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.

Captain of my Ship

Franz:
As to how to be a creator, the suggestion made by your friend [Frank DeMarco in The Cosmic Internet] to 'remote view your own life' is not a bad one, with some cautions about letting your  ego-mind magnify fears [Think Rimmer in red Dwarf in the holoworlds].
K; So, visualisation.
F: Yes but visualisation from the viewpoint of 'sensiing vectors', of looking at the avenues that are possible from your current standpoint of choices.  Every choice closes certain possibilities and opens others in your prospective futures. Some are malleable - you can go back - but others are not (such as choices that lead to dropping the body).

Guidance

Some might wonder what the point or purpose of guidance is, if we are here, supposedly to interact with this plane, learn to make choices, and 'do things ourselves' with 'delayed consequences'. Good question! Claire had this to say:

K: Is it possible to be 'at cause' in one's 3D life, or is this New Age hokum?
C: What do you think this conversation is, if not being at cause? [as opposed to being a victim?]

Then Franz:
F: What must be considered is who or what is exerting control? Higher Self? The Life Council? Various resonances of 'other selves'? The basic, unmediated embryonic ego? You can see that discerning who or what is very important.

In the present case, it would be fair to say that the persona (ego plus soul inserted into the body) wants to have a greater hand in ' shaping matters'. To do this I would suggest that you follow the instructions for shaping matter: visualisation, putting out energy of a particular need or desire to those who can fulfill it, then 'checking in' with one of us as to whether it is on course for the life plan, so as to avoid wasted effort.

I don;t mean to say that you should do this with every little decision or choice in your life, but the larger ones would benefit from such checking in. It is of benefit to study how this works so as not be be forever bashing your head against brick walls, as you would say.

Parts of Self and Choice

In discussing the facilitation of goals with Franz today, a continuance of a previous conversation about the threads or resonance or Other [past] personalities of self occurred.

F: If your goal is to have a peaceful, financially stable life, then you must make inner and outer choices which facilitate this. If you wish, conversely, to 'rely solely on guidance and go wherever the wind takes you', this involves an entirely different set of choices; choices which are not being, I point out, entirely in keeping (harmony) with either your persona or the various threads (consciousnesses, 'lifetimes') active now in your make-up.

K:With regard to that, it would be interesting to see their orientations, views, and 'who's steering the ship', as it were.

F: Very well. A dossier:
Ancel [Master of the Scriptorium at Salisbury, 13th C] - contributes logic, and attention to craft and its preservation. His overriding attribute is analysis of the intersection of soul and spirit.

Bekka [Minor member of the Hapsburg family, a good faith offering to the Reich] performance of duty, putting self last. You are perceiving that her influence is largely detrimental  to your persona in terms of development, but she facilitates interface with your present culture's expectations.

Patty [Jefferson] this one has been self-deprecating to a self-destructive degree, but contributes a 'romantic' (feeling based) sensibility and love of beauty necessary to your work.

Molly [Pianist, wife of a university don] contributes logic in a practical manner - which is helpful in integrating the business world, and a very deep sense of beauty.

Ellie [Appalachian seamstress] this one also has  extremely self-deprecating tendencies, and the habit of following along, not standing up for herself. But she too has skill in craft, a good business sense and sense of beauty.

In all cases of the self-deprecating threads, it is important to separate out what is useful in their influence from what is not, which may not be apparent as such at first glance.

***
I then circled all the positives, for future reference and discussion with the personas. In the case of Bekka, I asked myself how I could avail of her facility with cultural expectations without descending into that 'loss of self' that was a hallmark of her life. I decided to use her (pardon the term) for those things that make life easy and pleasant: cleaning, cooking, baking, home craft. (Let her be a housewife) - which is where that desire comes from (in me), because she never got to except partly at the end of her life after the war.

I had then a strong sense of incoming information. and realised that I needed to change her outcome (she died as part of the infamous resistance after the war.) Several possibilities presented themselves, some humorous, such as running off with General Sepp Dieterich - a joke between them - but the most cohesive with her own life was to get her and her child Karl to Switzerland and be reunited with her Hapsburg relatives (beloved Uncle Otto and so on), as it was from them she was taken as a young child. It would be completing the circle.

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.

Queens

Two, one two three four
Ev'rybody's talking about
Bagism, Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism
This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m. 

This post is gong to be about Archetypes and Gender Identity. Anyone who has a problem with that, stop reading right now. The rest of you, carry on.

