Unbelievably True Stories

Category: True Stories

Angels, Extraterrestrials, love, forgiveness, goddess, empowerment, freedom, intergalactic, interdimensional, Atlantis, rebirth, reincarnation, demons, spirits, possessed, expanded, consciousness, parallel, realities,

Time-Traveller

 Raym experiences a challenging time and realises that small decisions have big consequences. 

I am walking along a desolate and chaotic road; abandoned vehicles stray across pavements and verges, many are left in the middle of the thoroughfare, frozen in time. All are coated in a thin film of fine dust. The time feels close to now and I am exhausted. By my side is my assistant Brianna. She looks gaunt and tired, her clothes have seen better days, her usual vibrancy is dulled and she could do with a shower. 

We approach a city, which looks deserted. We are the only ones walking towards it, everyone else is moving away from it.

I try hard to get my bearings, my body feels tired and weak, every joint aches and my usual abundant reserves of energy are non-existent. My clothes are smelly and loose, hanging off an unfamiliar form. I am a shadow of the man I am now, I have next to no muscle tone, my stomach is rumbling – but I am happy.

I notice on my left side Brianna’s lovely nephew, eight years old in the present time, around twelve years old where I am now. He looks reasonably well fed and healthy and seems happy to be with us. Whatever has happened he has been protected from it. I still cannot grasp what has brought me here, where and when I am; I notice that traffic would have travelled on the right hand side of the road.  

The people leaving the city look in better shape than us. There is no panic: rather an aura of relief mixed with resignation travels with them. They look timeless; they carry a few possessions, some with wheelbarrows and bicycles. We even see a horse. 

Then I notice the silence, the background hum of the city is just not here. No machinery running at all, no power. What is most unusual is there are no cars or trucks, nothing moves in the air either.

As we near the centre of the city a squad of soldiers walks past us; whatever has happened, they are helping us. They wear camouflage gear and I notice their shoulder badges incorporate a black panther. I glance at their weapons and what I see surprises me.

They do not carry conventional rifles or advanced laser gear, instead each man carries a compact high-powered crossbow. Apart from the man in front all have their bows pointing towards ground, they looked relaxed and confident. As they pass we nod to them and smile. A few return our smiles and I feel comfortable; their energy is good and my heart opens to them.

We arrive at our destination, an old industrial area on the edge of the city. We stand in front of a crumbling mid 20th Century warehouse with tall windows comprised of many small dirty panes. Holding Brianna’s hand I place my arm around her nephew’s shoulder.

“This is where they kept us for doing no more than sharing knowledge and love. Remember this, remember that as long as you stay focussed on unconditional love nothing can harm you.”

Am I experiencing a possible future? Or parallel reality? I know my young apprentice is traveling with me but I cannot see her. Because I am aware that I am in my own shamanic journey I trigger my body to tell me more, she will witness the results although they will make more sense to me.

I telepath clearly:

Body I command you, show me what led to this. Take me there now.

I move through a tunnel composed of images from my recent past, present and possible future. I stop at the point where things start to move along the path towards this reality and consider how my present actions could affect this possible future.

I see how, in the next few short years, mass consciousness expands exponentially and becomes a global movement. Through processes like mine people become totally free and empowered, not controlled by anyone or anything, they live joy filled lives, free of all limitations. In Unity Consciousness everything around them becomes transparent; peers, corporations or governments can no longer deceive them. The level of social change this triggers is surprising, even to me.

That’s a good part of how things may unfold and my heart fills when I witness humanities potential realised.

But I also see how this creates challenges for those who wish to control and subjugate humanity. Some beings do not want us to be empowered. Attempts are made to discredit methods that expand consciousness, eventually some of us are taken into “protective custody,” our methods investigated and feeble efforts made to use them, not for the greater good.

How anyone could feel that a process based on unconditional love is a threat to the dominant paradigm is beyond me, or it was – until today

The weeks passed and outside of our “accommodation” we heard the civil unrest building. Human beings are generally placid easy-going creatures, but it reaches a point where people do stand up for themselves. It just seemed to take a long time, from my confined perspective on the grimy upper level of a disused warehouse.

The great irony of this future repression is that the underground movement that the state was so afraid of did not really exist until they tried to suppress it. 

In our internment we used our shamanic techniques to communicate with beings who love humanity unconditionally and we asked for their help.

Beloveds, you know we may not interfere in your affairs, be patient and focus on love. All will be well. Change is coming and it will bring more than you expect. 

Being patient in that space was a challenge.

Then it came, weeks later, when the pole shift happened it took out more than electronics. Whether some inter-dimensional friends were involved is not clear to me, but conventional weapons also ceased to operate and for a while there was confusion, then because of the level of mass Unity Consciousness, peace.

As I return to this time-space I see clearly my small part in this drama and how the choices I make now may ease the upcoming shift. 

My apprentice is speechless, her spiky hair, black make up and wide eyes create a comical picture as I stare vaguely through her. It is so nice to be back in my strong well nourished body. I realise how much I love everything about my small esoteric practice, tucked away, in a back lane. 

“Mind-blowing! What happened? Why no electrical or mechanical devices? What time-space were we in anyway?”

“It is my probable future and it is close. Ironic that our future takes a small step backwards as mankind takes a giant leap forward into expansion and freedom.”

“But wasn’t this was just a parallel reality? A possible future?”

I smile vaguely and sigh. “I love this little place.”

My assistant Brianna gently taps on the session room door and interrupts our conversation, her Earth-mother form and blonde dreads fill the doorway.

My apprentice can’t help herself. “Hey, we were just dreaming about you. You looked different, thinner” What she lacks in tact she makes up for with enthusiasm.

“I know you were…” Brianna looks at me. “That guy from the States is on the phone again; remember I mentioned he has called before? He wants to promote your work over there, he sounds keen.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right there.”

I know what I must do.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Long-term relationship

Estelle’s challenge with her long-term relationship is much deeper that it first appears

Estelle has been a regular visitor to my little crystal shop for some time. Normally her slim, petite, elfin being is clear and bright, she walks in this morning cloudy and off-centre. Her warm, lively personality is muted; something is not quite right. I notice her mascara has run and she is sniffling as she looks through my new stock.

“Caught a cold?,” I ask, hoping to create an opening for her, but realising immediately that my question sounds tactless and insensitive. She knows me well enough not to overreact.

“I need a session with you. My life is falling apart.” Estelle blows her nose. 

“No time like the present.” It is a cold wet day outside, today will be quiet and I have no sessions booked.

“I’ll put a sign on the door and close up shop. Let’s go up to my session room now.”

Estelle starts crying as soon as she sits down. “I have to have Chemo. They have found something bad.”

“I am sorry to hear that. You know it’s okay to use conventional medicine when we need to…”

“I am fine with that. They need to move quickly. I accept that. I want to understand why this is happening to me.”

“How are things with your relationship. How is your partner Julie?”

More tears. “I don’t deserve her. She is just so lovely.”

“You two have been together for ages – the perfect long-term relationship.”

“That’s what everyone says and I love her dearly but…”

Her pause tells me she is reluctant to share more. I give her space and when it comes I am totally surprised by the confidence she shares.

“I have fallen in love with someone else… a man.”

Wow! Estelle is the most well adjusted, committed, lesbian feminist I know; she has never expressed any interest in men. In fact I sometimes feel that to her we symbolise everything that is wrong with humanity.

“But I thought…” I stop myself mid sentence, but it’s too late.

“That I was the biggest dyke you have ever met?” She smiles through her tears.

“I… well, love moves in mysterious ways,” I respond lamely. I am blushing.

“I just can’t get enough of him. I want to be with him all the time. It’s driving me crazy. I know he feels the same way, but he has other commitments. It is just so stupid. I can’t help myself.”

“Have you… consummated your relationship?” I choose my words carefully.

“No, I would never want to hurt anyone else, but I would if we could, without a moment’s hesitation. I would feel complete if only I could totally merge with him.”

Estelle is a tantric sex practitioner; with practice anyone can use the bliss experienced during lovemaking to access a merging into a oneness that is sublime.

“OK, I’ve heard enough. Let’s get into the session and see how all this connects.” 

We lay in my crystal mandala. Estelle is ahead of me as we enter an expanded state of consciousness.

Body I command you – show me what I am holding in this disease, she telepaths, without any prompting from me.

As I expect, her body reveals that she is holding a build-up negative energy connected to the intense and conflicting emotions she has been experiencing over the past year. As she has been unable to process or release them, this energy has built up etherically and has now manifested in her physical body as serious illness.

Well that’s not news, Estelle telepaths,with an air of disappointment.

We need to look at your long-term relationship with this man. 

But I have only known him for just over a year.

I am talking really long term, cosmically. Command your body to show you how and where your relationship started.

We travel through time and space into the distant past. En route we catch glimpses of their occasional, rather than repeated, interaction.  They play together in different incarnations – lovers, brothers, sisters and best friends, always in a close and loving relationship with unconditional support for each other. We move beyond and before physical incarnations, which is where things get interesting.

We approach the void.

How far back do we need to go? Estelle is sounding frustrated and a little apprehensive.

Nearly there. The profound beauty of what we witness next moves us both to tears.

Oh my God…  Not known for her religious expletives, Estelle is lost for words.

We are in a garden, a cosmic garden in the far reaches of space and time. The Universe is young, very young. Floating in the barely formed reality that leads to now, we notice a solitary purple flower bud. In the soft light of young stars it opens slowly. It is an exquisite, breathtaking spectacle.

Feel the energy. 

I know. I know. Sobs Estelle. This is the birth of my soul into separate, individual consciousness. Unbelievable.

There is more – watch.

A stamen gracefully eases its way outward, spiralling upward, then just as it looks fully extended, it splits into two strands, one heading towards future Earth to incarnate, the other to another part of the Universe.

It is us, me and him. We are one and we are separating.

And you will reunite, eventually. You understand now why you want to be together? Your mutual attraction is irresistible.

The dance of these two parts of the same whole over the aeons becomes clear to Estelle. 

Twin flames, soul mates, choose a descriptor that fits. Actually no description adequately describes the oneness that you two are.

I understand but…

Let’s return to our bodies and discuss this. Have you seen enough?

Yes.

In my confined session room we sit up, breathe and debrief.

“I still don’t get it. Why am I having sexual feelings towards him?”

“Because we are here in gross, physical bodies, it is a natural way of expressing what feels like a passionate, true love.”

“But what do I do with these feelings and our relationship? It has made me ill.”

“You understand that you are one, right?”

“Well, we are all one. Aren’t we?”

“Yes, in the biggest sense we are, but your relationship is different. It relates to your soul’s journey. In order for this to be resolved, you must understand that the love you feel for this man is self-love. You are loving part of yourself. If you express this love on the highest level then all lower emotions become less intense; in fact less relevant.”

“I am not sure if I want to stop feeling the way I do about him…”

“You are not stopping anything – just expanding it. As long as you allow your feelings to remain on a base, physical level you inhibit your growth. This isn’t just any passing infatuation. You must see it as an initiation into your true power as a spiritual being of light and unconditional love. It is your chance to really step into your essence as an awakened being by expressing your love in the highest way possible.

Your expression of love for each other must move beyond, Philos and Eros and become Agape, a true expression of unconditional love for the divine beings that you both are.”

Estelle contemplates. I hope that she understands. Her future well-being depends on it.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Ceremony

A ritual from the past is having a profoundly negative effect on Raym’s clients present.

A ceremony is commencing. It is dark, yet people wear masks and hooded capes. They stand in a circle, heads bowed, illuminated by thirteen thick, greasy, spluttering candles. My apprentice, Jo and I have travelled through time and space with my wealthy client, Sandra. She has just triggered a recall of the source of the uncontrollable promiscuity, that is ruining her relationships.

I can see she is totally taken aback by what she is witnessing. I have seen this before; what IS disturbing for me is the contemporary nature of the surroundings. Although at first glance we could be anywhere, any time, I pick up subtle clues as to the closeness to our present time. Sandra has not yet noticed.

Jo catches my eye, the nausea we are feeling is deep seated and irrational. It is as if our stomachs are gripped in a hot vice, our chests are constricted and saliva oozes into our mouths.

Why is this happening? My panicked apprentice telepaths.

I know but I am not sure how to break it to her without causing further irrational fear, which could exacerbate the situation.

Well,  you know how it is for beings not totally aligned with unconditional love, when they enter a sacred space that we create?

I pause, swallowing the hot pre-vomit stream of spittle that involuntarily fills my mouth.

Yes, they feel nauseous and want to get out.

We are in a so-called sacred space now and it is having that effect on us.

But we are aligned with love and light, how can a sacred space affect us that way?

I said so-called for a good reason, this space is aligned with the opposite – hence our reaction to it.

Oh shit.

Try and take your focus off the nausea, if you throw up your physical body, lying in my session room, may choke.

I feel for Jo who has volunteered to travel with me to learn more about shamanism. If I am not mistaken the grossness of what she is about to witness will change her perceptions of what human beings are capable of irrevocably.

Sandra came to see me because she wanted to get to the bottom of her self-sabotaging behaviour. Not only is she prone to wild outbursts, her licentiousness has led to the break up of several promising, stable relationships. Just when things are looking good she subverts her own joy by sleeping around. 

She suspects this might be due to past life trauma and I am more than happy to help her discover the root cause of it, through our shamanic journey together. However as we witness this twisted ritual unfold, I sense she still feels it is in the distant past, when in fact it is much closer to home.

Jo has her hand in her mouth and is dry retching.

You can return to our present time-space if you wish.

This is all she needs to hear to activate her resolve.

No way, I want to learn how to do this stuff.

OK then be still and observe. Some of these people are in a trance and your agitation might betray our presence.

And so we observe. A girl is brought into the circle, she is terrified and is not there of her own free will. The horror on Sandra’s face tells all I need to know about her realisation of what might be happening.

Oh NO! That’s me, in this life. How can this be? I thought we were in ancient time, I recognise my dress and shoes… I don’t remember this. Who ARE these people?

I know, but I prefer that her realisation be complete and unaided by me.

Please, if you can, just observe. This may not be pleasant but you wanted to understand where and how your behaviour started? We are here now.

The pre-pubescent girl is led to an altar where incantations and offerings are made to entities who feed off the energy released here. A man comes forward dressed as the most common and feared manifestation of evil our culture knows, he appears to be in a trance.

They go through a pseudo wedding ceremony and with everybody watching he rapes the traumatised girl. I feel sick to the core and my feminist apprentice is enraged. I have to restrain Jo to stop her from interacting, exposing our presence and placing us all in grave danger.

This is too much. ENOUGH! Sandra is close to collapsing.

I am sorry, there may be more. Do you recognise anyone here?

They are all masked or hiding under hoods…

I know, but in the state you are in you can read their energy. Tune into them.

I can’t believe this is true, why don’t I remember it?

We will come to that later. Who is in this circle you know?

There are close members of my family here.

You know who they are?

Yes.

Then we know enough.

I decide she has seen enough when a black obsidian knife is placed in the girl’s small hands and they drag a young boy, a street kid “gone missing,” into the centre of the circle close to the altar. 

I take Sandra to the time and place her memory was erased and she witnesses the process. After that time she was treated as a normal teenager by everyone around her, those who knew and those who did not. Naturally any reference to the secret society and their repeated rituals did not happen when she was around.

This misguided group was confident that this brain washing was permanent. However it is not. One session can unlock it all, totally involuntarily. The challenge now is helping Sandra come to terms with it.

In no time-space I take her through processes that release all vows and agreements that she may have made under duress or that may have been made on her behalf. By the end of the session she is clear energetically and spiritually, although there is much emotional healing still to come.

We return to our present time and my session room. My pale, uber-punk apprentice excuses herself and we hear the muffled sounds of her throwing up in the toilet next door. She returns wiping her mouth as I debrief Sandra.

“You have a complete understanding of what you have just witnessed?”

“I find it hard to believe, but yes I do.”

“Did I suggest anything to you in any way prior to, or during our session?”

“No, you did not.”

“You are well on the way to changing your behaviour, there is nothing now holding it in place. I recommend further emotional healing, but this is not my area of expertise.”

“I understand.” Sandra is still in shock.

Jo who has is now flushed and agitated cannot help herself, regardless of my instruction for her not to say anything to my clients she blurts out.

“I hope you are going to dob those bastards in.”

Sandra reflects. Taking a deep breath she quietly exhales her response.

“Whats the point? I saw, through the other people I recognised in the circle, that this perversion pervades the highest levels of our society. An accusation would go nowhere, it could lead to me being called delusional and locked up. In fact it could even threaten my life.”

My apprentice is stunned into silence as I counsel them both.

“This is entirely your choice, it is best now to focus on our own wellbeing and healing. Those confused, corrupt, sub-humans are bound by the laws of Karma whether they like it or not. They think they can avoid it by staying Earthbound, in service to their masters, after their death, but in due course they will experience everything they have perpetrated. There is no way they can avoid it.”

“They deserve everything they get!” I frown at Jo’s outburst, but inwardly, reluctantly, I agree.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Fear of the dark

Raym’s aristocratic client seeks relief from a lifelong phobia hidden in her families past

Helena is a mature, well dressed, aristocratic looking woman with great poise and a commanding presence. My assistant Brianna and I sense her approach before she enters our little crystal shop.

Brianna spontaneously steps forward to open the shop door for our visitor. A surprising gesture and something I have never witnessed before. Brianna is a feisty, independent woman but there is something about Helena’s bearing that changes Brianna’s normal demeanour.

She ushers my client upstairs with a hint of deference, leaving us in my session room with a subtle bow. I almost expect her to say, ‘Will that be all ma’am?’ but she does not make my day.

Helena sits, back ramrod straight but somehow also relaxed. Not knowing what to expect, she waits for me to open the conversation.

“You have come to see me about a phobia?”

“Yes, for sixty years I have lived with it and I am sick of it. I hear you may be able to help. I have tried everything.”

“How does it manifest?”

“I am terrified of the dark. For as long as I can remember it scares, me; I sleep with the lights on. It limits my activities. It is beyond reason, the fear just takes over.”

Phobias may relate to past-life or childhood trauma, so I ask what kind of place she grew up in. In her soft European accent she replies: 

“What you would call a castle.” I picture a large fancy house with turrets.

“It was on our family home in Europe, a large old place.” She pauses, “too big to look after properly.”

She spent her childhood there until she was sent off to boarding school. With busy parents and no siblings, she had enjoyed many happy hours playing alone in and around the big old house. That’s all I need to know, we lie in my crystal mandala and Helena moves into an altered state easily.

In no time-space I telepath asking her to repeat after me Body I command you take me to the moment this phobia started. NOW…

It is bright and sunny, I feel the warm breeze on my face cool as we follow the little girl that is Helena into shady places as she dashes around the grounds of her family home.

It is much larger than I expected, her family must be wealthy. She runs around the   huge well kept garden. She seems happy, singing, skipping and talking to herself, the way solitary children do. She plays with a misshaped ball that has an uneven bounce. She calls it her “adventure ball” because it takes her to unexpected places.

She throws it, laughing at its crazy, wayward bounce. It takes her underneath bushes, around corners and into the dark potting shed where a bulky gardener is tending his plants.

Startled, he turns quickly trowel in hand to see what has disturbed him, looming over little Helena. I catch a glint in his eye that could be malevolent. Could this be the point of trauma? Something Helena has hidden from herself for all these years?

The glint turns into a sparkle, as he reaches under his bench and pulls out the crazy ball, throwing it on for Helena to chase, away from his workspace. He laughs to himself shaking his head as he continues to tend to his green children.

The ball bounces on, tumbling over a shallow river bank and into a fast flowing stream. It wedges itself under a large rotting tree limb. Helena follows; recklessly jumping after it, she slides down the muddy bank straight into the creek feet first. The speed of her descent wedges her calves under the dark rotten timber. It is heavy and it rocks, crumbling away from its foothold on the bank, ready to tumble forward and pin her under the shallow water.

But today she is lucky, she gets away with wet underwear and muddy skirt as she retrieves her ball, wriggles out and races on, oblivious to her condition.

The shadows are lengthening and the air is cooling. I sense she is some distance from her home and like a homing pigeon, without any conscious effort, she turns in that direction, kicking her crazy ball head of her.

Then I see it. What she described as a castle and I envisioned as a large home actually is a castle. A real one, with turrets spires and ancient stonework, it is an impressive and foreboding sight to me. But to her it is home.

She enters though a simple side entrance some distance from the imposing grandeur of the main building. Inside she bounces her ball hard against the floor and walls, knowing there are no adults around, she is totally carefree, forever fascinated by its unpredictability.

She does not notice the coolness of the air or the damp smell of the neglected corridors she plays in, her young eyes adjusting easily to the rapidly fading light. After a particularly hard throw the ball takes off on its own self-willed way, bouncing  erratically down some stairs at the end of the corridor.  This area was never well maintained and is now crumbling. We follow her downstairs. I sense my client’s mounting apprehension as she relives an incident that impacted on her life from this day forward.

I don’t want to see… She telepaths It is not nice down here.

You wanted to be free of your phobia? We are close to where it starts, please bear with me.

Intent on following her little bouncing friend the child is oblivious to the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere. She pays no attention to the unkempt nature of the place she is in or the dank air seeping into her little lungs, as she continues her descent into darkness.

Now deep beneath the castle she finds her ball in a particularly musty mildewed corner. When she picks it up and turns around her carefree expression changes. She has lost her bearings in the gloom, but more than that she senses a presence nearby that is not benign.

We can see it clearly: standing close to her in the shadows, is an emaciated man in rags. His hollow cheeks and bulging eyes speak of malnutrition and deprivation, his appearance terrifies the young Helena. She screams and calls out for help. Only the stone walls hear her as the man obliges by moving closer to her, amplifying her fear. 

Please someone help me. She trembles, the wetness of her clinging underwear chilling her to the bone.

This plea gives the Earthbound spirit permission to help her by attaching himself to her energy body, temporarily calming her but forever amplifying his and her fear of the darkness that he died in centuries before. Left to starve to death after days of torture, the trauma of his slow and solitary death had kept him stuck in the castle dungeons, until today.

I invite Helena into no time-space and he joins us, following her. Counselling him is straightforward and he journeys home to light with ease. 

His disappearance allows a reunion with Helena’s own spirit guides, who had been unable to communicate clearly with her because of his presence. They take her to a place of such exquisite beauty and love that Helena becomes ecstatic. Not since she had been in an accident years previously, and been clinically dead for a short period, had she experienced such bliss.

She has no doubt whatsoever that her phobia has completely vanished.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

The Dark Lord

Linda’s multiple, repeated injuries lead Raym into an unplanned interaction with an unwelcome visitor

Linda has come to see me because she is ready to solve the mystery of the constantly repeating injuries to her arms. She rolls up her sleeves to reveal a blotchy pattern of multiple scars, old and new, that cover her flesh – a roadmap map of past pain.

I hear my apprentice Jo’s sharp, wincing intake of breath. She has been through periods of self harm in her youth but she has seen nothing like this.

“How did this happen?” I ask, covering Jo’s lack of tact.

“Since I was little things are always happening to my arms; burns, cuts, scalds, bruises, one thing after another. They no sooner heal than something else happens. Look at this.” She indicates a purple welt on her elbow.

“Beauty!” Jo breathes involuntarily.

“Also, I live in a constant state of fear, it has been with me for as long as I can remember and it is particularly intense now. My doctor feels this stress may be contributing to my heart condition.” 

I catch Jo’s eye to be sure she recognises a classic case of major past life trauma manifesting in the physical body. From a shamanic perspective this kind of repeated injury happening to the same part of the body over a period of time, is a clear indication of trauma begging to be released. Her body is saying ‘Here, here – look here! This is where I am holding it.’

The three of us make our way up to my session room and lay in the crystal mandala. I close the door and windows having briefed my assistant downstairs to ease up the volume of the ambient music in my crystal shop, as the session progresses. I expect this could be noisy and we have had enough complaints from neighbouring businesses.

As soon as we close our eyes we are back at the source of the trauma. There is no time for any kind of triggering affirmation, Linda’s body is so ready to release its cellular memory that it takes us all straight there. Her sobs start to build as she unlocks the secrets her body has been carrying since birth.

Holy shit. Jo telepaths.

Stay calm and allow. Let this play out, it is her journey.

We are in a ghetto. This place once had a semblance of order that was held together purely by willpower. Today it is chaotic, the air pulses with the sounds and smells of violence and fear. Around us people are being forced from their homes and treated brutally by armed men in dark grey-green uniforms.

Hugo Boss I catch myself pondering as I unconsciously appraise the style of the officers who stand chatting, wilfully ignoring the brutality that is happening under their command.

Jo and I are witnesses to something terrible and it is hard not to feel for the innocent men, women and children being brutalised around us.

Stay detached. I telepath to Jo as I notice her eyes blaze with anger.

We are close to our client Linda who in this time-space is a pretty, feisty young Jewess taking issue with the soldiers’ harsh treatment of her grandmother.

“Sie ficken!” the senior non-commissioned brute shouts. His underlings happily obey by dragging her into an alley, beating and defiling her.

Jo is enraged; I caution her. 

You can’t get involved – they can’t see you anyway. 

This is bad but it is just the beginning. We have not yet found the emotional trauma Linda is holding in her arms.

“Ein exempel statuieren!” The sergeant commands smiling. 

Linda’s past life feistiness has totally evaporated, I know her cries of terror are now filling my healing space and possibly the shop below.

