The Eagle and the Rose (15 page)
R:
Yes, of course I remember you. What can I do for you? (Although she sounds calm, something in her voice tells me that she has to make a great effort when speaking to me. I know immediately that there is a problem.)
C:
Rosemary (now struggling for control), there has been an accident. My son. Yesterday. He slipped and fell into the river. We have had such heavy rains here. All the rivers are flooded. The current was strong. (Now crying, still struggling for control) My son is missing. I know he's dead. (I feel Grey Eagle draw close to my side. I talk to her, try to calm her, and even as I do so I see her boy. “My name is Michael,” he says, and I wonder how I tell her what I see. She cuts into my thoughts.)
C:
I don't know, Rosemary, if you can help me, but I have to know if he's safe. I know he's dead. I feel it. I know that it is a lot to ask of you, but could you just ask someone up there if my son is safe?
R:
(I hear him call to me. “Tell her I'm safe. Please. She must know that I'm safe.”) Is his name Michael? (I ask this tentatively.)
C:
Yes, oh yes! Is he safe?
R:
I have a young boy here, Celia. He is around eleven years old. I can see him quite clearly. (I describe him.) He tells me his name is Michael.
c:
Oh, thank God. He's safe, he's safe.
R:
He tells me he was carried downriver.
C:
Yes.
R:
This is puzzling. He is talking about the waterfall. He says he was carried to the waterfall. Does this make sense to you?
C:
Yes, yes. The river leads into a huge waterfall, which goes directly into the sea.
R:
Michael is talking to me. He wants you to know that he did not go into the sea. (Now Michael shows me, and just as if I were watching a home video, the picture unfolds before my eyes.) I see first of all not a large river, more a stream.
C:
Yes, that's right.
R:
I see Michael sliding down the bank. The bank is soft and crumbles. His body is carried downstream, and now… I can see a huge waterfall. (Celia is now sobbing, and I ask her gently if she would like me to stop.)
C:
No. Oh, no. Please, Rosemary, I need to hear this.
R:
Michael is describing what happened as he reached the edge of the waterfall. I can see his body as it goes over the edge. But wait… Oh, this is wonderful. Michael says, “Tell her, tell my mum …” As his body goes over the waterfall, I see Michael. I see him leave his body. He seems to fly upward. I hear him say, “I flew like a bird, up, up, up. Angels came to fetch me. They carried me, up, over the waterfall, to fly like a bird. It was bright. A bright light shining. They (angels) took me into it, and now I'm safe. Mum, can you hear me? I'm safe.”
C:
(Still crying) Thank God, thank God. Oh, Rosemary, thank you. You don't know how you have helped me.
A few days later Celia called again. She had been listening to a tape she had made of her sitting with me in Hong Kong, prior to Michael's death, when her husband's grandmother had come through to give them a message.
“My husband's grandmother had talked to us about God and about the ways that God can help us in our lives. But one thing she said to us that we did not understand at the time. I'm sure she meant for us to know now. We were told, ‘God may sometimes ask of us a blessed sacrifice, just as He asked of Christ. A sacrifice we may find so hard to give, so painful will it be. But remember what I say to you. When God asks this of us, there is a reason. We may never know what that reason is. But God knows. And when He asks of us this blessed thing, He gives us the tools to cope, the strength to survive.’
“You cannot know, Rosemary, how hearing this makes me feel. I play the tape over and over. It comforts me greatly. I know that Michael's death was meant to be. For what reason I do not know, but I know that he is with God, my blessed sacrifice, so painful to me. But I know that he is where he belongs, where he is meant to be. I talk to him every day. I feel he is with me. I know that he is safe.”
There are many reasons why people here on earth are “good” or “bad.” Some of us are “good” or “bad” because we enjoy our lives better that way. Others perceive that living a “good” life will earn them brownie points, that somewhere God is watching and keeping score. Living life in a “bad” way is, for some, an open act of defiance to a God they perceive as a judging God. Others might say, “Well, what is the incentive for being good when I don't believe in God?;
But life is not about being good or bad or earning points. Life is about learning and about the discovery of the soul and the needs of the soul. And “good” or “bad” can simply be a right or a left turn on the path which leads to that discovery. Life is not about earning a place in heaven. It is enough for the soul that the life of the soul continues on. That the soul grows stronger.
Throughout this book you will read stories of survival after death. Each tells of a journey, a breakthrough, and the embracing of the light. But do we all journey toward the light? Does God accept us all? Even those who have committed evil deeds?
It is my belief, based on my experience, that the answer is
yes
.
I do not believe that anyone who wishes to be embraced by the light is ever turned away.
We, of course, do have that choice. Each of us—even, I believe, those whom we might judge evil or bad. For if a bad person seeks to go toward the light, then he seeks forgiveness, he seeks to learn of truth. If he did not, he would not see the light, would be blind to it. But when an evil person chooses the light, the suffering and pain that he has inflicted on others is nothing compared to his own suffering and pain, which is tenfold. For when he stands in the light, that light forces him to see, to recognize, his own wizened soul … his own mean spirit.
There are those who believe that if you commit suicide, you go to a dark place. I do not agree. If those suicides need the light, they will be shown the way. The only dark place is within them. My experience shows me that even they, those who have been so confused while on the earth plane, will be taken, by angels, God's messengers, into the light. When I talk to them, those unfortunates who have been so muddled, they often tell me of their new environment, of their learning and of their growth, which is not always easy for them.
I have spoken with many in the spirit world who, prior to their passing, did not believe in an afterlife, who believed instead that being dead meant no more life— no more anything. Each time, I hear them express their surprise and delight upon discovering survival after death.
