Writing Creatively With Spirit

A journey of psychic discovery


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Further down the rabbit hole

Sunday June 23rd 2013

Caribbean beach

Caribbean beach

On Thursday, during the meditation in the development session the facilitator said he could see a woman wrapped in a maroon cloak standing behind me holding an umbrella made of cane over my head. See the full story here.

I deduced from this that I was being told that there is a connection between me and the Maroons of Jamaica. I also wondered if I was being given a message to look at the link between Cameroon and the Maroons.

First I checked out the meaning of the colour maroon. There were two main meanings:

1)      It is symbolic of courage, bravery, heroism and strength.

2)      The colour is red-brown, like that obtained from clay and is associated with healing and power to repel malevolent spirits.

The Maroons in Jamaica represents all of the above. They were the runaway slaves who fought the British for their freedom 100 years before the official abolition of slavery.  They were, and still are, a very spiritual people. The current Maroon community in Jamaica still carries out a ritual in which they speak to the ancestors using MSL – Maroon Spirit Language.

But it wasn’t till I typed in ‘link between Maroons in Jamaica and Cameroon’ that I got the information that the original Maroons were made up of slaves taken from what is modern day Ghana and modern day Cameroon.

I just sat and stared at the screen. Not so much flabbergasted by the connections but by the means that I’d been made aware of them.

When I spoke to my sister-in-law tonight she said there is a Maroon community in Clarendon, which is where my mom is from.

I feel a trip to Jamaica to make connections with the Maroons coming on very shortly after my return from Cameroon.

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Shamanic link

At 2.15 p.m. on Saturday I received a text from my friend Stephe.

‘Hi, what’s your eta? Paul and Demi are here?’

I was about to reply pointing out that he’d sent the text to the wrong person, when a bottom drawer in my memory filing cabinet creaked open to remind me that I’d agreed to meet Stephe for lunch and a walk around Winterbourne Botanical Gardens in Edgbaston at 2 p.m.

Bluebell field at Winterbourne Gardens

Bluebell field at Winterbourne Gardens

What to do? Lie and say I was held up in traffic? Call and say I couldn’t make it (sure I could think up a reason)? Pretend I’d written it in the wrong week in my diary – thought it was next week?

I was happy to be distracted from the clutter clearing I’d embarked on for the day, so donning my jacket and a pair of boots I called, confessed, and said I’d be there in twenty five minutes. I shaved five minutes off the eight and a half mile journey, and was pleased to meet Paul, an old friend, and his new girlfriend Demi.

During lunch (had I remembered I wouldn’t have eaten a big bowl of cornmeal porridge two hours earlier) I watched as the three of them ate, and we talked about many things. One being the Darren Eden personal development course Demi is engaged in.

In describing some of the changes that are happening for her she said, ‘sometimes it’s like I get into this place, like nothing exists, like I’m going on a shamanic journey.’

‘Have you ever been on a shamanic journey,’ I asked quickly.

‘No, but my grandfather was a shaman, and on this course, where we’re meant to find out what our purpose is, its coming out that I’m here to do healing, like maybe shamanic healing.’

I know I write a lot about my jaw dropping but this time it went quicker and further than usual. Demi is from Nigeria, very closely bordered to Cameroon, but has been brought up mainly in the UK. She knew nothing of the mediumship work that I’ve been doing (they’ve never read my blog), and had appeared a little reticent about mentioning her shamanic heritage.

Surely this could not be an accidental meeting – of course there are no accidental meetings, but I’m becoming increasingly impressed by the way spirit arranges things.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Demi and I have arranged to meet up in London where she lives; hopefully on the day when I go to visit Brompton Cemetery. I’d like to learn more about African shamanism and there may be a link here that will help me to increase my knowledge.

If there’s anyone who practices African shamanism I’d love to hear from you.


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Letting the love in

I went to the 13th annual ACIM (A Course in Miracles) conference at the weekend. Although I’ve been doing the course for a while it was my first ACIM event. The only speaker I’d heard of was Gary Ranard, the author of The Disappearance of The Universe.

Earl Purdy and me - awesome man

Earl Purdy and me – awesome man

It’s not my intention to review the conference here, but generally it was very varied and Earl Purdy stole the show, but the person who touched my heart was Annie Blampeid. As part of her presentation she got us (all 160 of us) to do an exercise where we had to send love to someone we really needed to show love to. I thought for a moment before I focused on someone I’d been having some difficulty with, and who had been droftomg in and out of my head throughout the conference. In fact, occupying more head space than I would have liked since Thursday. The same person who generated the anger that lead to the nosebleed.

