Diary of an Urban Shaman

Unbelievably True Stories


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.


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?


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

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