We, like her kin, watch helpless as the soldiers wrap her arms and shoulders with barbed wire, hitch her to the back of a dusty VW kubelwagen and drag her around the square laughing and shouting insults, until she is lifeless.

We catch her as she leaves her body, totally traumatised. This brief, brutal act will affect every lifetime from this moment onwards until it is released. Fortunately we have the opportunity now to free her from it, so it is worth re-experiencing it.

My arms. She telepaths. They killed me!

Jo comforts her; the first time I have seen my cool, streetwise apprentice in tears.

Are you ready to release the trauma? I ask.

Linda nods. 

You must call on all those responsible and forgive them.

Even though the trauma is fresh she grasps the logic of my suggestion as we help her address her torturers in no time-space.

I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you. In forgiving you I release us all from this trauma, we are no longer bound by it. Go in peace, be at peace, you are completely forgiven.

Those responsible are filled with remorse, humbled and grateful to be released, from an interaction which also continues to affect them.

It looks like we are about finished. Linda is calm and Jo is looking brighter.

I prepare to return us to our present when I notice something unusual. Jo has noticed it too.

A figure is approaching us, one that Linda has not called on. I sense who may be joining us and quickly I telepath to Jo and Linda.

Do not say or telepath anything, under any circumstances, for the next few minutes. Be mindful of your thoughts. Understood?

Grasping from my tone that I am serious they both nod, perplexed.

The gentleman nearing us is very smartly dressed in twenty-first century clothes, he has an air of total confidence and congeniality, with an undefinable edge.

Honoured to have you visit, how can I help? I take the initiative.

This ageless, suave and handsome gent smiles, his eyes twinkle.

Your friends are quiet. 

He nods towards Linda and Jo, who has turned quite white.

A little shy, I respond, what can I do for you?

Lots! He laughs. Do you like my suit? It’s your favourite designer, you were admiring his work earlier. It’s yours if you like it.

No thanks I’m not really a suit kind of guy, more T shirt and shorts.

Anything else you would like? Money? Fame? Women? Cars? Property? Power?… Anything you wish for can be yours, for a a little exchange. Just sign here. 

He unrolls a parchment scroll and offers me a pen..

I’m honoured that you take an interest in my wellbeing but I have all I need, thank you.

And your friends?

I interrupt Jo who is about to speak.

 Just fine thanks, all their needs are met.

He looks into my eyes.

You know, I could use a man like you. You don’t scare easily do you?

I smile and say nothing, choosing not to give him an opening. When fear has no purchase, charm is the next line of attack.

You know you should not meddle in other people affairs. 

I respond.

I never meddle, I help when I am asked to do so, otherwise I mind my own business.

His tone changes.

Mmm, I am sure you do. I have my eye on you, we will meet again I am sure.

I nod my head.

It is always an honour.

He smiles at the three of us and wanders off into nothingness.

We return to this time-space and debrief a shell-shocked Linda, who I expect will have no more challenges with her arms, heart or her fear.

After escorting Linda out, Jo returns to the session room, happy to have assisted.

“Why did you stop me speaking? Was that guy who I think it was?”

“Lets just say he was an aspect of that consciousness.”

“Man that guy was slick.” She shakes her head.

“You don’t know the half of it.” I smile.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Long lost sister

Seeking help with breast issues Marjory discovers a long lost sister

Marjory is not what you might expect to see in an alternative crystal shop. In her conservative, twin set and pearls she looks like a zipped up tight version of a mature lady who has walked straight out of some dated period drama. 

My assistant Bryony has briefed me: Marjory is desperate, seeking help in a realm that she might otherwise quietly dismiss as silly nonsense. As Bryony greets her, I observe Marjory, assessing the deeper reason for her visit to my practice – it is not what she thinks it is.

Marjory is not feeling comfortable in such an alien environment and I sense my assistant Bryony’s concealed contempt for someone who epitomises all she has opposed in her life. It is hard to believe that my free spirited, dreadlocked, fairy-loving assistant is probably the same age as the straight laced client she is ushering upstairs to my session room.

“Good luck with that one.” she breathes as she walks past me rolling her eyes.

“She is an embodiment of the Goddess, who moves in mysterious ways.”

My comment is quite serious but it totally cracks Bryony up: she doubles over stuffing a hanky in her mouth so that the client upstairs will not hear her raucous bird-like laugh. I leave her holding her stomach with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Upstairs I greet my client who is unbuttoning her cardigan.

“Do you need to examine my breasts?” 

“No need. I am a Shaman, not a doctor, my assistant has briefed me.”

“What about the crystals on my body?”

“Crystals can work through concrete, there is no need to disrobe as long as you are comfortable.” Marjory looks relieved.

“You are concerned about the number of cysts your specialist has been finding in your breasts….?”

“Yes nobody can explain why there are so many, it’s a worry.”

“Our aim today is to find the cause, release it and then observe what happens after the session.” I know that once we find the cause and deal with it the cysts will disappear, but I am mindful of my promises.

“Is there anything else?”

Silence. I know there is an issue but I need her permission to explore it.

“How are your relationships?” A pause.

“Well to be honest I find it hard to be close to anyone, even my husband and children.”

“Would you like to change that?”

“I always thought it is just the way I am, is it possible to change?”

“With your permission we will look into it today, if there is time.”

“OK.”

Laying in my crystal mandala we start our shamanic journey together. We scan her body and notice a variety of energies in her breasts, I suggest she commands her body to show us what it is holding there.

Immediately we are overcome by the sharp smell of burning flesh as the young woman Marjory is, has the right breast removed by a hot copper knife. She stifles her screams knowing it is not appropriate to show weakness during her initiation as an Amazonian warrior.

In a perverse repetition of this trauma Marjory experiences being a beautiful Native American woman lying on the hard cold ground in a decimated and burning camp. Her family have been massacred and she is being mutilated by leery American bluecoats.

In another time we find ourselves in the fetid, close air of a dark workhouse in seventeenth century Britain. Marjory is a grubby undernourished young woman who has just given birth. She is hiding, cradling an illegitimate, suckling child which is torn from her breast and taken away.

This experience repeats itself with a mid-twentieth century variation, where Marjory re-lives being an Australian Aboriginal woman living peacefully with her extended family in humpies in the bush. She adores her little children and is breastfeeding when they are suddenly stolen by ghostly White-fella’s, she is devastated.

Some incidents intertwine more than once in their similarities, anyone could see their interconnectedness. They cover a huge span of time and each experience is held in a different part of her breasts.

As we re-live each of these ten past lives I wish I had a room full of students to witness how we hold multiple traumas. Unresolved trauma can repeat itself lifetime after lifetime, until it is resolved. This is the body’s way of helping us, by bringing it to our attention. Unfortunately present day society does not understand our bodies’ signs, as our ancestors did. Ignoring them can be fatal. 

Each trauma has its own unique resolution and it takes the whole session to release them all.  As we finish I find myself hurrying as I am keen to get to what I feel is the real reason for Marjory’s visit.

You wanted to look into your relationship challenges?

Oh yes, I had forgotten, lets do that.

Please repeat after me – I call on any being close to me, please join me now.

A woman appears dressed as an affluent Victorian lady, they embrace. They are both crying.

Sister! Where have you been? I have missed you so much, it has been a long time! Marjory sobs.

I have been here with you all the time. Remember we promised we would never leave each other?

Marjory looks perplexed, I intercede.

What year is it?

1856. Who are you and why do you ask?

I am your sister’s friend. Do you realise you are dead?

Her response takes me completely by surprise.

Of course I do, I remember the day well. I keep my promises, I am staying here, looking after my sister.

How do you feel about the others in her life?

I am all she needs, I love her, she knows that.

Marjory, please allow me to help your sister. She is Earthbound and confused. Can you see how her presence is affecting your present relationships?

Before she can respond Marjory’s sister interrupts.

How dare you sir! I am not confused! I am here by choice, keeping my promise.

Marjory, all you have to do is release her from her promise and I can help her go home to light and find peace.

Marjory’s response is bewildering, unexpected and a first for me.

No, we love each other, I want her to stay. They embrace.

I try my best to persuade Marjory that this will impair both her and her sisters growth, but she will have none of it. Mindful of the implications for my own karma if I push too hard, I respect their free will and wrap up the session, which has run over time.

My assistant Bryony returns after escorting a still emotional client out into the fresh air.

“Breasts are looking good, no more challenges there…”

“Her next scan will be clear.” I manage a wan smile.

“Pity about the sister…” 

“I really wanted to help them both, maybe another time.” I am doing my best to surrender to the perfection of their choices and not to sound too glum.

“Yes. Another lifetime.” 

Bryony’s irony reveals a deep truth, Marjory has missed a great opportunity to dissolve a co-dependent relationship, be closer to her family, step into her power and truly be herself.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Slayer of the Beast

Raym’s own time travel adventure reveals an unusual occupation

My vision and hearing are impaired and I am hot. My body moves to a natural but non-human rhythm. Sweat trickles from my forehead into my eyes and it stings, blurring my vision; I sense vertical lines of light before me. The distorted background sounds that I can hear are strangely tinny, I might be hearing birdsong; I do not know where I am, what I am or why I am here.

I have invited my apprentice to time-travel with me on an open-ended adventure and I am reminded that the trouble with open-ended adventures is just that, their open-endedness. I have left it to my higher-self to take us to wherever we need to be.

An unearthly screech rattles my bones, triggering contradictory feelings of fear and calm. Wherever I am this is not new to me, I know what to do next. I tell myself to stop questioning and just experience.

I feel into my surroundings and gradually grasp what is going on around me. The armour and padding I am wearing are heavy and it feels like I am trapped in a slow roast croc-pot. The blokes who wore this stuff must have had ways of dealing with this claustrophobia, I am not doing so well. My body is smaller and leaner than the one I have now, which although fit and muscly might be considered overfed by my past-life self.

My vision clears and I can see greenery through the vertical slits in my visor, a gentle grassy slope dotted with daisies and European trees. It is a cool spring morning, somewhere in Britain. If it wasn’t for that disturbing sound and the fact that I was sitting on an armoured horse ready for some kind of battle it would be a pleasant day.

I look around me, which is a challenge in this helmet, I have to move my whole body and my twisting unsettles my mount. I notice that he is armoured too, his crinet, peytral and shafron have been well attached by my squire.

I see also that I am pretty much alone, no armies massed to meet each other as I had expected. Just a small, rag-tag group of peasants who are watching from some distance away. I know my apprentice must be nearby and I wonder how her appearance will differ from her usual twenty-first century street chic. 

Then I spot her, my squire, a young man in period dress. He stands between the locals and me, a shiny polished shield resting against his feet. Behind him our traveling ponies, supplies and the gear used to help me onto my horse.

In my right hand I become aware of a long heavy sword and in my left a shield, like the one at my squire’s feet. I am ready for action, but what kind of action? I can see no enemy.

The otherworldly screech fills the air again; the villagers flee, my squire stands his ground and I feel the earth vibrating through my horse. He is stock still, ears pricked, breathing loudly through his flared nostrils. I realise he is waiting for instructions from me and as I gently lean, he moves forward in the direction I am intending. We make our way slowly up the grassy knoll towards the sound. He traverses the hill sideways as if he is performing full-pass in a modern dressage competition. He is a fine beast; he presents my sword arm to the hill.

My past life self is feeling confident but my present logical mind is not, we are making our way sideways uphill towards an unknown enemy, surely we will be vulnerable to whatever crests the hill as it bears down on us?

I do not have to wait long to find out what is making that awful sound.

A large, scaly, green, reptile-like creature appears over the rise before us. To say it breathed fire would be an exaggeration, but plenty of snot and steam emanate from its nostrils into the crisp morning air. 

It must be warm blooded I catch myself thinking.

It stands three metres tall on its hind legs, both its front and rear claws flash pink and white, clogged with flesh and wool. Intestines dangle from its mouth. The villagers have deliberately disturbed its morning feast on one of their precious lambs.

My job, I quickly realise, is to curtail its eating habits, permanently.

I become an acutely aware observer as the action unfolds around me. I hear myself shouting insults at the reptile, I make bird calls, animal noises, cows, sheep, goats – you name it. I could have been a great stage performer. It is as if the creature understands me, it responds by bellowing what could be insults back at me, in its strange shrill way.

I hear myself giving it the option to retreat to its cave and leave the villagers alone. It does not care for or understand my words and makes its way down the slope towards me, ready for another snack.

I notice the shield on my left arm is smaller than I expected and I feel myself positioning it carefully before I engage with the dragon. I also know I am relying on my squire to use the highly polished shield he has to reflect the morning sun into the dragon’s eyes. 

Everything is in my favour, the reflected sunlight dazzles the beast and it rears up momentarily distracted. In an instant the horse changes tack, responding to my gentle, almost telepathic signals, he moves quickly and courageously right in, under the reptile, giving me a clear lunging strike with my sword.

I thrust my blade deep into the beast’s underbelly and immediately retreat, so as not to be trapped beneath its shocked, staggering bulk. The kill is all over in a few, adrenalin-pumped seconds. The beast falls, writhing, wailing in agony, thrashing around with its long claws, seeking some kind of retribution. My big, brave horse gracefully backs away from the danger, eyes fixed constantly on the dying dragon.

I am totally drenched with sweat and exhausted, my squire helps me off my horse and removes my armour, I thank and embrace him.

The shepherds and local villagers are grateful, but also afraid of me. I smile inwardly; they have no need to fear me. I accept their gold as my squire packs up and readies to depart. I can see parallels to my present life as a shaman, people respect me but also fear me: there is no need for that, now, either.

“Shall we return?” I speak to my squire/apprentice using the knight’s vocal chords.

This is our pre-arranged signal to return to our present time-space, s/he nods. We stretch as we feel ourselves back in our bodies in this here and now.

“Wow! Way cool. You were a really brave man.”

“I was skilled at my craft.”

“Unbelievable… Dragons – far out. But there was no trauma there, you did well. Why were we taken there? So you could experience what a great warrior you were?”

“No… It was so I could remember the mutual bond of total trust I had with my horse: such a fine, noble and beautiful animal.” My tears surprise her.

“You could have one again now.”

“No need,” I smile, “the dragons I deal with now are non-physical. Anyway I have a bicycle, less space and lower maintenance.”

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Old Soldiers Never Die

Present relationship challenges relate to past life agreement

I am in a chaotic and filthy place. The stench of death overwhelms me, it penetrates my being to the core, I try to get a grip on the time and place I am in, but right now I am in overload. Nothing could have prepared me for the pandemonium I am experiencing.

The noise is unbearable, I already have a headache and I have been here for just a few moments. The mud around is a mush of earth, excrement and decomposing organic matter. I just cannot believe how foul this place is – yet, there are human beings here. And some are smiling.

I am in the middle of a fierce battle involving relatively modern weaponry. The soldiers around me use heavy rifles with wooden butts. They are wearing green steel helmets and their clothes are coarse and look uncomfortable. They are half-starved, small men, their skin grey and filthy. For some reason there is a lull in the fighting, the irregular explosions and rapid gunfire subside and I get the chance to take stock.

My ears are ringing and my eyes watering from the acrid residue of cordite in the air. My surroundings are smothered in dust and mist, it softens the muddy colours around me into a sepia monotone. The artist in me wants to take a photograph, but my memory will have to suffice. I won’t be forgetting this experience in a hurry.

In the trench next to me I see two soldiers, they squat with their backs against the timber and sandbags that shore up its sides. They share a cigarette and take a breather in the unexpected and surreal stillness. I overhear their conversation.

“Jerry is laying it on thick this morning… Wouldn’t say no to a nice hot cuppa cha.”

“Wouldn’t say no to a nice lie down, in a dry, clean bed… with my girl.”

They sit in silence for while drawing in the poisonous smoke and nicotine from their army-issue cigarettes.

“Do you reckon we’ll ever make it out of here?”

“Sure Jack, sure. Look!” Pointing into the clouds. “A flock of flying pigs.” They both laugh.

“Tell you what, we’ve made it this far, you and me. Why don’t we promise to really stick together and look out for each others from now on? We will be real muckers!”

“Corker! We might make even it back to dear old Blighty in one piece.”

Their rough, soiled hands engage in a firm handshake and they smile as the last mortar of the day finds its target, exploding immediately behind the man farthest from me. His back ripped to shreds by shrapnel, he dies instantly. His body protects his mate who collapses, concussed and wounded, but alive.

At last I recognise which of these men is my client. She is not, as I first expected the man who died, but rather the man who survived. Traumatised, injured and scarred for life, emotionally and physically he lies groaning in the mud calling for a medic.

As he slips in an out of consciousness and I invite my present day client to step out of his body to ease the confusion she is experiencing.

That was intense. She telepaths, crying

So much pointless destruction and death, they were so young and such good mates, what a waste of life. Am I going to die now?

No, you live to a ripe old age. Honouring the memory of your fallen mates every year, without fail.

So why are we here? 

In my session room, surrounded by crystals in our present time-space I have instructed my client to command her body to take her to the moment when the communication and relationship challenges in her present life began.

I don’t get it. What is messing up my life now, this war trauma?

Not quite, in your own way you deal with it. By the time you die you are at peace with it.

What then? I can’t see anything here that is screwing up my present life.

Think about what just happened…

Escaping death by a hair’s breadth?

What was happening before that?

I was talking with my mate.

About what?

We made a promise to look out for each other.

How do you feel remembering that promise?

Emotional. She tears up.

You made a real heartfelt commitment to each other?

Of course.

Do you remember it?

No, that was a long time ago and you told me I lived a long life. I probably forgot it then.

The promise faded into a mass of uncomfortable memories for you, but not for him. For him it is still fresh.

What do you mean?

He is still bound by it. His promise to you was very clear and heartfelt at the moment of his death so he is still keeping to it. In fact he does not realise he is dead. Your mate from the trenches has been with you ever since, looking out for you, just as he promised. He does not understand that you are now incarnated as a woman. He sees you as you were in the trenches in World War One. He is here with your permission and his presence, although loving is conditional. It creates a barrier between you and the beings who love you unconditionally,. Why don’t you call on him now and explain things, release him from his commitment to you?

I sense my client is confused but she plays along with me, hesitantly…

Jack! Where are you mate? We need to talk.

Out of the mess around us the form of her dead mate appears.

Jesus this has gone on for a long time. And they’re still hammering us. Good job we stuck together.

I’ve got some bad news…

What? Run out of bully beef? No more fags? I feel like I have been living on thin air for bloomin’ eternity. How can things get any worse than this god-awful cock-up?

Sorry Jack, but you were blown to smithereens a second after we made our promise to look after each other. And you’ve been stuck to me, looking out for me, ever since. Jack I am sorry but you are dead, your body is long gone.

Bull mate. You can’t bounce me with that crack. Shell shocked you are! Give over… 

He looks concerned.

It is now 2016 and I am a woman. I really appreciate your help but your presence in my life is creating problems for me in my relationships. It is time to release each other from our promises. I now release you from your promise, it has served its purpose.

I intercede as Jack starts to panic. 

Jack I know you can see me, and that you don’t recognise me or the way I appear to you. Your mate is telling the truth, let us help you. The war is over, you can go home now.

There are tears and they embrace as we help Jack transit home to light.

As there now is nothing blocking my client’s perception of unconditionally loving beings close to her I make a suggestion. 

Why not call on the beings who love you unconditionally? It is time to meet your spirit guides…

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

The Tower

Brian is a regular bloke with an ordinary life – or so he thinks

“So what would you have done when the entity dragged the client’s body across the room and out of the crystal mandala?”

“Same as you. Carry on with the process, the client could still breathe, they were just frightened.  Just because some entity calls itself Beelzebub, does not mean…”

Our conversation is interrupted by the soft chirruping of the shop landline.

We are having an unusually quiet afternoon in my little crystal shop. My assistant Brianna has grabbed the opportunity to pick my brains. The shop is warm and cosy, it is grey and drizzling outside with few potential customers passing by. My appointment book has empty spaces and we pass the time chatting about some of the shamanic journeys she has facilitated.  There are always questions, even from the most experienced of my students about their technique and the unusual things they discover.  Answering leads me into reflection and deepens their understanding of my own uniquely modern form of an archaic and arcane healing art.

“Inner journeys, crystal emporium and shamanic healing centre…” Brianna answers the phone, making my little shop sound much grander than it is.

I can hear an excited male voice raving on about something important. She rolls her eyes handing me the phone with her hand over the microphone. 

“It’s that crazy used car salesman. He says he is calling from the south of France, something about a sea chest, a book and an old man.  Seems to think you might be interested.”

“Its true, all true!” A breathless tinny voice breathes into my ear from the other side of the world. “In the chest there was a book, in the book there was a note, folded in right next to a page with an illustration of the tower and the old guy we met. Unbelievable!  I quit my job and came here to to France.  According to the message and the code left by my uncle, I am…”

“Best not to talk about these things over the phone”. I interrupt.  “Thanks for letting me know, I am not at all surprised.”

“But what the fuck do I do now?  With all this information?  I sell cars on the Parramatta road for christ’s sake!” 

“Not any more you don’t.  Your brothers in the order will help, seek them out, but be careful who you share this with, yours was and still is not a popular group in some quarters.  Gotta go, I have an appointment, good luck!”

I hang up not wanting to get into a lengthy conversation, both for his safety and my sanity.

Brianna arches an eyebrow, she knows that I have no appointments scheduled until tomorrow.  I sense her probing me. “Its rude to probe anyone, especially your teacher”. 

She blushes. “Sorry I couldn’t help myself, wouldn’t you like to share?  We have all afternoon…”. 

How did this all start? I remember just two weeks ago Brian came to see me with absolutely no idea what was in store for him…

I am with Brian, standing on a desolate plain, we are at the start of our shamanic journey together.  He has come to me to find his life’s purpose, feeling limited and bored by his job as a car salesman.

He is excited – I am troubled.  For the first time in his life he is having a visceral, first hand experience, in full consciousness of another reality and it is blowing his mind. I am trying to place the the time-space we are in, so as to navigate our journey safely and I can’t.  Something about this place is not quite right.  I have not visited this space before, for the first time in a long while I feel quite lost.

What do we do now?  He telepaths.

Lets explore. I respond with far more confidence than I feel. 

We wander around aimlessly for a while, I suggest he listen to his heart and trust his guidance.

Over there, a tower!  He squints into the hazy distance.

Barely discernible, a pimple on the horizon extends its invitation to us.  It takes an age to walk there. I prefer clients to figure out for themselves that they are not limited by gravity so I do not usually tell them they can fly.  By the time we reach this place I am beginning to wish I had.

This tower is like no other I have ever seen, majestic and spiralling upwards to a point, it seems ribbed like a seashell from a distance. It becomes clear to us both as we get closer that it is not constructed using conventional building materials, made of neither bricks nor stone, this tower is constructed entirely of books.  It looks weatherbeaten and very old.

We walk around its broad base looking for an opening and find the remains of a crumbling stairway on the outside, leading to a narrow arched entrance which reveals a fusty, dim interior.  

Inside the tower has a more solid feel.  There is only one way to go, so up the spiral staircase we tread.  Brian is beside himself with excitement.  I find myself totally perplexed.

I have spent many years drumming into my students that nothing is ever symbolic in a shamanic journey, everything is real.  Right now I am in a psychologists dream environment, full of symbols, a desolate plane with a mysterious tower, made entirely of old books.  All I need next is some wizened old character in a room at the top and I have a complete set of set of symbols to analyse over a period of weeks.  Not my style at all.

Brian who has shot up the stairs ahead of me telepaths excitedly. 

You are not going to believe this, there is an old guy up here, who says he has been waiting for me.

Just as I expected. Ask him if he loves you.

I reach the room at the top and sure enough Brian is there with an ancient man, who looks harmless enough. 

I know this is not symbolic, it can’t be, we must be in another reality somewhere, perhaps one created and maintained by a powerful group. The ancient one addresses me:

Greetings my friend, thank you for bringing him.  I thought he would never get here.

It is an honour, you have something for him?

Indeed!  Some information that may be to his advantage.  Turning to Brian.

My child you really have no idea who you are, do you?

Brian is speechless.

Your great uncle who died some time ago by your reckoning, left something for you. You will find a sea-chest in your grandmother’s attic, in it there is a book.  You came on this journey to find out more about yourself.  You have an inheritance which is priceless, the book is yours and it has the key you seek.

Wha…

Brian has no clue where to start with his questions.

All will be revealed. In the book you will find clues to who you are and you will recognise this place. This is how you will know the truth of your experience.

Thank you for visiting.  I can be at peace now. He folds his arms and slowly closes his eyes.

It s obvious that he will say no more.  We take our leave and depart the tower walking back across the plain in silence.

I know that Brian will find all that he needs in the sea-chest and I sense it will change his life forever.  Power flows down the male lineage with old brotherhoods.  Brian lost his father when he was a child so he was never formally initiated into his ancestral order.  

I wonder how he will integrate into his present life his new found position in the Order of Knights Templar.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Hive Mind

Raym has a disturbing insight into his own future

I remember being human but the memory is fading.  I vaguely remember love, something that propelled me onward, now I sense it as a rapidly dispersing jet-stream.  My love-based momentum is fading and slowing. 