When we’d finished that she asked us to stand up and say ‘I love you’ to 3 people we didn’t know. No qualification (such as I love you because…) and the only response was to repeat ‘I love you’ back. Got the idea? The only words being spoken was ‘I love you.’ People were enjoying it so much she allowed us to continue beyond three people.

Something happened to me during that exercise! It was as if a massive boulder that had been firmly wedged across the door of my heart got rolled away and I could really feel the love of the person in front of me. I could also feel the love of every person in the room. It was so overwhelming I began to cry – and couldn’t stop. I carried on crying well beyond the end of the exercise, to the alarm and concern of the people sitting on either side of me who tried to console me.

ACIM conference speakers

ACIM conference speakers

One of the people I’d said ‘I love you’ to came over to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘that touched a nerve, didn’t it?’ I nodded mutely as the tear tap opened up a bit more.

As they were introducing the next speaker and the tears showed no sign of abating I decided to leave the room. I mean, I couldn’t sit there blubbing could I? Disturbing everyone.  I found a quiet spot in the hotel and a drink, let the tears flow into it. Eventually I said to my guide ‘you need to show me what this is about’, then remembered my manners and asked ‘can you please show me what this is about?’

The answer was almost instant, ‘you accepted the love, you let love in.’

‘What?’ I asked out loud, and looked around quickly in case anyone had heard me.

‘You let love in. Think about it.’

And I obeyed the instructions and thought about the work that I’ve been doing on self-love. The ‘I love you meditations,’ and the mirror work – and it made sense. I think that work had helped to loosen the boulder. I sat there and reviewed the way I’d attached conditions to love. Someone had to love me for a reason, my smile, my intellect, my body, my laughter anything other than just because I’m me. I understood then why we could not give reason during the exercise.

It really sunk in that I’d never considered myself worthy of unconditional love – and for a brief moment I’d accepted it – and was blown away.

I eventually rejoined the conference halfway through the speaker’s presentation, but found it hard to concentrate.

At the break the guy who’d put his hand on my shoulder found me and said. ‘I looked into your eyes and saw the allowing in your eyes. Do you know what I mean?’

‘I think so,’ I replied, welling up again.

‘Maybe you could do some more work around allowing,’ and he recommended the work of Orin Derby. I thanked him, hugged him and marvelled at the instant confirmation of spirit’s guidance.

Truth be told I floated around on a little cloud and took in very little of the conference after this.

Has anything like this ever happened to you? Or anyone you know? I’d really like to be able to share this experience.

Do you know the work of Orin Derby? I could find anything on her. Did it work for you?


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Session 11 – Trance, trance and more guides

February 11th 2013 (Monday)

I’ll cut to the chase. No preamble about Tim’s lateness or my mental note to drive next week.

Candles, crystals and charaks

Candles, crystals and chakras

Zoe was back, and she facilitated the circle. She’d laid out a large purple cloth on which were candles, crystals and seven pieces of paper representing the chakras. After the opening prayer she explained that we would be contacting our guides though meditation and later doing some work with photographs.

The instruction was to meditate for fifteen minutes with the intention of contacting our guides. She explained for Tim’s sake how to open up the chakras, and, to the sound of quiet music we invited our guides to draw near.

I got nothing. No one even came close. No little old lady, no Native American, no ancient African warrior. Not a bean, nil, zero, zilch. Other people got stuff. Either discovered new guides or reconnected with their established ones. Even Tim got someone who he thought could be a guide.

In the following meditation she asked us to think about someone in the group we would like to get a message for, and also to be aware that our guides often speak to us through an intermediary. At that instant my phone which I’d put on silent began to vibrate. I made a mental note to check who it was when the meditation finished. She also asked us to open our eyes when we got something.

I set the intention to get a message for Sam who was sitting opposite me. Well, I must have been there for ten whole minutes getting absolutely nothing, when my mind began drifting to the magenta card I’d got earlier, and I was reflecting on how often I pull it, or it fell out the pack at me. Then the name Petra popped into my head and I focused on it for a while, happy that at least that something had come that had nothing to do with me, as I don’t know a Petra. I went back to focusing on the magenta card and had a vague sense of something to do sleeplessness, but no more guidance than that.

