?
Joe is grinning.
J: This won't take long. It's a nice break for us. And besides, you kind of matter to us.
M: So, come on, kid. Let's get this done!
She takes my hand and we are in the Midlands in no time, turning to the right over toward the Belief Systems Territories. I know where this is going, and I feel sick.

Sure enough, we go into a Roman Catholic Cathedral there. I have visited the Catholic section before with a visitor who was once Agnese of Assisi, who wanted to meet Jesus, and I know the by-ways and tiny alleys of this Umbrian style town. Umbria, where Assisi is. Assisi, where Clare and Francis grew up. I am shaking and feel very sick now.

The Cathedral is modeled on the Church of San Giorgio, which is where Clare and her sister Catherine (later Agnese) first heard Francis preach, next to which she lived, and at which she was first interred after making her transition. The inside of this church is in the High Gothic style, with pale beige-grey pillars, stained glass, and wooden chairs. The typical side altars are present, full of brass and gold illumination and candles. Such a far cry from its Romanesque origins. I know that Santa Chiara doesn't care anymore, but I feel the residual echoes of an 800 year old distress.

We walk in and there on 'Mary's side' [left] where I sat as a three-year-old child with neighbours, is a little child, in a Sunday frock, gloves, and small chaplet pinned to long hair. If I had dressed my daughter so, it would be her. But I know it is myself. and I know to whence this meeting is 'ever tending'. She is just sitting, quietly, as instructed, not fidgeting. I feel the power of the place, even as I do in 3D churches, the power of ritual, and faith, and the equally powerful peaceful quiet. If I were orthodox, I would spend a few aeons here too, as the inhabitants of this Belief System do.

Joe and Maggie have stayed a little behind, sitting a few rows behind. They think I can handle this.
I walk up to the row, and address the child by name in quiet tones, but she looks up and hushes me, whispering.
D: we are sposed to wait qui-et-ly.
K: I will be quiet.
I promise.
K: Where are the others you came with?
D: They went out. They will come back.
K: did they tell you to wait?
She looks doubtful.
D: no. but Jesus is still there so I can't leave him alone. Somebody has to be here if he's out.
She points to the monstrance on the altar. Shades of St. Clare are a tolling bell in my mind, remaining at vigil all night, lying on the cold stone floor. Making herself ill with fasting and mortification. So ill that she remained in bed half her life. Thinking quickly, I realise that I need someone to stay here in her stead so I can take her to the Children's Centre.

I look up, towards the vestibule, and  - I am in tears - striding in from the brilliant sunlight is Claire, my HS, dressed in the white and beige clothes of St. Clare's first days as a nun, her hair all covered. She reaches us and gives me a sparkling glance, before coming to sit in the chair before the child.
C: hello little one! What a nice girl to sit with Jesus for me! I was busy, but now I am back and you can go home with your neighbours here.
She gestures to Joe and Maggie, who don't look in the least like my childhood neighbours.
The child looks up at Claire in awe.
D: you are a sister!
Claire nods.
C: I am an enclosed nun, that means I don't leave my church and have bare feet. See?
She lifts the hem of her gown and shows a slender, aristocratic foot. The child giggles, as was her plan.
D: We play nuns. My friend and me.
C: That's very good.

There is a pause. The child is frowning. Claire is very good with children, I begin to see. Like Sister Luke in The Nun's Story, like Maria von Trapp...
C: is something wrong, little one?
D: The mass was very wrong today.
C: What do you mean, wrong?
D: The old priest was facing the wrong way, and speaking English, and there were guitars instead of the organ, and they stood instead of kneeling, up there -
She points to the altar rail.
Claire glances at me. I'm feeling it too, confusion, outrage, grief. This isn't what I came here [to the Roman Church] for. I came because it reminded me of Assisi... and now it's ruined. A thousand years of tradition, ruined for lucre. Claire thinks at me: 'It was no different in Assisi. That's what we were about, protesting.' To the child she says, sweetly,
C: that was just a special Mass. They will go back to the right way next time.
She pats her hand.
C: But YOU have been here such a good girl for a very long time, and you should go home and have your lunch. Maybe even some ice-cream -
She looks up at me, and I nod.
C: You can go with my sister Catherine here and she will make sure that you get home safely.
I nod, smiling at the subterfuge.
K: Yes, Mother.
D: Okay.
The child speaks with determination.
D: But they better not ever do that again, 'cause it was wrong. It wasn't special or holy, and everybody was talking like a picnic.
Out of the mouths of babes. She gets down from her chair and I take her hand.
K: Let's go have some nice ice-cream now. Thank you, Mother Clare.
Her eyes are laughing.
C: don't be too long, my extern sister, or Agnese will lock the door.