I try to recall why and how I came to be what I am now but it is difficult. I am being absorbed by the hive mind, a oneness that is warm, comforting and has purpose. Perhaps this is what love felt like. I no longer know. I must remember why I am here, I am not one of this species although I like this simple existence. There was an important reason why I ceased to be human, I must try to remember what happened to me…

The pain in my human body is excruciating. I sense that limbs are broken and missing. My fresh wounds have been cauterised by the intense heat of the lasers that have terminally damaged my undernourished female form. The battle playing out around me is chaotic and terrifying to watch, but my priority right now is just experiencing my next precious breath. Comrades lift me and carry me from the heat of battle to a wagon and then into a dimly lit underground place with rough but clean bench-tops, a field surgery.  I am placed next to one of those repulsive creatures we fight, it too is barely alive and restrained. Its soft, six tentacled, aquatic form looks vulnerable outside of its armour. 

Now I remember the oath I took and feel sick to the core at the realisation of what will happen to me next, maybe I actually vomit, I am way past caring.  Other women look down at my broken body. I see such love and compassion in their eyes, I feel hot tears roll across my face.  

Be strong little sparrow. They telepath. 

Your time with us is over, you were never meant for battlefield duty but our need was great and you were brave.  We love you and honour your choice to continue to fight for freedom in the resistance. Remember your training, remember us, remember how much you are loved. We love you. 

This small group of battle-hardened women weep as they wait for my final approval to attempt the unthinkable.  My throat is dry and my consciousness weak but I am able to nod, blink my eyes and attempt a crooked smile as they commence a process which has already cost many lives and which may not succeed.  But we are in desperate times, overwhelmed and close to extinction. Our men are long gone, women now are all that is left of our once dominant and careless species.

Nobody had any inkling of what SETI’s Aricebo message would invite onto our lush green Earth with its simple broadcasts about our planet and species. Nobody thought that other distant species would have the all too human trait of resource plundering, enslavement, domination and destruction…

I was a child playing in the fields near my home when it started. Without any warning on a clear bright Autumn afternoon they came in their thousands, fast and merciless. Puncturing our sleepy reality from that clear blue sky, in their weirdly organic, gravity defying ships. Contradicting our known laws of aerodynamics and physics they moved left-right, up-down at ridiculous speed. Before our armed forces and governments grasped what was happening all military infrastructure and communications networks were trashed and modern weaponry rendered totally useless. Planes fell out of the sky, rockets exploded on their launchpads, submarines sank – never to resurface.

Electronic equipment, engines and weapons involving bullets, shells, rockets or lasers ceased to function in an instant. Crossbows, arrows and simple explosive devices were all that was left to the those who fought back. A few tried gamely to form themselves into something cohesive. In the weeks that followed the initial attack, we naively thought we had a chance.

Then the wholesale slaughter of men began. Ignoring all females they targeted the alpha males in the military and government through direct attack then later through their creepy, insidious male killer virus. That horrible bug that took my sweet baby brother and disfigured my dying father. It was awful and things did not get better.

From baby boy to grandfather they died rapidly and in their millions.  The intention was to create a slave race of the apparently more passive females, who would work for food, water and shelter.  There was no concern about reproduction or regeneration of the dominant Earth species as their project would be complete before they ran out of able bodied slaves.

Ma, me and my aunties fended for ourselves. It was harsh but not as bad as in the cities, we heard tales that made your flesh creep. At least we had clean water and food. Life was not as brutal and violent as any similar survival situation might be with men, but it stole my girlhood and after Ma was killed, turned me into as fierce a resistance fighter that any woman could hope to be.

No attempt was made by the invaders to dialogue or treaty. As human colonists have done on countless occasions, their aim was to subjugate, enslave, exterminate the uncooperative and take what they wanted.  In this case fresh water, a resource so abundant that most people, apart from desert dwellers, took it totally for granted.

Everyone knew this steady, massive depletion spelled inevitable disaster for the planet and all beings living on it. The resistance grew slowly. Although its weapons were primitive, like all insurgent groups it relied on fast surgical strikes to inflict damage and disruption. Its actions were more symbolic of a resolute and resilient human spirit than a threat to the invaders. However the invaders became irritated and took reprisals.

They would completely destroy any hamlet they suspected harboured the resistance. Those who were killed had no idea what was about to happen. It was as if a the hand of God appeared out of the sky, razing everything in an instant. This meant that the resistance was not welcome anywhere; most people thought we were wasting our time anyway.

I joined the sisters when I was a still a girl. Joined, well I was more adopted really. Ma dead and aunties half crazy, I was a stinky little sewer rat, barely surviving on scraps and the patchy goodwill of others on the edge of survival themselves.

We travelled in small groups scavenging as we went. By the time I was bleeding I knew how to rig a lethal explosive device, break down, clean or repair any weapon in our small arsenal, as well as make a good feed from, rat, rabbit, cat or dog, as long as it was not too long dead. We were expected to fend for ourselves. Theory was that the big sisters could be killed at any time so we best know how to manage on our own. So I became a huntress, small and as lean as a leopard.  

Our faded hope, and there were cults based on this hope, was that the aliens would only take some of our water and leave us. It was obvious to most sensible people after 20 years of occupation that this was a foolish dream.

Now as a grown woman I know nothing of men, they are a fairy story in my life. I remember my father’s smile but as a woman I have never known a man’s touch. The old ones talk of a man’s love as being overpowering, they talk of the sensuality of having a heavy man lie on top and push himself hard inside that sacred place of the goddess. 

The love of a man is beyond my comprehension, only the crones give it time and share their moist memories. I know the love of the sisters and it is good, we share soft love, passion and delicious sex. What I don’t know I don’t miss. I will never be touched by a man.

The senior sisters worship the Goddess and some are able to communicate in the way that our ancestors once did. They do not use this thing called wireless electricity they use their minds and their hearts. They use trances and herbs and we rely on them for news from across the planet.

The world I knew as a child has changed forever, most of humanity is a subspecies of obedient workers.  A few do well as stewards and go-betweens, living a life of comparative luxury. Others live on the fringes surviving on their wits, supporting the resistance.

The invaders care nothing about the way humans organise themselves, only that the harvesting of fresh water continues.  No one knows what they do with it or get from it, only that their appetite for it seems to be insatiable and continues 24/7.   

Parts of the globe away from fresh water are left relatively untouched, save for an absence of men and boys of all ages, a scarcity of consumables, lack of TV and formal schooling. 

Indigenous communities have thrived and a subculture based on ancient beliefs and healing arts has grown. Goddess worship has become commonplace and old mainstream religions have floundered. None had an answer for the ubiquitous devastation which was obviously manifested by ETs. 

There are no schools, hospitals are ruthless triage centres for those injured at work, the elderly are discarded when they are no longer productive and the young are prepared for work early.  

The invaders have proved to be unstoppable, resistant to every kind of attack.

Over time desperation has led to a bizarre and far fetched idea being germinated, nurtured and haltingly hatched, through the resurrection of long forgotten esoteric techniques, this do-or-die plan is our last hope.

Terminally injured freedom fighters can, having given prior agreement, have their consciousness transplanted into the body of an injured ET. Theoretically enabling total immersion and acceptance on the Mother ship, creating the opportunity for sabotage.

Desperate times lead to desperate measures…

I take my last breath as a human being, struggling to control the fear of becoming one of the hated ones.  No one has any idea how the transition of consciousness affects us as none have ever come back or communicated from the other side. To date no mission has succeeded and we have only the vaguest notion that the transfer works at all.

I enter the consciousness of the six limbed one, I breathe through my skin, the air is repellant, unnatural but acceptable.  It is nitrogen rich and lacks the sulphur and carbon dioxide I prefer. I sense humans nearby, I am far from the hive and I fear.  But the humans are not aggressive and do not harm me.

The dead human female next to me looks familiar. I remember what I must do next.

I lift each of my limbs separately slowly, familiar but new and very strange.  I repeat the pattern remembering my training.

One of the women speaks “It looks like this transfer has worked, she is in there, bless her.  God only knows what she must be going through. Bless you little sparrow, be swift and remember us. We promise to bear your boy child when you succeed. Remember us, we love you.”

“Leave her on the battlefield and be sure they discover her, there is hope if we act quickly; she will be subsumed into the hive cloud and her individuated consciousness will fade.” 

Be strong little one…

Years have past and I am at peace in the hive, there is comfort in serving our one purpose. I felt different once. A long time ago I had more feeling, but now I am hive and I serve.

I am nearing the end of my eight year lifecycle and will soon cease to be. I help now in the control room of the mother ship. It feels right that I am here. There is some thing I must do here but I have forgotten. Our domination of humans has been slower than expected.  We exterminated the males expecting the females to be passive slaves but some are not.  Why do they resist the inevitable?  

Resist. That word is special. It means something I must remember.  I like being hive, it is comfortable.

I brush against another of my species, it feels different, like me.

Sister, you have found me.

A human voice startles me, it speaks inside my being.  

Sister, do you remember why we came here?

I have a sense of being human. I was human once, before now. I remember a battle, intense pain, sadness and my own death. I was little sparrow, nicknamed after the commonest of species most resistant to extinction. I remember my purpose. In turn I help my sister remember, I do not know her, only her purpose. Together we help each other recall why we inhabit these alien bodies and why we are here.

The hive is sleepy. It will take a while before they realise our purpose.

Move slowly but with purpose.  I am senior here and understand how to break this thing we serve.

I follow instructions carefully and slowly so as not to draw attention to our actions. However the hive mind notices our separation and purpose and is concerned. There is no failsafe, the hive mind is the failsafe and it is disturbed.

Now little one, together we must do this at exactly the same time, copy me.

For freedom!

For my unborn son!

A flash of intense brilliance as I and everything around me for many, many miles is vaporised. All species within a huge radius are terminated, including humans. I feel sadness for the Earth species I have killed but I know that those that remain will be free.

I experience the exquisite trauma and bliss of my own death.

I draw air into my aching chest. “Light.  I am the light.  I am light, I am one with everything. I am!  Alpha and Omega…”

I feel a hand gently shaking my shoulder.

“Raym, come back into your body, you are too loud, you are frightening customers in the shop downstairs.” My assistant Bryony’s concerned face looks down on my convulsing body as I open my eyes, drawing deep irregular breaths.

Seeing I am OK her tone changes “You tell your students never to lie in the crystal matrix alone, you should take your own advice”.

“Just finishing some parallel reality business.” I gasp breathlessly, enjoying the intensely physical sensations in my aching body, the fresh clean air in my lungs and my freedom.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Boy

Marie is over commited and burnt out, the feelings of guilt which drive her are real but not of this world

I am time traveling with my client Marie, a nursery nurse who also works long hours as a volunteer for a variety of children’s charities. She is with me to understand why she overcommits and burns herself out. 

We are standing next to a small boy, he has an unruly mop of dark hair and large brown eyes which conceal a quick intelligence. He is busy polishing a large slab of stone by hand and he seems happy in his work. It is hot and dry but lush, we can sense in the distance the beginnings of a desert. We stand close to high majestic buildings, beautifully built with tall entrances.

Where are we, and why are we here? 

Marie telepaths squinting at her surroundings, breathing in the atmosphere of a time long gone. She does not yet understand that she she is observing herself as a boy in a past life. 

You will see, I respond. Remember why you came to see me.

Although the boy is relaxed, those around him are not, they have a harsh taskmaster. A beefy man wearing a golden circlet walks around with a small whip which he uses freely, encouraging his labourers to work harder and faster. He is not a cruel brute, rather a man on a mission, using the tools of his time. He must have a soft spot for the boy, or perhaps he appreciates the care that he takes in his work, either way the child is left unmolested.

Invisible, we explore, observing that this intense activity is part of a massive project. Stones are being prepared and taken away to a huge structure nearby. The air around us pulses with sweat and fear, but there is more, there is also an undercurrent of awe. We are in an ancient time when things were very different but something is going on here that we are not yet aware of.

The foreman walks over to the boy and barks instructions at him. The boy retorts with a cheeky grin and moves off quickly. The response of the child initially annoys the foreman but then he smiles and shakes his head. He looks reflectively at the young slave as he carries out his new task with enthusiasm and care, exactly as instructed.

The foreman delegates responsibility and disappears into the shadows of a nearby building, when he returns he calls the boy over.

Without any prompting from me Marie gasps, recognising herself in the energy field of this cheeky boy, who is now following the foreman into the dark high entrance of a tall stone building. Other slaves exchange concerned glances as the boy dutifully walks behind the man with the whip. In their eyes this excursion is not good and will not end well for the child. Some shiver and make a sign to dispel evil. We follow.

As we enter the magnificent building our skin is caressed by cooler, damp air which smells of moist earth. It takes some time for our vision to adjust to the gloom inside. When we do we see that it is a beautifully kept building. The murals are fresh and vibrant, the people inside well-dressed and very clean. We walk towards a central chamber.

I can see that the young boy is putting on a brave face trying to conceal his growing apprehension. The arrogant, bossy demeanour of his supervisor changes to deference and humility as we approach a majestic being sitting on large stone throne in the central chamber.

The child is doing mental arithmetic as he looks at the strange hybrid-being sitting there. Seated it is already taller than the nearby priests that serve it.

“Six cubits” the boy mouths to himself.

The foreman kneels before the creature in front of them and the boy follows suit. We can see that even with his head bowed, the boy is fascinated and intrigued by what he sees.

Sitting on a throne is a large humanoid. Dressed in the clothes of the period he appears normal and human, if not exceptionally tall and well built, but he does not have a human head. From the shoulders up his form changes into the head of a large bird. This is not a huge man wearing a headdress, it is a blended being, part human, part bird.

This being does not need to use any words to communicate with those kneeling before him. He scans the child reading his thoughts, feelings and intentions. Then he addresses the supervisor.

Well chosen, he telepaths, this child is perfect. His insolence indicates a quick wit. He has an intelligence and integrity that we need. You did well not to punish him, he will be reliable, he has a pure heart.

He turns to the clean shaven, bald headed priests nearby.

Give the boy the package and tell him what to do with it. Turning to the boy, This is to remain a secret.

A priest steps forward carrying a small basket which they hand over to the child. His eyes widen as he sees what is in it.

Reward the child, we may use him again. 

The creature on the throne focuses his attention again on the boy, this time I sense that he is opening the boy’s heart. The child sheds a tear as he smiles at the bizarre half human creature before him.

The child is ushered out carrying the basket, now covered to hide it’s unusual and precious contents. We follow and as we leave we realise we are not invisible to the being on the throne. It scans us.

You know you cannot change anything here. It telepaths probing me.

This is not our intention. I state clearly and quickly.

Then bear witness to my greatness and the truth of my being. I know in your time you have forgotten my kind. Share this with the others from your time… I and my brothers and sisters will walk again on this earth.

I turn and bow, truly understanding that ancient hieroglyphics were not symbolic drawings but accurate depictions of the beings who once walked amongst us.

The child is smart enough to obey his instructions to the letter. But he is anxious.

He walks through the building site and finds a quiet place on the banks of the broad muddy river that dominates the environment. He wades out as deep as he can. Removing the cover, he looks down at the gurgling happy child in the basket, a well fed and joyful little boy. Doing as he was told, he releases the basket into the current and it floats slowly away downstream, buoyant. He returns to his work but he is deeply troubled, not knowing what will happen to the baby in the basket.

Marie is sobbing quietly. 

So this is where my guilt started, she telepaths.

Yes, the boy carried this for the rest of his life and you have experienced it in every subsequent incarnation. It has affected your actions ever since. Are you ready to release it?

Absolutely.

Then come with me. 

I take her hand and we leave the sprawling construction site, flying over the great river, following the basket downstream. It travels downstream, occasionally spinning but always righting itself. The baby is exposed to the sun and becomes sunburnt; it begins to dehydrate and starts crying. Whoever made the basket knew something about buoyancy, because although the reeds are absorbing water it is not sinking and the baby, who now has a wet back, is still above water.

The basket washes into reeds at the side of the river as the sky turns blue-pink with the setting sun. The baby is now exercising its lungs to the fullest. An elegant, well-dressed woman wearing the signs of a priestess is walking by. She hears the child and instructs her acolytes to retrieve the basket and feed the child. 

She does not seem terribly surprised to find it and it is obvious she will care for it.

Marie is sobbing again, but now it is with relief.

It’s time for you to forgive yourself and stop feeling guilty about this incident. Once you do so everything will change. You will no longer be driven to exhaustion trying to save children, your life will come into balance. 

You can be at peace now, the child is safe.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Karma

Raym’s client is presented with special opportunity to free herself of Karma…

Isabella is in a state. To my eyes she is an attractive intelligent young woman with everything going for her. She has come to see me in order to understand why she has such low self esteem.  Even her close friends don’t get it; great career, fit and active lifestyle, bright easygoing personality but terrible self worth. She has tried various forms of emotional therapy and counselling but nothing changes.

My assistant Bryony, ever intuitive and observant, has already tuned in to the reason for her appointment.

“You might be appearing in court today.” She whispers as Isabella enters.

I take longer with my pre-journey interview than normal, with Bryony’s insight I know I will need more backstory than usual.

Isabella shares her life story with me. She knows she has a good life but lately her feelings of lack of worthiness have become more acute.  They have been compounded by a recent abusive relationship. She was attracted to a handsome young European who had little difficulty seducing her with his charm and quick wit.  However once it was clear she had fallen for him and their relationship was consummated, he started to treat her badly.

His quick wit turned to cruel sarcasm with relentless put downs about her looks, her figure and her weight, which are of course just fine.

And yet she is still irresistibly attracted to him.

She was unable to leave him. Their separation was caused when he was called back to Europe on family business. She confides that she is pining for him.

I have heard enough. We lay in my crystal mandala, I invoke for guidance and protection and we close our eyes.  At my suggestion Isabella says, “Body take me to the moment this all started.”

Immediately we are in ancient Rome. The enticing, rich and complex smell of good cooking permeates the air and there is order in the busy streets around us. A glance at nearby buildings, the opulence of their architecture and the well kept soldiers uniforms confirm my knowing, as Isabella also realises where and when we are.

It’s OK no one can see us. Soak it up and explore. I telepath.  

I allow myself a moment of indulgence as I look at the personalities going about their daily business, oblivious to our presence.  I play a game with myself of seeing people not in their smart suits and modern work gear but in clothes of another time period. Everyone seems to fit in somehow, doing similar meaningful things to their present day activities.

A first experience in another time period can be overwhelming fora client but  I just am enjoying just being here again. I follow Isabella into an imposing civic hall as she leads me into a meeting room. There are plans on a large marble table and important looking men in fine togas are discussing improvements to the city.

Suddenly, a man in green rushes in and stabs one of the men to death. It all happens very quickly and there is chaos as he dashes out, dropping the bloodied knife on the floor.

I understand what is happening but I need to help Isabella get it without telling her.

Do you recognise anyone here?

The guy who got stabbed, I think that is my boyfriend now.

Anyone else?

No.

Are sure? Ask your body to show you again, this drama will replay itself for you.

She does and second time around she gets it.

The assassin, that is not me, but I am connected to him somehow…

Oh no! I hired him.

I can almost see cogs in her brain moving slowly into gear as she tracks her and her boyfriends dance together through time and space. Many opportunities to resolve this incident, none fulfilled. The magnitude of her actions cuts deeply into her psyche and she collapses into grief.

It is OK, we can fix this today.  I reassure her, a tad optimistically, but I need her to get a grip on herself.

Really?

I call on the man she had assassinated and help with their reconciliation.

I ask her boyfriend if everything is now settled.  His response is just what I do not need to hear.

Unfortunately not.  This is a karmic issue and is out if my hands.

What does that mean?  Isabella asks perplexed.

Your boyfriend has forgiven you but we need to appeal to a higher authority to finally clear this up.  Otherwise this dysfunctional relationship will continue, in fact things could get worse.  She nods.  

We have the right to appeal the judgement of the karmic court and as they sit in no time-space will can have a hearing immediately.  Are you OK with that?

Who?  

I sense things are moving a little too quickly for Isabella.

Compose yourself and please be restrained and respectful.

I connect with my inner barrister as I plead Isabella’s case, standing in an empty courtroom, in front of a dais where several Masters listen patiently to my appeal for clemency.

To sum up, I respectfully request that the karma attached to this relationship now be declared clear, for the Divine highest good of all.

The court has a brief discussion.

We declare the karma not to be cleared.

In every other case I have pleaded for clients successfully and I lose my cool for a moment.

Why not?  She has been forgiven. There must be a way out of this… Then remembering were I am. Your Lordships.

Further discussion.

Providing she apologises to him in person, in your time-space the karma will be considered clear.  She must kneel before him and beg his forgiveness.

But he lives in Crete!  And he is the one who has been abusing me!  He will think I have totally lost the plot.  Isabella cannot restrain herself.

The courts decision is final.

We must accept their decision. I counsel Isabella as I respectfully take our leave of the court and bring us back to our present time.

“They must be bloody well joking!”  She sits up, a picture of runny mascara and mixed emotions.

“It is your decision, I know what I would do”.

We chat for a while until I am certain she grasps the importance her choices, however I can see she is unable to accept the logic of the court.  She will not be apologising to her boyfriend in person, in the near future.  I usher her out.

“How was your day in court?” Bryony looks up from her crystal polishing.

“Not good.  She has a great opportunity to step off the wheel of karma but she won’t take it”. I am crestfallen.

“Oh well, you did your best. Win some – lose some. Coffee?”

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Braided

Fran’s journey reveals a pre-birth agreement she finds hard to comprehend

It is a clear, warm, fresh morning; the pink blossom on the almond trees emits a subtle, sweet and exquisite aroma. I am time traveling in the distant past, walking next to my client Fran, who is one of a group walking through an ancient town. Which one she is, unusually, is not clear to me yet. I watch, invisible to the crowd, as a lean man, near exhaustion, struggles up a dry, stone street dragging a heavy burden surrounded by spectators.

The yelling crowd around him embodies the weirdest mixture of emotions; hysterical anger, incandescent rage mixed with deep grief, profound sadness and despair. Amongst the locals are a few Greeks moving with a small group who are in a state of shock and desolation.

He is almost naked, parts of his beard have been pulled out and he is drenched in sweat and blood. In fact he actually seems to be sweating blood, a phenomena I have heard of but never actually seen. The cruel headgear he wears cuts deeper into his flesh with each painful step he takes towards the outskirts of the city. Yet behind the intense pain there is a surreal inner calm. 

Men in uniform follow the victim as he struggles resolutely on; one brute, their leader carries a whip with fragments of bone braided  into the end of each strand. Instantly recognisable in any time or culture as a pathological sadist, he enjoys making his prisoner suffer.

“Where is your father now? He’s left you well and truly in the shit hasn’t he?”  the brute hisses, as he viscously smashes the butt end of the whip into the staggering man’s spiky headgear.

The throng witnessing the spectacle pushes through narrow streets past people trying to carry out their daily business. Some bystanders care little for the drama unfolding before them, for some the whole spectacle is an annoyance. The procession passes a place of worship festively decorated with flowers and greenery, which creates a bizarrely gay backdrop to the theatrical tragedy rolling by. I am in the crowd now, heading up a stony slope towards a small hill which in the soft morning light looks eerily like a skull. 

As we reach the top of the hill I feel an unexpected coolness in the air; what was a typically warm spring day has become atypically cool. The prisoner drops his heavy load on the ground and falls to his knees next to it. He is laid face up on top of it, arms spread wide, as large nails are driven by the sadist in command, through his wrists into the large timber crucifix he has been dragging through the town. 

A few look away, most give a hearty cheer. The man on the cross is not well loved.

“Heretic! Blasphemer!” 

Men with thick, long, black beards are working themselves into a frenzy of hatred for the young rebel who has challenged their dominant paradigm. This is going to be a tough one for Fran to deal with, once I figure out which person she is.

The cross is lifted vertically, slotted into a hole and the man wearing the crown of thorns has his feet nailed in place. Dark grey thunder clouds are forming above us. The cool damp air that they propel towards me is refreshing. I feel an occasional large heavy spot of rain.

There are now three crosses in place with two other men being executed either side of the man with the thorny crown. The dying takes some time, each man resists the inevitable asphyxiation as the lungs fatigue by lifting themselves for a moment, using their legs. Over the next few hours most of the crowd lose interest and melt away, knowing that no one can possibly survive.

Eventually all that remain are some angry old rabbis determined to see the young subversive take his last breath, a handful of bored soldiers and a dozen or so shamefaced friends. Three women kneel quietly before the central cross. He remains very still, the two others groan in agony as the afternoon wears on.

“Break their legs!,” the Brute orders yawning, he has had enough. An act of mercy rather than cruelty it hastens the inevitable suffocation as the legs can no longer be used to bring relief. Soldiers break the legs of the two man either side of the crowned one. Approaching the central cross one calls out, 

“This idiot is dead already.”

The man in charge is disgruntled. He stands up grabbing a spear and pushes it into the rebel’s side, to see if he lives.

The crucified one opens his eyes and gazes down at the three women before him. Although in agony he tries to smile at them. As tears well up in his eyes he whispers.

“Forgive them.”

This insolence is too much for the Brute who immediately pushes his spear deep into the left side of the rebel on the cross.  

“Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” the dying one moans as pain tears through every part of his being.

Blood splashes down on the neat red tunic of his Roman tormentor as the spear is removed. There is an explosion of thunder with lightning and the ground shakes as wind and rain tear through the small crowd scattering everyone, apart from the women who remain, still, crying.

I must intercede now, I understand what is happening. It is time to collect Fran before she becomes very confused.

As the spirit of the dying man on the central cross leaves his body and becomes one with everything I collect the part of Fran’s consciousness that is there and pull it to one side.

She is bewildered and crying.

It’s OK I am here. I telepath.

