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A Tentative Return, or more Questions than Answers.

If anyone is still out there, “Hello.” If not, well here I am again. It’s been a long time between drinks as it were and I thought that it was about time I paid a visit to WordPress world. Life goes on, people come and go and interests change. Do I still write novels? No. Have I read any? Nope, not a thing in over two years. I bought several last year, they’re still unopened on the nightstand. Sad I know but that’s how things are. Do I still take photos? Yes indeed, they’re better than what I’ve posted on here in the past. Will I be putting up heaps of them every week? Probably not, one or two to share and chat about will be my limit. It’s taken a lot of deep thought, foreign I know, for me to come back. My reason for dropping out last time was to do with my mental health. I have a tendency to focus on something then do it to the nth degree, no matter what it is. In retrospect I’ve done it with every pastime I’ve taken up. In one way it made for good outcomes, in another it took me away from everything else. As you may or may not know PTSD has been my constant companion for many years. Somewhat like Sisyphus pushing the boulder uphill to have it roll back down again. Just when you think you have it beat, wham it’s back to the beginning. Yet I’m still grateful for my life and the good people I have around me, well the ones who understand.

So what am I going to do here? To be honest I’m not quite sure. I know that I’ve missed my interactions with followers/friends. Of course the longer you stay away from something the easier it is to convince yourself that it doesn’t matter. Sadly that’s been the way of my life. I’ve moved that often and been in different jobs and losing/letting go of people just seems natural. I’m on Instagram at the moment, laurie7521, another interest to focus on. Where will the return of the Prodigal lead? Maybe the answer will be found next week.

Here’s a Poppy from my garden.



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All sorts of things at The Writer’s Room.

No Roos this week but there are plenty of other animals. I took this picture at a neighbour’s place, they’re down the road from us. It gives you a different look at Mt Beau Brummel.Mountain view

Lorelle’s granddaughter is a born horseperson. She’s here on Rocy, the stallion, he’s part of Dave Manchon’s ‘Rooftop Express’ horse show. He’s well trained and in beautiful condition. (The horse that is.) This girl has no fear at all, she trotted him around the yard and turned him.Girl and horse

‘I’m sorry Dave, I didn’t mean to take a bath during working hours.’dog in a bath

A look at the kitchen and laundry at Wolston House as per last weeks view through the doorway.Wolston house kitchen

They have some old machinery in the yard, I thought this tractor had definitely come to the end of it’s working life. A little touch of contrast brings out the rust.tractor wheel

This is Lorelle. I had to use flash inside the house as it was quiet dark.  I call it, ‘Reflections of my Wife.’  🙂Lorelle

This Butcher Bird came visiting while we had scones and tea, after I finished my scone and lemon curd he was lucky to get a few crumbs.Butcher Bird

Warning, the use of these tools cause blisters. I’ve never seen so many axe heads. Taken at Highfield Pioneer Village.old tools

Still at Highfields, I do love the blue car, it’s a Willy’s. I could see myself driving that.Highfields Pioneer Village

I erected a DIY garden arch made out of reinforcing rods. Hopefully by the end of summer the vines I’ve planted will cover it. The Miner birds found the bath I’d put there and I believe the one on the left is saying, ‘Yes, it’s better than a dust bath, yes the water looks nice but you didn’t tell me it was bloody cold.!’Noisy Miner Birds

Well, that’s your bloomin’ lot for another week. I do hope you’ve enjoyed my offerings, so until next time take care.


Featured post

A Medium, or just well done? The Abbott of Harkness, a story.

I have something a little different for you today. A few people have asked if I have drawn any inspiration from past life regressions and wrote stories about them. The following story stems from a quick regression with my psychiatrist. All I saw in that life was my death in a cold, dim room. Dark wooden beams abounded, a huge stone fireplace with wet firewood did little to make me comfortable. I knew that I was an Abbott, that I had some wasting disease and my life hadn’t been one of piety and godliness. I was writing on parchment at the time my life ended in pain and a rush of diarrhoea. Probably a hundred years later than the story. So here it is, I know it’s a little long but it gives you an indication of how one can gain inspiration.

                                                     The Abbott of Harkness

If it were not for the ice-cold, wet wind blowing under the door I would have finished this manuscript by now. Excuses, excuses, I have uttered them all to myself but I need light to write. My remaining ox fat candles have sputtered their last. Now there is only the faint orange glow from my fireplace, and it is spluttering and hissing. The idiot oaf from the kitchen put wet oak logs on the fire. Now I am going to die of some fever, instead of the bloody flux that squirts from my bowels. At least I have managed to keep my sheepskin blankets and spun, woollen robes. Yes, I am dying but I am not going to freeze doing it. I have not stained them, yet. I can manage to reach my chamber pot. God help the lowly novice who attends me, his name? It escapes me, Roger, Roderick? I care little. I know they are waiting for me to breathe my last, so they can rob my corpse. It is pleasing that even as I prepare to meet my maker, they’re still petrified of me. I turn over on the cot and readjust my ink well and parchment. I have nearly finished the story of my life and the events that brought me to this place. My personal holdings are vast; my monetary wealth, if truly known would bring the wrath of the king down upon me. So I must dispense it to those who I trust.

I sent my scribe away, I do not trust him and it must be in my hand, so they all know what I think. Harkness Abbey, under my stewardship has become incredibly wealthy. The sale of dispensations has trebled since the plague. I have always said that there is nothing like pestilence and long, drawn out wars to bring the sinners back into the fold. The knighted and wealthy have come crawling to my door, begging me, me, for forgiveness. Of course I’ve forgiven them in the name of the Lord, for land, cattle and grain, and those without wealth? Well, I’ve taken their daughter’s. I can hear you laugh across the years, those of you who can read Latin. Of course I’ve taken their women. The poor have just as much right to sit in Heaven. God forgives all sinners. I just hope he remembers me.

A harsh gust of wind howls like tormented souls as it screams off the sea and up the valley. Someone else will have to worry about the devastation to the forest. It has done nothing to divert the wind as It gathers speed and races up the hillside, to rattle my oaken door on its iron hinges. The door crashes open and rain, like cold metal arrows slashes across the threshold. A small hooded figure stands there, bowed over with age or the force of the wind. I know not which.
“For the love of God, come in or go but shut the door. I do not want to die any quicker than is necessary.”
There is no answer, the door is gradually forced shut and the figure walks slowly towards me. A cowl hides the face; it carries something in its arms. I sit up slowly and shake my quill at them.
“Show yourself, what is your business?”
Stopping by the hearth they drop a bulging sack on the floor and turn towards the fire. Small, twisted hands pull charcoal and twigs from the sack and throw them on the fire. The sputtering logs slowly come to life. The figure turns and puts fresh candles on the mantle. These are large, fat votive candles. They only come from one place, and that is the convent, half a league away. A wax taper is lit in the fire and put to the wicks, death’s shadow retreats from the light. The hands pull back the hood to reveal a woman’s face, wrinkled and old. I do not recognise it. Wisps of grey straggly hair fall from the wimple; she pushes them away and coughs harshly before speaking.
“Father Abbott, do you not remember me? I am, was Lillian, your fletcher’s daughter. Surely, Sir William of Longspear the legendary slayer of those heathen Saracens cannot forget his first love?”
I peer at her face, youth and whatever beauty was there has long gone. The flickering light dances amongst the wrinkles, her eye sockets are like dark caves. I sit up now.
“In Christ’s name, what manner of demon are you, which comes unbidden into this Holy sanctuary?”
She pulls up a stool and sits next to me and then lights another candle. I see her face clearly now. Some memories stir of forty years past, the name means something, Lillian? Yes, the fairest and youngest daughter of one of my Bowmen. What was his name? Ah, yes Cedric the Fletcher. I stretch out a hand to touch her face. She grips my thick wrist with fingers like talons, and speaks in a surprisingly strong voice.
“Do not touch me, Sir William. You lost all rights to me, when you left me with a swollen belly.”
“With child,” I say, shocked at the prospect of being a real father. I am sure there are many bastards from the hills of Harkness to the Holy Land, who would claim the name Longspear. But none have yet come forward. I look heavenwards and say a silent prayer. She takes a leather sack of wine and offers it to me. I drink it lustily, for it is sweet and leaves a clean taste in my mouth. Intrigued, I ask.
“This is not from these cold isles, hmm Sister?”
“Sarah,” she says, “I took the name Sarah, before my vow of silence.”
“Yet you speak now?” I ask, concerned for her vows.
“You took a vow of chastity, Father Abbott and yet your flock increases?”
I mutter and take another swallow of wine, smacking my lips with satisfaction. She takes it off me and drinks deeply herself before answering.
“It comes from Normandy, we have an ample supply.”
It settles my flux and I eat the cheese and bread the kitchen oaf left behind. The fire has begun to warm my room and the wine my insides. Feeling in a more forgiving frame of mind I ask.
“What brings you out on a night like this, Sister Sarah?”
She sips more wine and cackles for a moment.
“I have finished my years of silence and have talked with the other sisters. When they’re not working or praying they speak of you. Not in the hearing of Mother Superior, mind you.”
I grunt and struggle to my feet, it feels good to stand. Perhaps the wine has taken away the stiffness. The fire roars and the logs burn hot. I turn my rear to the flames and inquire.
“So, why are you here?”
“I thought you might want to know of your child, your son. He is a man of strength and stature, both in body and of the people.”
“An interesting thought, Sister but one I do not wish to ponder – too much. Is it because you have heard of my soon to be meeting with God Almighty? Or is it that he may have heard of my wealth?”
I raise my hand and show her a ring of heavy beaten gold, with a ruby the size of a pigeon egg.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head sadly, “He needs to reassure himself that he is not like you?”
I stumble forward, anger rises in my breast and stopping short of my cot I raise my hand. My reply is tinged with surprise.
“Not like me, how could he not want to be like me? I have served my God and my King for many years.”
She stands now and looks up at me, age has shrunk her body, and it is bent and bowed. But traces of the Lillian I am beginning to remember are coming through. Her temper, I remember that when I took her in the piggery. She lay there on the sacks of grain, her shift torn, face and breasts rubbed red-raw from my thick beard. Her black hair a tangled mess, blue eyes blazing, she sat up and said.
“What manner of man are you, Sir William? I am your bowman’s daughter, and yet you tup me in the manner of a swineherd?”
She squealed like a pig going to slaughter when I flung her across my thighs and flogged her rounded buttocks with a quirt.
“Insolent whore,” I screamed. “You are no better than a rutting sow, here; eat swill with your own kind.”
I must have looked a sight, my manhood swinging from my britches, as I flung her into the pen. It was when I saw the boar that I came to my senses. I leapt in and dragged her out. He rushed the wooden rails snorting and ripping the air with his tusks. I picked her up in my arms. She was terrified, half-naked, breasts heaving. I flung her once more to the sacks and tupped her harder than ever.
I must have wandered further in my thoughts, Sister Sarah pulled at my robes and I sit back on my cot. She pours more wine into a goblet and brings a hot iron from the fire. She sticks it in the wine, it hisses and bubbles, some ground herb or spice falls from a cloth in her sleeve and she offers me the wine.
“I have not tasted wine such as this since my last crusade. Oh so many years ago. On a night so cold it is a blessing.”
She smiles and nods, giving me more and says in her creaky voice.
“Yes, I remember how you took me. I was nothing more than a vessel to empty your seed into. Yet it took, you never noticed your son before you left. Your father, Stephen Longspear, took him as his own, although without the benefit of wealth or standing. Over the years he grew tall and strong. He became Stephen’s man and protected his land from brigands and such.”
Her voice began to fade; it was most likely the most she had spoken in years. I settle back under my covers and take up the quill once more. I wish to write my story. Sarah speaks again.
“Years went past and you never came back, William. Your father heard you were dead, slaughtered by some heathen. He took to his bed and died there two months later. You were his heir, he thought you dead. Therefore everything went to his brother, a bigger pig than you. He cast everyone off the land and brought in his own folk.” She began to cry, the tears crisscrossing her face as they navigated the wrinkles, she went on. “My father, who was too old to go with you, had to take service with some other knight and died in battle. My sisters were married off and I left with our son, Algar. Your uncle did not trust him. We ran away and found a village to settle in.”
Her story had taken me away from my writings, I asked none too lightly.
“So where is this mighty, Algar you speak of? Does he indeed exist?”
The door flew open and a man’s form filled the entry. The candles spluttered as they fought against the gale and lost. He turned and forced the door shut. Sarah hobbled over and lit the candles again, and I was looking up into the face of a fair-haired version of myself. He didn’t look his forty years. Taking off his thick, black leather cape he shook the ice from it. A leather hood covered his heavy woollen cap. He removed them and hung them from the mantelpiece, and then stood in front of the fire. His boots were covered in mud and he scraped the soles on the flagstone hearth, as steam began to lift off of his woollen coat and britches. I couldn’t help but notice the long sword that hung at his side, with its shark skin grip and jewel encrusted pommel. It had been my father’s, and had served him well in many battles. Now it adorned the hip of my bastard son.
“By what right do you wear the sword of a knight?” I demanded angrily, “That, by birth-right is mine.”
He took the goblet of hot wine from his mother, gulped it down and sneered.
“You were right, Mother he is greedy.” He turned his bearded face to me, “So, Father, we meet at last. By the smell of bloody effluent that lingers in this room, I am just in time.”
Pulling a long dagger from his belt he strides towards me. I gulp and sit up. Stopping by my cot he stuck the sharp point into the round of cheese sat on the platter and put it to his mouth. Then bread and more cheese, another wine and he sits on the stool. He notices my parchment, picks it up and begins reading out loud. I listen in amazement and ask.
“You, you read Latin?”
He smiles and his face shines, his cheeks are red and chapped from the cold. The fire reflects off his greying beard. His response has a mocking tone I do not like.
“Does it surprise you, Father that the bastard son of a fletcher’s daughter can read? Not only Latin but Greek also, I can write too. My hand is as good as any scribes.”
Angry now, I try to stand. I cannot. My lower body betrays me. I cry out.
“What do you want of me? Can a man not die in peace?”
“Well,” he said on his way to the door, he rummages through a large bag, which he must have dropped there, “peace is a subjective thing, Father. What peace have you brought to your flock, your brothers?”
He pulls out a long white surplice and puts it on over his head. His back is to me as he buckles his sword belt over it. Sarah hobbles over to him and helps straighten the fabric. His voice takes on an ominous tone when he says.
“It has been said that you have robbed the people for as long as you have served them. And speaking of serving, you have brought in your fair share of bastards.”
He turns and I feel the wine come into my throat, he wears the surplice of the Knights Templar.
“What is this?” I ask, fear loosening my bowels. “You, a Templar, I thought they were all put to the sword or burnt by the frog eaters? What right do you have to criticise me?”
He drew his sword, the blade screeched against the metal guard on the scabbard, he put the point on the other parchment that lay on my table, and announced.
“Now, Father it is time for you to buy your own dispensation. I know that the Abbey and five hides of land belong to the church, and that there is enough grain and cattle to sustain your brothers for a year. The remainder of the land and holdings around Harkness will go to me as your only son and heir.”
“Never,” I cry, “I will yield nothing to you, get out.” I begin to cough; large gobs of phlegm choke me. I spit them on the straw that litters the slate floor, “Never by God, not as long as I live.”
I feel the cold tip of his sword prodding against my throat. His voice takes on a gleeful note as he declares.
“That can easily be brought about. Mother, he is distressed, please, more wine for him. God knows there will be none for him in hell.”
I drink greedily for his words have made me think. Then I dip the point of my quill in the inkwell and scratch slowly at the parchment. By the time I have finished, the cock crows down in the garden. His morning call is short-lived. The wind roars again and drowns his voice. Sarah stokes the fire and adds more logs, while Algar sips another goblet of wine. I sign my name in the bottom corner of my decree, Brother Alwyn, Abbott of Harkness. Sarah gives me another wine and makes her mark. Algar takes it to the fire and reads it carefully.
“You have done well Father. I will have another man make his mark. Oh, my men will be here shortly to gather my moneyed inheritance from your cellar. When the weather clears they will drive off the herds, we don’t want to lose any.”
I stutter.
“What are you saying? I’m not dead yet, the Brother’s will not let this happen.”
“You will be dead before the cock crows again Father. Your last drink of wine was indeed your last drink.”
I watch as he throws his now warm cloak over his shoulders, settles the cap and hood on his head and strides to the door, he turns and says softly.
“Stay here Mother. That is if you wish to make sure he does indeed die. I will take the sad news to the Brothers.”
He puts the parchment under his cloak, smiles at his mother and slams the door behind him. The clatter of iron shod hooves fades into the dawn. Silence hangs heavy in the room, I can feel death. He comes from the four corners of the room and creeps up my legs, numbing them further. My arms do not want to work. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. The darkness is almost complete. The fire seems to go out. I can sense Sarah leaning over me. I hear the wind, it is dropping. The rooster crows and Sarah’s breath is hot against my ear when she whispers.
“Oh, William if only you hadn’t chosen the pig pen.”
The End.
L.W.SMITH © 2011