We go out with Joe and Maggie into the brilliant sunshine, and quickly over to the Children's Center, where we deposit the child with the Matron. She is soon sitting in the refectory with some others newly arrived, and eating the promised ice-cream. I ask the Matron,
K: What will happen when the infant gets to her age?
Mn: Oh they will be merged. All the fragment-selves are merged until there is wholeness. You needn't worry.

***
I come from a very Catholic family on my Dad's side. That imprinting, along with my experiences as a religious (nun, priest) in former lives, was strong enough to draw me toward the Church as a tiny child, even though my adoptive family were non-religious Lutherans. I was so drawn that I announced my desire to become a Poor Clare at the age of 15. Because living barefoot and silent, getting up at 2 AM and working at a labourer's tasks is what every teenage girl thinks is bliss....

My sense of 'wrongness' on that fated day when Vatican II came to the parish was enough to cause a break in my psyche, and it has been a battle ever since with the Church, at least in my mind. I agree with Joseph Campbell, who said in his interview with Bill Moyers in The Power of Myth:

There’s been a reduction, a reduction, a reduction of ritual. Even in the Roman Catholic Church. My God, they’ve translated the Mass out of the ritual language into a language that has a lot of domestic associations. Every time…that I read the Latin of the Mass, I get that pitch again that it’s supposed to give, a language that throws you out of the field of your domesticity. The altar is turned so that the priest’s back is to you, and with him you address yourself outward [gestures upward with his hands] like that.

Now they’ve turned the altar around; [it] looks like Julia Child giving a demonstration—all homey and cozy. They’ve forgotten what the function of a ritual is: it’s to pitch you out, not to wrap you back in where you have been all the time.

I have been mistaken for a Fundamentalist Catholic because of this preference for the old ways. But it really goes back to immersing oneself in sacred space, back to Francis and Clare, and my Ancel in the Scriptorium at Salisbury (also in the Middle Ages.)

That fateful day in 1966 brought me into as much conflict with the Church as Francis and Clare ever were, or even Ancel in his small, local way. And into conflict within myself, because I felt that I had to Stand Vigilant against the incursions of the profane into the sacred. So much that I have been stuck there for almost 50 years, even though I do not believe in the dogma of the Catholic Church as promulgated. Passionate rants against the wrong turning of Vatican II - its good intentions, but bad application - clearly gave people the impression that I was a card-carrying member of the Society of St. Pius X. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Now, I can let St. Clare sit vigil. I no longer have that burden, taking me away from my tasks now. Clare can do it. I, this self, does not have to.

Retrieval: Preemie Self

I am in the EcoVillage, preparing to go retrieve some fragmented parts of the present consciousness. In the common area, I put out the intention and ask that any of our community who is willing and experienced who wish to come with me show up. To my surprise, Franz and Madame show up their Joe and Maggie guise, complete with hippie-ish clothes and jewellery. They are, in a manner, my 'parents' There, and better than anybody I suppose to come with me.

We travel down to the Recreation area, with its park like broad lawns and sunny vistas then down towards the Midlands. At the border Joe asks me in which order [of age] I wish to do this. I signal that I should like to do it in chronological age, and we progress over to the Rest Centre.

There in the quiet, calm sanitoria-like setting, we go to a plastic crib where a tiny infant is crying. It is very small – no longer than my hand – and a maroon colour. It is extremely premature, and looks almost like an alien. It is very upset, but its noises are gurgling and squeaking, rather than the squall of a full-born infant. This is my infant self, I recognise, frozen in time on the day of my sister's death, 19 March, 1963.

I feel VERY emotional, feeling all its grief and abandonment, as the only person it knew in this world is gone. I find my hand over my heart – a very frequent gesture of mine when distressed. ['why does the Minister hold his hand over his heart?' - Pearl Prynne, The Scarlet Letter]

M: you can pick her up.

Joe smiles encouragingly. I feel an intense longing for my sister. I can't do this alone.

K:I want Amy!

Amy appears, in bohemian attire, with her dark blonde hair unbound in fuzzy spirals. She puts her hand on my shoulder and nods. Carefully, I pick up the tiny baby, poor little baby self! And bring it near. I pick up the little blanket – the size of a dinner napkin – and put over it. I have always hated hearing little babies cry. I talk to it, and so does Amy, and sway in the way every mother does with babies.

K/A: hush little baby! There's no need to cry! See, sissy is here with you! You are not alone! You will never be alone any more! You will be taken care of and Sissy and I will visit you often!