What the f…

Remember we are on a shamanic journey together, you wanted to find out more about who you were in a past life.

This cannot be true, I can’t be HIM. I can’t walk on water and perform miracles… I work in an office! I can’t possibly be who I think I was. I’m making this all up. This is bullshit.

It is true. But it is not that simple. I call on the Master Yodheshinwa, who we call Jesus, please come close to us now.

We are immediately enveloped by complete and utter unconditional love and we both start crying. I ask the Master to explain what has happened and why we were called here. He does so far more eloquently than I, using holographic diagrams and soft words.

Fran, along with thousands of other souls, entered a pre-birth agreement with this Master that providing all her Karma was cleared during this lifetime they would soul braid. Their consciousness would be braided together but remain separate, enabling the Master to incarnate (incognito) in many thousands of places simultaneously, continuing his service to the planet, without any interruption. This revelation creates the opportunity for her to achieve great things, she could be come a great teacher herself, a guru, a global peace worker or healer. 

It is all a bit much for Fran but I can see the level of ecstasy she is experiencing is overriding logical thought.

The Master departs, explaining that Fran has free will and that she might like to take some time to consider her future. Together they may be of great service to humanity, it is entirely up to her. I have witnessed this revelation before, it can change peoples lives profoundly, if they allow it. Some do, some don’t.

We accept his blessing and return to this time and place. I am gentle with her, it’s a lot to take on board. We chat for a while as she slowly comes down to earth.

“The three women in front – one was his mother, Mary, right?”

“Yes, in fact they were all called Mary”. 

A thoughtful pause.

“Who was the beautiful pregnant woman with long red hair? What was his relationship with her?”

I smile at the totally perplexed look on her face. “I’ll leave you to figure that one out.”

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Space Cadet

A well known football player discovers there is more to his neck injury than he could ever have imagined

Johno is a big man. When he enters my shop it’s like a shadow has passed over the sun, he blocks out that much light. My petite assistant Bryony gets the giggles. He is just unbelievably large, solid and muscular. Bryony looks like a little doll next to him, but their unique individuality somehow makes them a matching pair.

“I’ve come to see a bloke about a healing. I spoke to someone on the phone. It’s about my neck.”

“Ah yes your girlfriend referred you, she’s a regular here.” Bryony composes herself showing him upstairs.

In a recent session with his girlfriend I had noticed that there was more to his stiff neck than was apparent. I follow him into my session room. It feels a bit cramped, the big man taking up most of the space. I squeeze in next to him, lying with my feet pressed up against the door.

Johno explains to me that he has an ongoing story with his neck. He is a regional football player who stands an excellent chance of being selected to play for his country. But, the lack of mobility in his neck is proving a handicap. He has tried everything to fix it, physio, massage, heat treatment, even electronic devices. None of them have worked permanently, at best some have brought only temporary relief.

“Okay Johno this is all pretty straightforward all you have to do is lie here, close your eyes and try not to think”.

“That won’t be too hard for me” Johno grins sheepishly. 

I can’t figure out whether he is really smart and self deprecating or not very smart at all.

Lying in my crystal mandala we move into no time-space and I wait for Johno’s higher-self to take us where we need to go. As we begin our journey through time and space I notice an irregularity with his Light-body, his energy field is not quite as it should be. I sense this does not relate to his neck and I hope we will have time to deal with it later. Right now it is appropriate that I just allow what needs to unfold to happen.

We find ourselves in an old cobbled square, it’s been raining and rather than smelling fresh and clean this place smells rank. There are piles of putrefying rubbish around. This is not a place that is looked after or cared for by anyone. There is a feeling of despair here. There’s a small crowd of rough looking, pungent misfits waiting for something to happen. 

We see a wooden cart approach with a half starved, filthy man chained to it. I try not to lead Johno in his understanding of what is happening and how this relates to him.

Do you recognise anyone here? I telepath Johno.

What? 

I can see he is having a little difficulty comprehending that we are in another time and place witnessing something relevant to him.

 Feel into the energy of the people here, does anyone feel familiar.

The bloke on the cart, that’s me!

You are right, go over and step into his body, tell me how he’s feeling.

Well he feels like a skinny little bloke, not very strong.

No. How is he feeling emotionally, tell me what he is feeling now.

Oh. Well he’s not frightened. He’s angry. And he’s really really sad.

The grubby petty officials waiting near the rickety wooden structure in the centre of the square unchain him and lead him up the rotting steps onto the platform, where his fate awaits him.

As they put the thick rough rope around his neck he scans the crowd and sees what he has been hoping both to see and not to see.

There at the back of the crowd are his wife and child, they look totally destitute and utterly despairing. His eyes meet theirs and he starts sobbing.

What is he feeling now? I ask.

Johno is sobbing. He feels like shit. He feels like he is abandoning his wife and child. All he did was steal one loaf of bread to feed them. And now he’s getting hung for it. 

I watch as with little ceremony or speeches they place the noose around his neck read out his name and offence and open the trapdoor beneath him. The sound of his neck cracking echoes across the square as his wife covers and their son’s eyes.

I catch him as he leaves his body and we move into no time-space.

My neck!

What are you holding there?

Despair, anger, a feeling of utter helplessness. He starts crying. I let them down! They will die without me. I left them. I did not mean to.

Can you see how this relates to your neck pain now?

Yes.

Would you like to release it?

Too bloody right.

I call on his wife and child from that time and suggest he begs their forgiveness, which is given freely and received emotionally. He sees the energy he was holding in his neck evaporate as he accepts their unconditional love. As he says goodbye to his loved ones, he moves his neck freely.

He has cheered up. Brilliant mate. Are we done?

Not quite, I think there is something else, if you don’t mind?

In for a penny…

Please say out loud after me. “Body I command you take me to the moment my Light-body was traumatised.”

Not really fully grasping its implications he repeats the affirmation and we find ourselves in the middle of a pitched battle in outer space. 

Johno has the hang of it now. Thats me, the bloke in that jet thing.

He has already stepped into the pilots body.

Cool. This bloke, me… I am, he is… highly skilled. I am flying this thing by thought! How does he do this?

He is happy to be here in service to the light on this mission. He is beyond fear. He has been trained for this and he is good at it.

Alarms are going off in my head. I need to evade…

Behind him I see an enormous black hole of a mothership. Utterly black, the lack of stars are what defines its presence. It is totally featureless, approaching fast and very, very big.

The opposing forces in the skirmish disappear. He and his companions are alone in space in their tiny craft. They form a holding pattern and wait for orders which they will never hear.

The mother ship belches a cloud of nothingness towards them. It destroys their craft and the brave beings inside them, in a way that is beyond comprehension.

The physicality of their beings is destroyed, disintegrated, but there is more going on. Their very essence, their souls, their Light-bodies are deliberately fragmented into billions of pieces and scattered throughout time and space. Very nasty.

I am so utterly fascinated by this unfolding drama I almost forget to call Johno out of his traumatised and rapidly dispersing Light-body.

Oooh. Not good.

It is okay Johno you got fixed, but lets look at how. Give yourself permission to remember.

We witness the endless separation of his being into minute particles, randomly scattered, absorbed by a vastness that is beyond comprehension. A long time passes, then we see other light beings of many types gathering his soul together, volunteers, carrying out soul retrieval on a grand scale.

We call on them and thank them. They are happy to see he has reincarnated on Earth and advise it will take time for his being to become completely whole again, but he is doing well.

We return to our present time and space and I debrief him.

He sits up and moves his head neck and shoulders freely.

“Mate, that was sensational! It’s fixed.”

“So you will be referring your team mates then?” I give him a cheeky smile.

“I doubt it. Too weird” He rolls his eyes in disbelief of his own recent experience.

I escort him downstairs, accept payment and advise him not to drive.

As he leaves Bryony comments quietly on totally spaced out look on his face.

He turns around at the door.

“Hey, I heard that. I’m no space cadet. I graduated!” He chuckles to himself as he leaves shaking his head.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Waif and Strays

Mary finds the fear that is ruining her life is not her own

Occasionally I take on an apprentice, often to the amusement of my two mature assistants, who have seen it all. Today I have invited Jo, a gifted and enthusiastic young rebel to travel with me. 

She looks the part, wearing black, with studs through her lip, tongue and eyebrows, her hair is cropped short like a gooseberry. She walks with a pronounced limp, her smile although beguiling, reveals crooked and chipped teeth.

I arrive at my practice and Jo is already there, looking a little out of place amongst the elf and fairy paraphernalia. My Earth Mother assistant Brianna is in the shop today with her nurturing vibe which is good, as Jo will have nothing to rub up against. She smiles as I enter the shop, nodding towards my young apprentice.

“I found this waif in the doorway when I opened up this morning. Do you know what it is doing here?” 

She refers to Jo’s androgynous appearance, there is a soft irony to her question. I sense she has noticed the self inflicted scars on the young woman’s arms.

“Ah yes, I forgot to mention her, my new apprentice. She has potential.”

Brianna’s eyebrow arches as studies Jo who is shuffling through the goddess guidance cards with an air of barely concealed contempt.

“I am sure she will make your clients feel at ease.” she smiles.

“It’s good to get them used to expecting the unexpected.” 

I respond, immediately having second thoughts about Jo’s appearance. I send her upstairs to wait in my session room.

“Don’t tell me, not only is she angry and disabled, she is a transgender anarchist and aboriginal rights activist who is into wild conspiracy theories and believes Elvis never left the room.” Brianna rolls her eyes.

“Three out of five, not bad for a psychic.” I grin as my client enters the shop.

I interview my client upstairs, after explaining my apprentice will be traveling with us.

Mary is the editor of a high circulation woman’s magazine. She is looking for answers as to why she is experiencing so much irrational fear, which is affecting her work. I ask about any recent trauma, her answers reveal a great deal.

The three of us lie in my crystal mandala and close our eyes. I invoke and immediately we are transported into another time-space.

It is cold, snowflakes are falling softly on my nose and cheeks and the air is full of the padded silence that comes with a recent heavy snowfall. We are on the edge of a pine forest, tree branches are bent under the weight of their heavy lightly frosted coating and the ground is covered in deep soft fluffy snow.

My apprentice is next to me staring wide-eyed at the tranquil beauty of our surroundings. Until today all of her shamanic experiences have been about herself often less than pleasant. Now she is experiencing someone else’s journey and she is loving it. 

It is beautiful, our surroundings sparkle and glisten and the cold numbs our ears. We could be standing in an idyllic scene from a children’s film. Everything is pristine and appears to be just perfect. But it is not.

Our attention is drawn elsewhere by faint groans coming from a pile of snow further down the slope. We approach and there lies Mary, one leg still attached to a ski folded back under her at a sickening angle.

We have arrived at the moment of a recent accident she described to me earlier. She is regaining consciousness, becoming aware of the intense pain in her leg followed by the realisation that she is totally alone, with no one around to help her.

Her enthusiasm to be the first to ski on virgin snow has led her into a life threatening situation. She begins to feel deep fear verging on terror and her instinct for survival overrides all rational thought. She starts screaming.

She calls for help repeatedly, until she is hoarse. Jo starts towards her, to offer comfort.

I step forward and grab her arm. 

Don’t! I telepath. You must not get involved. Let this play out.

Mary lies there for some time, drifting in and out of consciousness. The sky turns grey-blue, a sure sign that more snow is imminent. She looks up at the darkening sky and understands that her situation is about to get worse.

“Will somebody please come and help me! Please help me. Help me! Take away this pain.” She sobs.

Thin black shadows approach her from all points of the compass. She has just called them in, unwittingly entering into an open-ended contract with any being who is prepared to take her pain away. And there are many who will fulfil this role in exchange for a place to be.

The energies converge on her body and enter it through her broken leg. Her pain eases. 

Look at the energies, look into them tell me what you see. 

I telepath Jo who is drinking in the first-hand observation of theories taught in class.

Wow, lots of stray souls. Confused dead people, looking for a place to hide.

Well done, they are just along for the ride. But what is perpetuating her present fear?

She pauses scanning the situation, she is surprised at her own observation.

It is not here yet.

Good! It is arriving now. Stand back.

We feel an ancient energy approaching from beneath us, one that has been on this planet long before humans became self aware. These beings live in a dimension close to ours and see us as interlopers. They do not like our presence on their planet and given any opportunity they will attach to humans and perpetuate fear.

It emerges from the ground and stands next to Mary. I am familiar with its form, Jo is not. She does well to contain her fear. Part humanoid part reptile it stands on its hind legs, over two metres tall, it mocks Mary who is again unconscious.

I accept your contract. It telepaths, stepping into her body. Her pain ceases immediately.

As dusk approaches a ski instructor passes by and notices her body, he calls for help and she is rescued. As they lift her body onto a snowmobile I call Mary out of her body.

She is groggy. 

Oh dear. I think I understand what happened.

The lost souls will be grateful for our help and are easy to handle. Let’s deal with the reptoid at first. Command it to step forward. Tell it you would like to speak to it.

It confronts her. Its form is terrifying to both her and Joe, I have seen this kind many times.

Thank it for coming when you called for help and tell it that its contract is now complete.

The response is predictable, a torrent of abuse peppered with a selection of foul language. It laughs. I sense Jo is rising to the bait and becoming angry. Not the smartest of things to do, this energy will feed it. I need to intercede, I step between it and Mary. 

You know you cannot stay here without my client’s permission. I telepath.

All I have to do is help Mary believe that. The moment she does it will have no leverage and no choice but to release its hold on her and stop feeding off her fear.

It takes a while for Mary to step into her power, but when she does it leaves and we her return to this time and place.

We debrief the client who is shaken, amazed and very grateful. After she has left I spend a few minutes debriefing Jo. Her comments are unexpected.

“Did you realise that you make yourself look younger, leaner more muscular and better looking than you do in real life?’

“Is that possible?” I joke.

I do not mention that in the journey she was no longer disabled and had perfect teeth. She was also not wearing studs or short hair. In fact she looked a lot like the goddess on the card she was holding earlier.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Talisman

A priest delves into his dark past in Ancient Egypt

It is a bright cool day in the city I have come to love, I stand in the fresh air outside my little crystal shop and enjoy the busyness of the city. The sunshine dazzles as the crisp air bites into my cheeks.

I sense my client walking up the street. To say that he emanates tension would be an understatement, he is wound up tight. While I occupy myself tidying crystals inside the shop, Bryony, the leaner and sharper of my two assistants, welcomes him.

I notice something unusual. Her bright and easy-going demeanour has given way to something different, she is cold and aloof. Although she has done her job well, I sense there is something about this man she does not like.

She sends him upstairs to my session room and once out of earshot I turn to her.

“What’s with you this morning?”

“I’m not too partial to priests. They give me the creeps.”

His occupation explains his tension. He is concerned that one of his congregation may spot him entering my shop, a forbidden zone in his subculture. But not for him, not today.

I catch up with him at the top of the stairs and as we enter my small session room his eyes widen as he looks at the crystal mandala on the floor, which we will both lie in. His discomfort is apparent, he must need to see me badly.

A bead of sweat runs down his temple as tells me he senses there is some energy present that he can’t put his finger on that is preventing him moving forward in life. The colleagues he has confided in cannot help him and lately he has been experiencing chest pains that are mystifying his doctor. He has been referred to me by a friend.

When he is a bit more relaxed, we lie in the beautiful mandala that will trigger our expanded state of consciousness. We close our eyes and unusually we find ourselves in utter nothingness. Often my client will naturally take us to the key issue that affects their lives. Today we find ourselves in the void and I sense he is feeling apprehensive.

It is okay this is quite normal. I telepath,stretching the truth.   In this place we can find out exactly what the challenge is. You have x-ray vision, scan your body tell me if you notice anything unusual or uncomfortable.

He looks down at his body and sure enough he sees immediately what I have been seeing since he entered my shop.

Holy Mary… Oh, no! Do you see what I’m seeing?

Tell me exactly what you see. I do not want to lead him.

In my chest next to my heart I see something, it is shaped like a mummy and has hieroglyphics on it. Why do I feel so afraid?

I know why.

Say out loud after me, “Body I command you show me the moment this came to be here, show me NOW.”

As our movement accelerates, the nothing we are in changes to a blur of images and feelings that could be stars and constellations or lifetimes full of joy and sadness. We are time traveling.

We approach a large stepped pyramid from above and pass easily through the huge stone slabs into a central, beautifully decorated, “burial” chamber, which is so much more than that. It is humid, well lit by oil lamps and I can smell sesame oil. There are two men waiting for us, they look lean and stern. They are totally shaved and appear very clean, each is wearing a white linen robe with a gold embroidered sash. 

Rather than travel to a graphic recall generated by the client, we have travelled through time and space, where these men are waiting for us in their current time. They are not spirits, they are not memories, they are alive and they are expecting us.

They speak in an ancient dialect, simultaneously telepathing us the reason for their cold rage. My client is standing next to me, his mouth gaping, he is way out of his depth. 

I decide to speak on his behalf, telepathing our ancient hosts.

Please show us when, how and why you placed this talisman inside my friend.

They look at each other, shrug their shoulders and take us to the time and place where this all started.

We see my client as a high priest, a member of their order, respected, powerful, arrogant and flawed. He is a good-looking man, years of focused study in the esoteric arts, combined with an austere but well nourished lifestyle have left him looking quite handsome. He knows it and he cannot resist flirting with the virgin, novice priestesses that also serve in their order.

The inevitable happens and he consummates a relationship with a shy, impressionable young woman. At this point he ruins not only her life, but his life at that time and every other subsequent incarnation up until our present.

Her teachers notice a change in their behaviour and she spills the beans. They are angry with her but surprisingly compassionate. Her punishment is to be expelled from temple in disgrace, her family dishonoured, her life destroyed. 

For him, nobody has any compassion whatsoever. He watches in horror and shame his own past life trial and slow, painful ritual execution. 

They cut open his chest, moving his still beating heart, pushing the cursed talisman into his chest cavity, while chanting. His screams are not just about the agony he dies in. He is utterly terrified because he knows this talisman will affect every incarnation from now on. Traveling with him in his etheric body forever, destroying any chance of future happiness or fulfilment.

They sew his chest back together and leave him to die alone. The priests are happy with their work, they have rectified an imbalance and everything in their world returns to normal. My client has been cursed.

These Ancient Egyptian priests were really smart. They knew at some stage he would return with a priest or shaman like myself, trying to undo what was done in their time. So they have placed themselves in a trance, entered no time-space and waited patiently for his return.

I have to use all my negotiating skills, learned growing up in a tough neighbourhood where everyone seemed to be bigger, stronger and meaner than me. At one stage I even raise a smile from them. It takes an age to persuade them that his penance is complete. Reluctantly they remove the etheric Talisman from my sobbing client and we depart returning to our present time.

There is some irony in the fact that his present order has recently been exposed in the media for doing exactly what he did so long ago. He assures me he is passionate about ensuring those responsible are brought to justice and punished. The Universe has a dry sense of humour.

He takes his leave and as the shop door closes Bryony turns to me, one eyebrow arched.

“So, did you sort the philanderer out?”

“He has suffered enough.”

“Five thousand years was barely enough.” She smiles.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Cursed

Raym’s client suffers the consequences of her father’s actions

I sense my client approaching my crystal shop. Scanning the street I notice a young woman who looks like she has just walked out of a Stieg Larsen novel. Her jet black, yellow tipped hair is combed vertically like a coxcomb and matches perfectly her matt black leather jacket, jeans and boots. She has stainless steel studs in her nose, her bottom lip and through her eyebrow. At first glance she does not look the type to be on a spiritual quest, many of my regular clients waft along wearing crystals and long shimmering white dresses, but in my business I have learned it is best not to judge by appearances. 

My assistants, resplendent in their blonde dreadlocks, glad rags and glitter, greet her like a long lost sister and are soon totally at home together. They have a knack of making anyone feel welcome and at ease, something I could learn from. They introduce me to our visitor, her name is Nicki.

Upstairs in the peace of my crystal therapy room, we discuss the reasons for her visit. She tells me that she feels her life is stuck. She had a successful business as a fashion designer until her estranged father passed away. From the moment he died everything seemed to go pear shaped. Her business went downhill, she lost clients and she lost her creative drive. She is seeing me out of desperation, she thinks she has been cursed.

“Why would you think that?”

“The old bastard treated his Aboriginal labourers like shit, cheating them out of their pay, giving them squalid little humpies to live in, working them hard and polluting the environment. He didn’t give a toss. He had no respect for their culture or their sacred sites. 

He was a piece of work. He was a miserable, abusive alcoholic, that’s why I got out as soon as I could. None of the locals liked him.”

It did not seem fair or logical that this young woman should be cursed for her father’s shortcomings but it was the only conclusion she could come to, having tried everything else to fix the chaos that now surrounded her. In desperation she decided to see me, hoping a modern shaman could unravel an old curse.

After briefing her that we would travel together, we lie in the crystal mandala I have prepared, close our eyes and embark on our shamanic journey.

Immediately we find ourselves in the outback, in intense dry heat. The smell of dry gum leaves mixed with clean air permeates our pores. We look for shade and under a nearby tree I notice two aboriginal men. They are in a classic stance, on one leg, spear in one hand supporting them as they stand, one leg lifted and bent, foot resting against the knee of the standing leg. They look cool, calm, collected and as if they are on a mission. 

Rather than walk towards them I suggest we walk away from them and see what happens. I know they can only be there if they are attached to Nicki, but I want her to figure that out for herself. Sure enough they follow us at a distance. We allow this for a while until we reach another shady spot when I suggest we stop and wait for them to catch up.

They pause about twenty feet away and wait for us. I suggest that Nicki go over to them and ask them why they’re here.

What the fuck do you want? she telepaths.

Too late, I realise I should have briefed her to be more respectful. They do not appreciate being addressed in this manner and take an aggressive stance. Reluctantly I intercede before things get out of hand. I move over quickly and stand next to Nicki. An absurd thought runs through my mind, I should have brought a sunhat.

We are honoured to have your company. But I feel your business here may be complete. You realise you should not be here?

They look bemused.

You have no quarrel with this girl. She respects and honours your culture, she has never damaged any of your sacred places nor would she. You can leave now, you are not bound to her in any way.

A pause.

Who sent you? 

Without thinking they respond by sending an image of a very black old man with a snowy white beard and curly white hair.

We have no argument with you, go in peace, return to your ancestors, your service is complete. I will speak with the man who sent you.

They look at each other and decide to leave. So far so good, that part was relatively easy.

Sorry about the language, I was out of line. Nicki telepaths.

Just take a breath before you speak, it’s appropriate to be respectful, even if you don’t like what’s happening. It always buys us time, which is useful.

OK is that it? Are we done?

Not quite… I respond as I notice a willy-willy heading towards us across the dry scrub. 

We are about to meet the man who sent them. 

Stand behind me.

The wind comes to a stop in front of us; as the dust clears, in its centre is the old, white-haired man we saw earlier. He is not happy.

You fellas, what you doing here? In this place? You not supposed to be here. How come you here? Interfering with my work.

We are here to make peace, this has gone on long enough, this woman is not responsible for her father’s actions.

I make this curse, it last a long, long time. It goes father, daughter, grandson. This man, her father, was a bad man. He deserves this.

Maybe HE does. But he’s dead now. His offspring do not deserve to be cursed for his actions.

What do you know white fella? Why are you putting your nose in here?

I’m here to help. 

I realise from this man’s attitude that he is dead but he has not gone home to his ancestors or as we would say “home to light”. He is stuck, he is an earthbound spirit, held here by his righteous anger at the way he and his relatives were treated by Nicki’s father.

What year is it? I ask knowing that he will be stuck in the year he died.

1982.

Do you realise you’re dead?

Pause.

Don’t try any tricky white fella stuff with me.

Okay, you think you are in a trance, where is your body? Try to go back to it now. It is dust, it is long gone.

The old man pauses and sits on the ground cross-legged closing his eyes. He is still for a while, then he opens them.

This don’t change anything. That white fella, bad man. He deserves all he get.

This anger is holding you in a stuck place. Wouldn’t you like to go home? And join your ancestors?

The old mans cogitates.

Nicky, call your father three times invite him to join us.

She does so and her father appears next to us, it is an emotional reunion that takes Nicki completely by surprise.

Dad, where have you been?

It’s okay darlin’, the relatives were waiting for me when I passed. I know I did a lot of bad things in my life and I’m happy to come back and experience them all when the time is right. It’s time for me to sort this out with this old bloke. And with you too. I am sorry, I was not the best father.

They embrace and there are lots of tears. I can see that despite his failings she still loves him very much. Her father then kneels in front of the old aboriginal man and begs for his forgiveness. It is not easily given, they have a long dialogue, but eventually it comes.

I ask the old man to take back the curse and he obliges. In his ancient language with an archaic ritual he undoes the curse he placed on Nicki’s father and his lineage. When that is done I call three times on the ancestors of the place we are in. It is a happy reunion; as they depart one of them turns to me. Standing still he makes eye contact with me and nods, respectfully.

You, kadaitcha man. Lawman, you. 

He smiles, perfect white teeth and sparkling eyes set off against dark, dark skin.

Nicky looks at me perplexed as he leaves.

Are those tears in your eyes?

No, It’s just the sun and the wind.

This old man has just paid me the greatest compliment I could imagine from one of his culture. Most non-Aboriginals might know the kadaitcha man as the bone pointing sorcerer, but there is more to it than that. He has described me as a healer and spiritual lawman in its purest sense, one who upholds justice with humility. 