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Book Promotion. DRAGONBRIDE, by Raani York.

This is what authors do, we spread the word about other author’s books. My good friend Raani York has finally published her book, DRAGONBRIDE.


(The Dragon Chronicles, Book #1)

Shalima “Daughter of the Light”, was born under special circumstances. She was raised by her aunts instead of her mother because she needed to be prepared to fulfill the prophecies of the Old Scriptures, which told that she was the only Magician on Earth.

Her aunts carefully prepared her for her obligations and her sacred duty. She will have to get married to the Holy Golden Dragon, the King of the Dragons, a huge Earth Dragon with magical talents. She cannot believe that she is the “Chosen One”, who has to protect the Dragon Species, all of Nature and finally the Earth. But when she turned into a teenager it seemed that the Old Scriptures were right. 

Buy the Book:
on Smashwords: https://smashwords.com/books/view/479647
As an Ebook for following formats: epub, mobi, pdf, rtf, lrf, pdb, txt, html
The Paperback version on Amazon will be released very soon! More buyer’s links will be available within the next week.

Author Bio
Raani York has been a high volume writer for years. She has published articles, letters, short stories, poems, continuation stories and descriptions of all kind. She also writes novels, some of which can found on her website.
Raani has been educated in Switzerland and in the U.S. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration. She also obtained diplomas in Graphic Design, Color Studies and won a prize as a Logo Designer. She speaks four languages and several dialects.
Raani York works and lives in Switzerland and the U.S. and travels often.
Next to her writing and her cats, Raani likes reading, blogging, Martial Arts, skiing, horseback riding, sky diving and enjoys playing the classical piano. 

Website: http://www.raaniyork.com

Blog: http://www.raaniyork.wordpress.com

Email: raaniyorkca@aol.com

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Microcerpt: http://microcerpt.com/raaniyork/

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/raaniyorkca/


The mountains possessed a dark but seductive beauty, and they lay in wait for the ones who came through the Fire Hell. The powdered white peaks of the sparkling black mountain-world watched for them with longing. The Diamond Mountains gave the illusion of being much closer than they really were, and many a pilgrim had been lured to his death by the promise of riches hidden on their slopes. These mountains were so named because of the rough gems strewn about the black volcanic soil. When the sun shone overhead the gems made the mountains sparkle and shimmer brightly, and at night they made the moonlit mountains glow with a soft silver light.
People, blinded by both their greed and the tantalizing glittering of the sunlit earth, imagined that there was immeasurable wealth lying there on the ground, just waiting to be picked. However, the mountains never betrayed the secrets they held. None who had ever walked those slopes could find the diamonds hidden within the black soil, for the mountains protected themselves.
Although healthy forest still grew in the foothills, the undergrowth became sparser just a few hundred feet up, and then the treeline ended. Where stunted trees would normally grow the forest just stopped, as if some unseen hand had cut it short. All that remained were dangerously sharp, dry rocks. Just below the snowline, the rocks disappeared, and the glittering black soil took their place.
Moreover, at the summit it seemed as if the Creator of All Things had dusted the peaks of the fissured mountain range with powdered sugar, for they were covered with a deceptively soft-looking, yet extremely sharp-edged eternal snow.

The mountains never betrayed their secrets…

And if a wanderer were to climb those peaks, going up to the Fire Hell and searching to quench his thirst at a splashing mountain spring, he would find no cool, refreshing water. Instead, these living mountains would seek to frighten him by shrouding the ground with a mysterious fog that made it impossible to see where he was putting his feet. Pilgrims sometimes drowned in the sulfurous pools of water hidden within the hellish rocks when the fog appeared, and if they left the main trails, they would know true fear, for they would be led down treacherous sidepaths that seemed to take them somewhere, yet actually led them nowhere but to their doom.

The mountains never betrayed their secrets…

Though many thought they would find the cool relief of the shadows by early evening, the ascent would continue for another three torturous days. During those three days, their throats would scream for water, and their eyes would tear up in the swirling sand. Blown up by the hot desert winds, the sand burned as it fell upon a traveler’s face and skin. Eventually their limbs would become heavy, and they would barely be able to move; thus, the wanderers would be forced to crawl on, farther and farther, until sheer luck eventually brought them to civilization… to people.

In a canyon between two hills below the mountain range there was a village. It had no official name, but the people living there called it Alpcateçu, which meant Oasis of the Mountains. Anyone who wanted to climb the mountains had to pass through the village. A few taverns and inns surrounded the village fountain, where a market was sometimes held.
Some houses and huts had been built in the wide hills and even at the edge of the forest… and in one such place, hidden within the woods, almost four hundred feet past the deepest thicket and connected to the village only by a sidepath lay the place in which I had been born.

Featured post

What a sunset at The Writer’s Room.

I tweaked the brightness and contrast just a little on this one, the orange was overshadowed by the dark grey. We had a small shower of rain just on sunset and the silver grey clouds really caught my eye. Sometimes a picture needs to show its true colours.sunset

A double gerbera, two ordinary ones and a petunia. I can only lay claim to owning the petunia.

A pair of King Parrots paid a visit the other day. Do you realise how heavy a 500mm lens gets when your standing under a tree? Heavy! It was worth it though the one on the left sat still long enough. I do like the green on the head of the one on the right.
king parrots

I took this at Highfields Pioneer village. It’s a replica set of Ned Kelly’s armour standing in the small bank building.
Ned Kelly armour

This is Wolston House, a pioneering families home, built in the 1850’s. It’s situated near the Brisbane River behind the jail complexes at Wacol.
Wolston House

A view from the far end and I think it’s a better one. The masonry work is exquisite. That’s an in ground water tank on the left.
Wolston houseThis is a view of the kitchen from the veranda. I’ll be showing more of the insides next week.
Wolston House kitchen

Even Wallaby Mums want their Joeys to have clean ears.
IMG_00091The RooPoo gang are checking out the competition, they can’t seem to stop acting out their favourite TV shows though.

Once again we’ve come to the end of another week. I do hope you’ve enjoyed the selection. Until next time take care.



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A Medium or just well done? More on Karma.