The conjunction of Caitlyn Jenner's revelation on the cover of Vanity Fair, the Supreme Court's upholding the rights of gay people to marry, and the murder of 9 people in Charleston for being black has brought up matters of identity in the US. Over on the Joseph Campbell Mythological Roundtable, this has received a lot of discussion. The views range from the 'scientific' - what according to DNA IS 'gender identity'?- to the spiritual - archetypes, the Hero's Journey - to the cultural - what does it mean to be gay, black, fe/male at this time?

The answers of individuals - like the view of historians or biographers - is often more illuminating as to the writer than their subject. But that in itself is instructive as to where we are in the process of Change as a society right now, thus Important.

One of the most interesting discussions, to me, is the re-emergence of the Queen archetype in the female life span, as opposed to Maiden/Mother/Crone being the only options. I take this very personally, as Persephone - one of my major archetypes - embodies three of those modes (Maiden/Queen/Crone)- with Queen of the Underworld being the 'most enduring' (of the longest duration) There of the three. Here in the 3D I have achieved three of those four stages (Maiden/Mother/Queen) and was stuck in the Maiden/Damsel Who Must Be Rescued for a very long time, well into the Mother/Queen st/age. The quarternity, in Jungian terms, is well-presented here.

The Damsel in Distress

This is the immature version of the saboteur. Like the saboteur, this young woman remains self-absorbed, aloof, and does not really understand her environment. It has become disappointing to her as it at best has not met her needs and at worst has entrapped her. Her lack of prior inquisitiveness has left her untaught, ill-prepared and unable to provide for herself. She needs to be rescued from her own life. Unfortunately her lack of relatedness has left her stranded with out known options that would be able to bring about resolution. As in her adult form, her distance from her own needs not only undermines the environment, but sabotages herself. Her need to relate is trapped within her, i.e. self-absorbed, she is well aware that she has needs, but does not have a clue as to how to bring them about. She is trapped, and awaiting divine intervention.

Queen/Mother

I offer this archetypal combination to both honor Toni Wolfe’s original labeling and to acknowledge that there is an aspect of this complexual form that does not have to be a biological mother. The queen/mother aspect of a woman is a complex that has a personal relationship with her subjects and assumes the responsibility of providing an environment in which her subjects can thrive and flourish and find the relational qualities necessary for harmony to exist in the queendom. Her very presence in life leads her through experiences to discover the role that awaits her. Her role will be to instill in her subjects the qualities that she, by her own inner sense of things, deems important. Her dedication to this labor force her to surrender some aspects of her natural sensuality. Her seductress is commonly one of the first victims of this commitment. She may even be tempted to convert her relationship with her lover into that of mother-son, which will provide her mate with a safe place to exist in so his energies are free to provide financial and maintenance support to her family. She tends to be very supportive of social systems that provide an extended environment in which her children or subject are safe to explore and then return to her. The mother has truly surrendered herself and her path as an individual. Her view of wholeness is not simply herself, but the oneness of herself with her self defined charges, be these children or adults. She, of course , will sacrifice herself for her charges, for she has traded her individual path for the opportunity to be the creator and inspiration of her charges who in her creative side she hopes will fulfill and surpass the dreams that she sacrificed to care for them. So, the accomplishments of her subjects become her fulfillment.

The Medial

This aspect of the adult feminine is impersonal as is the amazon, but opposes the amazon in that the fields she play in are the fields of spirit and unconscious ideation. The medial is a channel from the external world to her internal or from the collective unconscious to potential consciousness. She is naturally in tune with her environment and with her intuitive abilities attunes herself to the vibrations that surround her. Her strength is in her ability to trust the internal message over what is obviously standing in front of her as the two commonly oppose each other in the world of the medial. She has some Hecate or witch like qualities about her in that she knows what she knows. But, this knowing does not come to her through reason or exploration. Rather, if she comes near it, it just invades her and demands recognition. When she is surrounded by light creative energy all is well with her and those about her. However, when darkness or discord appear on the horizon of the unconscious, she is the first to sense it. If she denies the intuitive invasion, then the dynamics are pushed into her own shadow and she may be forced to act out the discord in physical or psychological illness. However, the structural form of the medial is truly a vessel, not a receptacle. Therefore, she can avoid this illness by simply allowing the energy of the intuition to pass through her by announcing it to consciousness (either hers or to whomever it may belong). One of the tricky aspect of being a medial is determining for whom her bells tolls. She can easily cause great discord herself by confusing inner messages from her own unconscious with collective material or by assuming that every thought that ripples through her head is a message for someone. Just like the amazon needs to refine her skills, so the medial needs to refine hers. Her unwillingness to apply discipline and wisdom to her gift can be her seriously detrimental to both herself and those close to her.