It is such an honour I am moved to tears.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Zero Point

Raym’s youthful, enthusiastic client retrieves future technology

I am spinning, traveling at high speed through a wormhole traversing the Time-Space continuum with my client Brad. We travel through a matrix of light, colour and sound. I see lines, patterns and blurred Galaxies whizzing past me, I feel the music of the spheres in every cell of my being. It is an extraordinary adventure, but I am hoping this does not last too much longer as I am beginning to experience motion sickness. The young man next to me appears to be unusually free of fear. We have just embarked on our shamanic journey together and he is having a ball.

Whoah…yee-har! 

He telepaths as we spiral down a tube of light, leading god only knows where, because I do not have the faintest idea.

Man this is SOOO cool. His American accent twangs through my mind. Is this, like, normal? No wonder you’re so popular. I had no idea, man.

Me neither but I keep the thought to myself as I try to figure out what is happening to us and where we are going.

Brad was referred to me by some turned-on friends who sensed he had potential and would respond well to my Crystal Dreaming technique. He is an international student, here to study technology and to enjoy all that this beautiful country has to offer. He had recently started to attend meditation classes and it was there that others noticed his potential and referred him to me. Apart from looking like your all-American, clean cut kid, he does have a light in his eyes which shines a tad brighter than most college kids his age.

Oh dude, this is so much fun. Where are we going?

We are traveling through time and space to an unknown destination.

I respond honestly. I am surprised by how authoritative I sound. 

I sense our journey is nearing its end, we are slowing down and the zone outside the wormhole is becoming more stable, even recognisable. Solar systems, planets and stars, all become clearer as we slow to a stop and the hole spits us out into a void.

I have dealt with Demons, misguided ETs and angry entities of all shapes and sizes and so far this session has not gone to any kind of plan, so I am ready for anything. What happens next takes me completely by surprise…

With any client we begin a session by interacting with the spirit world and I act as a bridge for that, so in the truest sense of the word I am a Shaman. We also deal with good and bad spirits, although a more accurate description would be that we interact with love or fear-based non physical beings. There are many to deal with on this and other planes of existence and I have met them all.

However, in my practice there is more than simply dealing with good and evil. What I hope to do is to create the space for a profound expansion of consciousness from this limited reality into the infinite reality of the superconscious. Experiencing this first hand is life changing, it breaks the trance induced by our predominantly fear based reality. When you have experienced the energy that unifies everything, everywhere, you realise on the deepest level that everything else is a temporal illusion. The energy I refer to is unconditional love.

The most aggressive, confused, fear based beings can have no purchase or tenure on, in or around any other being that has woken up to the fact that they and their reality are love based. This realisation may be a challenge for many people living in the twenty-first century, experiencing life in a society that is participating in the powerful illusion of fear. An illusion which is deliberately pumped up, out and into our hearts and minds through the forms of media most are addicted to.

Understanding our limitless being remains a profound concept for many spiritual seekers, theologians and intellectuals. For some this is something to be considered, debated, dissected and theorised. I feel for those people who have yet to be touched by the intense joy of knowing that we are everything and everything is us. 

My aim in any session is to reunite my clients with this experience in a tangible, personal and physical way, so that there can be no doubt in their mind ever again that they are never alone, they are loved unconditionally and they are infinitely powerful beings of light, creators of the reality they choose.

However, there is usually a block to this powerful realisation. Some fear based thing, somewhere gets a hold on the client and does its best to prevent this opening to love. As we exit the wormhole I am expecting to find just such a thing and I am not sure what form it will take.

I am wrong. 

As we exit the wormhole we are greeted by cheers, laughter and applause, as if we have just completed a marathon. The sense of joy and unconditional love so is overwhelming, we both spontaneously burst into tears.

I have been in this space many times, frequently alone and often with clients but its power always takes me by surprise. Particularly in this case when there have been no obstacles to overcome, no entities to be released and no trauma to be forgiven. I can spend several sessions bringing a client to this point of clarity and self realisation. Accessing this level of bliss can only happen when my client is free of all fear based attachments and free of fear itself, the one thing that keeps us feeling separated from each other and from the Divine.

With so much trauma and pain to be dealt with, blessed and released before my clients reach their final goal of utter and complete bliss, I sometimes lose track of my primary motivation for doing this work. You may think you know what bliss is, the joy of newborn, a lover’s kiss, the recognition of workmates or if you are a star, the adulation of your fans. These are all wonderful fragments of the absolute bliss that is open to us all, now.

The level of ecstasy we can reach in an altered state of consciousness when we become one with All There Is, is beyond words. Paling into lesser significance are the three dimensional expressions of the joy we experience as humans. Incidents that become memories that remain as book marks in our life’s journey. When we access the all encompassing love that holds the fabric of our Universe together then everything in our reality changes, permanently.

Brad and I are in that place right now and Brad is sobbing with joy. I know my assistant Brianna will be looking in on us at this point, checking on me as she hears the sobs emanating from my tranced and supine body, back in my crystal shop on Earth. Brianna is large, loving and a top class martial artist, it is great to have her around when the going gets weird. I know she will be smiling down at us and will close the door quietly when she leaves.

OK, so we have arrived somewhere and it is safe, there is no doubt about the level of love that surrounds us; it cannot be faked.

Please show yourselves to us and tell us what you want. I am trying to pull myself together.

Namaste dear Raym, thank you so much for bringing him here, we have been waiting. 

The light-beings around us form into humanoid shapes out of consideration for our sensibilities. They can appear as anything they wish but they know it will put Brad at ease if they appear human.

My pleasure. I respond. What is your relationship with Brad?

We love him dearly and eternally, of course. We are what you might call his family, we are here to remind him why he came to Earth.

I realise my usual questions about whether these beings love Brad unconditionally are redundant. I don’t normally speak for my client this much but I sense Brad is still overwhelmed and so I take the lead on his behalf.

Please show or tell us why he incarnated, I think he may have forgotten.

Indeed he has!

The warmth of their laughter caresses us both and it feels like being massaged in a warm steam room, with choice essential oils, by the finest therapists on the planet.

Earth is a complex and intriguing paradigm for the love based non-physical beings who observe our journey here, from other planes of existence. The idea and experience of living in a fear based reality is alien to them. It seems to them that we, its inhabitants, are less than a hair’s breadth from experiencing infinite and total bliss. It is both fascinating and a little perplexing to them that we cannot see or feel our proximity to the truth of the Universal unconditional love that surrounds us. 

They observe, they do their best to help without interfering too much. Their ethos is that help may be given when it is asked for. And help was asked for, some time ago by the planet herself. Many beings, whose only experience was to hold the vibration of unconditional love, boldly stepped forward to offer themselves as volunteers to incarnate in Earth and share their love, at a time she needed love most.

This group of volunteers arrived in large numbers a few years back, bless them. However, shining your light here on Earth is not quite as easy as it seems from the outside. The vibration of fear here can be intense and it is amplified and manipulated by those who enjoy power over others, for their own temporal and shortsighted purposes.

Some of these naive volunteers find this fear based energy too much and become distressed. They escape into drugs and other ways of not being here and now, as a way of dealing with the pain that surrounds them. Others just escape, full stop. Many of these young people are suiciding now because the level of fear here is so overwhelming for them, that they just can’t stand it. When they leave their bodies they discover that there is no sense of failure in abandoning their plans. They tried hard and they are welcomed home to light with much joy. It was a big ask and a big learning curve, I thank you all for trying, your intentions were pure.

Occasionally I come across volunteers who have not succumbed to fear and who, whether they know it or not, are blessed. They are able to access bliss and unity consciousness with ease because they are totally free of fear. Brad falls into this category.

I step back and watch and listen as his team brief him. He is composed now and has a more serious demeanour.

They tell him that he has enrolled in most of the right courses for his mission but they ask him to change streams and options slightly so that he can re-learn what he already knows. His mission here is to quietly bring through new technology that will benefit all of humanity. They tell him he must be careful, the military industrial complex would love to get their hands on the technology he is being downloaded with now.

I watch as streams of hieroglyphic like symbols pour into his body from above. I have seen these light codes before, I have received them myself. They lay dormant on every cell of our being until circumstances initiate the release of the knowledge that they hold. They are triggered by states of bliss and they will not activate or open for fear based technologies.

I hope he takes their advice seriously; I can see that right now he is being given priceless information that could be abused in the wrong hands. He is given a starting project, diagrams, three dimensional developments for a zero point, free energy device he is to build in his spare time as a practice for his abilities.

What is interesting to me as a non-scientist is that I can see from their schematics and explanations that the free energy that the machine utilises is from a nearby dimension. It appears to be limitless and totally pollution free and the components for the device are easy to find. Its mass production and application would totally change the way we live. It would doubtless remove the cause of many conflicts.

Jeez, I could make a mint with that device. 

The thought escapes me before I have time to contain it.  His team turn towards me.

Sorry just a passing thought. I smile pathetically.

We know you are honourable Raym, but take care. They laugh.

They finish briefing him and thank me again for bringing him.

Not a problem.

I respond, as if I had navigated the journey consciously.

May we ask a favour?

Sure.

We would like you to “keep an eye” on Brad please, teach him and guide him…

Of course, my pleasure.

They smile and the love goes up a notch.

We understand you may need a little assistance with some numbers you have been considering. We suggest you memorise this sequence. Use it wisely.

They give a sequence of seven numbers, which I commit to memory.

OK. Time to return Brad, I think we are all done here.

We say our goodbyes and they escort us back to this Solar system by a smoother and easier route than the one we took to get to them.

I take Brad through my usual post session processes and we return to our bodies.

“Far out! Totally mind-blowing. I can still see, hear and feel them. Will that go on for long?”

“As long as you wish, keep your vibration high. Ease off on the partying.”

I am not sure I like the fact that I already sound like his dad. We discuss the session and I reinforce the need for secrecy. I am not totally sure he gets it.

“Hey. I built a machine like the one they showed me at high school. I chased up some Tesla diagrams on the net.”

“Did it work?”

“I had to switch it off after six days it was annoying me.”

I realise Brad will have few challenges fulfilling his mission and I wish him well.

“Dude, what were the numbers they gave you all about?’

“Oh, nothing special, just some sequences I have been working on.”

I escort Brad downstairs and we say goodbye.

“Another bliss session?” Brianna smiles.

“Thanks for looking in on us,” I say pulling on my jacket.

“Where are you off to? You have another session in a few minutes.”

“Just popping over to the newsagents, won’t be long.”

Brianna looks at me, contemplating what she sees. 

“Got some numbers floating around here. Feeling lucky? It’s the jackpot this week, you know.” She smiles broadly, opening the door for me.

Sometimes I tire of working with psychics.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Miracle Man

Shelley’s cripling physical pain relates to a series of betrayals

I am taking a breath of fresh air in the quiet and breezy street outside my crystal shop, waiting for my next client. My assistant Bryony had taken the call and booked Shelley in, I have yet to meet her.

Bryony joins me on the pavement, resplendent in her blonde dreads and glad rags. I wonder how my two assistants always manage to look like they are about to have a great night out.

“Sounds like you’ll have your hands full with this one” she says grinning. “If she is not too attached to her pain, this could be one of those miracle healing jobs.”

“What? The ones we don’t tell the authorities about?” I smile back.

Then I see the person who must be Shelley approaching. I know as she walks towards my shop that I am up for a long and interesting session. I see a woman approaching in early middle age, a woman who should be in her prime and full of beans. Instead she shuffles down the street towards me like an ancient and totally decrepit bag-lady. I know from my briefing with Bryony that she dodders along like this because she is in constant and unrelenting pain. 

I try not to make sweeping assessments of my clients when we first meet. I prefer to allow the unfolding of their own realisations without even the slightest contamination from my thought forms, but with this woman I just cannot help myself. I see clearly by the way she holds herself that there are several key points in her energy field that are causing her extreme pain. I admire her stoicism, a meeker soul would resort to pain killers, but as Bryony has briefed me, not this lady.

Bryony has told me some of Shelley’s story. Believing that the source of these pains is not physical and will therefore not respond to conventional medicine she has tried many alternative therapies to get to the bottom of the issue, with little success. She is at her wits’ end and so now has turned to me, her last resort, the twenty-first century shaman.

I read her like an open book and promise myself I will not lead her during our session. A session where we will access altered states of consciousness together, on a journey to discover the truth behind the worsening pain that is slowly destroying her life.

“Have fun!” Bryony disappears into the shop leaving me to greet my client. I know she can read Shelley and what is coming in the session, just as well as I can.

As we slowly climb the stairs to my session room, she tells me her story.

“This started out of the blue a few years ago and its been getting steadily worse. I am so over this pain. Do you really think you can help me?”

I pause, I am mindful not to give desperate people false hope, “My aim is to take you to the source, to discover the moment where it all started. That way I can help you understand why it’s happening. After that it’s up to you.”

“So you don’t think it’s physical?”

“Well, I bet it certainly feels that way to you right now, but I know that it isn’t. That’s why you came to see me, isn’t it?”

She looks relieved and I can feel she may be about to cry. 

“Lets see how we go; I will do my best to help you.” I open the door to my compact sacred space, my small inner city temple. 

She gasps at the beauty of the complex mandala of crystals laid on the floor around the futon we will occupy for the next few hours. I try to display the stones at their best; I like to honour the beautiful crystals that are my allies.

“I feel light headed,” she says swaying over the crystals.

“That’s normal, they have already started the process.” I help her lie down and quickly take my place next to her. 

I must make haste, or she will move ahead of me without my guidance, a potentially dangerous situation. I love ceremony and have become a master of it, but for this client there is no time. The space is already cleared and primed, ready to go. I make a brief invocation and suggest she close her eyes, advice I see is redundant as I glance at her before closing my own.

Floating above her body we scan it together and she sees exactly what I saw when we met. She holds five major energy blockages, each where the pain is most intense. I ask her what she sees, she telepaths me as we work our way down her body.

I see a deep wound in my shoulder and it is bleeding. I see a golden chalice floating in front of my chest. I feel pain in my back and I am pinned to the floor by something very heavy across my knees.

Is that all?

Isn’t that enough?

OK let’s start at the top and work down. Say out loud after me: “Body I command you, release the cellular memory I am holding in my shoulder, into full consciousness. Now.”

Immediately we are in the thick of a bloody and chaotic battle some time in the distant past. She is in the body of a big strapping Native American man who is dealing out death and destruction with a large tomahawk. I wouldn’t say he enjoyed what he was doing but this bloke can certainly handle himself. He is a proud and fearless young warrior. It is hot, sweaty, breathless and dirty work, but he is doing well and he has the upper hand. I can see the battle is going in his tribe’s favour and it will be over soon. 

I have witnessed many skirmishes like this, but the ferocity of these life or death struggles takes your breath away. Ancient warfare was fast, messy, viscous and very personal: Hollywood does not get the half of it.

Shelley is so into the experience of being the warrior that she does not see what is about to happen. In the subsiding melee an older, more muscular man, of the same clan, works his way towards Shelley. In a moment when everyone’s focus is elsewhere he plunges a long knife deep into Shelley’s back, on the left side, aiming for his heart. He twists it with a warped grin as his pushes the beautiful bone dagger home.

The young warrior is is taken completely by surprise thinking his back was covered by the man who has just stabbed him.

We understand the thought forms that come with the ancient language.

You will never take my position. I am the lead warrior here and I will be for a long time now. Die, upstart!

Shelley is in utter shock and disbelief. The young man that she is, is speechless as his heart falters and his breath comes in gasps. He just looks wide eyed at the older man, his face like a Kabuki mask, a mixture of horror confusion and deep, deep sadness.

I catch her attention as she leaves his body. She is surprisingly coherent.

Oh man, that was such a mean thing to do. I had a lovely wife and baby. I had lots going for me, and boy was I strong. That mean selfish old bastard. 

OK, stay calm. 

This back left shoulder is exactly where the pain is. What do we do now?

You need to forgive him.

Say what?

You are tied to the trauma through the feelings you experienced then. They are locked into your cellular memory. They have travelled across time and space and are still with you now. They will stay in your body as pain, or even disease, unless you release them by forgiving the old man.

Shit.

Are you up for it?

Well, if it stops this pain, then yes I am.

We call on the old warrior and I take her through the forgiveness process, his murderer is relieved and grateful that he has finally been forgiven, as he was tied to the trauma too.

Unbelievable. I can feel the pain just easing away. What’s next?

Keep scanning your body, what did you notice next?

Oh yes that lovely gold chalice, what’s that all about? It looks like a gift.

I know better, but I will let her discover this one for herself.

Commanding her body to release the cellular memory she finds herself in the body of a mature and elegant woman of high status. We could be in the time of King Arthur, it looks so mythical; her headgear and the long dress she wears are beautifully made. We both take a moment to admire the intricate embroidery on her gown. Her surrounds are Spartan in some ways, being in a stone building, but they are also spotlessly clean and the furniture is comfortable.

She is lounging on a day bed and it is dusk. A young woman enters, she is dressed in simpler gown, and is very respectful towards Shelley. 

“My Lady, I have brought you a glass of wine before supper, if it pleases you.”

“Thank you, so thoughtful, my child. Of all the neophytes I have taught, you take most care, you are my best pupil, my finest achievement. You know you just might find yourself being put forward to take my place as high priestess, one day.”

The young girl blushes and bows her head. However I see her look up intently as Shelley brings the golden chalice to her lips. Every muscle in the neophyte’s body relaxes as the high priestess takes a deep draft of the sweet red wine. She smiles.

“I am ready now, to take the role of high priestess in this order.”

Shelley laughs. “Oh my child you must learn patience. Haven’t I tau…”

“Tongue feeling heavy?”

An inhuman sound comes from Shelley’s slobbering mouth as she tries to speak.

“It is time for fresh blood in this order now. It is rancid with your fetid, outdated rituals and ceremonies. I have direct access to the Goddess and she works through me. Your time is finished.”

The pain of betrayal in Shelley’s eyes speaks volumes.

“The poison I have prepared is painless, in thanks for your teaching. The paralysis is spreading through your body, from your mouth to your lungs and heart. You will be asleep soon and will never wake up.”

The neophyte walks close to the now wide-eyed and panicked high priestess. She lifts up her heavy limbs and rests them in repose, as if the high priestess was having a nap.

“This is how they will find you tomorrow, passed peacefully in your sleep. Thank you for telling others that you saw me as your successor, it has made things so much easier for me. I will be sure nobody disturbs your nap,” she smiles and kisses the priestess’s forehead. “It’s all for the best.”

I am ready when Shelley leaves her body, she is a quick learner and is looking for me; she is breathless.

The bitch! What an absolute fu…

No need for that. I interrupt. What part of your body are you feeling it in?

My heart. Oh dear me yes. That really hurts.

She does not take too much persuading to go through the forgiveness process. The trauma, and the pain clears immediately.

What’s the next thing you noticed?

There is something else, a weight on my stomach or my back.

We command the body to release the cellular memory and immediately Shelley is on a beach. She is a gentleman sailor, in olden days, a military man and an officer, in tight breeches and an open shirt. He lies relaxing, in a warm climate with a young islander boy’s head on his chest. 

Shelley the sailor runs his fingers through the boy’s hair, they are obviously lovers and she talks to him asking him questions.

The sailor is trying to get information from the boy, and has misled the boy into thinking he loves him, so the boy will tell him all he needs to know. Once he has what he needs he cruelly discards the boy, mocking and humiliating him. The boy is totally devastated and runs back to his village.

That evening the boy’s extended family visit the sailor and club him to death for the insult to their family’s honour. I wait for Shelley and again she is coherent.

Well, that sleaze-bag deserved everything he got. She telepaths.

Where are you feeling the pain?

My back, they broke it.

Releasing this trauma involves Shelley begging for forgiveness from the boy and his family. It is easily given. One last trauma left, and the five traumas I saw will be clear, then we will see how Shelley feels after that. We command she release the memory held in weight that is pressing into on her knees.

Oh this is nice!

I catch her thought forms as she steps into the body of a plump and happy woman in beautiful, sumptuous, colourful clothing. It could be ancient Greece, certainly feels like an island in a warm climate. This woman just loves her family and entertaining, she is having a ball. People come and go, there is happiness, good food and laughter. It’s hard to imagine what could spoil such a perfect day.

And then without warning its starts, the terrible rumbling, and it is over just as quickly. 

A huge earthquake shakes the structures around them to pieces. Her little boy runs screaming from the building and she heads after him, but she does not get out. A heavy beam falls on her and pins her down as the building disintegrates around her, almost smothering her with rubble. But it does not kill her. She stays alive and conscious for days, pining for her son, wondering when people will come for her. She shouts till she is hoarse and dehydrated, and then after a couple of days, the rats come. 

They nibble away at her living flesh and she is helpless to stop them. She dies screaming for the rats to stop, calling for her husband and son who never came because they too, are dead.

I catch her as she leaves her body still screaming.

Oh that was awful. Poor woman, what a terrible way to die. They were all so happy. It’s so sad. She starts sobbing.

Where do you feel the pain?

My knees, for sure, They were shattered.

To release the pain we go through a process of forgiving the rats, the people who did not come to her aid and ask her lovely boy to forgive her for not saving him. As we do so the pain subsides, dissolving completely as the last pain left to clear gently fades away.

I return Shelley to this here and now and after cleansing and protection exercises she opens her eyes.

“How about that?’ Shelley breathes blinking and stretching.

“How’s your body feeling?”

“Sensational!”

“Any aches and pains?”

“None.”

“Try standing up.”

She stands and for the first time in many years realises she is totally pain free.

“How did you do that?”

“You did most of the work. You realise that we were releasing emotional, not physical trauma?”

“I got that, yes.” 

She pays me and thanks me. I follow her as she glides effortlessly down the stairs and through the shop, hugging Bryony, who smiles after her as she literally skips off down the street.

Bryony turns me with a twinkle in her eye, “So miracles do happen then?”

“I am just waiting for someone to declare me a saint.”

“Could be a long wait, ‘cos nobody’s going to be sharing that story with anyone real soon… 

Cup of tea?”

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Templar Knight

The source af Madeline’s deep seated anger lies in a distant past

It takes me a while to realise where – or perhaps what is more important, when – we are.

I sense immediately that we are in a hot part of southern or eastern Europe, I have been there and it feels right. I stand next to my client Madeleine, we are in a sparsely vegetated area on a rough dirt track. I can tell that she is poor by the stinking rags she wears for clothes. She is now a man, walking beside me in his sweat-stained work clothes, which I suspect are the only clothes he possesses.

He is returning from a day’s hard labour and from the way he walks, he is exhausted. He carries in his hand a primitive but well honed sickle, its curved blade swings by his side. It is strange but despite this desolate poverty I sense he somehow loves this place. It is very far removed from the comfortable city life my client experiences now.

We have embarked on a shamanic journey together. Our bodies lie comfortably inside a mandala of crystals in the session room, above my crystal shop, as we explore other realities together.

I look around for clues as to when we might be and I see none. We are returning to this man’s home as the sun approaches the end of its slow downward arc towards the horizon. Because my client has stepped spontaneously into this full-body, past-life recall I know that it is likely to be a profound and possibly traumatic experience. 

I make no attempt to contact the man who is Madeleine as he cannot see me. Normally Madeleine would be standing next to me witnessing the scene as I am. I would be in telepathic communication with her by now, guiding her through her journey, making suggestions about what she might do next. 

Today Madeleine is a man and she is oblivious to my presence and totally involved with her experience in this distant country, probably in the distant past. As a time traveller visiting this time and place, I am invisible to her as I am to anyone in this reality. I have no idea what is coming next.

I hear a disturbance as we approach a small settlement. My disheveled companion’s pace quickens as he realises something is amiss. We also smell burning and mixed with the coarse, brutish shouts of men, I hear the cries of a child and the sobbing of a woman.

As we round a small hillock the scene unfolds before us. Still some distance away I see a group of soldiers, some are on horseback. They wear an emblem I recognise and I know the time I am in. The soldiers on foot are involved in the timeless war crimes that seem to accompany undisciplined soldiers wherever they go, whatever century they are in.

I feel my own gut tighten as we approach the scene; the soldiers are so involved with their malicious destruction they do not notice the peasant farmer approach. He is enraged. Without hesitation he races into the thick of it, leaping on the back of a soldier trying to rape his wife. He pulls the rapist’s head back and slits his throat with one fluid pass of his razor sharp sickle, which has become an extension of his sinewy body. 

Before the soldier even realises what has happened, he is falling to the ground with a surprised and vacant look in his face. Immediately the farmer who is Madeleine turns to another nearby soldier who is about to harm a child and completely decapitates him with one explosive strike of his sickle. The peasant farmer, has become a whirling dervish, a wailing, wiry banshee. He is screaming with rage as he hacks into and drops another, then another of the invading infidels, who are randomly destroying everything he holds dear.

I know this cannot last, he is totally outnumbered and out equipped. In a moment there is space around him as those on foot allow the skilled and well practiced armoured knights on horseback to surround him. It takes a few skilful turns of the knights’ horses and he is impaled on their long lances, which pin him to the dirt. They overcome him easily, his rage and sickle are no match for their training and equipment.

The man in charge dismounts. He stands surprisingly short, once he is off his horse and he walks with a pronounced limp. I can see he is a young man, who in our culture might be a fresh university student. He has an intelligence and experience in his eyes that belie his callow looks. I see as he pulls back his chain mail hood that has a broken nose and a deep and livid scar that crosses his forehead and cheek. He is thin but muscular and looks better fed than the peasant he is confronting. He looks at the farmer as if he is the foulest vermin imaginable.