In last week’s post I mentioned about a man I know in this life who caused me some distress in my first marriage. Also how I came across him in a couple of past lives and still needed to know where we stood as it were. Several bloggers suggested that I should go and have a look. It’s been quite a while since I’ve made the journey and I have to say I was surprised by the content, realism and did I mention the pain? This isn’t always the case though and I wouldn’t let it put you off trying a regression. Actually the pain involved accentuated present day physical problems. About 10 minutes before we started, Lorelle would be taking me back, I became extremely angry. No rhyme or reason for it at all, I settled and laid down on the lounge. After relaxing a little, we went back through my 50th, 40th and 21st birthdays. Then back to when I was 9 and on the ship coming out to Australia, starting school at 5 and finally my birth. This was old hat but it’s necessary to get you in the right frame of mind. I’ll do the usual and tell them like a story, I find it easier this way. Be warned though, my journey is not for the fainthearted as I’m telling it like it happened, the savagery and immorality. Remember these events are long gone and don’t reflect who I am today.
Nothing at first, a darkness, movement and a slow awareness of my location. The rough trail cut into my bare feet and the huge, fur wrapped bundle I carried on my back weighed me down. Light slowly appeared through the gloom and I caught a glimpse of an alpine field across a misty lake. I could see animal heads in front of me, worn as headdresses by the men who enslaved me. A stag went past, the full hide covered the shoulders and back of its wearer. Glancing to my left I saw the bear head worn by my captor. Like him it was huge, savage-looking and it stank. I tripped and my bundle spewed its contents out on the forest floor. Booty from the last village they left burning, dried meats, furs, cook pots and some of his personal belongings. I lay there, too tired to move waiting for the usual kicking. He didn’t disappoint me. Stepping close he drew his robe back and kicked me in the stomach, roaring at me like the beast he was. The leather kilt he wore caught my eye, thick leather straps with metal sewn to them glinted in the light that grew stronger around us. I saw his face and I knew it was him. I’d lost count of the moons that had passed since he’d impregnated me, I’d only begun to bleed when they found my father’s small farm. They killed him, took our meagre stock and what grain we had and then he raped me. When he found out he’d put life into me, he kicked me until it came out. He’d used me many times since and I never fell again. Now I’m his packhorse and the recipient of his foul, evil moods. Darkness again and I’m sat by a fire, cooking. He’s there with a few others who share our fire, they’re playing bones and he loses. Another man wins me for the night. I’m used to this now but this one is cruel. When he finishes he leaves me bleeding. I wait until they’re all asleep and crawl over to my master. His drunken snores makes him sound more like his totem, the bear. Picking up a rock in both hands, I kneel by his shoulders and smash it down onto his head, he grunts and I bring it down again and again. I don’t stop until his thick, black hair is covered in blood and brains and I can’t lift the rock anymore. I didn’t see the others stir and they took hold of me before I could run. There was no preamble, I’d killed one of them. One held my wrists behind my back and stretched my arms out. The pain shot down through my shoulders. I saw a thick leather thong with large knots tied at regular intervals. They put this around my neck, tied it off and then a piece of wood was placed between the back of my neck and the thong. It was turned and turned until I couldn’t breathe and I felt the blood pounding in my brain. My head felt as if it would explode and then I died. Darkness again then I found myself standing in front of an old man who I recognised but couldn’t remember his name. He had thick, white hair, a white beard and was dressed in a white robe. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘welcome back.’ Then it ended.
As you know I don’t follow any religion, and I believe the man to be a guide of some description who would probably have told me where I went wrong, or helped me to determine what lessons needed to be learned. I stayed on the lounge and kept going.
picture courtesy of http://thescarletletter.wikia.com/wiki/Puritan_LifePuritan
A grey cloud opened quickly and shut again. I glimpsed a tall man dressed as a puritan. black coat, a high white-collar and a high hat. he’s quite tall, with a grim, lined face set in a constant scowl. It’s me. I have no idea as to where I am, by the style of dress it could have been England or North America. There seems to be an aggravating sense of anger, frustration, lust and self-hatred about me. I’m standing in the doorway of a large barn. The feeling of owning such a thing and the animals it contains takes the edge off my anger, until I catch a glimpse of her in the shadows of a horse stall. Moving over to where she lies on the fresh mown straw, I feel the fight begin inside of me. The desire for this girl far outweighs the repercussions that I know will come to destroy me. She knows that I desire her and takes great pleasure in taunting me. Her eyes, bluer than the sky twinkle with a knowing far beyond her years. Her golden hair cascades over her now bare shoulders as she struggles to remove her shift. She has become more brazen over time and cares not that we may be discovered. Her tinkling laugh breaks through my muttered prayers for strength, then as she touches my breeches I pray for forgiveness for the sin I’m about to commit, again. I can see that it’s him when I stare into her eyes. As always, entering her makes my mind swim with desire. She waits a moment then says, ‘I’m with child and mother says there is something different about me.’ Removing myself from her I stand, reeling with the thought of what she has said. The scene flicks forward and we stand in front of our church, they won’t let us in. They stand like a wall against us. Panicking, frightened I turn on her and yell. ‘It is her, she’s a witch, evil. She used her whiles to enslave me, satan is in her.’ I take some delight in seeing her face as it turns even whiter, ‘Look at her, anything so beautiful must belong to him. I tell you she enslaved me with magic. What else can she be?’ My wife steps forward and says, ‘She’s your daughter that’s what she is and you can both burn in hell.’ My daughter flees and I follow. She stops by the bank of a creek not far from town. I throw her to the ground, sit astride her and place my hands around her tender throat. Enraged, eaten by guilt and fear I slowly choke her. I watch as her eyes bulge and cloud over. The scene shifts and I’m back in my barn, I see my body hanging from a beam over the horse stall.
I can feel enormous pain in the back of my neck now, as if my whole weight is supported by one vertebrae. My left shoulder and arm has gone numb and I struggle to breathe. Lorelle asks me if I want to come out of it. No, I’ve come this far I need to see the next one.
Picture courtesy of wikipedia.Ketland1[1]
I’m drawn instantly into this scene. What can only be an English Inn appears. As an observer I stand back and watch. Dark, heavy oak beams crisscross the low ceiling of the taproom. Men of all shapes and sizes crowd around small tables, drinking, laughing, arguing, playing cards. A huge log burns warmly in the stone fireplace, set against the back wall. Whale oil lamps flicker and their smoke adds to the haze of tobacco smoke hanging above the heads of the men. I see him first, in his late forties with a heavy black beard, streaked with grey. He’s wearing a thick woollen shirt with a leather jerkin over it. A thick, leather baldric crosses his chest, supporting a heavy cutlass, he has this over his lap. Then I see ‘me’ coming from the bar. I’m carrying a tray laden with pewter tankards. My black hair is up in a bun and the weight of the tray forces my breasts up, so they bounce above my corset. The fact that my skirt drags through the sawdust on the floor doesn’t bother me. I stop for a moment and tease the men seated at a table, encouraging them to drink up. I have food and drink to sell and a business to run, I do almost anything to make a profit. I stop at his table, something is wrong. One of the men he plays cards with is angry, he’s been losing his money all night and now he shouts cheat. I know he only comes here to see me. When the last drunk goes home to his wife, I close the inn and take him up to my room. I watch in horror as the angry man pulls out a pistol, I can hear the click as he cocks the hammer, terrified I drop the tray and it lands on my man’s arm. He lurches to his feet and can’t pull out his pistol in time. There’s a fizz, a flash and boom. A large, black hole appears in his forehead and as he topples backward his eyes stare accusingly at me. Inside I scream, ‘No, it wasn’t my fault, no I didn’t do it.’
I try to sit up off the lounge, I can’t I hurt so much. My head throbs, it feels like all of my blood is trapped there. Disoriented, feeling a little nauseated I manage to stand. Boy don’t I need a coffee. We talked about what I’d seen and felt, and I gain a greater understanding as to why he acted like he did in this life. I wasn’t the hapless victim of someone’s dislike for me, instead I turned out to be on the receiving end of karma. I found it difficult to get to sleep later, so I went into a quick meditation and connected with him on a soul level. I apologized and asked if that was it, is there anything else to watch out for? My dreams were hectic, disorganised and filled with flickering images. Some of it was what I’d experienced in the regression, other parts consisted of shadowy events that I can’t recall. I woke the next morning with terrible pain in the C7 vertebrae. Needless to say it was a leftover from the night before and as the day wore on it vanished and I began to feel, well, terribly good. To the extent that for four days running I’ve been outside working in the yard. I can now rotate my head without any pain at all. So we have this thread of pain, callous disregard and brutality running through the first two lives. Then a common bond and love in the third one only to have a complex ending, based on a misunderstanding. I can only imagine in that life, that I lived on until my time was up. As an aside, when I came into this world the umbilical cord was wrapped firmly around my neck. For all intents and purposes I was dead. Apparently the midwife called the doctor in to attend and after a couple of minutes of resusicitation he told her to put me in the bucket. This was kept under the delivery table for the afterbirth, other waste and stillborns. Once he left she began resus again and I breathed on my own after 6 minutes. Sometimes I guess we’re meant to be here. Although if you’ve been reading my posts over the last couple of years you’ll realise that I’ve experienced more than my fair share of close calls. Hmm, I may have pissed off more people over time than I can recall.

There we have it, reasons for ongoing lives. To learn lessons, experience life, find out what it’s like to hurt and be hurt and to have your very existence pulled out from under you. The main lesson I think though is one of forgiveness, without it the lesson has to be learned until you get it right. In this life you don’t have to front up to the person and ask for or send out forgiveness. You can do it within and let the act go. The world at large needs to forgive, we have ongoing conflicts whose seeds were sown hundreds of years ago, yet people are willing to kill over it now. I’ve been watching the news in regards to the vote for Scotland to secede, people were in the streets brawling over everything from football, religion to the battle of Culloden in 1746. I’m not singling Scotland out here, it happens everywhere and makes me wonder when does it stop. Have people reincarnated into these countries today to seek retribution for past wrongs and deaths? Are whole countries involved in the karma from past events? It’s something to think about and all I can say is like most things, forgiveness starts at home.
Next week: I’m sure to think about something before then.

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Fire on the Mountain at The Writer’s Room.

I like the way this Clivia Lily turned out. A little touch of brightness and contrast makes it look like the stamens are little lights. Okay, I’m clever. 🙂Clivia lillies

The doves are still nesting in the hedge and I caught this fellow sitting on the bench. He wasn’t too happy about being photographed though.doves

These Miner birds were enjoying their dust bath on the embankment behind the house.miner birds

There’s a certain pensive look about this Wallaby, I think they’re getting used to me and the camera.Wallaby

This is a Red Necked Wallaby joey on the left. I think he may have had a run in with a fence, his back is cut. I snapped this one quickly because they are quite nervous and make a run for it when they see me. The Wallaby on the right has her paw protectively over her joey’s head.wallaby

First bush fire of spring on the hills opposite the house, it burnt out after a few hours.hills

Back to the Pioneer Village. Clockwise left to right: you can’t go anywhere without seeing a coke sign. Lorelle loves shopping so in she went, I showed the interior last week. I just thought I’d put a yellow gerbera in here. Then we have an Anderson Bomb shelter, they became popular after the Japanese bombed Darwin, shelled Townsville and sneaked into Sydney Harbour and sunk a ferry. I’ve seen a few over the years still in the ground.Pioneer Village

This Desoto truck is set up as a water drilling rig. Some of its equipment is next to it.desoto truck

I thought this Dodge deserved some B&W treatment.jalopy

Remember they all look a bit better opened in a new window or tab. Well that’s your bloomin lot for this week. I hope you’ve enjoyed my offerings and look forward to seeing you nest time.








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A Medium, or just well done? More on Karma.

Last week’s post certainly attracted plenty of views and comments and I certainly appreciate the feedback and support. So it has spurred me on to dedicate another post to the subject. I could probably waffle on forever about past lives, reasons for being, interactions between family members who reincarnate to work old problems out. The list goes on. We can’t fully discuss karma without bringing reincarnation into the mix, for what is one without the other? There would be no need to reincarnate if everything turned out in one life, no matter how long it lasted.

I was a serious little boy and if I wasn’t out exploring the world or reading, I would hide behind my wardrobe. There I would explore inner worlds, the world of active imagination. I would take my toy cars, squeeze between the wall and the wardrobe and play happily for hours. Here I was safe and could happily exist and travel to what I thought were hidden realms. I told no one about them, they were mine. When one is subjected to prolonged abuse the mind splinters. You have your normal, every day mind, and then the one that takes you away and keeps you safe. There it distances you from the reality and muffles the screams and pain. If these things are too much, then it creates another mind. It’s like sectioning a computer hard drive. This mind can become a whole new you, with its own personality. I lived as long as I could in the space between reality and my world until I escaped from home at 17. It took nearly two decades before I began to question the world and an afterlife, which is where the Medium series begins. Once I began studying these concepts it all made sense to me and I feel that’s why I have found it so easy to slip in and out of different planes of existence, time, future and past. Especially past lives.

Some explanation is needed here to differentiate between a dream, meditation and a past life experience. With everyday early night dreams there is often a disjointed, making it up as we go along feel. Outside influences, noises, full bladder, or someone touching you can intrude and set the dream off in different directions. Meditation is directed by your own mind or if it’s guided  by a convener. You can wander off and it does feel real at times. With a past life viewing, it’s surround sound, in your face, taste, smell, feel, movement, emotion and all in technicolour. On first entering it you can observe or find yourself fully immersed. I have guided many people through this experience and found myself right there with them, becoming part of the experience. Let’s take a look at the lady who couldn’t get pregnant, she came to see me back in the nineties and the information came to me while doing a tarot reading. Everything she needed to know as to why she couldn’t fall pregnant came through. A few years ago a neighbour’s friend wanted me to find out why she couldn’t fall pregnant. Once we pushed through to a time before this life she relaxed and the images began. I must say that I’m just as surprised when I see where we go. I have no prior knowledge and no idea as to where or when we’ll end up. So when I saw her dressed in a thin leather tunic and laying in a pig pen, her distended abdomen flayed open and a dead baby next to her, it came as a shock. I could only assume by her hair colour that we were in northern Europe. Looking around I could see other bodies, men, women and children all suffering from long, deep gashes. Sword strokes. Smoke billowed nearby and the sound of pigs squealing as they were being slaughtered came to me. Men’s loud voices floated on the morning air and the sound of women screaming soon overtook the pigs. I watched as she took her last breath then saw her spirit rise. I followed and she came to a place where she was met by what I can only describe as a light being. Everything vanished and we came forward, once again it was her dying time and she passed with a baby in breach. It’s little legs were sticking out from between hers. The same thing again then we moved on. This went on for two more lives and I said, ‘Can you see the theme? It’s a fear of you and your child dying that’s stopping you from getting pregnant now.’ We went to the kitchen and had a coffee, talked about the experiences and she went home. Three months later she fell pregnant and gave birth to a healthy boy, the following year she had twins. I believe that getting in touch with that particular life or lives heals the present self. It’s also why forgiving the people who have hurt you in this, and previous lives goes a long way to healing the self.

