Writing Creatively With Spirit

A journey of psychic discovery


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Am I still here?

Wednesday 8th January 2014

Last time I was at a family gathering

Last time I was at a family gathering

Last night I dreamed that I died on 20th August last year. I didn’t realise that I’d died because so many people could still see me. It was only when one person clearly couldn’t see me that it made me question my physicality.

I was at my brother’s house for a celebration dinner. I asked one of his sons if he could see me. He said, ‘Yes, don’t you remember that I called you the other day to help me with something at school and you came and helped?’ I couldn’t remember.

There was an empty chair between my two brothers. I indicated that I intended to sit there. One brother looked a little uncomfortable but the other seemed fine with it.

On waking I was very perturbed by this dream because it felt so real. I began wondering if I was indeed deceased. Maybe that’s why some people that I’ve been trying to meet up with haven’t responded.

I lay there asking myself ‘Am I really deceased? Is there really no need for me to go to the gym?’ I arrived at the gym at 7.20 a.m. desperate to re-confirm my physicality. I was reasonably reassured by the time I left, but I’ve had an odd feeling all day. It did feel very real.

Any ideas on what this could mean? Do you know anyone who died on 20th August last year? If not did anything significant happen on 20th August?


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Session 7 – What happens when we die?

January 29th 2013 (Monday)

It was twelve fifty-five and I was getting jittery. Tim hadn’t arrived to pick me up and although Oak House is only a few minutes away I don’t like being late. I think there’s benefit in being where I need to be early. It allows my energy to settle, leave the world out there, and enter into whatever the activity is in a calm and relaxed state.

I was making my way to my own car when he arrived, flustered with the latest drama I his life. We all have them, the things that keep us awake at night (though in truth I haven’t had a sleepless night in a long time), and Tim has his fair share. Within the few minutes it took to Oak House I got the skeleton of the issue causing him such chagrin, and thanked God it was a circle day. Circle’s a great place to bring all the stresses of the day, or week or month, depending on how often you sit.

We were back to full strength as the snow’s now melted. Five regulars, one new and one returnee. We had enough men to have a man-woman-man yin and yang seating arrangement. And today Mary told us to try and sit in the same seats.

‘Why?’ I was curious. I’ve seen it as one of the defining differences between this and the Thursday group.

‘Because people like it,’ was unsatisfactory to me but, ‘because it helps to build the energy,’ was a little more plausible. I’m happy to hang out beside the radiator and bagged me that seat.

During the ‘how was your week?’ at the beginning of the meeting Mary asked me to tell the group about my blog as not everyone was aware. She’d had a look and was impressed. The others were quite keen to see how they’ve been represented, and who knows, may become followers or even contributors.

Mary then told us about a friend whose husband’s an alcoholic and nearing the end of his life. She asked us to think about what it means when we die and, armed with pen, paper and some creative music we set out to channel words that could bring solace to grieving relatives. Mine came as the poem below, but what I was most astonished by was the nature of the discussion which followed our sharing of our very diverse and excellent pieces.

What happens when we die?

When we die we return to love

Some go freely, some need a shove

We did what we came to do

It’s another chance to start anew

When we die we return to love

Lay down the heavy boxing gloves

Step out the ring to make the way

For new souls to have their say

When we die we return to love

To watch and care for from above

The ones who grieve the space we left

Till we meet again in sweet peace and rest

© Predencia Dixon 2013

Less than an hour earlier I’d finally been able to begin the stories for Love is Not a Reward. Although I knew from the sketches that one of the characters was in psychiatric care I didn’t know what for. As I wrote it unfolded that he’s addicted to ganga.

‘Interesting,’ I’d thought as I sat on the loo just prior to the session, ‘I didn’t know that’s who you are or that this is the story you want me to tell.’

Now here we were discussing addiction, addictive personalities, how it affects those around them and how it can finally claim some of them. Each time something that was similar to my character came up my jaw dropped a little further, surprising it wasn’t scraping on the carpet. I was being given confirmation that this was the right line to pursue with this story. And there was more.

After the writing and discussion we did a healing circle. When I was the healer with one of the group, Peter, the name of another character from the story came into my head and would not go away. It felt like there was a strong connection between this fictitious character and Peter. During feedback I asked him if the name Holly meant anything to him. He said his sister’s dog’s name is Molly, and he often gets messages via animals. There’s that animal connection again.

‘And what about blue, does that mean anything to you?’ I asked.

‘I have a condition that causes my body to overheat. Blue is a cooling colour, I think I need to make more effort to stay cool.’

I didn’t tell him that my character’s name is Holly Blue, the name of a species of butterflies.