Diary of an Urban Shaman

Unbelievably True Stories

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

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