I’ve written about objects in people’s auras from everyday items, to monkeys. I haven’t told you about the ghost and also the Roman spear. I’ll call her Rosemary, a single woman in her 30’s she came to see me for a general reading. She didn’t look well and complained about feeling drained and out of sorts. ‘So how long has this been going on?’ – ‘It feels like forever.’ Sitting back I took a look at her aura, definitely depleted, hazy and wait, what was that? I looked again and saw a face peer out from behind her head, then it vanished. Hmm, get a grip Laurie. ‘Tell me, do you always feel uncomfortable, a little paranoid like someone is following you?’ – ‘As far back as I can remember, I’ve never felt well.’ This began to make sense now. ‘Don’t mind me for a little while I need to take a look at something.’ Thankfully she sat quietly and I tuned in. It seemed that for some reason, which I could never quite understand Rosemary came into this life with the spirit of someone else firmly attached to her. Was it waiting for her to be born? Did it come along for the ride? I honestly don’t know. All I could do was talk to it, or try to. Nothing, except imagery of Rosemary dressed in a black dress, ruffled up around her waist. She squatted in a huge barn over a patch of straw and birthed a baby girl onto it. Once the afterbirth came out she staggered away. End of scene. I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to understand what had happened. That Rosemary, for whatever reason abandoned her newborn child. Obviously the guilt stayed with her throughout that life and into this one. Her child, well its spirit must have attached itself to her and followed. I said, ‘Do you feel burdened at all?’ – ‘I’m not sure but nothing seems to go right for me.’ Taking a deep breath I told her what I’d seen both in her aura and about the child. I won’t tell you what she called me as she left the house. Not every story has a happy ending and all she needed to do was forgive herself. A simple, ‘I forgive me’ would have ended all of her discomfort. Perhaps it was her karma to go on feeling this way.
Picture from Wikipedia.
Pilum Let’s call her Alice, she turned up for a reading with an aura of great expanse. When she sat down I found myself looking at a spear point sticking out from between her breasts. A Pilum, a javelin used by the Roman army. I opened my eyes and closed them, still there. ‘Alice, do you have a lot of trouble with heartburn, or funny feelings in your chest?’ – ‘Sometimes and they can’t find anything that’s causing it.’ By the amount of objects in her aura, I deduced that Alice was not only a hoarder in this life but she couldn’t let go of old hurts. As the reading progressed it became obvious that she didn’t do well in affairs of the heart. Not wanting to incur another round of humiliation I didn’t tell her about the spear, instead I told her that I could do a quick healing. She was okay with that and I worked through the aura, withdrawing the spear. It fell away and I glimpsed old rivalries and a fight over a woman. Yes our Alice was indeed a Roman soldier who died for the love of a woman, betrayed and stabbed in the back by a rival. We worked out that she needed to be wary of the interference of others in her present relationship, simple.

What can you learn from past lives? Lots of things, I found out why I was terrified of walking over a bridge when I was a boy. Looking down into the dark water terrified me. It seems I was washed over the side of a sailing ship in the Atlantic ocean. Cut down by machine gun fire in WWI, 10 years after the regression the wounds there manifested as nerve damage to the heart and damage to the left lung. That one was complicated, present day family members were involved. Too emotional to write about. I’ve experienced death twice at the hands of a man I know in this life, both in single combat in the 12th and 13th century. I’ve yet to go back and see what I did to piss him off so badly. In this life he basically destroyed my first marriage and saved me from drowning, go figure.

One of the greatest events in my life was meeting George, my psychiatrist. After a few years of going through my Vietnam service and police work, we started on my childhood. This took another few years and during this time I told him about working as a psychic. One would expect a referral to an asylum, no we explored it and used various techniques to aid me. Towards the end of our time together he began to take me back and explore past lives. Sitting back in the recliner I closed my eyes and George asked, ‘Now you have all of this free time Laurie what do you want to do with it?’
Hunted, it’s never a great feeling to be stalked through the streets of a city that you once felt safe in. Wanted, not for your writing talent but for your need to expose the truth. I’ve long since stopped caring about the filth that congregates in the drains of the winding streets. Darkness hides a multitude of sins  amongst the hovels and the palaces. The wind blows up off the cold waters of the Thames and finds its way through my cloak. I check the parchment tucked in the inside pocket and bow my head against the rain. Only a few windows show signs of other souls awake on this foul night, candles flicker casting dancing shadows on bare walls. Stopping suddenly I move into an alley and listen, the wind subsides and I can hear the sound of heavy boots on cobblestones. A loud clang shatters the night, one of them has dropped his halberd, muttered oaths follow and I run. Well, a semblance of a run, I’d barely healed from my last stay in prison. I reach the inn where I’ve been staying and enter by the back door, there is much to do and far more to write about and prepare for the printer. Sedition is a crime and punishable by death but I have much to write. I have the attic room and the chimney breast runs through it, the warmth is comforting and I set out my ink and parchment. The aroma of Ox fat lingers in the room, I can’t afford wax candles. The steady rhythm of quill tip against clean parchment lulls me, along with the words that appear on the page. I don’t hear the small door being opened. All I see are bearded faces, polished breastplates and a halberd, its spear point coming towards me. The broad head is hooked onto my thigh and I’m dragged out of my warm eyrie. A man stands above me, imperious, stiff holding a roll of parchment in white, feminine hands. I only hear one word, sedition as blood pumps out of a wound in my thigh. I’ve cheated the executioner yet have still died for my beliefs.
Shaking my head to clear the vision I stare blankly at George and he asks again, ‘Well, what do you want to do?’ – ‘I want to be a writer.’

Next week: Something interesting.

Featured post

Flighty Friday and Sad Roos at The Writer’s Room.

I took this picture on our travels in 2006 in western Queensland, believe me it was one huge windmill.windmill

These bees decided to make their new home on a neighbour’s letterbox, apparently I missed the thousands that were there the previous day. I think I might have managed to snap the Queen though.bees

This mare saw us while we were walking down the road, yes I do get out. She galloped from the far end of the paddock, stopped and posed while the wind ruffled her mane.Horse

This is inside the haberdashery shed at Highfields Pioneer Village.  I’ve never seen so much stuff in one place, the other walls were just as loaded.old equipment

There is a fine selection of old goods here. Sadly I remember most of them.old store

Another view of the village, yes that’s a railway station called Gore.Highfields Pioneer Village

This is a Pale Headed Rosella. I have other names for them and none of them are for gentle folk. This bird is the flightiest thing I’ve ever come across, as soon as it gets an inkling I have a camera in hand it’s gone. I had the camera set up on the tripod from the night before. Lorelle dragged me out of bed and told me that they were in the yard.  I raced to the front door, opened it sloooowly and turned the camera on. Some days one gets lucky. They love the flowers on the thistles. Pale Headed Rosellas

This morning (Thursday) I wanted to get another shot of a Kookaburra. He sat in his usual tree looking out for bugs. He flew past the house and landed in the paddock, right in front of the Magpie. He was not impressed about the incursion on his territory, so it was on. I missed the initial tussle then caught the chase. They ended up back in the tree and glared at each other.Magpie and Kookaburra

For those mothers who think that the kids are annoying them and won’t go out to play, take a moment to think of this poor Mum. She laid there for a while but the young Roopert couldn’t get comfortable. So she stood up, had a scratch, licked an arm, bit a claw and still he wiggled and wriggled. Some days no matter how much you try you still can’t get comfortable. When all is said and done you have to hang your tail out somewhere.Wallaby

We’ve all seen Grumpy Cat on the internet, well let me introduce you to Grumpy Roo. I know we all feel down and miserable at times but he takes the cake. Those flattened ears. the pouty lips, the hang-dog look says it all. He didn’t seem to be having a good day at all.kangaroo

Well, that’s your lot for another week. I do hope this finds you all in a better mood than Grumpy Roo.

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A Medium, or just well done? A little more on dreams. My view on Karma.

Dreams cont’d: I needed to cover one more aspect of dreams and that is, if you can dream about things happening why can’t you predict or dream about the winning lottery numbers? Well I did. I gave a set of numbers to an elderly client for the Tattslotto and she misplaced them. They came up. In 1982 I dreamt about holding a lotto coupon and it had six numbers marked off in golden light. I flew out of bed and wrote them down and have used them ever since. In 1987 when I left the police, we moved house out to the country on a Friday. The lotto was on Saturday night and it closed on the Friday. At about 4 pm I realised I hadn’t put the lotto on, oh and we needed a loaf of bread. That’s fine but I’d used the last of our cash to pay the removalist and I could only scrounge up $1.82 and the bank was shut. The choice was lotto or bread, the bread won. On Saturday night five of my numbers came up and the supplementary. We would have won about $27,000. So don’t believe it when people say psychics don’t win lotto they do, it’s just that their stomachs get in the way sometimes.

My own personal view on Karma: Karma for those of the Christian faith equates to, for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For eastern religions and with its origins in ancient India, it is a key concept in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism, Taoism, Shintoism, Ching Hai and others. There the belief is about the principle of causality, where it’s basically the same as what you give out, you get back. It’s a word we see used quite often these days, there are boundless memes on Facebook giving uplifting verses on life and karma. When seemingly bad things happen to people, we see many messages comforting the victim, ‘Don’t worry (insert name here) karma will get them.’ Or, ‘Yes it’s their karma and they deserve it.’ Then there’s, ‘Why do all these arseholes get the good (insert riches of choice here) and we, you, me get the crap?’ have you ever stopped to think that it might just be your karma coming back? Is some unseen force at work in the universe enfolding us, watching us and keeping a daily tally of our misdeeds, or more importantly our good deeds?  Many will say it’s (insert god of choice here) way of ensuring we do the right thing, love each other, praise him/her ensuring that at the end of our time we are worthy of entering a better place.
I believe in the soul and if you’ve been following this series you will know that I have worked in great detail with mine, and other people’s lives. Not telling them what to do but showing them what has happened in regards to the choices they’ve made. I think the soul keeps the tally and brings us into situations where we can work out our karmic debt, on both sides of the ledger. You can say, ‘Laurie, you’re full of it, it’s all down to good or bad luck.’ Here we have a process that still seems to depend on the goodwill of the universe to bestow health, happiness  riches, good looks, etc on us. Webster’s dictionary: Luck, is “a purposeless, unpredictable and uncontrollable force that shapes events favourably or unfavourably for an individual, group or cause”. Yet the author Max Gunther defines it as “events that influence one’s life and are seemingly beyond one’s control.” Is life just one huge hodgepodge of events that happen to fall into, or out-of-place at every turn of some unseen roulette wheel? Or, are we nothing more than millions of random events that came together at some indeterminate time in the past. Yet still caught up in a fine gossamer of interconnecting strings, pulling us together, then apart, entangling our lives in a never-ending web of wonder and fear. I don’t know, all I can do is relate my experiences and thoughts on the matter.
I also believe in past lives, once again this is something that gets many folk in a dither and that’s fine. It’s whatever floats your boat and mine sails quite happily on this one. Why? Because it makes sense to me.  If we look at life as nothing more than random events from when we’re born until we die, then there really isn’t a need to be kind, caring or considerate. If this is all there is, then ‘Fuck You’ has to be the saying to live by, because nothing would matter. No amount of good or bad deeds would add or detract from who you are. They might make life better but for what? One bite of the cherry, one go on the Ferris wheel? What if you slip into the world, take a breath and die, or don’t breath at all? Is that it? ‘Sorry old son you’ve had your chance, you’ve missed out, bugger off.’ Then we have the religious belief that we have to be good, so that when we die to go to a heaven. What’s the trade-off there? You’ve lived an immaculate life lacking in adventure, risks and the many other treats it has to offer, then that’s it? What next? Is this a reward? What about all the experiences to be had, where do they come in? This brings us to the idea of past lives, because from what I’ve seen none of us are perfect. Plus there are so many things to do on this planet, that on average, a 70 year life span isn’t going to fit it all in. From leaving school to retiring most of us are trapped on the hamster wheel making a living, instead of living. That’s if you’re lucky. We have people dying from birth right through to the 100’s, so what does a day old baby learn, or a 6-year-old or for that matter a 30-year-old? Let’s see what William Shakespeare has to say on this:
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
What if you’re the one not playing many parts, you walk on stage and arrgghhh, you cark it? Wouldn’t it be better to come on back and finish your scene, get it out of the way and move onto the next play?

I believe there are different kinds of karma, I’ll mention: instant, from earlier in life and past life. We all know the instant one, you’re busy gobbing off at somebody about what they’re doing, turn around and walk into a post… Simple. When we are going about our daily lives and all is good we tend to think that it’s going to stay like that. ‘Hey, we’re good folk, we do the right thing. Crikey, I even give to charity.’ Then seemingly from out of nowhere disaster strikes, pick one, it doesn’t matter what. If it’s a meteorite crashing into our house then, ‘Hey, it’s an act of god, I’ve been bad.’ If someone has turned on us and hurt us, then, ‘What have I done wrong? Boy, karma’s going to get them.’ Or we’re stricken with an illness, ‘Why is this happening to me, I’ve been good. Why isn’t that bastard who hurt me getting this?’ Is it bad luck, or have you disobeyed some creed or commandment, or have you done wrong to someone else earlier in your life? Let’s have a look at a couple of personal examples here. I try not to censor what I write, and to get the effect of how karma works I’ll write my truth here. I think those who have been following me over the past couple of years know that I’ve been sexually abused as a child. Don’t feel that you have to show sympathy or concern here, it’s done and long gone. What it did was to create an angry, callous, uncaring child. When you are being hurt and are unable to fight back you tend to turn on those weaker than you. Remember these following events happened between 5 and 8 years of age.
I played with some children who lived around the corner from us, there were fourteen of them and I played in my age group, 5. I remember standing in the kitchen and the youngest, a 2-year-old came in and stood by the stove. I lifted a saucepan of water off the stove and poured it over her head. It had gone off the boil. Why? Damned if I know but it took away the pain in me. Go forward 12 years and I’m at recruit training getting a mug of coffee out of the urn at breakfast. I drop my cutlery and bend down to pick it up. I stand up and get a mug of boiling water poured over the top of my head. Karma or bad luck? I set fire to a man’s garden shed and became trapped in it, escaping with seconds to spare. Instant karma. I had my arse kicked all the way home by the local copper, then my old man beat me. No real surprise there. At 7 years old I tried to do to a girl what was being done to me. She clawed my face that badly it took about 10 years for the scar to go away. Instant karma. I pushed a girl into a pond at school and she nearly drowned. I drowned 22 years later. I joined in with a pack of other kids at school when I was 12 and taunted a poor girl having a severe asthma attack. I was being bashed at school every day by 6 boys at this stage and it felt good to be able to lash out at someone else.  I now have asthma and emphysema. Karma or just bad luck? For those who have read my previous series’ about my time in the army, prisons and police you will be aware of the litany of accidents and bad luck, or was it?

gallowsIf you’ve read this far I take it that you either believe in the concept of past lives or at least are curious enough to be here. At the height of my time as a medium I became interested in past life regression and sought the means to do it. I decided on guided meditation which takes you to a place of nothingness before birth, then you go from there. I’ve heard all the arguments about it being wishful thinking and self aggrandisement. There are those who want to be Napoleon or Cleopatra. What I experienced every time I did it was to me, more real than this reality. Prior to going to bed one evening I embarked on another ‘adventure.’ I’ll tell it as a story.