“You! Non believer! Prepare to meet your heathen god.” Turning to the soldiers he shouts, “Set fire to that hovel and bring the woman and child over here. This pile of filth can watch them die, before I kill him.”

A leering soldier calls out, protesting, in a thickly accented dialect, that the fun was just beginning. His mates laugh at his impudence. 

“Enough! Or you will follow him,” the knight interrupts.

And so my client watches, as the wife and child of the man she is in this past life are put to the sword, whilst he remains pinned to the ground. I see the look of sadness and love pass between them. Her eyes tell him that this quick death is far better than the lifelong humiliation and defilement by these infidels. 

I see the spirits of their dead relatives come for them as they are taken home to light, returning to unity consciousness. Tears well up in the peasant’s eyes as he chokes back his emotions. Emotions which I know are being locked into every cell of his being as he approaches his immanent death.

With lances passing through his body pinning him to the ground, he feels his life force slowly ebbing away as he looks up to see this so called knight standing over him. 

This knight’s soiled, once white surcoat with the symmetrical curved red cross in its centre flaps in the early evening breeze as he straddles my client. He lifts his heavy broadsword above his head and brings it down with one almighty blow, plunging it to the centre of the peasant’s chest.

“Die, pagan scum.” 

The knight takes pleasure in the kill as the soldiers turn their backs on the execution, rummaging through the meagre possessions of the farmer, looking for booty and finding nothing worth keeping.

I am ready as Madeleine leaves the peasant’s body. She will be confused. I know she may still be feeling the intense physical pain of the past few minutes’ action, but it is the emotional pain which will have scarred her etheric body. Scars which will have been affecting her behaviour every lifetime since this event, around 800 years ago.

I must catch her attention and find out exactly what she is feeling, as this will be the key to the lifelong issue she came to explore with me in this shamanic journey. We are about to discover what it is and how it relates to her life as a conservative primary schoolteacher in the twenty-first century. But first I have to counsel her.

As the peasant’s last gasp eases its way out of his aching lungs I see his spirit rise from his body.

Madeleine here! It is me, Raym. I am here, I have been waiting for you. I telepath her.

Madeleine’s confusion is apparent as she stares at me blankly.

Wha… Who am I. What am I doing here?

Your name is Madeleine Petra you came to me for a shamanic journey. Your body is in the twenty-first century. You have just experienced your death in the eleventh century. Everything is OK I am here to help you.

My wife, my child! She starts sobbing.

They are OK, they have gone home to light. It is you I am concerned about. How do you feel? 

I know this sounds like a silly question but I must get to her core issue while it is still raw and present.

A novice healer or a member of the general public might expect her to be feeling intense fear or even to be totally absorbed by the physical pain she has just experienced, but I have been through this process many times and I know that there is more to it. She is still sobbing.

Madeleine it’s OK, everything is OK. Tell me how you feel.

A pause.

That big bloke just killed me! The sobs are subsiding. 

I realise from her perspective, pinned to the ground, the short disabled knight would have appeared much larger than he was.

What did I do to deserve that? Jeez, it was a hard life back then, but we were happy. I wasn’t harming anyone, what was that all about? I had no idea his kind were even close. I had heard stories but just stories, you know.

You are a school teacher you should know.

Yes of course, the Crusades, but I had no idea they were so brutal to ordinary people.

This is part of the Crusades they do not teach at school. They were allowed raids away from the eyes of the Lords who controlled them. They were taught that their pagan idolatrous enemy were non-Christian scum and sub-human. They could do whatever they liked, out of sight of their superiors. Some things never change.

Madeleine was calmer now. 

I want you to get in touch with your feelings at the moment of your death, describe them to me. Remorse? Sadness?

There is a pause

Nope. Intense anger. Rage. How dare they do that to me and my family!? She responds as her present life Greek feistiness comes to the fore.

Now I see clearly the connection with her present life challenge and it is not without irony. She is a devout Christian and a pillar of the local Greek Orthodox church. She has dedicated herself to good local community work and over the past few years has devoted her energies to raising funds for survivors from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, with the emphasis on helping women and children.

She had sought help from other therapists and was referred to me. Her challenge as a primary school teacher was her intense and uncontrollable outbursts of anger which erupted in her classroom, terrifying the children she loved to teach. As she aged these outbursts were becoming more intense, a sure sign, from my point of view, that the original issue was ready to be released.

From my perspective releasing this anger is simple, but I suspect from where she is now it may not be quite that easy.

Do you see how this trauma is affecting your life now?

Another pause. I know she knows, but is reluctant to admit it.

Are you ready to be free of this trauma and lead a happy, balanced life?

Absolutely.

OK. I want you to call on the spiritsof the knight who killed you and the soldiers who abused and killed your wife and child, say out loud after me… “Across time and space I call on the spirits of the people who killed me and my family, please stand before me now.” Repeat it three times out loud.

She does so and I know the assistant in my shop will be relieved to hear it.

The knights and soldiers step forward materialising out of the mists of time. They stand before us looking both humbled and remorseful, their heads are bowed.

Are you ready to do this?

If it stops me screaming at the kids I love, yes I am.

Then repeat after me. Across time and space, of my own free will, in full consciousness, as the universe is my witness, I freely forgive you.  Say it out loud please.

She starts this very powerful affirmation but slows down as she gets to the crucial statement.

“…I freely… fff…, fff… I freely fff… Faaark! YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!” she shouts out loud.

For a Christian school teacher, this lady’s language is getting pretty rich. I hope that there are not too many customers in the crystal shop beneath my session room.

You realise that the only way you can be free of this trauma is to forgive the perpetrators with all your heart?

As I say this the knight and his companions kneel before us.

Are you sure?

I know it’s hard, but yes I am sure.

She tries several more times but each time the rage it brings up in her is so intense it prevents her from completing the affirmation.

I am patient, because I know she is on the threshold of a life-transforming breakthrough. I give her the rest of the affirmation so that she really understands where I am leading her:

I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you. In forgiving you I release you, as I release myself from this trauma, to find joy peace and freedom. Go in peace. I leave this trauma in the past where it belongs, It no longer affects me, I am free from it, now. So be it.

Finally she summons up the courage to complete the affirmation and she is crying when the final release takes place. The knight and his companions are grateful. They dissolve into unity consciousness bowing, thanking her for their release and honouring her bravery as they do so.

I take Madeleine through the cleansing and healing processes that complete the session and bring her back into her body. We open our eyes, stretch and I pass her a tissue.

“Wow, that was intense,” she smiles, still crying, knowing full well that her anger management issues have been completely resolved in this one session.

“I don’t know where that language came from, it’s not like me at all.” She looks a little sheepish.

“Of course not. It was just the intensity of the experience,” I respond, taking what she has just told me with just a pinch of Greek sea salt.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Disco Inferno

Dave uncovers a shocking trauma from a paralel reality

This other worldly space we are in is so real we could almost be there; our consciousness is, but our bodies are not. I am with my client Dave and we are in a disco. It is a hot, steamy, tropical setting and everyone is partying hard. It is one of those places that cater for your overseas Aussie tourist who just likes to drink, pick up a partner and dance the night away. 

It has a vaguely seedy feel, but everyone seems to be happily inebriated so it doesn’t really matter to them. Apart from sweat, cheap perfume and beer, I can smell the all pervading underlying odour of two stroke, kero and clove cigarettes. I notice the locals observing the scene, some involved with the party, some tolerant, others less so.

We are in the middle of our shamanic journey together. We have travelled across time and space to this location spontaneously. The thing is, we don’t seem to have travelled very far at all.

Dave, does this place feel familiar? I telepath. 

He is relaxed, I have already told him that as time travellers we will be invisible to the locals.

No mate. I can guess where we are, but I’ve never been here. He is soaking up the atmosphere like he is on a fairground ride.

Oh I inadvertently respond, Right. Are you drawn to anyone in particular? I am fishing.

I feel a pending dread deep in my gut. Part of me senses what may be about to happen but it does not make sense. I am perplexed because what I fear should just not be possible.

That girl over there, she could be my sister, if I had one.

OK. Go ever and step into her body and tell me how it feels. 

He steps into the body of a young, attractive but rather shy girl, out for the night with her friends.

Weird man! Like soft and sensitive, she’s got no muscles. What’s going on inside of her? So emotional. She feels vulnerable, She’s thinking about how she looks and what people think of her. I want to look after her. Is she, like, my sister or something?

Sort of. I respond; I am still figuring this one out.

Normally when we travel through time and space there is a good and obvious reason. We do not just arrive on the other side of the world to participate in a drunken party. Usually we find ourselves in a past life, or even on another planet, but this is a new one. We are obviously on Earth in the recent past, within Dave’s lifetime but he has never been here and he is not a girl. Something is wrong.

While my client gets up close and personal with his new found girly-ness. I survey the nightclub. Really we could be in any one of hundreds of cheap bars or nightclubs anywhere in the East, I start to relax a little. We could even be in a parallel reality. It is confusing for clients but occasionally this trans-reality trip can happen. But no, Dave would still be here, much as he is now, he would not be experiencing life as a young woman.

What concerns me is that without fail with this type of regression (or whatever we are experiencing) it is trauma that shows up first. Usually I have a handle on it, today I don’t – another reason why I am feeling apprehensive. 

The drunken Aussie boofhead next to me lifts his overflowing beer from the bar and his mates laugh raucously as he raises it to his lips. The cardboard coaster has stuck to the bottom of the glass and he looks an idiot as he slurps the clear, icy liquid. Playing to the gallery he allows the frothy lager to spill all over his shirt as he knocks it back with gusto. He is choking with laughter and having a fine old time, as the coaster catches the light, I catch my breath. The name of the club is familiar. It is time for us to get out. Now.

Dave its time to step out of her body now. You have experienced enough. We need to move on. 

Aw mate! I was just gettin…

His sentence is cut short as the room fills with swirling fireball; beautiful in its own perverse way, it takes on a life of its own and becomes, for a moment, the fiery aspect of Shiva. It is a terrible scene to be in, and I am just a silent witness, Dave is experiencing it as if he was there in person.

He is about to be consumed by the wall of fire racing across the room. He starts sobbing as he realises what is happening to him/her. He experiences fear, anger, extreme physical pain but above all else acute emotional anguish as he comprehends exactly what he is experiencing. 

Why me? How could anyone do this to me? I have never hurt anyone, what did I do to deserve this? I am not ready to die here, so far from home!

My worst fears for him are realised. We are in the Sari club in Bali, on October 12, 2002 and I have to get him out before he is scarred for life. This life…

Dave is a new student, a big bull of a guy with a square jaw, big chest and a soft heart. He is a good old fashioned Aussie bloke. He has his mates, he likes a beer, he loves his motorbike and a good laugh. He wasn’t taking life too seriously until he was diagnosed with cancer a few years back. Then everything changed.

Having seen his mum go down a rocky, painful and unsuccessful road with chemotherapy, he wasn’t too keen on the conventional treatments, so he sought alternatives and found me.

I am always very clear with people who are desperate or have a life threatening health condition. All I can promise is that I will do my best. My aim is to help them get to the root cause of the life threatening condition and understand why it is happening and the choices that led to it.

I would be a fool and a charlatan to promise anything more; I am not in the business of giving people false hope. What I never tell them is that when we do find the original trauma, which is often emotional and not in this lifetime, then we may be able to change things; although sometimes the reasons for a life threatening illness may be deep seated and unchangeable, relating to karma or pre-birth agreements.

Dave had been through this process and he was getting better. Many other people could be doing the same thing but they do not realise that it is possible. The challenge with our present culture is that our medical system just does not recognise this avenue as even a remote possibility. 

A person may present to their doctor with repeated physical trauma in the same part of their body, a classic case, from my perspective, of a deeper challenge calling out to be released. It is not too hard to release it with appropriate guidance. Once the original trauma is released the body no longer holds it and therefore it has no need to repeat itself. As a consequence the illness or life threatening disease to which it was connected, also permanently disappears.

In another culture and another time, the shaman would be the first port of call for a sick person. A shamanic journey would be one of the tools used to diagnose, locate and release the cause of the health challenge.

Dave’s illness related to a past life incident where a close friend’s betrayal led directly to Dave’s torture and death. It is not possible to change his experience, but it is possible to change how he feels about it. In one session we were able to remove this past emotional pain and naturally the present illness went with it. 

Now in his follow up session, which I thought would be a breeze, we spontaneously find ourselves in Bali experiencing an illogical and painful death in a terrorist attack, not quite the calm session I was expecting. There is obviously another trauma to be dealt with before he can relax and I need to get Dave out of the girl’s body before he experiences much more of her pain…

Dave step out of her body now, you don’t need to experience any more of this pain. 

No response from Dave who is totally there, in agony, in Bali.

Dave now, mate. Step out of her body. Now!

He hears me, realises he can, then steps out of her body and stands next to the dying girl looking down at her. She cannot see him.

Oh mate that was intense. What’s going on. Why am I here? He is dazed.

I wish I knew. Keeping that thought to myself I take Dave into no time-space and call on the spirit of the girl from Bali.

She arrives looking fresh and well and I get straight to the point.

Why did you call Dave to the Sari club to experience your death in Bali? What is your relationship?

We are members of the same soul family. Dave and I have agreed on the highest level that he can release the trauma on my behalf during this session. If he agrees to do so now.

So are we, like brother and sister? Dave cuts in.

We are much more than that. On the deepest level Dave, you and I are one. We are part of the same consciousness, having simultaneous incarnations.

Of course. Why didn’t I get that? I think to myself. I teach it often enough. I have just never seen a trauma release played out so immediately before.

What, you mean there are more of me running around?

Yes, we are presently also a little boy in Africa and an old woman in Greece. She responds.

Are you cool with releasing the trauma for her and for yourself?

Absolutely.

I take them both through the release process and we part company; the young woman and Dave embrace and she thanks him. She explains that in any future incarnation they will not need to deal with her experience in Bali and the physical illnesses that would come with it.

When Dave returns to his body he sobbing, Bryony comforts him and we debrief. In due course he is escorted out and Bryony returns.

“That was pretty special,” Bryony observes, with just a hint of irony.

“That was a classic case of multiple, simultaneous incarnation and trauma release, which I was planning to discuss with you after this session.” 

I catch Bryony’s sharp, dark, hawk-like eyes and they sparkle as she smiles at me, knowing that was not my plan at all.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Haunted

Raym has a hair raising trip to a haunted country property  

I am being driven down a country road at high speed when without any warning my driver drops into a deep trance state. With his eyes rolled back and eyelids flickering rapidly I know there is no way he can be seeing the road ahead and further, the hairpin bend that we are about to negotiate. 

“I can sense some dead people up ahead, they are stuck. There’s been a car accident here, a few years ago. We should help them,” he says calmly.

Great I telepath, Could we not just pull over and deal with this?

There is no response, I am too close to this third dimensional reality to get through to my friend through telepathy.

“Wayne. Snap out of it mate, you’re still driving!” There is no response. I am starting to feel a bit anxious. 

I have just a few moments to make a life or death decision, we could be about to find ourselves in the same situation as the people my friend has just sensed. I look at him again and can see only the whites of his eyes, staring blankly at the grey ribbon of road ahead.

I have to act and act now. I reach across to the steering wheel with one hand while the other hovers over the handbrake as I pray I am making the right decision…

I am with my sidekick Wayne, a gifted young trance channel whom I work with occasionally, when the need arises. We are known locally as the Dynamic Duo because of our willingness to tackle any weird spiritual occurrence. Far from being paranormal investigators we are paranormal interlopers. There is nothing to be proven or measured in any remotely scientific way when we work together. We just get out there and do our best to fix whatever it is that is terrifying people.

We have driven across town from my crystal shop and are traveling to a country property where some strange things have been happening. The new owners rang my shop asking for help and we are en route to meet them.

Wayne rocked up at my shop a few years ago; I knew he was coming, as several people had called to tell me a young surfer dude was looking for me. They said he had seen me in a vision and was trying to find me after seeing my photo on brochures and fliers around town.

Wayne was not your standard New Age crystal type, no hippie clothes, no wafting fluffy ideas and none of the conspiratorial arrogance that sometimes comes with blokes who have a little esoteric knowledge. Instead, a young surfer arrived telling me that he’d been dreaming about me and that he and I would be working together. 

This kind of proposition happens a fair bit in my line of work, novices get the idea that I will somehow allow them to hang out with me and through osmosis they will pick up skills and knowledge that have taken decades (if not lifetimes) to reacquire. This is possible of course, for a few selected apprentices who have been through rigorous training and initiation with me. But someone straight off the street? Never.

Well, almost never. I agreed to facilitate a Crystal Dreaming session for young Wayne and in his first full shamanic journey with me he displayed great clarity and fearlessness, along with a ‘knowing’ that comes from extensive past life experience in this field. We talked at length after his session, unusual for me as I like to move clients through and let them figure things out for themselves. I am not keen on co-dependency, which is why I allow people to see me just a few times, and then only after they have experienced a session with one of my apprentices.

I could see the surprise on Briana’s face when he left. My assistant, the large blonde, dreadlocked Earth mother, has seen plenty of people pass through my session room, very few get to talk to me at length.

“OK” she says arching her dark eyebrows, “what’s so special about that kid? He’s barely out of being a grommet.”

“Well, for a start he’s not as young as he looks, and the boy’s got promise. He was clear as a bell, no past life trauma, no attachments and he is totally fearless. I took him there, and he was cool.”

She can see I am impressed. “So he wants to work with you?”

“Could be fun,” I respond.

She turns, shaking her head and muttering to herself, as she goes off to make us both a cup of tea. She obviously thinks I have lost my marbles. I haven’t. Young Wayne has been studying with a variety of teachers since he was in his early teens. He started after some serious poltergeist activity terrified him and his mother. A sure sign, from my perspective, that he had great potential. That kind of thing never happens randomly and always around a gifted one.

He is now in his early twenties and he has had some good teachers. The first of whom came and cleared his house, recognised his potential and took him under his wing.

After a few more sessions together I become confident that he can deal with the most challenging of situations. From time to time I accept jobs outside of my session rooms so occasionally, without training him formally, I invite him along.

The only challenge in working with this young man is that he has it in his head that ours is a god-given gift and we should not charge for our work, only accept donations. Now this is fine if you are a young surfer living in a panel van but not so fine if you have spent many years building up a reputation and a business built on your special skills and profound understanding of a dying art. We reach a compromise, I will deal with the money side of things and he will accept a donation from me, which of course will be half of any fee I negotiate.

Our relationship ends up being that of the classic priest and priestess. He easily and sometimes spontaneously enters a deeply altered state of consciousness. He moves into such a deep state that logical thought is a challenge for him there. In this situation it is best to have the second partner not in an altered state, so that there is one clear and logical thinker in the team. I work with him and through him with tackling whatever it is that is scaring the bejesus out of my clients. I have checked and rechecked his clarity and I am happy to accept whatever he perceives as gospel.

The challenge is that today for various reasons I am not driving and he is. A big mistake when he is primed to deal with the situation at the end of the drive, not one half way through it, as he is doing now…

I am about to take hold of the steering wheel when a deep male voice booms out of Wayne’s upper body. It is not his.

“Don’t worry about the driving leave that to us.” A perfectly enunciated English gentleman is speaking through Wayne as he keeps the car on course with only the whites of his eyes visible.

“Are you sure?” I mumble, by now my hands are trembling as we are almost on the bend and have not decelerated.

“Trust, my friend. Trust,” the gent responds.

You must be joking. I think.

“We are not joking, relax. Everything is fine. Wayne is busy right now.” The gent is reading my mind.

OK mate, go for it. I telepath. What have I got to loose? Only my life.

What I experience next is barely believable, we take the bend at speed and it is as if we have an all-wheel drive. The rickety, ageing panel van sticks to the road like glue. We get around the bend perfectly and are on the straight and narrow on the other side in the blink of an eye.

A few seconds later there is a gasp from Wayne as he opens his eyes, the car swerves violently.

“Jeez. Am I still driving?” he asks.

“Yeah, mate, sort of,” I laugh releasing the tension that has built up in my chest. He pulls over and we both crack up. 

It turns out he was able to help the dead family by the roadside, but they needed some persuasion. They thought it was New Year’s Eve in 1966 and were really mixed up, after their sudden death. After a little persuasion they responded to Wayne’s offer of help and were now safely returned to Unity consciousness.

We have yet to reach our destination, what awaits us there may be more unnerving. The family who rang for help had been having what they described as poltergeist activity around their property and it was freaking them out. They were new owners fresh from the city but they knew it was more than just wind, branches scraping on windows, creaking trees and doors slamming that was keeping them awake at night.

The youngest girl in the family was very sensitive and claimed she had seen a black man with a spear staring through her window into her room. She was frightened of him, although he had not threatened her.

For spirits to interact with the living it takes a great deal of effort and it is more often an intensely angry or misguided dead person out to deliberately frighten the living. They can’t pick things up and move them around but they can work with other nature spirits and less evolved beings to create that illusion.

The description I had indicated a spirit or group of spirits with a great deal of willpower and focussed energy. As the black man did not attack the girl or deliberately try to frighten her, I suspected he wanted to communicate urgently, not necessarily harm her or her family. However, sometimes all sorts of other critters show up and invite themselves to the party.

We arrive at the property; it is an old place that the city money has bought into because of its stunning location, right next to a meandering, smooth-flowing river. The house needs work and I can see by the heavy earthmoving equipment that the owners plan to reconstruct the crumbling driveway to create an easier route to the house.

The family are grateful to see us. Sometimes in situations like this I am not really sure what to charge. We are not just helping the family, we are helping other sentient beings too. To a point Wayne is correct, this work is a kind of calling. I ask what I feel is appropriate given the time (and near-death experience) involved in getting here. They agree without hesitation.

Wayne and I walk the property and we both pick up unstable energies in the same area. There is a fantastic old tree between the house and road, it would normally offer shade and tranquility. Today it offers only shade.

“This is it,” Wayne says quietly and I agree. 

We find a comfortable spot and sit under this magnificent tree. Wayne quickly and easily moves into trance and starts talking.

“I’ve got a group of local indigenous people here and they are upset. They want to talk to the new custodians of this place.” 

“Tell them I can speak for them and will pass their message on.”

“OK, they agree. They are happy to be talking with us.”

“These are the spiritual guardians of this place, the ancestors who have chosen to stay here to look after the land; they are not Earthbound. They say the new driveway will damage the roots of this tree, which is sacred to them, they want it rerouted. It is not respectful.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard, anything else?”

Wayne gets emotional. “They are showing me what they did here, how much it means to them and how happy they were here. They are a good crew, they mean no harm. They want the family to enjoy the tree and look after it. They would like local indigenous people to be able to come here too.”

That part could be a challenge with city folk, I think, but undertake to pass their requests on.

“Are they happy to be at peace with the family if they carry out these requests?”

“No problem. They thank us for talking with them and honour our path as shaman: so few they say; so few.”

We take our leave of the indigenous spirits and ensure that the area is clear, then brief the family. They are surprisingly cool with everything and promise to contact the local tribal elders. They offer us refreshments and payment. Studying the young girl’s aura I take the liberty of making a suggestion to her parents.

“By the way, might I suggest you keep an eye on your youngest and nurture her abilities. Please don’t stifle or deny them. She has great potential.” 

They are surprised and look at the child, who is slightly embarrassed. I feel they might take that on board too.

After enjoying tea and cakes on their verandah overlooking the river, we take our leave of the family and head off back to the city. I am driving.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Alien Abduction

Raym’s client discovers a phantom pregnancy was not what it seemed.

What did he mean sky-devils? 

My client Nadia telepaths as we take our leave of a helpful old Alchemist from a past life. We are on a shamanic journey and are in no time-space.

Rather than explain, I suggest she tells her body to show her when the crystal we have just discovered inside her body, was placed there.

Body I command you, show me the moment this crystal was placed here. Now! 

Immediately we are in that moment and just as quickly my client starts screaming. 

I do not have to ask do you recognise anyone because she sees herself as she is in this present life, but she looks a little younger. She has immediately stepped straight into her own body. She is in a cold sterile place on a shiny operating table. She is being pinned down by restraints on her wrists and ankles and small grey humanoid creatures with large dark eyes are probing, testing and opening her body, without any regard for her feelings. 

I see them removing, then inserting something into the centre of her torso, she is barely aware of what is happening as she is in so much physical and emotional pain. I know she will want to know more later and I am already reluctant to take her there. However my priority now is to remove the crystal from her body so that she can be free of its influence and can, hopefully, stop screaming…

Nadia has been referred to me for a shamanic journey by another therapist who has been unable to get to the bottom of her behaviour during meditation classes. Keen to grow spiritually, she has been attending classes but has found whenever everyone else in the class enters a deep meditative state, her body involuntarily twists and contorts, her back arches and she is unable to relax. It has got to the point when she is too embarrassed to go to class but does not want to give up, so she has sought help from a healer.

After a brief interview we lie down inside the mandala of crystals which help us easily enter an expanded state of consciousness. Once she is in an altered state of consciousness I suggest she scan her own body as if she has CAT-scan or X-ray eyes. She is surprised by just how much she can perceive if she allows it. 

Nadia is able to see straight through her body and perceive the energies surrounding it, our aim is to pick up anything that should not be there. We are looking for anything that looks unusual or uncomfortable, energies that are a natural part of her well-being will not show up during this process.