Anyone, everyone, can, if they choose, go to a good place. There are no doors that stay closed—no barriers, except those we choose to erect ourselves. There are no heavenly judgments, only the judgments that we ourselves must make as we look at the kind of life we have led, the kind of person we are. Each soul judges its own self. If a soul wishes, it can refuse the light and, closing its eyes against the world, will find itself in a dark place of its own making. As if donning a shroud, it will wander through dark passages and nightmare places, haunted by its own thoughts, lost and alone. But the shadows of the soul are its own and are there only because the soul chooses it to be this way.
And how do I, the medium, see?
With every part of my being. Sometimes as if I am looking at a distance. Sometimes so near that I can reach out easily and touch people.
And what do I, the medium, see?
I see people. Not spirits: people. For when we leave the earth plane, we take with us the etheric body, the same size and shape as the physical self. The etheric body, indestructible, becomes the vehicle by which we continue our journey.
And how do I, the medium, sense?
By becoming more sensitive. By “tuning” in. I send out my thoughts. They are received. Those in the spirit world respond, send their thoughts out to me. We communicate.
And how do I, the medium, feel?
I feel them draw close to me. I feel … sense … their emotions. Thought waves bounce back and forth. It is a two-way process. Their thoughts touch me, some knowing part of me. I become as one with them.
And how do I, the medium, touch?
I talk to my guide. Grey Eagle places his hand on my shoulder. There is real pressure there. His hand strokes my cheek. I feel the sensation. I place my hand over his. I touch him. I watch, as often, when communicating, someone from the spirit world will touch… place a hand on a shoulder. Stroke someone's hair or cheek. Brush away tears. I watch as those in the spirit world embrace my clients in this way. I see them touching us.
And how do I, the medium, hear?
Sometimes in just the same way that I would hear someone “living.” Sometimes I hear… through my skin … sound waves … seeming to seep through my skin.
And what of my emotions, I, the medium, and what of how I feel?
My emotions bubble and ferment. My sensitivity making it impossible for me to remain passive and untouched. I feel sadness and pain, and oh, such deep, deep sorrow. But I feel happy, and I laugh a lot. It is impossible not to, for there is oh so very, very much joy.
I talk to so many people in the spirit world, so many different races. There is, unlike our world, no language barrier between them, no communication problem that cannot be overcome. My work is so varied. I have worked with the police. With priests and with ministers of the church. With the rich and with the poor. With the famous and with the unknown. And all are known. And all are known. For God sees all. He sees the living and the living "dead."
And I, the medium, find great joy in what I do. For I understand, truly, that we are all known. That we are all “God's children.
Case Book
In my work as a medium I realize that, more often than not, the small and seemingly insignificant details give the most powerful proof of life after death. Those small details make each person's life different from that of their neighbor. And it is usually these details that give the most startling evidence of survival to friends and loved ones.
The following ten stories comprising this case book are examples of how—sometimes in a complex, sometimes too simple, but oh so clever way—those in the spirit world show us that they are
alive
.
When I first began my work as a medium, I explored every and any explanation I could think of that might dispute spiritualism. Never once did I doubt God, nor did I ever doubt the existence of another world, a world I knew one day I would be part of. But I did doubt myself and my abilities to make contact with those who had already passed on to that world.
In all honesty I cannot say, during the early days of my development, that thoughts of the possibility of mind reading didn't enter my own head. Of course they did!
When searching for the truth about life after death, or life after life, as I prefer to think of it, it is necessary to distinguish between the real and the unreal. To be able to determine what information is right and what is not right.
These stories leave no doubt.
M
r. Dearest sat patiently, waiting for his session with me to begin. Within seconds I saw a man from the spirit world, about five feet nine inches tall, a little on the stout side, in his early sixties. He told me that his name was Alfred and that he was Mr. Dearest's father. With the help of Grey Eagle, he explained that he had passed over as a result of a massive heart attack, and that although his passing seemed very sudden, he had had heart problems for some years prior to this.
Mr. Dearest was very close to his father and was overjoyed at this information. But just when I thought that things were going well, I was given a message from Alfred to give to his son. It was a message so strange that I thought I must have mistaken what I heard.
I asked Alfred to repeat the message, and laughing at me, he said it again.
I looked to Grey Eagle again, then I exclaimed, “Oh, Alfred, I can't say that! Your son will think I'm crackers!
“No, he won't. Just tell him what I said.
I looked again at Grey Eagle, who was nodding and smiling, reassuring me that I had heard correctly.
I went back to Alfred. “Are you sure?” I asked.
He laughed again. “Just say it,” he said.
So I did.
Mr. Dearest listened intently as I gave the message: “Jelly Babies.”
He nearly fell out of his chair in astonishment. The message from his father could not have been more simple, clear … or effective.
Later, after we had finished the sitting, Mr. Dearest told me the significance of “Jelly Babies.” He explained that when he was a young boy, his father, Alfred, used to take him everywhere with him, and in his pocket he always carried a packet of Jelly Babies.
Alfred was hooked on them.
As he grew older, my client also developed a passion for these sweets, so much so that ever since his teenage years he too always carried a packet with him wherever he went.
Look here, said Mr. Dearest, and pulling a packet from his pocket he offered me a Jelly Baby!
T
here are many stories I could recount which illustrate that what a medium does is not mind reading, but rather a kind of telepathic correspondence similar to mind reading, applied to bridge the void that divides our world from that of the spirit world.
In this book there is room for just one, and it concerns a young man in his mid- to late twenties whom I will call Colin.
The main reason Colin came to me was that he hoped I would be able to make contact with his girlfriend, who had been killed tragically in a car accident. She was only twenty-three years old when she passed, and she and Colin had been making their wedding plans.
He wasn't at all sure that he believed in life after death but felt that he would not be able to rest easily until he had given his girlfriend the opportunity to make some contact with him … if, that is, she had really survived.