The world looked just as desolate from behind prison bars as it did from the small window of my cottage, although the cottage felt warmer and I had the company of my wife and boys. Now? My future will be cut short tomorrow on the gallows, tried and convicted for murder. No long sea journey for me to Van Diemen’s land, thank God. My only journey will be from this rat hole to the gallows in the yard. Do I deserve it? Yes and no. If a man can’t feed his family and keep them alive when thousands die, then what good is he? I’ve worked all the hours I can to grow the oats and barley and what’s left over after I’ve paid my rent is just enough. They didn’t have to send the redcoats to take what little we had left, taxes they said, food for the starving in England. What about the starving here in Ireland? Drunk they were and not a good manner between them. They took our grain then came back at night, drunk on cheap ale to show my wife what a real man could do. I showed them. Young they were, the short one had never shaved and his mate had long, sparse whiskers. They’d only seen garrison duty and never stood against an angry man. I skewered the young one with a hay-fork, the tines entering his throat. His face grew whiter as his life blood spewed out. The whiskered one fired his Brown Bess musket, the ball lodged in the wall above the fireplace. Taking it from his grasp I reversed it and drove the brass plated butt into his face. He fell to the floor and I only stopped hitting him with it when his head was no more. It’s morning now and they don’t waste any time. At least they’ve found a priest for me so I can find forgiveness but they won’t let me hold my wife and sons. Defeated, horror-stricken at what is about to come I reach out and try to grasp their hands through the flat-iron straps that make up my cage. Their features fade and all I can see is the tiny hands of my boys. The view from the gallows is less appealing. The mist still floats over the far meadows and I pray that I do not piss myself. The smell of fresh hemp comes to my nostrils before a rough cloth hood is dragged over my head. The hangman is quick and efficient. The knot sits under my left ear and the noose is slack enough to pull tight when I go through the trapdoor. Fresh air beneath my feet and crack, a flash of light explodes in my head, then… the mist closes in.
So where’s the karma in this life? I’ve had some events occur to my neck over time that have been at the most, uncomfortable. I kept them under control with regular visits to a chiropractor. The following morning my head had an obvious tilt to the left and the C2 vertebrae was decidedly uncomfortable. It took days until I could move my head back into position and even then the pain didn’t go away. It’s given me some severe trouble ever since. Coincidence? Wishful thinking? I don’t know. I was shown who the two soldiers were in this life, one was my father.

Next week: More on past lives.

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Little Roo lost at The Writer’s Room.

This picture needs to be opened in a new window to get the full emotional effect of poor lost Roo. Spring is in the air and the joeys love to bound around the lawn. This little guy ran amok and his mum wandered off. In the third pic the wallaby whacks him one for coming to close to her. He made a pitiful chittering sound and she whupped him again. After he left, her joey came out, I’m sure he blew a raspberry at me. The last I saw of him he was bounding off through the garden to the right of the photo.kangaroos

We were going out for a drive the other day and heading straight for this storm. Luckily we missed it as it dropped a heap of hail and left minor flooding in its wake. Another sign of spring.storm cloud

This is where we were heading, the Pioneer Village at Highfields, Toowoomba. They have about 60 displays and I made a feast of it with the camera. This is Griinke Cottage, a fine example of a slab hut. This was a popular method of building in early settlements. Split your posts, make sure you have your corrugated iron and get stuck in. Opened in a new tab you will see just how good they looked inside too.Pioneer Village Toowoomba

Across the way we found the dining hall for visitors, so we had some damper (unleavened bread cooked in a camp oven) and tea. This fine display of cooking pots, kettles and pans was well and truly in the dark. All I could see when I took the picture with the flash was the glow from the fire.bush kitchen

These horses live on the property and are used to pull various carts on display days. Being horses they always believe that whatever is in your hand is A. For them. B. Edible. Mr Moustache saw my camera and trotted over, he gave it a huge sniff, a tentative lick and then wandered away. That over the shoulder look of disdain says it all. I was a little jealous of his moustache though.draught horses

This fine Banksia tree stood behind one of the large barns. I like the browns and green.banksia

I took this a couple of years ago in the backyard. We have an embankment and bund to divert runoff water from the property behind. So on a hot day and with a large piece of builder’s plastic you have a waterslide. I call it, A reflection on fun.fun

That’s it for another week folks, I hope you’ve enjoyed the offerings. There will be more snaps from the village in coming weeks. Until then, take care.

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A Medium, or just well done? Dreams.

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
Thanks to William Shakespeare for that little piece. One cannot write about anything to do with the paranormal or mediumship etc. without touching on dreams. On average we spend a third of our lives sleeping and we dream on average every 90 minutes throughout the night. The first dream is 5 minutes long and the last one up to 45 minutes long. Through a normal lifespan we would dream 100,000 times. Now that’s a lot of dreams.

“The dream is a little door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our-consciousness extends.” Carl Jung.
During my journey into working as a healer, medium and psychic I read a huge amount of books on the subject, practised what I read and came to my own conclusions on many things. Amongst the books I read and absorbed were anything by Jung. To me he made a lot of sense about archetypes, symbolism, the unconscious, dream interpretation etc. I’m not going to waffle on here about the scholarly aspect of dreams but I will show you examples of prophetic and other dreams. What you need to realise though is because a dream symbol means one thing to me, it doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing to you. I would suggest that for those who haven’t read about Jung that you Google Dreams and Carl Jung. During my ten years of psychoanalysis dreams played an important part in my healing. On every visit my psychiatrist, George would always ask, “So Laurie, what have you been dreaming about since I saw you last?” I kept a diary and would recount the main features and feelings, both during and after the dream. I have to say that the mind is wonderful creation, the subconscious hides all the terrible things and lets them out when needed during your sleep. Events that many would say are better left unknown came floating to the surface in vivid colour. Then were fleshed out during EMDR therapy. Sure I would have liked them to have stayed there but they were slowly killing me inside. Exposed by the light of day they may not be pleasant but I have an understanding of the events.

Prophetic Dreams. I would have been about 5 and in infants school back in England. There was quite a lot of hoo haa going on, the Queen would be visiting our town. Now I wasn’t all that sure about who she was, yes you saw her on stamps and coins and in paintings. (we didn’t have a TV then) The dream: I stood in a long winding corridor against a wall. On each side of me were my classmates all excited and squealing, and me? I was towering above them at 6′ 2″ tall, in my late teens and wearing jeans, boots and a chequered flannel shirt. The Queen floated past me, waving her hand.  HM visited the town, came nowhere near the school and left. Let’s go forward to 1970, Sydney Australia. I’m in town with an army mate, we’re both in civvies and the celebrations are on commemorating Captain Cook’s landing in 1770. I’m dressed the same as in the dream and I walk around the corner, stop on the sidewalk and who should drive past waving? Yes, Queen Elizabeth. I know it’s not earth shattering but it shows, at least to me that the mind goes somewhere while we sleep.

A year before the parents even thought of going to Australia I dreamt of myself standing on a high point. I was quite brown, my skin was oiled and I wore a pair of white swimming trunks. The thought came to me that I would be somewhere warm and that I wouldn’t set foot back in England for forty years. Within a year of being in Australia I was really brown, wore a pair of white swimmers my mother made and was diving for coins off the jetty at La Perouse. I returned to England for a visit in 2002, 41 years after I arrived in Australia.

I had left Ipswich after my time in the police and moved to the country for 7 years, a variety of reasons came into play and we decided to move back into town. About 6 months before we found the house we wanted I dreamt about going around the corner from our house up to where there used to be a service station and a block of shops. The service station was gone, the shops were renovated and one was a pizza shop. I stood in line with two people ahead of me and bought a pizza. We bought the house and I noticed that the servo had been removed. We were too busy to even stop. The day we moved there were a few problems and we finally moved in that night. I decided to go around to the shops for some takeaway, lo and behold there was a pizza shop. Two people were ahead of me. Once again nothing alarming but in my dream state I’d gone forward to that time.

Lorelle and I visited her sister in Emerald a few years ago, after we settled in we all went for a walk. This involved going via the opposite end of the street to where she lived. Halfway down I stopped and thought, I’ve been here before. I said to Lorelle’s sister, “There’s a shed at the end on the left and a man fixes car engines there. There’s a grocery shop around the corner and going up the street on the right is a park. In the park is a rotunda amongst a grove of trees.” – She gave me that look and said, “I thought you hadn’t been to Emerald?” – “I haven’t, I dreamt it.” I had indeed, 20 years previously.

I walked tentatively through the familiar building, most of the insides were destroyed leaving bare timbers and mounds of bricks. Other figures, almost ghostly wandered past me looking in despair at what was once familiar. A woman came close, I recognised her as the only teacher I had in England who took an interest in me. She smiled and kept going and I found myself standing in the classroom of my boys school. I received a letter from an aunt about three months later and in it she informed me that my old school had indeed been demolished earlier that year.

The train carriage rattled and swayed. I stood at the rear looking forward, towards the far door noticing dozens of people sitting together in the rows of seats. The carriage stopped and the door burst open. Large, green crocodiles barged in walking upright. They wore bandoliers of ammunition and carried AK47 machine guns. Mouths agape, growling they began firing into the passengers. Thankfully I woke up and actually wandered the house for a while to settle myself. A couple of days later on 17 November 1997, the Luxor Massacre occurred in Egypt involving the killing of 62 people, mostly tourists, by an Islamic terrorist group. Why the symbol of a crocodile? Well it placed the event in Africa, the crocodile god Sebok was revered by ancient Egyptians as a god of strength, power and war. Crocodiles are also by their very nature symbolic of violent death. Why the train carriage? To me the steam train is symbolic of death and destruction, some of the world’s worst transport disasters have been train crashes, with deaths of up to a thousand people. I obviously read something about them as a child and the effect would have been imprinted on my psyche. So when a death is imminent then I see the person or animal in a train carriage. I’ve wandered through other carriages in my dreams, always before a large loss of life, or of someone close. I find it extremely interesting because my mind is connecting with something that is yet to happen, the deaths of so many people. I know some of you will ask, “What’s the good of it if you can’t stop it happening?” A valid point but one that is easily answered, they’re on the train and nothing I say or do will change it, they’re going to die. When it involves someone closer at least you can prepare yourself. I learnt years ago that people rarely listen to warnings, even when it involves their own wellbeing.
Salt water crocodiles in Darwin.
saltwater crocodiles

Symbolic dreams: Over time I have accrued a list of dream symbolism that has served me well or at least informed me of events to come.

Teeth: When I dream about my teeth or for that matter someone else’s then I know that illness is a week or two away. Prior to a major health problem in 2011 I dreamt that all of my  teeth were dropping out of the gums and going down my throat. I’d had previous dreams of a tooth coming out, then a week later I’d have a cold or cut myself. This one seemed sinister and I couldn’t do a thing about it. Although when I did fall ill I decided to go to the hospital for a change. Last April I had the tooth dream, plus a huge storm, with wind blowing everywhere. The following week I contracted pneumonia then a few months later was diagnosed with emphysema. A few weeks ago I woke in the middle of the night, I’d been dreaming about a friend of ours, Leesa. She stood in front of me, opened her mouth and her teeth fell out. Right I thought, this isn’t good. Now this friend has an ongoing health problem but I saw this event as being much worse. I woke up and told Lorelle and later that day she rang her with the warning. A week later Leesa’s health deteriorated and she ended up in great discomfort and has been laid low since.

Water:  This is always about emotions to me and depending on the state of the water then it shows the severity of the event. I always find myself floating or swimming in the sea, or a large lake. When the water is rough and the currents strong then I know that emotional upheavals are on the way, something new to come. If the waves come in a regular swell then its going to be a constant problem for a while. The sneaky one is where the water is dead calm and things come up from the sea bed. These things can be animals, objects or people.

Obviously storms are about turmoil and destruction. On the 5th January 2011 I dreamt that I was floating above Ipswich, looking back towards Toowoomba. The area in between was covered in tornados, deluges of rain and flooding. Lorelle was due to go into hospital on the 11th of January for an operation on her bowel to remove a cancer. It began raining the Sunday night so I took her into Ipswich. We stayed at a motel near the hospital and on the Monday morning she went in for her op. I stayed until I could speak to her and returned home. Which is where I stayed for three days while some of the worst flooding in years tore the district apart. There were many deaths and the destruction of land and property ran into the tens of millions of dollars. Two things came of that, I knew I had to get her there early and that I needed to return home.