Joe and Maggie are looking on with loving expressions, and though I am pouring tears, I feel the attention of the tiny baby shift, and I look at her.

She is looking at me with very dark, indigo eyes with silver streaks. She has no lashes or brow yet, nor fingernails. But she is aware, and gazes at me intently. I know that she has understood me.

K: What do we do now?

I don't know if I am supposed to take her to my parents, the staff here, or what.

J: Everything is ready to go, all her little things. You can bring her to the Children's Centre right now.

The Children's Centre is where those who have died as infants or children go to 'grow up' and continue on their lives here. They are cared for by older people, and are largely removed from the Education centres, but are sometimes seen in packs on the lawn of the recreation area, like an eternal manifestation of Neverland (except they do grow up). I am overcome again with emotion. I have always loved 'Peter and Wendy'... Another resonance! Leading back to that day of death, when I had to soldier on alone here.

But she is alone no more. And never will be again.

Joe leads us over to the attendant's area, where there is indeed a little case and an old fashioned little blue dress (very like to one I dressed my own daughter in at her first visit from her godmother.)

Amy and I dress her and wrap her.

A: like playing dolls

She is smiling.

I thank the attendant for caring for her and we go out the side door near into the brilliant sunshine. In a moment we all four of us are at the Children's Centre, where the gate attendant is waiting, smiling.

CCA: we were told to expect you!

They look at our 'little dolly' [Claire's phrase for ME to George!] with a smile.

CCA: such a pretty girl! Oh don't you worry, she'll be fine! Patricia was here too when she came, isn't that right, Amy?

I turn, and Amy is beaming, nodding and smiling and teary with happiness.

A: Oh yes! They took such good care of her, Claire! You'll see! She'll be so happy!

She hugs me, and shows me that Patricia is waiting in a little English Cotswolds cottage in the residential area in 5 [the 5^th Dimension, F32]

A: when she is grown she and Patricia can live together, just like it was planned there!

She hugs me again because I am crying.

CCA: You can bring her in and see that's she's settled.

I look at Joe and Maggie.

Joe: We'll be right here.

Amy, the attendant and I go into the main building, which isn't at all like the horrible school that swallowed up Sarah Crewe in A Little Princess, which is what I was slightly afraid of [another resonance!] but is cheerful and full of light and flowers, with children running up and down the halls and stairs. I look in one of the rooms and the children are all happily working on projects, like a Montessori school.

The Matron comes out from her office. She is young and pretty, with dark hair and a flowing white dress and jangling bracelets.

Mn: Hello, Claire! Hello Amy I'm so glad you came! And this is the little one!

She comes and looks, smiling, then says to the attendant,

Mn: Thank you Jezriel! You can go along now. We'll be fine.

She looks at me.

Mn: You understand that we don't isolate the babies here? Come I'll show you our nursery!

We follow her to a back room on the ground floor, which is very sunny. The babies indeed sleep all together in large cribs on the floor, like playpens, full of soft blankets and toys. The very little ones are kept in smaller beds, also on the floor, by twos and threes.

A: so you see, she shall indeed never be alone or lonely.

The Matron explains the daily routine, which includes music and colours and interaction with animals once the babies are old enough. There is exercise, and walks in prams in the sunshine, and continual loving interaction by the attendants, some of whom are young, some of whom are soft doughy grandmotherly types.

Down the hall, I see the dormitory for the slightly older children. Again, it is on the model of group beds. Matron says,

Mn: because our experience shows that is what the children want, until they are well into their teens.

After viewing the classrooms and other dormitories, the petting zoo and garden, I am satisfied that my little baby self will be well-nurtured. But the time has come to leave her here and I am finding it very difficult, despite the assurances.

My mother appears, in her beautiful Kim Novakesque guise.

K: I know how hard it was, Mutti!

She smiles and embraces me.

N: I know, sweetie. [That is what I call my own children...]

She is teary too, looking at the little baby as she last saw her.

N: but she will be all right here, and you and I and Patty will visit.

At her voice, the little baby looks up, transfixed.

N: See, she knows me.

She touches the little head, then kisses it, gesturing that I and Amy should do the same.

We do and Mutti says to the Matron,

N: There you are now, Marisa. I think we are ready.

We all look at each other, Mutti Amy and I, three grown women, and I realise that we haven't done this before, haven't been together since those long ago days. Many embraces and loving tears later, Amy and I hand over Baby Self to Marisa the Matron, who treats her very gently and lovingly, and we turn to go.