While it is true that in the Upper Astral (5th Dimension) and Mental (6/7th Dimension) there isn't gender as we think of it here in the 3D, there is an habitual choice of projection for purposes of communicating in the 4th and 5th Dimensions, commonly known as Gender. In specific, all the people we have met thus far in this blog - Franz, Madame, George, Claire, Amy - are actually non-gendered, but project the aspects of gender 'for convenience's sake' [their words] because 'it is hard to get excited by a fuzzy orange blob' [George]. No spirit (or Higher Self or whatever you wish to call it) has gender. It never did. Soul fragments have whatever gender in whatever worlds system the soul goes into as a personality (and some of them have as many as 36 'genders' as we think of them here on Earth) for reasons that have to do with the role taken on.

It is also true that in utero here on earth, certain 'outside influences' [ hormones in food] and 'naturally occurring' influences [over secretion of certain hormones due to enzyme block or lacks as in my own family] can cause hormone and actual physical changes in the embryo, fetus, child and adult, with the cascade of concomitant difficulties and 'gender ambiguity' manifestations (intersex newborns, assigned a particular gender at birth).

My role here - apart from whatever else I am doing - and There is as 'Queen of the Underworld', helping those who are being born and dying with their transitions. I understand the dynamics of physical and non-physical life very well, both in its functional and 'spiritual' aspects. But Claire, for all her having actors ( soul fragments) who have been females and going by a female name - which means Light - hasn't a gender. Many of her aspects are what archetypally would be considered masculine. Her relationships with Madame and Amy and others could conceivably be considered 'romantic' (but so could those with Franz and George). This is an aspect of the 'genderlessness' referred to earlier.

The practical resonance for me here is that I am very 'open-minded' about gender issues, and always have been. I have my own personal preferences - I am very girly girl in many ways, but my mind is logical and thus 'masculine' - but I do not allow these to affect my view of others' co-called 'choices'. The reasons one incarnates in one body type with the mind, spirit and emotions of another are quite complex, and not mine to 'pass judgement upon.'

We are here in this 3D plane at this time as people, to break the stereotypes of what it means to be human, in preparation for being an off-planet civilisation and encountering others (so-called aliens) whom we definitely will view as Other. Gender issues are kindergarten compared to that.

Mountain Rescue- Retrieval III

Again at the Eco Village, this time in my house, a cabin. Cool, dim, comfortable old thing, built from nothing, over these 40 years of earth time. Waiting for George to finish up filing a rucksack with the gods know what. I feel sick. This is going to be... something intense. Self is in the long braids mode and hippie clothes, loose top and shorts. Hmm.

He comes out, from the other room, rucksack in hand, also in his (rather new here) hippie guise of longish hair, Indian shirt and yoga pants. The people coming back are as flummoxed by him as they were by Franz' Hamburg leather pants and red silk shirt. This is not what they expect. 'Are you God' questions become 'God is a hippie?' It's all to loosen them up (as was Franz' 'God is a German queen' outfit.)

G: ready?

K: I guess.

He touches my shoulder.

G: Don't be nervous!

I say nothing. 'I have a bad feeling about this' – to quote Princess Leia.

I realise that Joe and Maggie aren't coming....

We go out, through the pristine Village and pine trees encircling and are moving swiftly towards the mountains, the same area where my Dad lives. I have a swirling sensation, spinning sideways, as I sometimes did when doing readings for people many years ago.

We are at a campground.

I recognise it as one we used to frequent when I was a girl. In the Earth plane, it was in Kern, at Lake Isabella. So many mishaps there... I became intimately acquainted with the local Emergency Room [A&E]. We walk up the winding trail towards the playground area, he before me, making jokes about looking out for bears [as happened in Yellowstone] and eating pine trees [Euell Gibbons].

At length, behind the playground, we come to a section of extremely large boulders, as high as one and two story houses. Up on top, at the edge of one, is my 7 year old self, frozen in fear and indecision. In the earth plane, the daughter of a family friend, whom I was with (along with her little brother) said blithely 'look out for black widow spiders, they're poisinous' described them, and went off clambering with her brother. Seeing one near me, I was instantly terrified, and to my mind had a choice: jump (and die) or stay (and die). As with the poor souls in the Twin Towers who decided to jump from to 115^th floor rather than face a fiery demise, I then thought that taking the decision into my own hands rather than be the victim of an unknown fate was the better choice. It never occurred to me to run away in the opposite direction towards the ground. I didn't know where Rita was. I just screamed and jumped. I never knew how high the rock really was, or how long I was 'out'. Now, I see it was about 30 feet high. Now I know it was about 20 minutes.