Motor vehicle: Dreams of being in a car or similar is about your life, it’s your ‘drive’ and purpose. Depending on who’s driving shows just who is in control of your life. The condition of the vehicle should also be taken into account.

House: I always see a house as representing the self. The roof or attic is the mind, the bathroom connects to the bladder and bowel, the kitchen to nourishment, the bedroom, sex and sleep, the living room the heart. Take a look at the condition of the rooms when you walk through it in your dream, you may be surprised by what you see.

Spiders: Most people would wake up screaming if they had thousands of spiders pouring over the end of their bed and swarming towards them. Not so gentle reader, spiders are symbols of money coming your way. Three days after this dream I won $6,666.66 on the Lotto. 🙂

Nightmares: They’re almost always about a dream you’ve been ignoring. Because dreams are the way our subconscious speaks to us, if we don’t pay heed then the subconscious ups the ante until we have no choice but to look at what’s there. How do you do it? Simple, you face the terror and ask it show you what it really is. Now for when you can’t speak to them. (This dream occurred about 1976)
My armoured vehicle stood silent on the jungle track. The sky lowered, melding with the tree tops, dark clouds scudded past heavy with rain. Dead grass, taller than me grew out of a long ditch. The rain fell, soaking my uniform and I gripped the Browning 9mm pistol harder. Something lurked in the long grass and I moved slowly towards it. A Viet Cong, black clad and heavily armed moved out from the grass. I raised my pistol and pulled the trigger, nothing. I pulled it again and a bullet fell out of the end of the barrel. I pulled the trigger again and the pistol fell apart. Rage, fear and adrenalin propelled me forward and I leapt onto him. One hand at his throat I pummelled him with the other, that didn’t stop him moving. So I put two hands there, good now I had him. I could feel the life leaving him, he brought a hand up and I felt terrible pain in my eyes. I woke up. I was in bed straddling my wife, both hands firmly around her throat. With what she said later was virtually her last breath she raked at my eyes. That is how people can kill in their sleep. At no stage was I aware of my real surroundings, the only thing that existed was my life or death struggle with the enemy. The symbology screams at you from this dream. A gun that doesn’t work, (phallic) pending doom with the rain clouds, (huge emotions) a hidden male enemy that’s well armed, the need to destroy. You can look at this on two levels, one an experience in Vietnam and the other a marital one. My ex never slept close again after that.

Next week: A bit of this and that.

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Some gems at The Writer’s Room.

I’m changing phones soon and decided to clear out the photos. I took this a couple of years ago on a trip to New South Wales. I forget exactly where it was but it has a certain feel to it.Great Dividing Range

I learnt a new technique from one of my photo magazines. They supplied the templates and you have to put them together with one of your own photos. So here we have the Byron Bay lighthouse as a picture in a bottle.Byron Bay lighthouse

The link will take you to Henry Lawson’s poem, The Babies of Walloon  This statue is situated at Walloon Queensland. We drive past it whenever we go to Ipswich. The poem tells the story of two sisters who drowned in a lagoon in 1891. The park has been renamed Henry Lawson Park and is the venue of an annual poetry competition. I read this piece  there in 2011.Babies of Walloon

Now for the gems. These photos were taken on our honeymoon in 2006, we had decided on a trip around the bottom half of Queensland. We made a day of it on the gem fields at Sapphire.  First dig through  overburden from the owners sapphire mine. It’s brought in after they do a first run through it to get the big gems out. Then they charge about $5 a bucket so the tourists can have a go at making their pile. I didn’t dig just anywhere and thought carefully about where to dig, the results will be evident in the next picture. So it’s dig out your fortune, get Lorelle to wash it in the sieve and pan, have a good look through the gravel and then have another look.The Smiths

This is the end result, these are all sapphires. They vary in colour, green, blue and amber. The broken matchstick is half an inch long, or 12mm. This will give you an idea of the size of the gems. I turned a torch upside down, placed the stones in a Tupperware container add some water and switched on the light. Viola! The 5 stones in the top right are probably worth getting cut, the truth is I put the packets away and forgot all about them until the other day.  When you finish all the washing and cleaning, you take your treasures into the shop and the owner has a look at them with her eyepiece. She said to me, ‘I thought you only bought two buckets?’ – ‘I did, why?’ – ‘Well these stones here, hmm, you should only get that quality in about ten buckets worth, and one of them is a star sapphire.’ Her face said it all, believe me I wasn’t crying about it.sapphires

Lorelle’s hairdresser has a certain flair for decorating, so I snapped these while waiting for her. I put the white, shell thingy on one of the chairs. Now that’s black and white. 🙂IMG_0015q-tile

Coming home the other day and there they were, two new deer. They were interested in some hay put out for the cattle. This is a new stag, he only has six tines on his antlers and he’s a tad smaller than the other two I’ve put on here. He looks quite fit standing on the road.Red deer

Technically this isn’t a good photo. I took it a couple of years ago with my phone, while still in bed. Yes, she was staring through the window but I think it gives a good view of how close they come to the house.roo at window

So how about some good pics of them. ‘You lot keep watch for that photographer, I’ll just…ahhhh, have a scratch.’wallabies

If you open this in a new tab you’ll see the female’s eyes are bulging slightly. The amorous young bloke behind her has his foot on her tail. One of those off the cuff courting moves I think.wallabies

I had my work cut out catching this little bloke. They came onto the lawn and he was full of beans. He took off from his mum and bolted across to these adults and jumped clean over the female’s back.wallaby joey

Some evenings I just like to sit and take little portrait pictures of them. ‘Excuse me mister, have you seen my earring?’wallaby

That’s it for the week, I hope you’ve found them interesting and I know I’ve made one group of supporters very happy. Until next week,




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A Medium or just well done? Pyschic development course, part 2.

Seeing the Aura: The human aura is an electromagnetic field that surrounds the body, while it’s alive. When a person is out of their body, either asleep or during a healing the aura is missing. You may see a fine cord of silvery blue, or a misty form of the person hovering close by. While doing a headcount in my last prison job, I opened the door to a room late one night. It contained one prisoner, so why was I seeing one in the bed and his form all in blue sitting on the top bunk? Simple he was having an out-of-body experience. When someone is dying the aura slowly leaves the body and when they’re dead usually the emotional aspect can be seen nearby the body for a little while. The aura comes out of the chakras which respond to the major glands of the body from the crown, forehead, throat, chest, solar plexus, above the pubic bone and lower back. I’ve written at some length about it in previous posts and I gave the students the same spiel. The hard part was trying to explain how to see it, especially when people are expecting to see a huge rainbow. If we could all see the aura in its splendour then we would be caught up in nothing but colour day after day. The only time I’ve seen the aura in its awesome fullness was  here. So how do we see the darn thing? Firstly, don’t try too hard. I think this could be the catchcry for anything we talk about here. Expectations are always high, so don’t have any. With your victim volunteer standing against a light coloured background, first look at their face, move your glance so you’re looking just past the side of the head, then slightly alter your focus. You should be seeing a faint light, usually grey/blue coming up about an inch around the head and shoulders. If you don’t see it at first, don’t despair. Your mind may not want to acknowledge what it is seeing. Turn your head away and start again, then ask your volunteer to think happy thoughts. This can get the aura moving. Or, you can get them to stand with their back to the outdoors. It’s great if you can get the sky behind them. I used this technique to convince a workmate that I wasn’t pulling his leg. I sat in the guard box and he stood in the doorway. With a bright blue sky behind him I asked him to think of different things. As he thought, swirls of what looked like smoke twirled through the aura around his head. Then I could tell him what he was thinking about. His aura would expand and contract and those thoughts just went out into the ether. Once you are confident about seeing that ripple of light around the head and shoulders, close your eyes. You will see an after image of the person, wait a few moments and it will fade, then it should light up again. This is the aura at work now. It’s all about opening your mind to the possibilities of what you can do. If you still can’t see anything, relax and try again.  Let your mind wander a little then focus again. It will happen. Another way is to look through brown glass, it cuts down on different spectrums of light. I wasn’t happy with using it, figuring how people would react when you whipped out your piece of glass for a look at them.
So you’re seeing it, now what do we do? You would have to do some study on the chakras and how they function in the aura, what the various colours mean, how they interact. Interpret what you see and discuss it with your client.  It’s doable but it takes time and a little dedication. Of course I heard the cries of, ‘I can’t see anything, I can’t do it, what am I supposed to see?’ – ‘Settle ladies, can you see that line around your person?’ – ‘Yes but it’s so small.’ I’m leaving that line alone. We finally sorted it out, I stood side on with a white sheet behind me, thought happy little thoughts and pushed out the aura. A little chorus of oh’s and ah’s convinced me that they’d seen something. Obviously they had been nervous as a viewer and a subject prior to this. Now we were getting somewhere. This brings us to the following subject.

Divining Rods: I spoke of using divining or dowsing rods here a couple of weeks ago. For the course I rummaged in my shed for fencing wire and made several sets of rods. As I’ve said you don’t need anything fancy. I also took along a few pairs of biro cases to slip the rod handles into.
Divining rods are an artificial extension of the human aura/spirit. I believe that on a more subtle level we are aware of many things and for a variety of reasons we don’t see or feel them. If one is going to teach these techniques then they have to step up and demonstrate them. I showed them how to test the rods by first asking them to cross over for a yes or positive result and swing outwards for no. After a couple of questions requiring yes-no answers, I then gave a demonstration. I used Lorelle as a subject and had her stand quietly, then think about expanding her aura. Putting the rods to one side I held my hands out, palm forwards, closed my eyes and walked forward. After a few steps my hands tingled and I stopped. I asked Lorelle to withdraw her aura and started again. I stopped inches away. ‘Okay ladies, now I use the rods.’ Same again, I moved about 10 metres away, held my elbows into my sides with the rods pointing straight ahead. The rods cross over at the same place, and again with the aura withdrawn. Now I had their attention and they paired off, not only were they getting confirmation with the rods they were also seeing just how far their auras could expand. I had a table with several objects placed underneath a sheet and one by one they divined the objects they were looking for. The rods are quite good for finding lost objects and in my experience usually for other people. A case in point, about 10 years ago Lorelle and I were staying with her ex sister-in-law until we sorted out our living arrangements. Her niece had a friend over for the weekend and on the Monday morning when they were ready to leave for school, the friend couldn’t find her bracelet. She ripped her bag apart, nothing. Then tore the room apart, still nothing. Fetching my rods (and in true super hero style) I said, ‘Stand aside, we’ll find it.’ Going through the questions brought me back to the bracelet being in the bag. ‘I’ve looked, it’s not there,’ she wailed. The rods indicated otherwise. ‘Have another look, it’s in your bag.’ She found it, the bracelet had slipped in between the bottom of her overnight bag and the lining. I find them useful when doing healings as a super quick way of checking chakras and looking for blockages in the aura. Especially if you have a few sessions happening on the day. So that’s how the rods work for me, different people have their own beliefs and ideas on the subject of dowsing. That’s how it should be too.

Channelling: I’m talking about channelled writing or automatic writing. As a writer I find this to be an interesting subject because it fits in with the Muse, every writer’s friend or enemy. Over time I’ve experimented with this form of writing and have come to a few conclusions. One, that you are actually getting in touch with your own soul or higher self. Two, that you are in touch with something quite profound, nip over and have a look at Cosmic Consciousness . This link takes you to the writings of Richard Maurice Bucke, a Canadian Psychiatrist. He wrote about this in 1901 and he had great hope for humanity at large, sadly it doesn’t seem to have come to pass. Some profound writings have come through over time. Now and then you may receive something from spirit. Or if you haven’t been white lighting yourself something ugly or nasty from some lower level astral entity (thought form). With anything that involves working with spirit you need to white light yourself. I’ve spoken about this previously. Once again like all of the previous lessons this is where meditation comes in handy. The meditation for this night involved opening up a channel between spirit and the self. Afterwards with pen and pad at hand they settled down and began. With first attempts or even on the tenth attempt there’s no guarantee of getting anything profound or even interesting. This takes practice and dedication. it’s all a matter of being comfortable, resting your pen on the paper and waiting. Sometimes you may feel the need to write, so you start, even moving the pen over the paper can set something in motion. You may get scribbles, long streaks of writing or even coherent words. Once again the expectation is to start writing almost immediately and push out volumes of new truths. It doesn’t happen that way. All I could say to my students was to keep practising, as with everything they were being taught. Automatic writing also opens you up to the following lesson.