At the gates, Joe and Maggie are right there, as promised.

They greet my mother warmly

J/M: hello dear Natalie, you look so well. It's so nice to see you again!

They all exchange embraces, chatting happily.

Then Joe turns to me.

Joe: So, little one, are you ready to go back now?

He looks across the fields towards the Eco Village.

Joe: the gathering will be going on when we get back, and you and Amy can share your success with everyone.

He is smiling broadly, encouragingly.

Maggie takes up my hand

M: You did splendidly!

She squeezes my hand hard.

I bid farewell to my mother and the four of us move quickly over the landscape towards home.

Confirm

This from over on Bruce Moen's forum:
"Hey folks. This sorta fits in with the theme of the thread. I only found this website through lurking on other forums. GMan

"Montalk Website, article written by Tom the Admin-Owner

"Beyond the material world, beyond the common rules, limitations, and assumptions we take upon ourselves, resides a greater spiritual reality operating under a set of higher principles that can help us transcend foolishness, strife, and drudgery. Knowledge limited to the physical world and bounded by the shortcomings of our five senses is not enough to attain freedom. Metaphysics is the study of higher knowledge, the deeper truths of life. We only have to recognize these higher truths and live by them to rise beyond old behavioral patterns and access a new vista of inconceivably wonderful possibilities.

All is Mind:

    Everything is consciousness, and all consciousness shares a common source. It is the ultimate center, the initiator of all causes, the core perceiver, the chooser.

    Consciousness is the dreamer (Creator), the dreamed (individualized consciousness), and the dreamscape (matter, space, energy, and time). There is no difference between reality and dreams except that reality involves mass consciousness holding the rules of reality rigid, whereas in dreams usually only the personal subconscious does so. Just as thought underlies objects in dreams, so does thought form the basis of matter in waking reality.

    Creation is infinite, composed of a unified infinite being (the Creator) and its expression as an infinite variety of finite beings. Stated another way, the Creator is an infinite being exploring its infinite potential through an infinite number of finite avenues. While individual evolutionary paths begin and end – beginning as the first stirring of awareness among primal matter and ending in unified congruency with the Creator – the grand experiment itself is without beginning or end because there are an infinite number of these paths.

    Because all life shares a common source, all life is interrelated and of equal worth. Only the expression of the underlying source differs from one lifeform to another. To differing degrees, each lifeform is endowed with freewill, the potential ability to choose independently of another being’s choice. Freewill adds a wildcard factor that makes the grand experiment interesting instead of boringly deterministic.

    Existence is both holographic and fractal in nature. It is holographic in the sense that all possibilities exist simultaneously and timelessly, while our individual consciousness interfering with this static pattern is what generates the illusion of dynamic experience. In other words, it is we who move through the static pattern, the dreamscape projected by the Creator. Existence is fractal in the sense that freewill requires discontinuities and inconceivable complexities in this static web of possibilities. A fractal exists as a static pattern created from a deterministic equation, but due to the infinite complexity of a fractal, its exploration by a conscious perceiver becomes an nondeterministic affair. And thus the game of life can be characterized by freewill even though the gameboard itself is static and deterministic.

    Progress arises when freewill moderates the interaction between two opposite forces. This forms a trinity generically composed of an active force, passive force, and neutralizing or balancing force. This trinity can be found everywhere that progress is to be found. For example, the tension of a string comprises the active force, inertia of the string creates the passive force, and the musician is the balancing force. From this is born music. Within individuals, the lower impulses form the passive force, higher spiritual callings of the heart form the active force, and you – the incarnated consciousness – form the balancing force by choosing between these two opposite polarities. From this is born the progress of your personal evolution. Even the fractal boundary of the Mandelbrot set acquires its infinite complexity by being the balancing point beyond two opposing mathematical values, the finite and the infinite – which ties back into reality being a fractal hologram.

Good and Evil:

    Choice allows one to serve the Creator within oneself by exploiting others or by serving the Creator within others. The first path is identifed as evil/darkness/negativity while the second path one associates with good/light/positivity. This sets up two branches of evolution – one that works against the laws of Creation and one that works with and for it. Both ultimately serve the Creator’s exploration of self, but only the positive path does so in a balanced manner. The tension between these two evolutionary paths enriches the grand experiment and provides the impetus for evolution by both sides.

    As Goethe wrote, the dark force “wills forever evil yet does forever good.” The self-serving path, despite giving the individual personal power, also puts him in unwitting subservience to higher powers. The highest power of all is the Creator, which those of the dark hierarchy unwittingly serve by providing the grand experiment with the passive force necessary for evolution. They provide the darkness against which the light stands out. Lucifer is referred to as the “lightbringer” because through self-serving actions, manipulation, and infliction of pain, self-serving individuals unwittingly give others the opportunity to see the light.