There is a long list of interesting phenomenon to be uncovered, a list that only my students and apprentices are aware of. In this process it is important that the client sees what they need to see, not what we see. The energy that is most damaging to the client’s well-being usually presents itself first. 

Nadia is a bit of a New Age fairy and she is delighted when amongst other things, in the heart chakra in the centre of the chest she discovers the most exquisite sparkling jewel-like crystal. 

In her world, all crystals are positive, cool and groovy. In mine unfortunately, they may not be, depending on who put them there and why. We must find these things out.

Nadia is so enamoured with its sparkling beauty that she has no idea that it may not be there for her divine highest good. I ask would she like to find out more about the crystal and she agrees. Knowing that our body holds the record of all our experiences, everywhere, I telepath her the following affirmation:

Body I command you, show me the moment this crystal was placed here. Show me now!

We are standing in a dusty, dimly lit room in an old-style castle which appears to be relatively new. I can sense that Nadia is perplexed thinking perhaps we are on a movie set, I encourage her to explore her surroundings as I step back into the shadows. We walk from room to room through what looks like a primitive science lab with parchment scrolls, strange looking pans, bottles full of plants and other strange substances suspended in murky liquids.

A young boy is busy tidying up the place, putting these relics into some kind of order, we can sense his excitement. An elderly gentleman enters the room. A little stooped and tired looking, he looks like an archetypal magician. His rich purple blue robes are impressive though a little threadbare and long white beard is magnificent if a tad unkempt. 

He is a man just past his prime, still in his power but aware that his time on this planet is getting short. His stern looking face and gruff demeanour hide a tenderness for the boy that is apparent in his eyes when the boy’s back is turned.

Do you recognise anyone? 

I telepath, trying not to lead Nadia into a realisation that is terribly obvious to me.

What do you mean? How would I know anyone here?

Feel their energy, does anyone’s energy feel familiar?

It’s the boy! It’s me, I am the boy! 

Her surprise and excitement are touching.

Let’s see what happens next.

The old man leads the boy through a series of tests. The lad is a bright spark and answers all the riddles put to him easily. He is enjoying both the test and the fact that his answers are pleasing his teacher. The quiz goes on and gets steadily more difficult and complex as the teacher rigs up elaborate contraptions, watching the boy mix potions and create magic, using herbs, crystals and invocations.

Nadia is awestruck at her own past life knowledge and enthusiasm. We are about to arrive at the key moment in her recall.

The old man is explaining to the open hearted and naive boy that his apprenticeship is almost complete, and he will soon be ready to go out into the world and share his abilities with others, under the distant supervision of his teacher. He explains, that not everyone will appreciate his work and that some people may attempt to harm him, through jealousy or fear. He offers to give him protection and produces a magnificent crystal which, to the boy, appears very real. 

We can see that it isn’t. It is a projection, a thought-form conjured up by the old wizard to impress the boy. Whilst it may not be a “real’ three dimensional crystal, all of its powers and programming are.

The boy’s eyes widen as he accepts the gift and the old Adept gently pushes it straight into the centre of his chest. There is much more we could explore, the boy’s life journey, the esteem he gains in his community as a great herbalist and healer, and the deep mutual respect he and his teacher have for each other as the boy grows into a man and the old man ages and passes on. However, we have seen enough.

I take my client into no time-space and suggest she call on the old Alchemist and ask him to join us.

Across time and space I call on my old teacher, I call on my old teacher, I call on my old teacher, please join us now.

The old man appears and as he approaches, Nadia starts to cry. Feeling the depth of their connection as they embrace, I give them space.

Ask if the crystal still serves you now.

No, he meant to remove it but could never bring himself to do so, he would love to take it back now, he knows it should no longer be here.

Give him permission to take it. Ask how its removal will affect you.

I will not have his protection but I am strong. Things are different now and it is time for me to be free of his influence.

The crystal is removed. I ensure Nadia fills the space where the crystal was, with unconditional love.

Thank him and tell him he can go in peace, your relationship is complete.

The old Mage telepaths me.

Thank you my friend, I have been wanting to do this for some time. You have done us both a great service, I can be at peace now. I sense you are aware of the other crystal, it seems to me you have enough power to deal with the sky-devils who put it there. Good luck.

He embraces Nadia and leaves, dissolving into light. I am pleased things have gone so smoothly. I know part of this journey is about my client accessing her innate healing abilities. No lifetime is wasted and she can reactivate these skills when she is ready, they will manifest as intuitive knowing.

I know that the next crystal, which I have already seen, may not have such a happy ending.

What did he mean, sky-devils? Nadia asks.

I suggest she scan her body again and this time she perceives the second crystal in her womb. She makes the appropriate affirmation and then the screaming starts…

Right now I must remove the crystal. It is not a positive influence, it was not placed there with her conscious permission or with unconditional love…

I suggest she step out of her body and into no time-space. Out of her body her experience will be less intense and she should be able to stabilise her emotions.

Are you ready to call on the beings who placed this crystal here?

She looks nervous.

The best way to deal with this is to reclaim your power and have them remove it.

She does not look confident. She knows I am talking sense but is still fearful, eventually she agrees.

Across time and space I call on the beings who placed this crystal here, I call on the beings who placed this crystal here, I call on the beings who placed this crystal here. Please stand before me now.

Three small blue-grey beings appear in front of us, their energy is cold. They are like the green ETs with large, dark almond shaped eyes that you see on popular T shirts, except these are grey. They are about 1.5 metres tall and have shiny skin, I have dealt with them and their kind, many times.

They have no emotions and care nothing for a person’s feelings, on any level. We start the process of removal, which could take time.

I telepath Nadia the following affirmation:

You do not have my permission to leave this crystal here, you must remove it now.

The ETs stonewall her. They are not aggressive or threatening, just cold and neutral. They do not respond.

By the Law of Grace and Decree of Victory I command you to remove this crystal. NOW!

Still no response. It was worth a try, it works sometimes.

I call on your superiors, please be here now.

Now we are in business, their controllers arrive. Tall Nordic types, quite different from the little ones, they have the air of studious scientists, their energy is less cold, but not what you might call heartwarming.

You do not have my permission to leave this device inside my body. This is a free will zone and you know it. It is not possible to leave this crystal here without my conscious consent. Please remove it now.

There is a huddle and a discussion, I can tell they are not used to a mere human being aware of their rights. I also know that they must respect them.

They turn towards us, there is no apology or further discussion, they simply remove the crystal and start to leave.

I advise the following affirmation before they leave.

You may not return without my conscious written permission. So be it.

We ensure the area where the crystal was embedded is cleansed and repaired. Nadia concludes that the device was there to stop her meditating, remembering her abduction and the tests they carried out on her body. I do not disabuse her of that thought as it is partially true.

When we return to the physical, she tells me that coincidentally, several years ago she became unexpectedly pregnant. After a full medical examination she was told she could look forward to a healthy baby within the usual term. Several months passed and she woke up one morning and the baby in her womb was gone. There was no trace of it. She consulted her doctor only to be told that it was a phantom pregnancy.

I decide to end our discussion here and reassure her that now that the etheric crystal has been removed, she will be able to meditate. I call on my assistant Bryony to take Nadia downstairs for a cup of tea and some TLC. Bryony can tell, by the absence of my usual abrupt manner, that she needs extra support.

I hope that Nadia will not pursue the matter further. I could easily take her to an earlier recall, where she would see that the pregnancy was not phantom and was not created in the usual way, by human to human interaction. 

It makes my skin crawl to think of what may have happened to the hybrid embryo, whether it is alive now and if it is, what kind of life it leads, in a totally loveless environment. I understand that in cosmic terms everything is perfect, however sometimes it’s hard to surrender to the perfection of this sector of the Universe, but I try.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Spirit Guide

Raym’s client’s “Spirit Guide” is not what he appears to be

My assistants finish briefing me about my next client as she arrives. Nina is a well-known environmental activist who has been very public about the inspiration she receives from her spirit guide. He is a Native American who has motivated her to become a spokeswoman for the planet and the environment. She has come to see me because she feels, at the age of 65, that it is time to deal with her lifelong fear of water. She is unable to shower or have a bath let alone go anywhere near the sea. 

Nina enters my crystal shop and my assistants make a fuss of her, their usual ebullience is tempered by respect and even deference, something I have never seen in either of them before. I can see that while Nina carries herself well but she also looks tired to the point of exhaustion, something I do not expect to see in someone who is working for Spirit from higher guidance.

Spiritual growth often leads to a sense of peace and detachment, insomuch as many of the challenges we perceive in this three-dimensional reality are revealed as fear based illusions. This does not mean that we do not engage in this reality and support the causes that we believe in. What it does mean is that the dramas attached to such activities no longer affect us. This woman looks quite affected by her work and I feel for her.

Prior to our shamanic journey together, Nina explains that she has tried many ways of overcoming her lifelong phobia but none has succeeded. Describing her spirit guide Bald Eagle, she recalls connecting with him in a workshop over twenty-five years ago. He has been guiding her ever since. He is passionate about the environment and is a great motivator for her. I expect that we will encounter him on our journey so it’s useful for me to know a little about him. Already I feel uneasy.

Surrounded by crystals we embark on our journey. Unusually, she guides me and I allow it, intrigued by what might happen. We find ourselves in the bush at dusk, the smell of fresh woodsmoke drifts past us as we walk towards a small campfire next to a teepee. A man is sitting by the fire waiting for us: Bald Eagle is a fine looking man at the peak of his prowess, mature and strong. He is surprised to see me.

Who is this? He telepaths. Is he dreaming? Does he know where he is?

He is not dreaming she responds he is in a trance with me and we are both fully aware. He says he can help with my fear of water.

I have told you that it is not safe for you to look into this. It is best that you just learn to live with it.

I know, but I’m sick and tired of it and I’m prepared to face any challenge to be free of it.

You should not bring this man here, this is our sacred space.

I thought you would be pleased to meet him, he is a shaman.

He does not dress like one. Where are his badges of office? His totems? His tools? What ceremony has he done to bring you here?

It doesn’t work that way these days, it’s much simpler in the 21st-century.

Ha! 

He does not seem impressed by this idea, but tolerates my presence. We sit next to him in the soft warming glow of the campfire.

How is our work with our Earth Mother going? It is important that you persist, tell me what has been happening.

They discuss her work and through his questions I become aware that he is leading her to do what he thinks is best. This is not the role of a spirit guide. Spirit guides are evolved beings that have returned to the Source. They are no longer attached to outcomes on Earth and surrender completely to the perfection of everyone’s choices here. 

They are able to do this because after death the fear-based illusion of separation we experience in a body dissolves. We become one with everything and everything is perfect.  Bald Eagle however seems to be very attached to outcomes.

I find myself in a dilemma, I cannot proceed any further with this healing if this man is not her spirit guide. I need to ask a few questions, I wait for a suitable pause in the conversation.

Do you mind if I ask a few questions?

I sense he knows what’s coming and is not happy, but does not want to lose face in front of his friend.

Tell me how you died.

His face creases with a pained expression. A battle, a painful, unnecessary, untimely death. I was in my power. I was not ready to leave, I had just dedicated my life to honouring the Earth Mother.

And where did you go after you left your body?

I stayed here of course! My work is not finished, there is so much to do. I can see that your people do not love the Earth Mother, they treat her with great disrespect. It will bring calamity, you must respect her as I do. She is losing her patience.

So, you did not return to your ancestors?

No,I did not, I’m not ready yet, they can wait.

Tell me, do you love this woman unconditionally?

I am her guide and teacher.

Do you love her unconditionally?

Together we honour the Earth Mother and bring peace.

Do you love her unconditionally?

What business is it of yours who I love?

He stands and faces me, a weapon in his hand.

If you do not love her unconditionally it is not appropriate that you act as her guide.

Just a minute. Nina intercedes What’s going on here? This is my spirit guide he has been helping me for many years.

I’m afraid he is not your guide. He an Earthbound spirit who attached himself to you twenty five years ago, because you were looking for someone like him. You do have a great deal in common, but he has his own agenda. 

I can see that Bald Eagle is getting agitated but he also looks quite sheepish.

Is this true? Are you my true spirit guide?

Silence.

It is appropriate that you two part company. His presence is interfering with access to your true guides. I cannot help you release your fear of water as long as he is here. 

She becomes both angry and sad, I can see tears welling in her eyes. 

Is all this true? 

Together we are helping to restore balance. Our work honours the Earth Mother, we are helping her. You asked for a guide. I came.

But your love for me is not unconditional.

No, I never said it was.

I intercede. You know you cannot stay here without her permission. It is time for you to leave.

They talk and embrace. I call three times on his ancestors. They arrive immediately and are overjoyed he has chosen to leave with them, they thank me and depart.

Nina’s face is a picture of confusion and despair. What the fuck I have been doing with my life?

Good work. But perhaps your focus will change a little after this session.

Damn right it will.

I give Nina time to compose herself and then lead her in the affirmation that will reveal why she is terrified of water.

Body I command you show me the moment with this fear started. Take me there and show me now.

We are walking next to a young girl dressed in the clothing of the early 20th century, her arms are covered and she wearing a long full dress. She looks hot even though it is quite a cool spring morning. We are in the thick of the hustle and bustle of a busy dockside and she is with her parents about to embark a huge ship. Everyone is excited.

We are both totally immersed in the alien atmosphere of another time and place. Cigar smoke, perfume, petrol fumes, sweat, horse manure and the all pervading smell of soot, emanating from the massive coal fired furnaces under the four red and black funnels of the great ship beside us. I hear Southern English accents amongst the watching crowd.

I try not to lead her. Can you see the name of the ship?

She can’t but I can, and the pit of my stomach churns as gaze up at the rear of the ship. From where we are I see part of the port of manufacture Liverp… And above that the first four letters of the great ships name.

I realise that to be totally free of her phobia she will have to experience then surrender to the perfection of her own death. Death by drowning, in the arms of her parents, trapped in their cabin below decks, on the sinking Titanic.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Sex and Death

Raym’s famous client uncovers a past life trauma and a friendly spirit that has an agenda

I arrive at my inner city shop on my pushbike, totally windswept and disheveled. It seems like any other day as I prepare for work in my practice as a twenty-first century urban shaman. The shop is bright and fresh. I visit my upstairs session room which is clear, the crystals in my mandala clean and sparkling and unusually, when I return, both my assistants are present. They look particularly resplendent in their matching bleached blonde dreads and as always they look ready to party. The perennial thought drifts through my subconscious as I greet them – how do they always manage to look so cool?

I sense an unusual air of excitement in their demeanour this morning, something is out of the ordinary, they do not normally show up as a matching pair and rarely wearing so much extra glitter. I am bemused and intrigued. I am not sure what could be causing this double flurry of excitement, it certainly is not my flushed and scruffy appearance.

“Why don’t you make more of an effort to look like a shaman?”

Bryony, the sharper of the two asks as Briana smiles behind her. She should know by now that I like to be inconspicuous, one of the reasons I left my dreads on the barbershop floor a few years ago. I sense some irony in her question as she already knows the answer.

“Shamans come in all shapes and sizes and I don’t like clichés,” I respond starting towards the stairs to my session room and inner temple.

“Aw c’mon, you could a least wear a fancy hat!” 

“With a feather!” Briana laughs.

“Yeah, sure. Who is my first client?” 

“Her name is Mo, no one special.” 

They giggle like two school girls and I know something is up, but can’t be bothered to give it any energy.

“Well, send her straight up, I’ll be waiting for her.”

Mo is ushered into my room with both my assistants elbowing each other to open the door for her. She is an athletic looking middle aged woman, fit and lean, she must have been an absolute stunner a few years ago. I sit down with her for a brief chat before our session as my two assistants fall over each other leaving my small sacred space.

Mo’s story is an unusual one, in recent years she has become interested in the occult arts, particularly astrology. Her studies led her into a deeper understanding of Chiron the wounded healer, a being she felt a great affinity with. She tells me that whilst meditating on Chiron he appeared before her in the room and proceeded to seduce her, making passionate love to her, bringing her to several intense full body orgasms.

This happened twice over a period weeks and she enjoyed it enormously. Her challenge is that since that time, several months ago she has been feeling drained and tired. She confides that she also has a compulsion to masturbate. Something she mimics onstage, but rarely found the need to do for real.

“What are you, an exotic dancer?” I ask.

“More cabaret,” she smiles “song and dance.”

“OK we will look into it, but with any first Crystal Dreaming session we need to let the process take its course, there may be other things we need to deal with first.’’

“That’s fine by me, lets do it!”

We lie in the crystal mandala together and I make the appropriate affirmations. We close our eyes, the crystals do their work and immediately we find ourselves in another time and place.

This is cool.

Mo telepaths as we stand together in a busy market square, there is an air of excitement, prior to some special event.

We are time traveling, they cannot see us. Let’s wait and see what happens, we are here for a reason. For now just soak up the vibe.

 I telepath Mo.

I am! 

Her eyes are popping as she looks around, absorbing the sights, sounds and strange smells that surround us. We breathe in a mixture of animal and human excrement, stale sweat and unwashed clothes mixed and other, now mostly defunct, aromas.

We are somewhere in Europe, in a cobbled town square hundreds of years in the past. A woman is being dragged across the square in front of a jeering crowd, by men wearing steel hats. Mo realises it is herself in a past incarnation.

This is all new for Mo, but for me it is almost a cliche. I have witnessed similar scenes, with many other clients. Human beings can be very cruel to one another and many healers rediscovering their path now, remember experiences like this.

The woman being dragged across the town square is in bad shape, she is bruised, battered and bleeding. She has obviously been tortured, probably raped. There are bloody gaps in her mouth where teeth used to be, she is missing fingernails and she has been branded. Her clothes are in tatters and she looks totally exhausted, but there is defiance in her eyes.

The soldiers are pulling her towards a high stake with chains surrounded by faggots of wood, with more bundles off to one side. 

“Confess!” the crowd yells at her. 

“Witch… Enchanter… Heretic!” they are whipping themselves into a frenzy.

A podgy, pious and grubby looking priest bends over her, his loose flaccid skin hanging off his anaemic face.

“Accept the Christ and the Catholic Church as your one true saviour or face the fire of eternal damnation.” His foul breath suffocates her as she stares back up at him.

“Never!” She spits blood as they drag her and chain her high on the post, which will be her last resting place.

The crowd cheers as they set light to the bundles of wood around her feet and her death is agonising. I know Mo will be feeling the hot smoke scorching her airways and lungs as her skin blisters and she tries in vain to stifle her final screams. She coughs and chokes, it is not a good death.

I am ready for her as she leaves her body.

I hate the Catholic Church! I hate it! I did no wrong, I was a healer, herbalist, and midwife. I helped others. The priests were scared of my light. That was it, scared of my light…

OK its over now, its over.

It takes me some time to help her realise that if she wants to be pain and trauma free then forgiving the Catholic Church is her only option. We also dissolve any affirmations she made at the moment of her death regarding never using her power as a healer, ever again. 

I always wondered why I never trusted Catholics, and I come from a Catholic family!

She is regaining her composure.

I take her into no time space and ask her to be still, I sense there is more. I lead her in the following affirmation: 

I challenge any being that is under the illusion that it has power over me, show yourself to me now or forever hold your peace!

I feel a surreptitious and furtive male presence in the shadows around us.

Don’t be afraid, we promise not to hurt you.

He steps forward into the light that Mo and I are generating.

I see a young man in his prime, he is dressed in the kind of work gear worn by tradesmen on building sites, although his shorts are very short, by modern standards. He looks very sheepish, I wonder how he appears to Mo.

OK mate, what are you doing here?

Just hangin…  He telepaths looking even more uncomfortable.

What year is it? I ask, knowing he will be stuck in the year he died.

1973, he responds.

You realise you’re dead?

Yeah I guess so, some idiot sparky left the power on and I copped it, big time.

Who are you and where are you from?

My name’s Ron. I’m a plumber from Bondi.

And what are you doing here Ron?

No harm mate, just hangin’.

Confused dead people are always looking for a comfortable place to hang out. They need permission, a contract or agreement given by the host, for this the most common form of spirit attachment, to take place. 

I want to help Mo understand what has happened but I suspect the knowledge will not be very palatable for her.

Who is this dude? And how did he get here? Mo is not impressed.

You are about to find out. Repeat after me: 

Body I command you show me the moment I gave permission for this man to be here. Show me now!

As I suspected we find ourselves back at Mo’s well appointed pad, some time in the recent past. It is late at night and she has been studying. Astrological charts and books surround her on her soft leather settee. She is obviously tired and lies back closing her eyes. A naturally relaxed and sensual woman, she runs her tongue across her open lips as she thinks to herself…

Chiron, what kind of man were you?

Our friend the plumber drifts into the room through the open window and stands before her, he appears naked.

You called me and I am here, he telepaths. Do you want me?

In her half waking trance state she sees him clearly, not only is he in great shape, he is a big man in every sense of the word. His long sun-bleached hair falls in loose curls onto his broad muscular suntanned shoulders. To me he looks every inch the Bondi surfer.

I thought you were a centaur? she telepaths vaguely.

I am Chiron. The centaur thing is just a myth. You can see why. He responds looking down, with a cheeky grin. 

I certainly can… Mo’s eyes widen.

Not sure whether she is dreaming or waking, she allows him to kiss and caress her, before long she too is aroused. They make intense and passionate love. Mo’s orgasms build one on top of another into a noisy and explosive crescendo. 

Mind if I stick around? he telepaths as she drifts into a deep and timeless sleep. She responds, vaguely, barely aware of her thoughts. 

Sure, why not, that was great.

So the contract is issued and their relationship begins. 

I can see by scanning the time-space around us that he visited her a few more times than she mentioned. What Mo doesn’t yet understand is that through this Earthbound spirit’s attachment to her, he can experience everything that she does, hence his creation of her impulse to masturbate, by influencing her emotions. He is fascinated by the female experience of something he had only experienced as a male. However, his parasitic nature is also draining her of energy, hence her tiredness.

Mo is realising this almost as quickly as I am, although for her it is a complete and utter surprise. She is very annoyed.

You arsehole! Lying bastard. The abuse that follows pours out in a mixture of Italian and French, but we get the drift.

Our plumber looks crestfallen. He is genuinely embarrassed and remorseful.

OK Mo calm down, you’re not helping matters. This guy is an idiot but he did not mean to hurt anyone.

Fuck-wit.

We need to release him, so he can go home to unity consciousness. You can dissolve the contract by forgiving him and giving him permission to leave.

She takes some persuading but sees the sense in it. I ensure that he returns home to light and we wrap up the session by checking and cleansing her energy bodies, verifying she is clear and free from all attachments.

We return to the physical, she is refreshed and relaxed.

“Was all that for real?” she asks.

“Did it feel real?”

“Well…”

“How do you feel now?”

“Really good, thanks.”

“See how you go, I expect you will be having lots more energy after this session and the compulsion you mentioned earlier will disappear.”

“No kidding,” she responds with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Let me know, if this is not the case.”

“Sure.” She thanks me and I show her the door asking her to pay my assistants, downstairs.

I cleanse the crystals she has touched, open a window and break the pattern of my crystal Mandala before following her downstairs.

Both assistants are waving and staring goggle eyed at a long white limo as it pulls away, presumably with Mo in it.

“Did you find the plumber?” They both giggle conspiratorially as they turn towards me.

“You know its bad practice to probe too deeply into a client before a session,” I reprimand. 

“It was so..oo obvious. You got him?”

“Of course.”

“Hey, there must be a bob or two in song and dance,” I muse looking after the disappearing limo.

“You really have no idea who that was, do you?” They are both now looking at each other in disbelief.

“A singer?” I respond lamely.

“Don’t tell us…” they laugh, “in your world there are only two kinds of music, Country and Western. Right?”

“Wrong! There is only one kind of music. Classic Rock!” I grin giving my best Jimi Hendrix air guitar demonstration.

My two assistants think I have just cracked the funniest joke in the known Universe, when in fact, I am being quite serious. The hysterical laughter, tears and runny mascara that ensue are somewhat of a mystery to me.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Virgin Sacrifice

A client discovers her low self esteem began in a distant past

The thing about time travel is the intensity of new smells – sometimes their strangeness can be overwhelming; earth mixed with animal dung from now extinct species, rich cooking aromas filled with forgotten herbs and spices, woodsmoke from trees that no longer exist and the ever present tang of sweat from a native people whose diet is vastly different from our own. 

All of this immediately creates a very tangible atmosphere, a far cry from the session room in the busy city, where my body now lies. 

A friend of mine, a doctor, once told me that he believes smells completely bypass the conscious mind, often triggering an emotional response to a long stored and deeply hidden memory. I wonder if my client is beginning to remember what happened to her and why she has been drawn here.

I am walking with her in an ancient Central American culture thousands of years in the past, possibly Aztec, Toltec or Mayan. It is a hot, steamy environment but as we have arrived just before dawn, there is a slight, cool breeze as the mist hugging the young jungle trees around us begins to evaporate.

I am enjoying being in another time and place, smelling things I have never smelt before, walking through an ancient, vibrant culture. The detail in everything I see is astounding and fascinating. It is a sensational experience and I realise just how much I love my work as an urban shaman.

As time travellers I have advised my client we cannot be seen by all but the most accomplished of shamans. Even then they would have to be in a deep trance state and focussed on finding us. So I feel relaxed as we walk through the happy crowd of small, dark haired, olive skinned locals. 

It is a morning of great celebration, we sense something very special is about to happen. Some people have obviously been up all night, others look fresh and excited. Children play freely around us, just as they would at any party anywhere, simply happy that a party is happening.