But here she is, stuck in that moment of decision, 'in an impossible situation' , with 'only two choices, both of them bad.' I recognise what George is going to do. He is squinting up at her in the sunshine.

G: Hey! Hey up there! Are you stuck? Do you need help getting down?

She just stares at him, shaking her head in terror.

G: It's all right. We'll help you down. Come on, Claire, rope up.

He nods and hands me an end of the rope he has slung over his shoulder.

Ah.

I wrap a length of it around myself in the old way of a 'gentleman's belay', figuring that I and she will have to abseil off. Or at least I will.

G: Don't be afraid, little girl. Claire is climbing up to help you. We will get you down.

She speaks at last.

D: But, but SPIDER!

She points backwards and looks about ready to pass out.

G: Don't worry. It's not harmful. It won't hurt you.

He speaks very calmly. I look over my shoulder at him dubiously. I don't know if it is harmful or not. He nods and speaks quietly.

G: Go on.

We have climbed often in many places here, and as a belayer and climbing leader, I trust him absolutely. He has all of Mallory's skill and a much improved teaching and leading ability. Up, indeed I go, hammering pitons as I do, into the faceless areas, putting in cams in cracks, working my way up slowly and with care, manteling over the outcrop at the top, so that I am lying at the feet of the little girl before I spring up.

K: Hello there. I'm Claire. You're safe now. George and I will get you down and take you home.

I put my hand on her shoulder, because she is too big to pick up.

D: But, but SPIDER!

She points again.

I look over, and there is indeed a spider, but it is not a black widow at all, indeed harmless. All this and nearly dying because of an ordinary spider! [Of which, I should note, I am not presently afraid] I feel angry again at the stupid child Rita, who had other idiocies to her credit on my behalf, Why the parents let her anywhere near me repeatedly, I cannot imagine. I realise that I am angry at the adoptive parents and at Rita's parents for not being responsible adults. Put the anger where it belongs then let it go. Reaching into my pocket, I take out a piece of paper, scoop up the spider, and release it over the edge of the rock then go back to the little girl.

K: You're safe now. Now, let's see about getting you down.

I survey the area, and realise that to the rear of the rocks, it is sloping, perfectly able to be walked down in rock shoes or sneakers, with a helping hand if one is a little girl. The way down is some 50 feet away. Safety, an option not involving death was 50 feet away. Hrm.

I go back to the high edge and tell George of the way down. He'll probably have to walk a bit, but it's perfectly easy. I unrope and toss the rope to him.

G: see you in a bit.

K: Okay.

I take the little girl's hand.

K: Now, see, we can walk down here this way. I will help you so you don't feel scared, okay? And my friend will meet us down at the back. Then we will take you home.

She looks up at me.

D: But, Rita and Jorge...

K: They can find their own [expletive censored] way home. Come on.

We go down, slowly, because she's still shocky, and at the bottom we wait for a few minutes and George comes striding through the trees, all smiles.

G: well, hello there! Very please to meet you. That was a little adventure, wasn't it! I'm George, and this is Claire, and we're going to take you home.

She nods dubiously.

K: she's worried about the other kids. The ones who got her into this fix.

G: Oh I see.

He scans the area.

G: well, I'm sure we'll find them at home. Come on.

He takes her hand as well and we walk through the pines, down the trail to the entrance area to the campground.

G: Now, we have to take a special way to get back, but don't worry. Hold our hands.

She nods and in a moment we are are the Children's Centre (again!)

He takes her in and deals with the transfer while I wait outside with the gatekeeper. After a few minutes, I see the child running to greet someone she knows in the garden. Mission accomplished.

George comes out and we make our way back to the cabin in the EcoVillage. Sitting in the quiet with cold drinks, lounging on the chair and sofa, we talk about the interim [when I was 'out' after jumping] and the impact of the decision and sense of choices.

This was one of those points that happen in every life where a window to leave comes up. But because I was, as you might say, habituated to the [near]death experience, the situation limited the perceived choices that I had (age aside – I was an extremely bright child). This psychological mechanism is (was) still active in me as I write this. Trust in other people's perceptions and judgements, fear of mortal circumstances and bad consequences, and the perception of only extreme choices.

In the interim, it was shown (to my not-child consciousness) what would transpire and not if I stayed There. Far flung, multiple scenarios. (The future, except for the broad outlines of the script, not being fixed). So I went back.

In the physical body, all I had to cope with was a mild concussion and a few stitches. But the psychological impact was very great, and affected my responses to life, and way of making choices to this day. By the grace, this is ameliorated now.