I was still waiting for something profound to happen when Zoe asked me to open my eyes, and I realised that everyone else had already opened theirs. I felt like the dunce in the class. When it came to feedback time she skipped over me as we went round the circle. People got amazing messages for each other. Incidentally no-one got a message for me. She came back to me last.

‘Well, I didn’t really get much.’ I hesitated.

‘I guessed as much as you didn’t open your eyes. That’s why I left you till last,’ she admitted, deepening my sense of uselessness.

‘Did you get anything at all?’

‘I got the name Petra.’ I said, hoping someone would leap up and say, ‘I can take that,’ and tell some fantastic story associated with the name. But everyone just looked at me blankly.

‘I also kept getting a lot of magenta,’ I said, and scanned the group for a take up. Again nothing. I didn’t add that what I was actually seeing wasn’t diffused magenta like some others have described, but specifically the card from the pack which also has the words ‘connect to you deepest inner knowing’ written on it.

I was losing confidence rapidly by now and muttered something about lack of sleep’. Zoe was about to move on when from out of nowhere I turned to Sam and said, ‘Have you been having difficulty sleeping?’

BINGO!

‘I have terrible trouble sleeping,’ he said. ‘Either I can’t get to sleep or I wake up in the early hours of the morning and can’t go back to sleep.’

‘What do you do when that happens?’ I asked, like I was some expert on insomnia.

‘Make a drink of coffee,’ he answered to horrified gasps, ‘or I read a book or watch a bit of tele.’

Once we got past the general advice from everyone about how bad coffee is if you want to sleep, I heard myself telling him that what spirit wants him to do is meditate. That the reason he can’t sleep is because he needs to go and connect with his inner guidance, his inner knowing.’

‘I’m terrible at meditating,’ he protested.

‘How about if you re-phrase that and say ‘I’m improving my meditating skills every day?’ I asked, recognising that he was perpetuating an unhelpful view of himself and therefore keeping himself there.

‘But I can’t do anymore than about five minutes when I’m on my own,’ he insisgted.

‘Well, that’s a start. If the next time you do six minutes you have improved. Congratulate yourself and affirm that you’re improving all the time.’

‘See, you did get something after all.’ Mary said, and I relaxed a little.

As Zoe began to explain about how to read from photographs I sat back and marvelled at the way spirit works. I had all but convinced myself that what I was picking up was useless bits of information and when it hadn’t made sense I was prepared to discard it. I guess that’s how some mediums must feel when they ask a sitter if something makes sense and they say ‘no’.

The photo reading exercise was of a real live couple. We were initially given no more than that. The photo was passed around and we were asked to ‘tune in’ and using all our senses try to pick up anything we could from the picture about the two people.

Some people picked up that the man was ill, which Mary confirmed. Others elaborated on the extent of his illness and made suggestions on how long he had to live, still others talked about the lack of closeness between the two, some talked about their characters and the way if affects their relationship. Tim is a natural at this, and seems to have the confidence to say what he’s picking up, usually prefixed with ‘I’m new to all this…’

After about six people had had a go, Mary (who was acting as a participant as Zoe was running the circle) asked us to think about the future for the woman.

I was last but one to get the photo. As soon as I held it I got a strong pulsing pain in the front of my head. My throat became very tight and tickly and I had to reach for a glass of water to soothe the coughs that were bubbling up.

‘Does this woman suffer from headaches?’ I asked.

‘She used to suffer from terrible migraines.’ Mary answered, ‘but not any more.’

I knew intuitively that the pain in my head wasn’t associated with the past. It was definitely located in the future as that’s what Mary had asked us to think about.

‘I think when the man dies her migraines will return, but they won’t be as prolonged as previously. She will get them under control reasonably quickly, but they will be very intense for a while.’

My attention moved to my throat, and I knew that there was creativity she’s been suppressing that will find an outlet when the man dies. I already knew she was a painter from information that came out earlier, but the word writer came into my head. I wanted to say she will write, but I wondered weather I was thinking that because I’m a writer, so I asked instead, ‘Is there something she wants to do creatively that she’s not doing now?’

‘Well, she wants to try her hand at singing,’ Mary said.

‘That’s it,’ I said eagerly, relieved that I’d got something else right.

‘But what she really wants to do is to write,’ she added.

I couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t I go with what I got? Why do I keep censoring it? I shared my original thought and asked the question out loud.

‘Why do I censor?’

‘Because you don’t trust it yet,’ Zoe suggested, ‘at the moment you still think its you, and nobody wants to make a fool of themselves. But that’s what the circle is here for. To help you build your confidence. It will come with practice.’