Cosmology:

    Finite consciousness can be classified into an octave scale of conscious development. This octave arises naturally because consciousness is vibration, and vibration strung between a beginning point (as matter) and ending point (as unity with the Creator) sets up a scale. This scale consists of eight notes: do re mi fa so la si do. The first note signifies sleeping consciousness and the last note represents active consciousness – and notice that these notes have the same name, illustrating how sleeping and active consciousness are just two expressions of the same infinite consciousness. The space between two notes on this evolutionary scale is called a “density” and there are seven total densities, each encompassing a particular class of conscious development. The higher densities have higher vibrations of consciousness and are more evolved.

    Whereas densities categorize different evolutionary levels of the dreamed, the terms “spacetime” and “timespace” classify different aspects of the dreamscape. Spacetime is the arena of causal interaction better known as physicality, where two or more beings interact while bound by a common set of physical laws. Spacetime is where experiences occur and lessons are learned – the ground, the battlefield, the classroom. By contrast, timespace is the sky, the command center, the teacher’s office. It is where individual beings have a bird’s eye view of what occurs in spacetime, providing a still point of contemplation, reflection, and planning of further spacetime experiences. This is the state one enters in between physical incarnations. The lower densities exist primarily in spacetime while the higher densities choose to exist almost exclusively in timespace.

Personal Spiritual Evolution:

    Upon incarnating into a physical body, we experience an occultation of awareness and forget who we are. Then social conditioning and biological impulses graft a false identity upon us that is in total discord with our true spiritual nature. Most people wear this false identity for life and fail to recognize and fulfill their true reasons for incarnating. But for others, intuition and experiences help them realize that there is more to life than the material world (matrix) admits. Throughout life these individuals experience higher impulses guiding them toward becoming lucid in this dream, while simultaneously lower impulses beckon them toward sleep. For those who consistently listen to their higher impulses, inner and outer life transforms and begins to operate under divine instead of material laws, removing limitations of the latter and opening up new possibilities. This is the process of transcending the matrix, using higher laws to override lower ones by developing and purifying one’s internal nature to resonate with higher realms of existence. This is a prerequisite for fulfilling one’s potential.""

The Unquiet Dead

Meeting, Theatre Office, Claire, Amy

They are in the mica-shaded light of the tiny office, discussing the progress of recent returnees in adapting to life here. Claire is wearing soft woolen khaki trousers and a white shirt, like old days when Franz was Director, but her fuzzy golden brown hair is soft. Amy is wearing overalls and a dark blue show t-shirt (The Incredible Mr. Cassinov), and braids. Apparently, one of the most recent is having a very hard time with the 'calls' from his wife who is still incarnate and they are deciding what to do about it.

C: Taking him to the border and letting him see and be heard could be dangerous, or at least more upsetting than it's worth.

A: But you remember what happened to [X]

Several months ago, a similar situation happened and the discarnate was 'strongly advised against' going down near enough to be heard by a loved one, and, following the advice, became so despairing that they had to return to the Rest Center, to be put into a kind of coma until they recover. They are still there.

This begs the question of free will; indeed, of communication with the discarnate from this side at all. Claire, if I may? (We go into the aisle of the house.)

C: Those who come here, who manage to get here without being caught up in the Borderlands or the Midlands, or be so shell-shocked that they need a rest cure, have work to do in sorting themselves out, in acclimatising before they can properly focus and review the life with their guide before going to the Council with their conclusions. This acclimatisation is hindered if they are continually called upon by the incarnate in an emotional manner. The HS or guide should be the one to handle the incarnate's emotion, not the one here. Your traditional cultures have guidelines about this transition period. Your own English-based culture used to have a similar period of a year and a day, when the grave was let to lie and sink before a stone was put up. The family members were encouraged to spend that time in seclusion, away from the grave, before your secular world took over in the 1600s. Those of your present societies who practise shamanism know these proscriptions well. You have wondered often at 'not hearing from' various family members who have come here for long periods after their transition. This is the reason. They are busy. We are busy helping them adjust. Some take longer than others. This is the origin of the phrase 'let the dead bury the dead', as the Judaic culture has this as well.

K: So, what should we say to those who have loved ones who have transitioned, and are having a hard time of it?

C: Prevail upon their friends there to aid and succour them. Or if they are amenable, explain to them that they can call on their HS and guides and we will answer. But make clear that the departed one is busy adjusting to 'eternal' life and making their life review.