Becoming a Medium: This was the lesson they’d been waiting for but like anything to do with spirit work you need to ease into it. Once again the meditation was about the subject at hand and they were taken to a place where they could converse with someone they knew in spirit. I have to say this meditation was quite powerful. At the end of it they all spoke about where they’d been, not who they’d seen though. (What came out at the end of proceedings was the number of people they’d seen for other students.) When one is guiding their students through this or any meditation you have to ‘be there’ yet aware of everything going on around you. Some people can become quite emotional doing this and need to be taken out of the circle. Thankfully it went well. The strange thing is the convener quite often picks up what the students are seeing too. We went through two meditations, had a tea break then began. You have to back up your teachings with action in this game so I ‘worked the platform’ and took them through what they could expect from a medium. A couple of the students were widows, one recent so it didn’t take long for those in spirit to come through. I must say it felt good to be back in the groove again. There’s nothing quite like being able to pass on communications from deceased loved ones to the living. Because of the small numbers I was able to spend a little more time with each student and give them solid evidence that their person came through. I have to say here that there are times when the spirit comes in very close and I back out a little.  Eyes closed and feeling the nervousness of the spirit coming in, I began to sing, ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.’ You can often tell the age of the person coming through and in this case I felt a toddler. I was shown how the child died and received messages to pass on to her mother. The death occurred in the late 60’s and the spirit’s sister was one of my students, and the song? The mourner’s sang it at the child’s funeral. Of course an outpouring of emotion followed amongst the ladies. Once we returned to normal they each took a turn on the platform. I felt proud of my ladies, each one of them brought something through from spirit. they couldn’t do it for all the students. Some passed messages on for four or five others only one or two, and do you know the numbers didn’t matter. Even opening up for one person is fantastic, it showed them that it could be done, that with faith in themselves, and opening their minds would produce remarkable results. The one thing you can’t teach is confidence, only practice can instil that in a person. Yet confidence and faith in yourself are the top requirements. No matter how good you are at connecting with the departed, if you can’t stand up in front of a crowd and pass the messages on then you need to find another pastime.

Next week: Let’s wait and see, I’ll have to think of something. 🙂

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Do Roos and Libraries mix at The Writer’s Room.

I was invited a few months ago to be part of the Ipswich City Library’s Paper Tales program, where authors come along and talk about their work. So on Tuesday morning this week I attended and had the pleasure of talking to over twenty people for an hour and a half. Being Senior’s Week there were seniors and younger people in the audience. Most people aren’t forthcoming with questions and then someone asked about prison and prisoners. I was able to talk at length on these subjects making many references back to my books and how working in prison and the police gave me a good grounding in writing about crime and criminals. I sold some books and I think scarred a couple of older ladies in the process. I’ve always believed that if you don’t want to know the truth don’t ask for it. No, I wasn’t horrible just down to earth. Of course not a lot goes on at The Writer’s Room without the local Roos finding out about it, and this monumental event leaked out to none other than Wal Wallaby, rooving reporter, oh and ladies’ man. Take it away Wal.

excuse-me[1]“G’day viewers, I’m Wal Wallaby rooving reporter and sports broadcaster. It’s a special day here at the Paddock, we’re going to town. Yes, I’ll be joined by Marilyn Munroo, our undercover reporter, and Gerard DepaRoo, investigative journalist and actor. They will join me at the Ipswich Library where we’ll finally get to see the man who makes our lives miserable.  Yes, the human who’s forever snooping around the paddock and detailing our everyday lives. Now it’s our turn. First off I’d like to thank our sponsors, Roo Poo  for their valued support in our endeavours today. Also DepaRoo for taking the time away from his new action movie, also produced by our sponsor:  Shite Storm 2014. A story of one Roo’s battle against crime, corruption and a lack of fertiliser. If DepaRoo is in a movie, it’s bound to be Shite. Sorry, what? Oh, right I’m not supposed to say that. Sorry viewers, that was my producer Ed Wombat, he’s a stickler for language. Hmm, thought he was asleep. Back to it. We’ve chartered a bus and will get a flash mob going. DepaRoo will  be looking into our human’s background while Marilyn interviews him.

Marilyn Munroo poses outside and comments.

IMG_0003“Good Morning viewers, it’s Marilyn Munroo and I’m here at the Ipswich Library. I can see the man now, he’s talking to a group of other humans sitting in front of him. Hmm, he’s telling them a story of how a dog ate his hearing aid. I’d love to interview that dog, wait there’s a lull in the conversation, I’m going in.”

“Excuse me, Laurie isn’t it? Do you have time for a few words?” Oh, he’s looking at me, hmm, those green eyes are…..
“Oh, hello Marilyn great to see you, I certainly do. I think I’ve warmed the audience up. Come over here, sit down and please, ask anything you want.”
“Okay firstly, why do you spend so much time photographing kangaroos and wallabies?”
“Quite simple Marilyn, many of them are like you, beautiful. I send their pictures all over the world and humans everywhere are fascinated.”
“Of me?”
“Yes and the others, so I believe that the more pictures I put out there the more fans you will have.”
“Oh,” *fans her face with her notebook* “I see. Right, can you tell my viewers what’s happening here today?”
“Certainly, I’m promoting my books in the Death Series and launching the third book, River of Death.”
“Is that like a warning to keep out of the water or something?”
“Not really, it’s a story about a man who likes to kill people. Women actually, a certain type of woman and…”
“My goodness, surely not?”
“Sadly these things happen but it’s not all about that. It’s also about the people who hunt him down and their lives: love, courage, strength, loss and many other human emotions.”
“But why do people kill each other? I know there are people who come looking for us.”
“I can’t tell you why people do these things to each other, it’s been happening for so long now it’s almost normal. You do know that you’re safe when you’re up on the lawn at the Writer’s Room don’t you?”
“Yes, I guess so. Although Gerard says we shouldn’t trust humans. So, do the other books have the same things in them?”
“To varying degrees, you’ll like Mountain of Death, the hero is something of a bad boy, strong, a little mean and hard.”
Marilyn’s tail swishes back and forth.
“Really, it’s a popular story about crime and corruption, people have become engrossed in it.”
“I see another book over there, Valley of Death, what’s that about?”
“This is a difficult subject Marilyn, it’s about people who hurt the young and…”
“Oh no, not like the joeys?”
“I’m afraid so, there are people who make money out of and take great pleasure in hurting those who can’t fight back.”
“This is terrible Laurie, I must warn the others when I get back.”  She looks over to the door, the flash mob have arrived. “Well here are a few more roos to listen to your talk. Thank you for your time Laurie and I look forward to reading your books.”
“You’re welcome Marilyn.”

img_0035[1]Outside the Library, away from the mob, Wal interviews Gerard DepaRoo.
“G’day Gerard, what can you tell our viewers about this author, L.W. Smith? Did you check out his background, and what do you think about his claims to have worked in law enforcement?”
Gerard turns his right profile to the camera and runs a paw across his moustache.
“I have to say I’m truly disappointed Wal. I’ve spoken with other humans and found that he has indeed spent time amongst the criminal element, both in their jails and on the beat. There seems to be some validity to his past.”

“So, are you withdrawing your claims that he’s nothing but a hack writer?”
“I’m not sure yet, I’ll have to read his work. As you know I’m a descendant of the great bard, Will  Roospeare, on my mother’s side. We take our literature seriously.”
“He’s never claimed to write literature Gerard. It’s all about action, drama, violence, sex and…”
“Sex you say?”  Rubs moustache furiously. “Merde, I could teach him so much. You know that I am a great….”
“Back to your investigation Gerard.”
“Sorry. I have researched his blog and found many stories about his time in these places. Some made me laugh and others, well I cried just a little bit. Oh and he even writes poems, a strange man indeed.”
“So what do you have to say about him now?”
“I trust him a little bit and when he takes my picture again he should try for a close-up.”
“That’s all from the Ipswich Library viewers, here are a couple of photos. I don’t know how those other roos found their way inside.”Ipswich Library Seniors Week

For the eagle-eyed editors amongst you, to should be too in the right hand speech bubble. Give the roos a break, they can’t spell. The library staff did a great job on their banner for the day. Pity about the hairline Laurie, although it’s great for reflecting the flash. 🙂senior's week

I know it isn’t the usual style for Fridays but hey, a bloke has to promote himself now and then. Everything will be back to normal next week, so here are a couple of pics from  when it rained last week. The poinsettias look happy about it.Ponciana

Have you ever seen anything looking so miserable?kangaroos

I’ll see you all next week.

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World Blog Hop.

Raani York ambushed  asked me if I’d be part of the World Blog Hop for authors. Seeing she’s a great blogging friend I succumbed to the arm twisting and said yes. Actually she sent a smiley face and I crumbled under the pressure. So here we have it, there is obviously some formality about the whole thing and I have to answer four questions. Raani’s bit is first though.

My Blog http://www.raaniyork.wordpress.com

My Website: http://www.raaniyork.com

My FB: https://www.facebook.com/DragonScriptures

I have been a high volume writer for years. I have published articles, letters, short stories, poems, continuation stories and descriptions of all kind. I also write novels, some of which can be found on my website. I have been educated in Switzerland and in the U.S. I hold a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration and also obtained diplomas in Graphic Design, Color Studies and won a prize as a Logo Designer. I do speak four languages and several dialects. I work and live in Switzerland and the U.S. and travel often. Next to my writing and my cats, I like reading, blogging, Martial Arts, skiing, horseback riding, sky diving and enjoy playing the classical piano. This blog is posting in various categories, from personal experiences, humorous happenings, cat diaries, Interviews with Authors, travelling posts, book reviews and even letters to celebrities. Explore a fun blog.


Now we have my bit. ( I think I have it right )

Question 1) What are you working on?
I’m supposed to be tarting up my fourth novel in the Death Series, Cape of Death. Set mainly in far north Queensland, the story revolves around the deaths of several illegal immigrants on a deserted beach. Throw in a former Taliban fighter from Afghanistan on the loose in Australia’s last frontier and a pair of rednecks on a spree and you have the Homicide crew from book three on a huge manhunt. It’s complete but as you know there’s always something to do to a manuscript. I’ve been rather busy getting book three, River of Death printed for today. As you are reading this I’ll be talking at the local library for Senior’s Week and hopefully flogging off books.

Question 2) How does your work differ from others in your genre?
I think my work differs from others because I tend to call a spade a spade. I don’t hide behind words, I let them out to tell the story in a lifelike, realistic way. You can smell the blood, feel the gun in your hand and look into the eyes of people who would snuff you out in an instant. In real life people love, hate, desire and kill. They have feelings and real emotions, so do my ‘people.’

Question 3) Why do you write what you write?
My subject matter hasn’t always been seen as acceptable over time, sure it’s mentioned but it’s glossed over. Paedophilia, abuse, sex slavery, drug addiction, corruption and evil are all present in the world. I write about it because people need to be reminded of the state of the world now and then. That not everyone is who they seem and there are civilised people who commit terrible acts against those who can’t fight back. Being a self published author I’m able to do this and explore the limits of horror in the world today.

Question 4) How does your writing process work?
Erratically at the best of times. My writing day usually revolves around how I feel when I wake up. With my first two novels I wrote 10 hours a day 6 days a week until I finally slowed down. Starting late next week I have to discipline myself to take up finishing book 4 and continuing book 5. I like to work that way because I can take a break from one and still do something useful, often bringing in a fresh approach. I’m a pantser who has a basic idea of the story at the start and I work in with my characters. Hey, they know how the story goes.

Blog www.laurie27wsmith.wordpress.com
FB:  http://www.facebook.com/laurie.smith
From my about.me page.
If someone were to ask, ‘Laurie, just who are you?” I would probably come up with some smart arsed, glib reply and say, ‘Well, I’m me, who do you think I am?” They would mutter and walk away shaking their head, vowing never to ask it again. Now the subject has been broached, I will ask the question, “Laurie, who are you?” This calls for navel gazing, inner reflection and the need to break down the layers that my ego has placed there over the years. When I’ve removed the lint from said navel and peered into the depths of my psyche I have some idea about the inner me. After all, isn’t that what this writing lark is all about? Dredging up the dark, the dirty and edgy bits that stick like dried scraps in the drain of your life. You know the bits, no matter how much we flush and scrape the residue is still hanging on. I nurture it, tease it out and blog about it, don’t fret it’s not all gloom. I love pictures and delight in sharing what I see through the camera lens. The same applies to my life experiences, I look back through the lens of my memory and share the pictures in prose and poetry, ballad and tale. I don’t Photoshop my memories, they come out in RAW format. Every pixel bright and shiny for those who wish to look. If you want to join me on life’s long and winding road step up and read the posts. The who is sorted now for the where. Born in the north of England I found myself dragged kicking and screaming onto a migrant ship heading for Australia at the tender age of nine. It took about two days of hot weather and I’ve loved the place ever since. Finally the what. I’m retired and loving it, writing gritty crime novels now takes up my time. Read my blog, what I used to do for a living is all in there.

Apparently I now have to nominate other authors to take up the torch and continue this tour. Even if they don’t take up the challenge drop by and check out their blog pages. Here they are.
Seumas Gallacher Is on the Hop
Olga Nunez Miret
Jane Dougherty
Susan Wingate.

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A Medium, or just well done? Psychic development course, part 1.

I’ve mentioned in an earlier post that everybody has the potential to develop their psychic abilities. Over the years I’ve conducted workshops for meditation, healing and Reiki attunement classes and I never tire of seeing a person’s face when they realise that they can do it. Like many endeavours we may take up, psychic development can be scuttled by self-doubt and fear. When we achieve something then it brings its own problem, can we continue to master it or at the very least not stuff it up completely?
You’ve heard the old saying, ‘It’s like riding a bicycle, once you learn you never forget.’ Well if you haven’t ridden one for years then it’s going to be a tad tricky for the first few miles. After a few inquiries from some ladies interested in developing their psychic potential I crumbled and decided to run a course over several weeks. I have to say that putting the course together felt good and it gave me a break from novel writing. Friday nights in a large shed seemed to be the way to go, who cared if it was mid-winter. 🙂 At least it kept everybody focused. With seven eager but apprehensive students I introduced them to the interesting world of a psychic.