We closed with another trance demonstration from Zoe. Again the altered breathing, the turkey neck movements and the same male voice as last time, slow, measured, precise. He thanked us again for agreeing to help in this way and warned us about the dangers of going off too quickly before our skills are properly developed. He said there is much healing that we can do but that humility and patience are vital qualities to enable us to serve safely.

And the person who had called me during the meditation was… my husband.


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Sesson 8 – Meeting your spirit guide

Sorry Thursday’s session is a little delayed, but it was a pretty heavy one and I’m still trying to work some of it through. Anyway here goes.

DSC_1013DSC_1013My Thursday friend pulled out at the last minute, well, about half an hour before the session was due to start.

There were ten of us in the circle, one a visitor from Spain who turned out to be very gifted and had many messages for members of the group. Our first meditation was a systematic relaxation, starting at the feet and working up to the head. I welcomed it, because to be honest I was knackered, and had I gone last week, would’ve given this night a miss. But I don’t want to miss too many sessions as I believe they build on each other.

I got little from the meditation apart from a bit of a sleep and a slight rush of energy as Greg asked us to mingle our energies. I also felt someone/something touch my left hand.

I say this almost every week, and here goes again. I’m amazed at what people see in their meditations. Colours, whole scenes playing out in front of their eyes, spirit standing behind, beside and in front of others. Old people, young people, and the in -betweeners. Me, usually very little. Archangel Michael was with us again, and other relatives with messages.

The second meditation was to help us meet our guides, because it had come to Greg’s notice that not all of us know who our guides are, and have therefore not built a working relationship with them, or call on them regularly to help us.

This one was really interesting for me. I think the best so far. You might want to grab a drink and/or a little snack; it’s going to be a long one.

Greg began by asking us to relax and go to a place we liked. I immediately went to my bed and pulled the duvet/quilt pulled over my head. I was just settling down for a snooze when he said,

‘It may be a garden, a beach, a field or anywhere that is special to you.’

It still felt like the right place to be, and if he hadn’t continued talking I would have gone to sleep. But he said,

‘Find somewhere to sit down; on a bench or rock or on the grass, anywhere that feels comfortable.’

I thought of sitting up but it felt like too much effort and I just stayed there, eyes closed, sinking deeper and deeper into the mattrass.

‘Someone is blocking the light in front of you,’ Greg said.

The only thing that was blocking my light was the duvet. But as he spoke something interesting happened. As I lay there in my semi-foetal position I saw a translucent me float out of my body and began tidying up my bedroom. Moving papers off the floor, putting clothes into drawers and wardrobes, tidying my dressing table. My floating me was a happy as Larry.

‘You will begin to see your guide from the feet upward,’ said Greg. ‘Look at the feet of the person in front of you. What kind of feet does he or she have? Is he or she wearing shoes or any other kind of footwear?

I looked (in my mind’s eye) at my floating feet and they looked remarkably like mine, corns and all.

Greg then moved up to the legs, thighs, lower and upper torso. Each time I simply saw me, happily floating around tidying up.

‘Now move to the head. See the head. What do you see?’

What I saw was my own head, but for a split second my mother’s head was superimposed on mine.

‘Have your guide sit down,’ said Greg. And my translucent me sat on the side of my bed.

‘Ask your guide “what is your name?”’

My see-through self giggled and said, ‘you know what my name is, I’m you, you know I’m you.’

At this stage I was thinking that my guide is probably my higher self, and was wondering how I could get it to do more tidying up for me.

‘Ask your guide, do you have a message for me,’ was Greg’s last instruction before he brought us out of the meditation back into the room.

‘Ask for more help,’ said Miss Translucent (as though reading my mind) before I made her disappear by opening my eyes.

When Greg got round to me for my feedback everyone laughed at the thought of me taking to my bed. As soon as I mentioned floating out of my body Greg said, ‘aahh, astral travel.’

The message of the meditation was quite simple and straightforward. My mother is quite likely close to me, and is one of my guides. He encouraged me to heed the message of asking for help instead of trying to do everything myself. (That kind of makes sense as my right ankle is still quite painful. (A sign of over-commitment according to The Secret Language of Your Body by Inna Segal).

And that should have been that. Except that something wasn’t sitting comfortably with me. You know that uneasy feeling you get when you know it should make sense but it doesn’t? It was the mother thing that didn’t feel right.