K: Thank you. On this subject, what do you do with someone there who insist on interacting with incarnate people in this period?

C: We try our best to dissuade them, but if they insist, they will be escorted to the Borderlands by a guide, not necessarily their own guide and teacher, and watched over during the process. However, more often than not, the experiment is a failure, because while the grieved want communication, they are not of a vibrational pattern to actually experience it.

K: I presume that the companion is there not just as a scout to show the way, but to help them if they should go off the rails, as it were?

C: That is correct. The success of the mental state following such an attempt depends entirely on the vibrational level and experience of the one here. However, it is true that largely, those who request such visits are coming off of a Baby-to-Early Mature soul age life [not that the fragment is actually OF that age, they were just putting on the level for that life role.] Younger souls are typically more malleable and interested in being taken care of, and older souls are too busy enjoying being back and getting back into their lives and homes here.

K: Thank you. This brings up the matter of the Borderlands and retrievals, but I know that you are busy, so I will let you get back to work.

Claire signals an indigo blue/purple light flash – her vibrational signature and level – with a benevolent expression, and then is back in the office with Amy.

Ruby Slippers

Some people are astonished or sceptical when I say that I have clear long-lasting memories as young as six months (of the assassination of JFK), or that I had multiple NDEs (near-death experiences, i.e., being revived) as a tint preemie. In the first case, I can only relate my experience of a house I never afterwards lived in, with people I did not see again after age 16 months. Of the latter, the hospital record will back me up as having 'many periods of apnea' in those 4 months in hospital.

My consciousness during those non-physical episodes was not one of an infant, but of a mature individual, distinct from my Higher Self Claire. The lasting effect of those NDEs has been a rather tenuous attachment to the 3D world, and an intense longing to 'go home', which predictably surfaces when life here is too intense, tense, stressful, or painful for my sensitive nature. I have been told by many people that I 'lack will' or stamina, which contradicts the testimony of the NICU nurses, who said that I was a 'survivor', that I endured due to sheer bloody will.

I have been petitioning my Life Council since I was two years old to be able to come home. They are unrelenting. I have 'work to do' here, related to the very subjects you are reading here. Very few people even know what I mean by 'go home'. They think I literally mean 'go back to my physical house.' A temporary solution is to vault myself into a state where I can 'go home' for a while, which is difficult to do when I am in a 'state' - physically or mentally. That's about the best I can manage here. I'm not knocking it. I will take every 'moment' There I can get while here.

When I heard of Dannion Brinkley, who has experienced three NDEs as an adult, I  was very heartened. He was the first person that I can recall who talked about these matters openly, back in the 1980s. And, having met him, I can say he is as genuine as can be, and a really open and NICE person.

Longing to go home is a very common feeling among NDEers, so at least I am not alone. We all have something here to do, which is why we remain. But access to There is thankfully available to all, at any time, free of charge.

Shift

One of the reasons I decided to begin this record is that I recently underwent a transformation in my relationship with my 'I/There', Higher Self, Claire, and my teacher George. This was due to a life change that I made back in October, quitting my 'safe' day job because I was ill, and it was leave or possibly die, especially as the prescribed meds for my adrenal condition at the level at which I was allowed did not help. This precipitated many unforeseen 'adventures' and 'learning experiences.' This begs the question, 'why are bad things allowed to happen?'The answer to this is complex. Sometimes the answer is ' this was  the life plan before coming in.' Sometimes it is 'this was called to the individual by their vibrational level [thoughts, emotions].'

In an effort to understand this latest in 'a series of unfortunate events', I asked Claire why there was this continually bumpy journey.

Claire: This is due to relying on the judgement and suggestions of George, who while he means well, is too attached [to me] to be balanced in his guidance.

Those pithy words were resonating and revolutionary. I recognised the truth of them when they were spoken. This role of mine, what I think of as 'I' here, was one of the first creations of George's when he moved into creating such roles. It would be fair to say that he was attached to the his creation, and invested in seeing it continue, to a degree that, indeed, was unbalanced. His good intentions of seeing often-ill me 'taken care of' have led me into some very bad space, because I very erroneously trusted his judgement more than my own. I decided after this to follow Claire's advice rather than George's, and to accept that his intentions were good.

If I compare George's way of being to that of Claire, I see a person who is practical, pithy, using logic rather than emotion. She is compassionate, but is not sentimental. Her interest is truly in problem solving in very practical ways. Some people There find her tough, but she is in no way unkind.