I have a pretty good idea what is about to happen but I must be patient and allow my client her own realisation, without any interference from me.

I am waiting for her to recognise who she is. I have already picked her through the unique signature of her energy body. It varies from lifetime to lifetime but it always has an identifiable consistency. I found her easily.

She is in the group in front of us and she is the centre of attention. So many smiles and so much love is directed towards her it is palpable. She is beautiful: a young woman, almost naked, she is adorned with feathers, body paint and gold jewellery. Her eyelids and lips have also been coloured, it is her special day. 

The magnificent structure she is being led to is a great stepped pyramid. Iridescent birds swoop low over the crowd and monkeys chatter and call in the surrounding forest, even they seem excited.

She still has not recognised herself as her body is quite different from the plump middle aged one she has left in my session room, over my small crystal shop, back in the twenty-first century.

I have given her enough time. I know, like me, she is fascinated by the very tactile experience we are having, walking and breathing amongst these diminutive, happy people. It is time for me to step in.

Which one are you? I telepath her.

Am I here?

Sometimes my patience grows thin, I feel like saying, “Of course you are here, why else would we have arrived here, when you asked to be shown the root cause of your life long issues?” But over the years I have learned to be tactful.

Have a look around you. See if you can sense which one is you…

Wow is that me? She is gorgeous.

Totally. I think, but I keep that thought to myself.

OK if you want to you can step into her body now. Tell me what she is feeling.

A few moments pass then she responds, perplexed….

Well, you would think she would be happy it’s obviously her birthday or something, and everyone is so happy for her, but she feels anxious and sad.

How does her body feel? Another long pause.

It is completely numb, I can’t feel a thing. She is chewing something that deadens all physical sensations.

OK, just as I suspected. My client is in for a rather unpleasant surprise. I have been in similar situations many times before so I am prepared for what is coming. It may not be pleasant for my client, but if she follows my advice she will be able to break a pattern that has been dogging her for almost forty years.

Every other therapist she had seen (and there have been many) was looking for the cause of her low self esteem in her childhood or early life, I knew it went much further back than that. Today she has an opportunity to change everything, but she will need to be very brave.

We are climbing the steps of the great pyramid and above us at the top stands the high priest and his assistants, they look totally awesome. They stand straight and proud, and they look towards my client with much love and gratitude. 

She is being helped by other semi-naked young women as she stands next to a large slab of stone and they gently lay her down. The whole temple faces due east; silence envelopes us as the priest raises his arms to salute the rising sun; even the monkeys are quiet.

The sky is red now and turning yellow, dawn is close. I do not need to know the ancient language he speaks as he invokes the gods and goddesses of his culture and picks up a large curved blade.

As she lays on the slab and awaits her fate I am relieved that she will feel no physical pain. I ask my client how she feels.

Get me out of here! She screams in my mind. An understandable reaction given the circumstances.

How does the girl feel?

Fucking terrified, what do you think?

It’s important you feel exactly what she is feeling now. Tell me what is happening for her, why is she here?

She is a virgin, she has trained for this since birth, it is a great honour to be selected for this role, but she is terrified and knows she shouldn’t be. She is supposed to be feeling strong and full of joy so that she can complete her life’s work and her job here.

And what is that?

Her job is to leave her body and stay here as guardian spirit. She is to become an umbrella protecting her people and their crops for the next year, until another virgin is sacrificed and the cycle is repeated. 

Oh shit. He going to put the knife in my chest, thank God I can’t feel it.

The sun breaks the horizon in a blaze of gold illuminating the very top of the great stone structure first. As it moves downward towards the slab, the priest, with great deliberation and ceremony, opens her chest with his razor sharp knife.

The people gasp as he pulls out her still beating heart and offers it to the rising sun. They are not shocked by his act, they have seen it many times. It has happened every year since they played as children at the foot of the towering pyramid.

What they are shocked about is the way her body resists his actions and the scream of absolute terror that leaves her lips and echoes around the valley, as her still beating heart is held before her. 

This is not as it should be. There is consternation amongst the crowd. Every shred of joy has evaporated like the early morning mist. It has been replaced by apprehension, fear and confusion.

How could she let us down like this?  Their group thought-forms are unanimous. 

People start crying, fearing the bad crops and famine that will inevitably follow this major catastrophe. Picking up the immediate change in energy the children follow suit and soon the scene looks like a serious disaster has just happened, which it has.

This ancient culture runs on ceremony. Their priests and priestesses have a very good and workable understanding of the afterlife and how to navigate it. The lack of a conscious, overseeing, trained spirit will be dire. For the first time in his life the high priest is dumbfounded.

My client is now experiencing everything her past life self is going through on a very emotional level and I know she will be sobbing loudly and uncontrollably, in my session room above my crystal shop back in the twenty-first century. I prefer to keep the sobbing to the minimum.

What are you feeling now? Through her sobs she telepaths. 

Fear… despair… great sadness… unworthiness. I have failed my family,    my community and my teachers, and they know it. I feel totally shit-house. I am an utter failure.

Do you recognise this feeling?

Ooh yeah. I sure do.

Are you ready to be free of it?

Absolutely.

OK, step out of her body and stand next to me.

As she steps out and stands next to me the chaotic scene around us fades into washed out colours, sounds and smells and for the moment it continues.

Call on your family, teachers and community from that time, ask them to stand before us now.

As she does so, we move into no time-space. We could be in a large hall or open field, there are many people here.

Repeat after me… Across time and space, of my own free will, in full consciousness, as the Universe is my witness, I humbly beg your forgiveness, Please forgive me for letting you down.

The response is immediate and conclusive, waves of love and forgiveness wash over us both. Even I start to feel a bit teary.

My client breaks down again.

Thank them and tell them they can go in peace.

She does and they fade away. My client turns to me and sobbing, thanks me with all her heart.

Not quite done, now its time to forgive yourself. Are you ready to do that?

She agrees and I give her the appropriate affirmations. In forgiving herself she finally releases herself from the trauma in this past life and its affect on her present life. This is the breakthrough I was hoping for when she booked her session and briefed me over the phone a few days earlier.

After taking her through cleansing and purification exercises we return to our bodies in the twenty-first century. She is exhausted and still sobbing, I pass her a tissue as she sits up and I move her away from the mandala of crystals that surround us. I give her a grounding stone to hold, it will help her consciousness return completely to this time-space.

If I leave her sitting in the mandala it will take longer to get her back into her body. It takes her a while to calm down. I have a tendency to appear curt with clients, it’s not that I don’t care about them, it’s just that I don’t think it serves anyone to get stuck in the emotions that their session has brought up.

If things are released they are released, time to move on. My debrief is short and sweet. 

“You understand what happened there and how this will affect your life now?”

“I do… How did you do that. How did you take me there.”

“Actually, you took us there I just created a space where it could happen safely.”

“That was utterly amazing. I am totally lost for words. How can I ever repay you.”

At this point another person might ask for a substantial amount of money and I must admit sometimes I am tempted, but I am mindful of my Karma.

“Just pay the standard fee to my assistant downstairs.”

“I want to do more, really.”

“Buy yourself a few crystals downstairs if you like, or better still, give some money to your favourite charity or do some community service.”

She undertakes to do all three and leaves. I thank the team of loving spirits who work with me and clear the space in readiness for my next client. 

A minister of religion has approached me to help him unravel a repeat pattern in his life. By the sound of things I suspect we will be headed for a showdown in Ancient Egypt. They were a very smart crew in that time-space without a doubt, Master magicians each and every one, or so it seems to me whenever I visit. I sense it will be a complex case, but hopefully not too noisy.

I wonder what his congregation would think is they knew he was seeing someone like me. None of my business I suppose, just a passing thought. I am already looking forward to my swim at the end of the day.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Demon

Raym confronts a Demon that has been making his client’s life hell.

I am in a dark and hot place and it does not feel pleasant, I know my body will have a thin film of perspiration all over it, particularly around the neck. The thing is, I have left my body a long way away, in a place we usually believe is our primary reality. Today things are different.

It takes me a few moments to acclimatise. It is stinking hot. I could be close to a bushfire or a furnace, the ground around me is rough and dry, a dusty, rocky, level surface. Next to me I can see my client. If I am feeling warm and apprehensive, she must be feeling hot and terrified.

In front of us is a huge dark form, hard to make out at first, but definitely not friendly, definitely not human and definitely not alone. Things are not looking good and we are just at the start of our journey together.

Hoping that she won’t collapse into utter, unmanageable fear and total vulnerability, I wait patiently for her to notice that I am standing right next to her. I hope she won’t start screaming, we have had enough complaints from the neighbours back on Earth, and my shop lease is up for renewal.

I am mindful that I should not control this situation too much. Although to some extent I am capable of manipulating the reality around us to suit my purposes. It is important that my client overcome the challenges before her of her own free will and without too much interference from me. 

If I intercede too much I will get involved in her Karma. Not a good idea, as I have enough on my own plate right now, thank you very much.

I know my client is beginning to access levels of fear which are way beyond her experience or expectations. I am alert and ready for action, I have trained myself to deal with fear as a companion, one that makes me alert but does not control me.

My client notices me. 

Fuck, I am shit scared she telepaths staring wide eyed at the apparitions surrounding her which she has suddenly seen clearly for the first time.

That’s three negative power words in one very powerful sentence. Couldn’t we just play safe, remove the negatives and stick with ‘I AM’?

Too late.

Feeding off her fear, the being in front of her has grown in stature and is materialising into a fully formed, red eyed, horned and salivating Demon of the aggressive variety of the first order. It reaches forward and grabs her solar plexus and starts squeezing and twisting it with its dark claws. 

It is laughing at her.

This is all moving far too quickly for my liking, I need to create time to think. 

I know back on Earth, right now my client is squirming and writhing in pain on the futon next to mine, I trust my assistant is doing as she promised and looking in on the session. For once I hope my little shop is not too busy.

Tell it how beautiful it is. I suggest

“What? You are jo…” her sentence is cut short as the being in front of her uses its other hand to claw deeply into her side. She starts moaning, I hope it’s not too loud.

I need to take control, Say after me, Beray sheet eyer esher eyer. Beray sheet eyer esher eyer. 

She gasps the affirmation out loud and for one short moment the being in front of her hesitates, totally dumfounded.

In this moment I have a chance to collect my thoughts. 

My client had been referred to me by a student, offering discounted practice sessions to gain experience, she was attracting people in need who were short of cash. The woman next to me had come to her in great physical pain. Pain which several doctors were unable to diagnose or treat with any success.

She was an initiate of an international religious group who did good work feeding the needy and offering them support. She had reached the rank of temple priestess and was respected in her community. She was authorised to create and lead ceremony and had become a high priestess. She was devout, chanting and praying from the early hours each morning, immersing herself totally in her practice.

Yet despite her good work and practices she was coming under massive psychic attack.

In her session with my student it became obvious that she was being attacked by powerful non-physical beings who meant to do her great harm. She was referred to me. 

When she arrived for her session she was in so much pain she could barely walk, supported either side by two novice priestesses, her hands were cramping up like claws and her back and legs convulsing with muscle spasms.

She had come for a shamanic journey with me in which she might see exactly what was happening to her.

I had already prepared a clear and sacred space for the journey. I had travelled this route a thousand times before. As we lay down next to each other I looked over at her for the tell tale signs of deep trance. She closed her eyes and they rolled back, leaving only the whites of her eyes visible through her rapidly fluttering lids.

Deliberately opening a portal through which we could step into no-time-space and hence into all-time-space, I closed my eyes. We both slipped into an altered state of consciousness easily, allowing the mandala of crystals that surrounded us to do its work. 

I joined her immediately, but the speed and ferocity of the attack took me unawares. We did not arrive where I expected and I was in danger of becoming fearful myself. I needed to buy time.

Ask it what it wants.

To destroy me.

Why?

Because I am weak, because it can, because it gives it pleasure…

When did you give it permission to be here?

What?

There is always permission, when?

I see myself carrying out ritual and ceremony, I am in training. My teacher is not being totally honest with me. I am making promises in a language I do not understand, this is the moment I gave permission.

OK, tell it not to be afraid of you.

“Don’t be afrai…” 

The great beast’s laughter is deafening, it claws and wrenches at my client, and its smaller friends in the shadows move forward to join in. My client is in torment, and I know by now that the neighbours will be making a note to call my landlord. Again.

I reluctantly step forward, closer to my client. The violet white light that surrounds me buzzes and hums with a focussed life force; for now I am containing the energy into a bubble that surrounds my body for about a metre. It pushes the smaller demons back into the shadows, but not the big one. It still has tight hold of my client and will not be distracted by me, or my light.

Say again out loud, ‘Don’t be afraid I promise not to hurt you.’

I know my client is in agony and I will her to ride it out.

‘This pain is an illusion, it has no power over me.’  Say it.

She repeats the affirmation out loud and it is like a red rag to a bull. We both sense this beings thought-forms:  

How dare you challenge me!

This being has probably not been challenged for eons, it is used to getting its own way. I am deliberately trying to cause it confusion. It is enraged but beneath that there is the tiniest twinge of doubt. This is our leverage, our way in.

It directs its attention towards me. 

I am ready, but I do not intend to harm you.

And I am ready. I have quietly called in my power, I am centred and ready for anything. The time I bought a few moments ago has served me well. I am ready to experience whatever this thing has to offer, without rising to its bait of becoming angry, or worse and far more dangerous for me, becoming fearful.

It senses my readiness and backs off, focussing again on my client.

In this moment my client draws strength from me and my actions, she recalls my advice before our journey started, that this could be her true initiation into the priesthood. She had been initiated through ceremony, now she was to experience her true initiation as a high priestess. It is time to confront her deepest fear. This is her baptism of fire.

You no longer have my permission to be here, our agreement is dissolved, the contract between us is complete, you may go in peace.

As she repeats this affirmation she starts to believe it. I also sense my assistant back on Earth, looking down on us and smiling, she knows the power of this statement if it is made out loud and from the heart.

Now the great beast is shrinking, still malevolent, it starts to doubt its tenure. But it still has hold of my client and is still causing her pain.

In you I see great light. In you I see great beauty. Don’t be afraid of me I promise not to hurt you. I am not angry with you.

Although still squirming under its steel like claws, she senses she is beginning to win.

You are beautiful. Don’t you remember how beautiful you are?

Confusion. The Demon is genuinely perplexed, my client is gaining strength.

Look inside, tell me what you see…

Even though I have seen it many times what follows is still beautiful and moving. As my client repeats the affirmation I know she is up for a life changing experience.

And so the great beast looks within.

In the pain, sadness and anger that is within it, it senses a spark of light at its core. As it focusses on it, the light expands and becomes a supernova that totally envelops it and the surrounding space. We and it are breathless at its own realisation of what it truly is. It is a beautiful being of light. It is an Angel, lost and now found.

Go home to light now, take the others with you, go home and find peace, you are forgiven. Go in peace.

It is so joyful it swoops over us and the smaller beings, its gratitude is palpable. As it leaves my client’s body completely relaxes and she is pain free. I know by now that she is completely drained, and decide not to take her further into the circumstances surrounding the Demon’s contract with her.

I take her through exercises to cleanse, refresh and strengthen her energy bodies and we return to the futons we are lying on, upstairs in my shop.

She is utterly exhausted and tearfully grateful for the session. The acolytes she came with are also tearful and happy at her recovered condition. Not much explanation is needed, I accept payment and she leaves.

I decide not to share all I saw in the journey: The priest who tricked her, his misogyny, and the arrangements he had made for non physical beings to feed off the energy in the temple for their own ends and their fear of her growing personal power. That I will leave for another session, when she realises it is appropriate. 

I lie back on my futon and give thanks to the crystals that surround me and the loving non-physical beings who work with me. I feel at peace. I have done my best for my client, she is now and will remain pain free. I feel tired but content, everything in my world is perfect.

My assistant knocks and pops her head around the door of my session room.

“Its Mrs Jenkins from the tea rooms next door, she wants to have a chat about the screaming she thought she heard coming from your room.”

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming

Possessed

Raym deals with an aggressive Earthbound spirit that takes over his client’s body.

I am in no time-space with my client and I am trying hard not to confront an already angry and abusive Earthbound spirit that has attached itself to her. Cursing me in Afrikaans he reaches through my protective energy shield and starts to throttle me. This should not be possible, but it seems to be happening and it really hurts.

I can feel his hands clamped around my throat. This is turning into the most visceral other worldly experience I have ever had. Choking, I telepath…

I am not a threat to you. What are you so angry about?

I am blasted by another outpouring of abuse. I need to stay cool, but I am beginning to feel light headed. I feel tapping on my shoulder, I look to my left but there is no one next to me. Now I am really confused, the other Earthbound spirits are still attached to my client, what is happening to me?

Then I get it, my assistant is trying to bring me back into the physical, so I quickly return to full consciousness. When I open my eyes I realise that my client, a tiny woman, has lifted up my muscular body and has me pinned against the wall. Her face is right next to mine, her eyes are wide open but her eyeballs are rolled back so I am staring straight into the whites of her eyes as she rants on at me in a deep male voice. 

Her mouth is flecked with foam and my assistant who is trying to prize her fingers off my throat has gone a lovely shade of white, a colour that matches perfectly her blouse and bleached and braided dreadlocks. 

If her grip is not released very soon I will pass out. As my vision becomes grey around the edges, I wonder how I got myself into this mess.

I live in the old part of the city, I like its character and the people there. As I cycle across town to “Inner Journeys” my crystal shop, I become an observer. I sense the vacant ones, people wearing grey suits with matching grey auras. I stop at traffic lights, they hurry past and I look into their eyes. They are like windows into abandoned warehouses, empty, dark and slowly crumbling inside. They look utterly lost and hopeless. It seems to me that there is no-one home – or worse, there is someone else there.

My crystal shop and session room sit in the borderline part of the city because the rent is reasonable. It’s the kind of place that starts out being inhabited by artists, musicians and students and ends up being taken over by architects, real estate agents and lawyers who then complain about the character of the place that they bought into. This part of town is the nexus for transformation, so for now, for me, it is a good place to be. 

There is community here, people look out for each other and there is an easy going atmosphere that comes from having not much money, not too many worries and plenty of time.

So it was that I started receiving calls from other alternative shops in the area, they all talked about the same person. A slightly built woman who needed my help. I knew it was only a matter of time until she showed up.

Sometimes in my business you need assistance. I have two apprentices, both mature and very groovy women. They are similar yet very different. Both have bleached blonde, braided dreads and dress like they are about to rock on to an all night rave after work. Secretly I call them Topsy and Mopsy.

Brianna, is your Earth Mother type, large and well built, she exudes nurturing feminine power. She is lesbian and proud of it and has trained in martial arts, as well as esoteric disciplines. Bryony is smaller and has a lighter build, she could be Brianna’s sister from another life. Her birdlike features give a hint of the sharp mind hiding under her dreads, like Brianna she has studied extensively with other teachers. She is an excellent Tarot reader and a natural trance channel.

Both women look many years younger than their age because they are so happy. They are enjoying their lives, so looking after their bodies comes naturally. These powerful women are my guardians, my front door filter, they run my crystal shop and keep the tyre kickers away from my session room. No time-wasters make it into my sacred space for a journey. Just the genuine spiritual seekers and those in need of help.

Today I am thankful that Brianna is my assistant. Sometimes things can get physical with this kind of case, and I prefer to have another woman in the room if my client is female.

I can feel my client coming towards the shop before she arrives. The energy around her is big and very prickly, although the woman who walks through the door appears to be the opposite. This tiny, thin woman tells me her story.

She has had a violent temper for as long as she can remember and lately it is getting worse. It seems the happier she becomes in her relationship the bigger this rage inside her gets, disrupting her life on a daily basis. She had been placed on an Apprehended Violence Order (AVO) for biting off a chunk of her husband’s ear during a bout of uncontrollable rage. It is clear to me that I am probably dealing with a case of possession. As she is coherent and calm I decide to move straight into our session, her name is Mia.

My aim is to find out when she gave permission for the spirit to attach itself to her and work from there. Laying in a powerful mandala of crystals we both travel into the space between worlds, I telepath Mia the following affirmation: 

Body I command you, show me the moment this started.

Immediately we are standing in a country area by the side of a dusty dry road surrounded by lush, green vegetation. We notice a little girl in front of us playing on her bicycle, she seems happy and carefree. She is not concentrating, daydreaming as she navigates rocks and pebbles on the roadside. Mia confirms it is herself as a child and I suggest that she step into the child’s body. 

The child is near a corner, I feel the rumble of an approaching truck, but she does not notice it at all. The truck driver is speeding and as he swings out on the corner he almost loses control as his load shifts. His heavy vehicle is old and unroadworthy. I catch a glimpse of the panicked driver, dropping greasy food on his lap as he clutches his steering wheel with both hands. There is no way he will even notice the child.

He collects her with his front fender and knocks her under the nearside front wheel, fortunately it is only her legs that go under and because as he is turning only one wheel runs over her. The bike is destroyed and the frail little girl is left wailing at the side of the road as the truck driver continues on his journey in a cloud of dust and small stones, totally unaware of what has just happened.

How are you feeling? I telepath the girl.

I am in agony. Somebody stop this pain. Please someone. ANYONE!

We are at the point of attachment. The point when she gave permission for ANY being who wants to step in and help to do so.

She did not say or think; 

will the beings who love me unconditionally please help me.  

I do not know many people who would have the presence of mind to do that, let alone a little girl with two broken legs, lying on the side of a deserted road in the bush.

Unknowingly she has issued an open ended invitation and in effect a contract for any beings, particularly confused dead people (Earthbound spirits) to come to her aid, and they do. But there is always a catch, they are looking for a place to stay, permanently.

I witness several energies come flying through the ethers and attach themselves to her, offering succour. They cringe to one side clinging on to her solar plexus for dear life as a large dark form approaches and attaches itself firmly to the back of her neck. I don’t know how, but it eases her pain, maybe it takes on some itself. Her pain lessens and her wailing changes to deep sobs as she waits for someone to find her.

I take her into no time-space and suggest she transmits the following thought-form:

I challenge any being that is under the illusion that it has power over me. Show yourself to me now, or forever hold your peace.

Of the dark forms surrounding Mia the largest comes forward. I have an overriding sensation of intense and explosive anger.

I am not yet able to make out its form but rather than arguing with Mia it is headed straight for me. As it materialises in front of me I perceive that it is male, human, muscular and dark skinned.

He talks to me in a language I do not understand.

Neuk af wit seun!  It sounds like Afrikaans.

Talk to me in English mate, I don’t understand you.

What the fuck do you want white boy? Why don’t you fuck off back to where you came from and mind your own bloody business? Even his thought forms have a strong accent.

He towers over me and he is a big bloke, he is strong and has a lot of will power. Suddenly he reaches through my protective auric field and starts to throttle me. I feel the tapping on my shoulder and remember that I asked my assistant to tap me if she feels I should return to my body for any reason.

I return to full consciousness as quickly as I can and realise that things are going pear shaped fast, this session turning into an all in wrestling match and I am about to pass out. I must stay calm and act…

Think, breathe. Think.

This petite woman with her white bulging eyes now has the strength of an ox. I manage to get my fingers under hers and create some breathing space as my assistant grapples with her. We must not hurt her. I am now speaking out loud talking directly to the African presently in possession of her body.

“What happened to you, I want to know.”

“What do you care? You interfering bastard.” A deep and thickly accented voice booms out of Mia’s tiny chest.

“Maybe I can help.”

“Bullshit. You fuckers left me for dead, in this dark shitty place. The mine caves in and you just fuck off! You bastards just left me. And I died. FUCKERS!” he shouts

I am already preparing excuses about a play rehearsal for my neighbours.

It sounds very weak but I say, “I am sorry to hear that.”

“Fuck off!” His grip tightens again but now fully conscious, I respond quickly.

“What year is it?

‘What?

“In the mine, what year is it.”

“1951, who gives a shit?”

I do, and I am doing some rapid mental calculation. If he was mature man in 1951 there is a good chance his wife is also now dead, if he had one. I sense a way of getting through to him, helping him. He is definitely not going to go for any flaky New Age fluff, that’s for sure.

“Do you miss your wife?”

He is poised on a knife edge between intense rage and deep grief. Fortunately for me, as my assistant is beginning to flag, he leans towards the latter. His pause tells me he loved this woman.

In this space between anger and grief I seize the moment.

“Across time and space, I call on this man’s wife, I call on this man’s wife, I call on this man’s wife, please join us now.”

I do not need a translator to understand what is happening as he releases his grip and breaks down, sobbing.

“OK you can go with her, you can go home and find peace, go home to light now. Go in peace” 

One word of Afrikaans leaves Mia’s lips as he leaves her body and it completely relaxes.

“Dankie…”

I help the other attached spirits find peace and after cleansing and protection exercises Mia returns to her body and reclaims it. She tells me she grew up in South Africa, so it all makes sense. This dead African miner had become a confused and distressed Earthbound spirit. Refusing the opportunity to go home to light when his ancestors came for him he was stuck and looking for a safe and pleasant place to hang out when she called for help.

He had been with her since her childhood accident, affecting her moods and thoughts. He had become possessive, resenting her love for her husband. Now that he has left everything will change for my client.

We say goodbye and my shaken assistant ushers her out. I give thanks to my non-physical team, and think how silly I will look wearing a neckerchief in summer. For a few days my throat will be very red, I hope it won’t bruise.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A Diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming