Dearly Departed (14 page)

There are the children who from a very young age know exactly what they will be when they grow up—and achieve such dreams— perhaps a stirring from a past life brought forward to completion in this life. Such was the story of a young man called Alexander, who was working in the fields one day. He was the son of a poor Scottish farmer and he heard cries of help coming from a young man who was stuck in a bog, terrified as he was waist-deep and unable to escape. Rushing to help the distressed young man, Alexander was able to cut down a branch from a nearby tree, outstretching this to the young man who was able to grab hold of it, allowing Alexander to pull him to his freedom.

The next day a carriage pulled up in front of his family’s farmhouse and a nobleman alighted, introducing himself as the father of the rescued boy. He was so grateful for the gift of his son’s life, he wished to offer a reward to Alexander. He asked the young man what he aspired to do when he grew up, and he indicated he would like to be a doctor, but considering their humble background that would never be the case. Alexander’s reward for his brave act was his paid education by this man that ultimately saw him graduate from St Mary’s Medical School in London—in fact, his name was Alexander Fleming, who discovered penicillin.

Years passed then the nobleman’s son became stricken with pneumonia. Rushing to his aid was a young Scottish doctor who administered his wonder drug, penicillin, to this very ill gentleman.

This would be the second time that Alexander Fleming had come to the rescue of Winston Churchill. Yes, it was Winston’s father, Randolph Churchill, who had paid for Alexander’s medical education that ultimately gave the world the life-saving drug of penicillin. Alexander Fleming had a stirring as a poor farm boy that he wanted to be a doctor—maybe he could see what he was to achieve in this lifetime. A life of the highest calling for mankind.

Indeed Spirit manifested, guided and propelled Alexander’s soul birth into a family and social background where one day, divine timing would play its hand in connecting him to part of his soul grouping—that of the meeting with Winston and Randolph

Churchill. For Alexander’s mission and interaction with his soul grouping had a predestined path that was to see him attend medical school and then on to the discovery of penicillin.

The connection a child has to one particular member of the family, which is often instant at birth—they just clicked with that grandparent, aunt or uncle, considered by some as ‘favourites’— in fact could be a recognition, a loving emotional connectedness to that person in their current body, from the child’s previous life.

Remember, the soul has DNA memory—if the memory of that person is warm, kind and endearing, the bond will be electric, and equally if the attachment was cold and abusive, you may see distance exhibited in this lifetime. A child’s phobia or fear that cannot be linked to an incident or event in this lifetime; may well be resurfacing a past soul DNA memory. Children can see further than most, bringing to this lifetime stirrings of their past through memory, gifts and potentials they exhibit. Be open—what you consider imagination may well be fact!

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Transition of spirit Transition of spirit

Souls never die, but always on quitting one abode pass to another. All things change, nothing perishes. The soul passes hither and thither, occupying now this body, now that, passing from body of a beast into that of a man, and then into a beast’s again. As a wax is stamped with certain figures, then melted, then stamped anew with others, yet it is always the same wax, so the soul, being always the same, yet wears at different times, different forms.

Pythagoras

A
s a child, I was never satisfied with the stories I heard about God—I would contemplate to myself: ‘Who was God’s father? Who was his mother? And how did so many people who have died all fit up there in heaven to be with God?’ I couldn’t see God, yet I was told I had to pray to God, my heavenly father, and that he would hear and answer my prayers, but how could he answer my prayers if I couldn’t see him?

I was both confused and curious to understand why there were so many ideas about God—why were there so many different religions and churches if we all believed in one God? My parents insisted I attend Sunday school, and I would come to learn more about God there. It didn’t matter which faith, as long as I attended, they said. I must say, I did have a great time as I drifted from one class to another, one denomination to the next.

Always on the side there were the secret visits with my parents to the Spiritualist Church services, where psychic mediums would give proof of the existence of life after death. In the development circles my parents attended, I heard spirits manifesting, giving accurate evidence of their new lives and who was there to meet them when they arrived on the other side. Some had grandparents or family friends welcome them over, even the occasional loving pet found their way to greet them. They were healed of the illness, pain and suffering that they experienced on the earthly plane. They were capable of sending messages filled with love, compassion, hope and encouragement to their loved one with the aid of the psychic medium at the service.

Occasionally, a message was received from a soul had who died at their own hands—suicide. It would appear they had undergone a rapid process of transformation and healing. They had been shown how their actions had affected those they left behind, and although they were allowed to enter the afterlife they would need to attend a ‘special school’ to understand the consequences and then eventually be sent back to earth to work through their karmic path in another life. Here they would work once again through their blueprint of the soul in the hope of becoming stronger and more confident in this new life’s journey, having gained lessons and abilities that would aid them to overcome the obstacles of the past life.

This revelation confused me more—I’d been taught in church that when an individual commits suicide the soul does not go to heaven, and in some faiths they could never be given a church funeral as they were doomed to purgatory. Perhaps this was another story akin to what our history books tell us—that there once existed the notion that the world was flat and if you continued to the edge you would fall into the unknown! Of course, we know now this to be ridiculous. So what does happen when death is upon us? Where do our souls go—do they go anywhere?

The departure

Do we really know what happens to the soul/spirit at the moment of death? There has been much research and many books written over the centuries with hypotheses as to what individuals propose occurs when death finally comes. The great fifteenth century Italian artist Leonardo da Vinci once said: ‘While I thought I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.’

I sense that at the moment of death, the soul completely detaches itself from the body and the organs, immediately followed by the departure of the vital force. I would suggest it’s much like the shedding of all your clothes. I’ve heard a number of spiritual masters suggest that the soul returns the same way they came to this earth—to the ether, then from the ether to the air and from the air it becomes smoke. From the smoke the soul becomes a mist and from the mist it becomes cloud and from cloud—rain.

It’s the moment we are reborn to another life, like the cyclic seasons of Mother Nature, the sparseness of naked trees gives way to glorious foliage when spring is near. From out of darkness does come light. Consider the silkworm—its life is very short, thriving on the mulberry leaves then spinning its golden-threaded cocoon.

It’s eventually nestled in silence, until just at the right time it emerges to mate, lay eggs, and then die. The legacy is the majestic gold thread prized by so many, and the prospects of a living legacy with new life to spring forth from the eggs laid, contributing to the circle of life.

Every life leaves a legacy, through family, friends and associates. The relationship they shared with those closest will hold lessons usually bound by karmic ties. I don’t believe in soul mates— I think it’s the biggest con job the media has done to sell books and give people an unrealistic expectation that there’s only one person in the entire world who will be the only great love of their life.

A person can be devoted and in love with their partner, only to have that relationship end through death. Down the track they may meet someone else and fall in love once again, besotted with their new love and life. This then becomes a soul connection. Not only will a love interest be a soul connection, you are also connected karmically with parents, friends, work colleagues, your children and next-door neighbours. Remember, life is a school, with many classes and lessons to learn. You will be energetically attracted to those individuals at different times in your life’s cycle to experience a transition of your spirit as part of your soul’s development, lesson and mission.

Therefore not all souls will experience the same journey or transition of their spirit to the afterlife at the moment of death. For those who die tragically, they will be in a state of shock, disbelief, and some do not see themselves dead. They may hover around the death scene or rush to observe their loved ones until finally they understand they have actually departed from the physical plane. Many souls will hold back from the final crossing over until they are confident that their families have been informed of their passing, as though this is the final act of service to their beloveds.

I have known spirits who wanted to be present at their funerals to give comfort to those they loved who were mourning their deaths. Others had already crossed over before the funeral service.

There are mixed schools of thought that say the soul lingers for three days, seven days and some say eleven days before finally making the transition of the spirit to the afterlife. I sense it is very different, depending on the impact and type of death. For those who murdered individuals, their complete crossing over may need the help of a soul retrieval expert; others may need to be enlightened through a psychic medium to understand the errors of their ways, and the impact their deeds had on the life they took.

Many will not be convinced that they are truly deceased and will need assistance to move towards the light. For the vast majority, the transition of the spirit is quick—they’re received into the heavenly realms with love and compassion as they take the journey with a loving relative or friend who has come forward to assist in the transformational process. Many relatives speak of their dying beloved talking to someone next to their bed, like in the story of Elaine’s aunty in the palliative care unit, and how she saw her deceased sister calling her.

I sense the crossover into the heavenly realms is like a birthday party, a celebration to mark that new ‘birth day’—the rebirthing of the soul. Just as in your earthly parties, not everyone could be present due to other responsibilities, so is the case for the spiritual birth day. Some nearest and dearest will have already advanced into other levels of soul development—they may have already reincarnated to earth again. I know many dearly departeds do get the benefit of meeting up with their parents or loved ones—some meetings are brief as their loved ones need to advance onto their soul’s mission. Just as you’re reading this book at the moment, your family members may be outside playing, at school or at work. It doesn’t mean you don’t care—they’re in your thoughts, but you’re participating in a different activity. So is the case on the other side.

Some spirits may need to go to ‘healing school’ for total restora-tional purposes, others may need schooling with masters and spiritual teachers to learn more about where they’ve come from and where they are to go in the future. Yes, learning never ceases— there’s always something to benefit, always something to know, something to be shown and something to be completed.

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Death by destruction Death by destruction

Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth, Hold on to what it is you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself, Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here, Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go, Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.

Unknown

T
he female voice on the other end of the phone sounded weak, even inaudible at times as she stuttered her words when she spoke. ‘I just heard your interview on the radio.

You were giving readings to listeners on air and I liked the feedback you received from the callers. I really would like a reading. I’m very sad at the moment—can you see me as soon as possible?’

Fortunately, I did have a gap the following week. To this day, I don’t recall her name, only the circumstances of the reading. For ease of reference I’ll call her Ruby, and her son Jacob.

Dying for peace

‘Welcome Ruby, please come inside—that’s your chair over there,’ I said, pointing to a large yellow leather lounge chair. Her small frame seemed to be lost as she positioned herself comfortably.

Obviously very nervous, her little hands were still shaking as I explained how I conducted my sessions. ‘I will need you to pass me something that belongs to you, like a ring, watch, car keys or perhaps a pen. It must belong to you. This is called psychometry, and by holding and feeling the object I am able to tune into your vibrations. That’s how I do your reading. I don’t use tarot cards.’

Ruby gave me her round-faced gold watch and the information followed rapidly. Suddenly I was aware of a male presence standing behind Ruby’s chair.

‘Ruby, there’s a young man standing behind you—he’s rather tall and lean, with dark hair, with what looks like a priest’s collar around his neck. He’s telling me he committed suicide. I see him standing at the top of a cliff, and he points to the rocks below. I can see large ocean waves pounding onto the foreshore. He tells me his depression was so great, he felt lost with no direction. His pain was too great—he felt he didn’t belong, didn’t fit into society.

His heartache was unbearable. I sense one of his issues concerned his sexuality—that he was gay and never had the courage to acknowledge this to his family or to himself.’