Then several weeks later, I was driving home from down 'the Hill' as we call Idyllwild, and out of the blue, for reasons I cannot yet fathom, I asked George what it took for him to be persuaded to make me stay when I was a tiny premature infant suffering apnea, and my twin sister had already died. When my sister died, and I was in such a poor way, there was a meeting with my Life Council, Franz, George, Claire, and Amy (whose 'downline' was my sister.) The Life Council was for my staying; everyone else was against (including me.) George is the one who convinced me, and he was persuaded to do so, I  understood, 'against his desire.' I am given to understand that when a direct question is asked, an answer will be given. I was stunned at George's response. He appeared very abashed.

George: I was persuaded that your continuing would allow my experiment to continue.

 I was livid. Ego. It was all about ego.... Except that it made sense of all his efforts to have me 'taken care of in his absence' in the face of my lifelong illness and soft nature.

It took several weeks for me to get my head around this action, and to forgive it and go on with the relationship. I have done, but I put more stock in what Franz advises and certainly what Claire advises.

These conversations bring up the matter of fallibility, time, and personal growth There. Some people appear to believe that just because someone is dead, they know everything, and have nothing to learn, that there is 'no time' at all and everlasting sameness. But there is a scale of 'time' and growth, though it is of a very different scale to that of the 3D. I have experienced moving from one 'status' to another, one job to another, one abode to another. And the experience with George shows that even a lower Mental plane level discarnate person doesn't have all the answers and is subject to 'learning experiences'. This should not be discouraging, rather the opposite. We are always in a space to grow. For George, he has learned from this not to take his work so personally, to 'let the winds of Heaven dance between you.' For me, I have made a tremendous shift towards greater self-reliance and taking advice as ADVICE, just as I would from a friend or sibling here, not as a directive or as coming from someone who 'knows better' than I.

Spiral

When I first began cataloging my experience in places There, I was either in the Theatre, a little pied-à-terre adjacent in Chelsea, which actually belonged to George and was very Art Deco and full of his Everest photographs, or in my little cabin, which was then 'out there' in a certain direction from the Theatre. Since I knew where everything was spatially in relation to where I was, it never occurred to me to draw a map. I knew how to get to the Town and the University, the other two learning centres I had frequent interaction with. I knew where the Welcome and Rest centre was. I knew where the borderlands were where people got stuck sometimes (and from which the hardier of our folk did retrievals.) I also knew there were areas that corresponded to what followers of major religions thought of as their 'paradise' or 'heaven'. I knew my location in relation to other planes (or dimensions, if you will.)

Initially, the Michael Teachings, from the original books by Quinn Yarbro, gave enough of an accurate accounting of location to satisfy my instinctive hunt for proof of what I knew. The entity Michael was a Causal (or, Mental) Plane teacher no longer incarnating in the 3D. I was already aware that people at the level 'above' me did not incarnate in the physical plane,
It wasn't until I came into contact with the Monroe Institute via my publishers in 1992 that I discovered that Robert Monroe had mapped all these areas more specifically. He called them by specific names, and then said to a friend of mine about those names, 'don't get hung up on the labels; I had to call them something.' Why was I late to the party? Because I had read Bob's Journeys Out of the Body, and was not very impressed because astral travel, ho hum, doesn't everyone know how to do this?

One of the first clues I had that Bob had been onto something was when my editor came back from their Gateway program saying, ' I was AT your Theatre. It's not a metaphor' and proceeded to describe a section of the theatre in familiar and vivid detail. Apparently, he had thought up til then that it was a metaphor, or that I had ' made it up.' Since he had 'never heard' of the Theatre, Green Room, University, etc., in any of his extensive readings, he thought it was a metaphor I employed. I was very amused at this naivete, and pleased to have been validated once again.
Later on, TMI graduates like Bruce Moen and Robert Bruce further mapped experiences There and I saw that they 'got it'. I was impressed.
For those of you interested, the 'Focus Levels' -Monroe Institute nomenclature for states of consciousness and areas of living beyond the 3D- are here explained:

Focus levels https://monroeinstituteuk.org/focus-levels/

 In the Theatre, we joke to our incoming people at the re-orientation tour that Hell can be found under our stage, and proceed to open the trapdoor. But there are areas There which can be thought of as hells, for whatever religion you are that believes in that. See the Belief Systems Territories.

For those preferring the scientific, the planes of existence and dimensions are well-described by Drake Stephen. The Planes chart corresponds to the 10 dimensions science has discovered to exist, and the Dimensions chart to the enfoldment of those dimensions (i.e. the 3D is within the 4th, which is within the 5th and so on.)

The Monroe material, with all its specific jargon, sufficed for some time in explaining matters to others. Then my friend Cathleen, to whom Bob Monroe had said 'Don't get hung up on labels' gave me the books of Dr. Michael Newton, and here not only was vast confirmation of my work There, soul levels, and how we are defined from Source, but a curious map of the learning centre(s) there, which looked to my eyes like the Fibonacci spiral. The map had the same curve of the main rooms and hallway of the Theatre.

Curious, I asked friends of mine at the University There, who knew that was their centre, to draw it for me, the buildings' location. And, there too, was the Fibonacci spiral. I looked at the Town, and all the other Centres related to life in the 3D -many of which don't deal with Earth incarnations - as well as the Life Council centre, and all were in the shape of the Fibonacci spiral.

The Fibonacci spiral numbers radiate at a vibrational frequency of 528 Hertz. This is used by biochemists to repair broken DNA. It is also the frequency of Gregorian chants. You can listen to a presentation with this frequency underlying here.

So, what does this 'mean'? To me, it is simply confirmation that we're all getting the same information based on our individual experiences, there is a specific plan to the conformation of not simply the 3D but to other dimensions as well, based on mathematics, vibrational and tonal frequency (and thus music), and that if you are seeking this information, the truth can be known. But it might not be what you have been brought up to believe.

For further exploration of experiences There, please have a look at Steve Beckow's compilation of some older automatic writings from people who have transitioned and are describing the landscape There. This will take some time to read, but do start with the section of accounts from those who are 'deceased'. New Maps of Heaven.

Ensemble Cast

Before recording any discussions, I thought I should introduce you to the main people with whom I interact, and my places. These are the people I work with, study with, study under, live with, visit often, and regularly encounter.

My work interactions happen in either the Theatre, which is a form of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane in London; or in the Life Council chambers, which are in an area nearby, where everyone on Earth does their immediate past-life review and pre-life processing. Think Defending Your Life. That was a humourous take on the area, and not far wrong.

My "personal life" interactions happen in a cabin in the EcoVillage, which is a fairly new living area at the border between the Upper Astral and the Mental Plane, convenient for all who happen by; in the Villa, a Georgian house on Lake Geneva, inhabited by souls who were formerly Franz Liszt and George Gordon, Lord Byron; and sometimes at my father's house in the mountains.

For simplicity's sake, I will confine myself to the English names these folks have had. They go by other names, and it's best not to be attached to any particular name.

My most common interactions are with my Spirit, Oversoul, or Higher Self, Claire. She/I-There is the Assistant Director of the Theatre, a teacher, and a junior member of the Life Councils (which means "watch and learn and once in a while you will be allowed to ask questions".)

Next are my teachers/guides. I have a Senior teacher, Franz, and a Junior, George. Franz is now a member of the Life Councils and working with the Committee(s) who generate the Big Picture scenarios in the 3D; George is the Director of the Theatre, and is learning to "create roles", that is, lifetimes such as yours and mine. My other teacher is Madame (Maggie), who was my first teacher, of elementals, and from whom I learned to manage psyches, both in creating mind-states and managing people who are incarnating (something akin to a psychologist.) Presently, I am learning to take on her role in teaching the infant Spirits elementals - how to navigate in holoworlds under supervision, so to get their sea legs in terms of interacting with others.

The other person I interact with most frequently is Amy, our Stage Manager, with whom I personally as a soul and several of Claire's other "me's" have known in incarnations as friends, relatives, cohorts, and admired figures.

On a personal note, I frequently have conversations with my Dad (Ben), my mother (Natalie), both of whom have transitioned from earthly life. Less often I have conversations with my mother-in-law (Lorraine), my grandmother (Helen, or Mudd), and sometimes old friends Ed Carter and Johnny.

For now, this will do. The Grand Tour is next.

Welcome!

This blog will serve as a journal, both of present and past experiences and communications with what may be called non-physical entities and places. These go by many names, and one of the purposes of this journal is to unite all the names and structure systems I have encountered into a cohesive and unified whole, to the best of my ability. I wish to be inclusive, and while I have studied most of the major world religions and belief systems, and will endeavour to use neutral language, you, dear reader, should know from the outset that my primary orientation is to Jungian analysis, the broad view of the ethnologist Joseph Campbell, the work of Robert Monroe and others of his coterie, and that of Dr. Michael Newton. This may sound rather scientific, but I am not a sceptic. I come to this interaction from the space of being a natural, lifelong mystic, for lack of a better term.

Your own experiences and responses as a reader are a valuable part of the conversation,