When I got home I did some dowsing. That again is an interesting coincidence (or not). At the weekend I did a big clearing of drawers and found a dowser I hadn’t seen in years. I decided to use it to ask if my mother is one of my guides. It was a resounding NO. So now I’m puzzled. If not that WHAT or WHO? I ran through the meditation again in my head.

I left my body, floated about happily doing things while my real body lay down motionless. My mother’s face was only superimposed on mine for a very short time. Then, while making a cup of tea an idea just drifted in. ‘What if this is about trance mediumship?’ A refute came instantly. ‘You’re only thinking that because of the discussion about trance mediumship in the group. That’s very advanced. You won’t be ready for that for ages yet’.

When I asked the dowser if this is what the meditation meant, it went berserk, spinning and spinning till I thought it would fly off the pendulum. I sat down and thought ‘Oh shit! This is more than just giving reading. I ran it through my head for about ten minutes then called my friend to get her take on it. She was busy doing her taxes to catch the 31st January deadline and my spiritual concerns would have to wait.

‘Well,’ I thought, ‘its not going to happen overnight so I might as well get a good night’s sleep,’ as I was still very tired. But that’s where I was wrong.

Have you got a drink? I did warn you it was going to be long. You might want to go and get one now.

As I drifted off to sleep I recalled Greg explaining that spirit usually entered from the left, and wondered if that’s what I felt touch my hand, my left hand.

Sleep brought no respite. As soon as I was asleep I was back in Greg’s advanced class. After about twenty minutes of a two hour session I left to find a toilet and a cup of tea, and was gone for ages. I bumped into lots of people who were also trying to find the toilet.

Then I was at one of my brother’s house, still looking for a toilet. One of the toilets in his house was broken, and he’d converted the en suite into storage cupboards.

Then I was with three young men sitting at one of those picnic tables outside a pub. The waitress was pouring one of the young me a cup of tea in a long white mug, clear tea, like green tea. He was trying to balance it in the hollow in his shoulder blades and I was trying to help him not spill it. This guy’s name was Jason, and I was commenting on the fact that the name ‘Jason has now come of age. (Once upon a time, after the Jason and the Argonauts film was released, there were a lot of boys being called Jason – now they’re grown men).

He managed to straighten up without spilling it and the waitress poured me a drink in a flatter, wider mouth cup. It was dark with what looked like tea leaves floating in it. I went to take a sip but a sixth sense said look closer. I got my glasses and looked into the cup to see lots of little dark fishes swimming around. Needless to say I didn’t drink the tea.

As the waitress went to leave in her car I rescued a handbag from being run over. It was almost identical to mine (quite a distinctive bag with red, black, white and beige squares and circles. I found three other similar bags and lined them all up on a large table inside the pub in what looked like a family room. I drew the three guys’ attention to this remarkable (to me) phenomenon, but oddly enough they didn’t seem interested.

I then noticed a friend of mine, stripped naked to the waist, looking after a baby and had just bend over to pick something up from the floor. She’d lost a lot of weight.

It occurred to me that there was only thirty minutes left of Greg’s session, and I decided to go back. My mother was outside the door, very worried that he may not let me back in. I asked her ‘what’s the worse that could happen – he could say no, you can’t come back.’ She continued to look worried until I opened the door and spoke to Greg.

He was standing just behind the door and everyone else (about ten people) was standing up in a circle.

He said, ‘come in, but be aware that the energy in here is very high, very intense.’

As I stepped into the room I woke me up, feeling as if I’d been on my feet all night.

I looked up the symbolism of fish in dreams as it’s the easiest part of the dream to try and decipher.

Fish =

To see fish swimming in your dream signifies insights from your unconscious mind. Thus to catch a fish, represents insights which have been brought to the surface. Alternatively, a fish swimming in your dream may symbolize conception. Some women dream of swimming fish when they get pregnant. The fish is also an ancient symbol of Christianity and Christian beliefs. Consider the common phrases “like a cold fish”, “fish out of water” or something that is “fishy” about a situation. It may also imply a slippery or elusive situation. Perhaps your dream could be telling you that “there are plenty of other fish in the sea”, with regards to some relationship issue.

http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamthemes/animals.htm

I see the connection with the insights, given the type of work I was doing; and am now trying to come to terms with the fact that I will be doing trance work.

If you have another take on any of this at all I’d be happy to hear it.

Do you do trance work? If you do, how did you get into it? I’d really like to link with others doing this work.

 

 

 


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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.