Meditation: A calm, clear mind is the key to any incursion into unknown realms and what better way to achieve this than meditation. If your mind is cluttered with thoughts of shopping, work, the kids, sex, arguments, the past etc. then you aren’t going to be helpful to your client in sorting out their problem. You have to be able to differentiate between what’s coming in and what’s already lurking in the far reaches of your own mind. I think my group were a little disappointed when they found out that the first lesson meant trying to calm the mind. There’s no excitement in that. With it being a short course I needed to get them to a level where they could find the sweet spot inside themselves. Guided meditation is the key. After a few minutes of breathing deeply and relaxing the body the guiding commenced. I knew that most of them wouldn’t see anything at first, some would feel and others would be there in a moment. After several short but deep meditations we stopped for a cuppa and a discussion.  Then I began the one that would be used at the beginning of each week to assist in the particular lesson. The whole idea is to loosen the consciousness, let that part of you that goes travelling in your sleep go out and have a good look around while you’re awake. Once they were relaxed again the journey began. Starting at the foot of a tall lighthouse bathed in bright red, we slowly climbed the stairs. Stopping at each landing the colour changed: orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet, the colours of each chakra moving up the body to the head. Once at the top of the lighthouse it was a matter of sending them upwards, until they hovered in the night sky. I then had them imagine an object in the palms of their hands and connect with it, finding out all they could. From there they then had to take stock of what they saw below them. After bringing them back we discussed what each one saw, for one nothing, others a multitude of colours and a couple saw quite clearly.  After explaining the necessity for daily practice the first night came to an end.

Psychometry: If you’ve been following this blog you know that psychometry is the art of reading an object, photo, person, place etc. by touching or holding it in your hand. I decided to make this interesting and for the highlight of the evening they would be reading something that I hadn’t thought of before. Firstly I paired them off and had them read each others jewellery, write down what their impressions were and discuss it. This certainly created a buzz as it began to stir up spirit. A few of them were widowed and the departed made their presence felt. After our break, hey, you must have a cuppa and biscuits I brought out the surprise, seven CD’s. Using fresh CD’s I’d burnt a single picture of a different animal on each one. A dolphin, lion, elephant, dog, eagle, I can’t remember the rest. I numbered each CD, slipped them in a cover and placed them on a table. I had a notebook with the number and animal written inside. Each student picked up a disc and sat down with a pen and paper. Once they’d come up with something, they passed them to the next person until everyone read each disc. I deliberately avoided looking at what number disc my students had, I didn’t want to influence their reading by my own thoughts. When they’d finished I brought out the list and we took a look at the results. All I’d told them was that there were no dinosaurs etc, only creatures alive today. That still gives you a fair old choice. Out of all the animals in the world one student scored a definite hit on her first disc, she saw a whale jumping out of the ocean. It was a dolphin. They’re closely related to whales and I considered that a great hit. For the lion someone saw a ginger cat and a huge feather for the eagle. The elephant overwhelmed some and they saw grey and the dog came across as an emotion to some. What came out of the lesson was a great surge of confidence in their burgeoning talents. To actually ‘see’ a picture spread around as bytes of information on a CD, I think, is phenomenal.

Remote Viewing: Remote viewing (RV) is the practice of seeking impressions about a distant or unseen target using subjective means, in particular, extrasensory perception (ESP) or “sensing with mind”.  This quote from Wikipedia goes on to call it pseudo science, that it was used by both the US and Russia in the cold war but they found it of little use for intelligence. The weekly meditation proved to be a great aid for this lesson in particular, and the psychometry assured a strong connection between the viewer and the target. I picked seven locations around the globe via Wikipedia, because they give a map reference for each place. For instance the Great Pyramid of Giza is at, 29°58′45.03″N 31°08′03.69″E. I would write down the co-ordinates on a piece of notepaper, seal them in an envelope and place a small number under the flap. The I’d print out an A4 picture of the pyramid from Google earth and place it in a numbered buff envelope. I think I used, Uluru, the Eifel Tower, Niagara Falls, Big Ben, the Sydney Opera House and a few more. The same deal, each set of coordinates sealed and a picture. Everyone had a pencil and several sheets of paper and I paired them off. One would hold an envelope and focus on the unseen coordinate they would be viewing view while the other person spoke quietly to them, keeping them focused. They’d then write down or draw what they’d seen and swap over using a different set of coordinates. I purposely left the outside of the envelopes blank so I didn’t know which was which and the pics were kept away from me. While they were viewing I spent my time reading a book in the far corner of the shed, ensuring that my thoughts didn’t interfere with them, or influence their viewing.  At the end of the exercise everybody had viewed seven places. The resulting drawings and notes blew them away.  Everyone saw something to different degrees. One student who viewed the pyramid drew the shapes she’d seen from above, along with some nearby houses then she’d drawn an intricate set of shapes. I’d seen that shape before, it was the Queen’s Chamber inside the pyramid. She also nailed Niagara Falls and Big Ben. Some managed a clock face while some picked up on features opposite Big Ben. One student drew an excellent map of the road around Uluru and the houses and post office which wasn’t on the picture. They were about a mile from the rock. If they didn’t see, they wrote what they felt about the places: dust, heat, water, strange shapes. The day prior to the lesson I’d placed an object in a box and buried it on our property. I took the GPS reading, wrote it down and placed it in an envelope. Once again there were several great responses and very close hits to what was in the box. I have to say that Lorelle took to this like a duck to water. We practised viewing at home and no matter what I came up with she scored every time. I found the coordinates for Auschwitz, put them in an envelope, mixed it up with other envelopes and let her work through them. I also printed out an aerial photo. I wanted to see if she could pick the emotions involved. She excelled herself and drew a map of the place today. It showed where the huts used to be, the power line running through it on an angle, a nearby farmhouse and the trees growing around it. She saw men in grey uniforms holding guns, black cars and felt a profound sadness. One envelope was for ANZAC Cove at Gallipoli, the picture I used was taken from a painting. She drew the painting accurately and also heard men singing a song from that time (1915). I think that the exercise proved that remote viewing is quite a viable tool. Those students who were a little sceptical about the whole thing changed their minds. They were so happy with what they’d achieved. So was I, in a few short weeks they’d come to a place where they were seeing results and all because of boring old meditation.

Next week: Part 2.




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A bit of a rush at The Writer’s Room.

It’s been all go this week with getting ready for my Senior’s Week talk and book selling extravaganza. Hmm, maybe not that big but you know what I mean. So here are the offerings for the week. I wandered around the yard this morning and saw the colours in the clouds. Snap.sun flare

Buddha seemed happy in the morning shade surrounded by pansies.shadow buddha

The trees are quite big and tend to lose their branches in storms. This leaves plenty of openings for the local wildlife to hide in. Near a locality called Mutdapilly.eucalypts and dam

 This Joey decided to pose for me in front of the shrubbery.wallaby

All of these kangaroo pics were taken this week. I always take my camera when I go down to the front gate to put the rubbish out. This pair was fighting over some attractive female. The young Roo in the main pic gave me a pouty sort of look when I came out to take his pic. The joey is the same one in the above pic. I think it’s time she was weaned mum.kangaroos

I have a bad habit of not watching where I’m walking. I opened the screen door and there he sat. I raised the camera and snap, he sat back and went, ‘Omg, what’s that?’ Then took off like a shot. He’s going to have to grow into those big paddles he calls feet.Joey

I was trying to take the picture of the swan in the next picture and these ducks flew past as I snapped. Cheeky blighter’s.ducks

I left the blank space next to the swan because I’ve always seen them in pairs. She’s been swimming in this dam outside of Rosewood for a couple of weeks now, all alone.black swan

I know, another Kookaburra but what a beauty he is. I was cutting firewood and he’d chased the Butcher birds away. They know there’ll be grubs and such when I move the timber.kookaburra

Finally here’s my favourite. We went out for a drive looking for Koalas, didn’t see any but there were plenty of Galahs in the trees.  This pair took my fancy.galahs

That’s your bloomin’ lot for another week. I hope you enjoyed them. Come back again, there’s always something to see at The Writer’s Room.

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A Medium, or just well done? Melanie’s house and using dowsing rods.

The end of last week’s episode found me standing in the hall attached to Melanie’s house, sending out healing and white light. Most people can walk into a building where great suffering had taken place and not bat an eyelid. A psychic or someone who is sensitive to these things will feel every nuance of emotion and suffering. Naturally you don’t want to inflict all of these things on yourself so you deflect them. I usually say, ‘Thanks, I can feel what happened, now please take it away.’ Most of the time the feelings will go. It’s when the place has been inundated with suffering that you need to bring the heavyweights in, white light. I’ve spoken about it in earlier posts and all it entails is calling upon what you believe to be the most powerful, protective force in the universe. Then ‘see’ it as a white light pouring through the room/person. Dying is fraught with emotion, especially when it is drawn out. Fear, loss, regret, sadness and love all give off a feeling and it lingers where the person died. One of the calmest deaths I attended as a police officer was this one, the rest of the week.  Dying is even worse when it’s brutal. Each death leaves its own stamp on the environment and those who live there.
Back to the hall. Once I’d finished Melanie came back in with a glass of water for me. It’s easy to get dehydrated doing this work. She said, ‘So, is it clear now?’ – ‘I’m not so sure. Spirits can hide away, especially when they’re frightened.’ I pointed into the far corner, ‘I feel drawn over there so I’ll use my rods and see what comes up.’ Taking them out of my belt I hold them by the shorter end at a 90° angle to my body. I don’t grip them tightly, just enough so they don’t fall out of my hands. Before using them I ask a couple of yes/no questions and ask them to cross over for yes and go apart for no. If the question can’t be answered or it is ambivalent, the rods don’t move. So I try putting it another way. I’ll ask them to point at a person nearby to make sure they’re working with direction. Keeping my elbows locked to my side and holding my arms out I asked, ‘Are there still spirits in this room?’ The rods swung together with a click. Yes. ‘Cross over when I get to the number, one, two,’ – Yes. ‘Point in the direction of the first one.’ The rods flip around to the right and point at the last window. ‘Cross over when we reach the first spirit.’ I take about ten steps and they flick together. ‘Is this spirit male?’ – No. ‘Did this spirit die here?’ – No. I went on with the Q&A establishing that the spirit was that of a woman who died at a nearby farm in the early 1900’s, and was attracted to the hall when Melanie and her husband moved it there. Once there she felt frightened and stayed in the corner, even hiding from us. I couldn’t ‘see’ this woman at all but her presence was quite obvious. I asked for whoever was looking out for her to show her where the light was. After a few minutes I asked the rods to detect her and she’d gone. Standing back in the middle of the hall I started again and was directed by the rods to turn and go to the far left corner. There seemed to be a collection of strong emotional energies here. It turned out that they were the grief and sadness of a child’s parents. My belief is that every thought is. We think something and it’s out there, becoming part of the very air around us.
Yes, they’re my battered rods, I put the little sparkly bits on the end.

divining rods Melanie felt a little left out because she wasn’t aware of what was going on. She only had my word for the happenings. ‘Come on,’ I said, trying to sound cheery, ‘let’s have a look at the half house.’ – ‘Oh, now that place scares me.’ Once more into the breach I thought as we walked to the other end of the veranda. I could hear him before I reached the door, ‘Hey you, piss off, go on piss off.’ Now this sounded interesting along with the foot stomping coming from behind the door. Melanie stood behind me, biting at her thumb and whispered, ‘I hear him every night when I go to the loo. I think he watches me.’ Charming. I opened the door and said, ‘Okay Mate, you’re scaring the lady, it’s her house and you have to leave,’ total indifference, ‘what’s your problem, you don’t need to stay here?’ Footsteps. I moved into what was the lounge room but now it was being used as the TV room. A cold draft fluttered around us and Melanie stepped a little closer and said, ‘Bloody hell Laurie, can you feel him?’ – ‘Yes and he’s not pleasant.’ I didn’t use the rods at first, he kept moving around the room. The feeling came to me that he seemed annoyed by the new technology in what used to be his house. Besides being angry he gave off a strong feeling of fear. Stepping back I shut the door and led Melanie back to the kitchen and said, ‘I think it’s time for a cuppa tea. We’ll leave him to it for now and I’ll see what I can do from here.’
When it comes to things psychic, time and distance aren’t barriers. Spirit can be detected in a house from the other side of the world. While Melanie pottered in the kitchen I focused on the room again and asked for assistance. The usual, ‘Is anyone here in spirit for the man in the TV room?’ Silence, then an overpowering feeling of warmth and love. Hmm, someone’s here for him already. An elderly woman appeared in my mind’s eye and her presence filled the room. Mother Love. Yes it was his Mum. Melanie put some biscuits on the counter and a mug of tea and we talked about what had happened up till then. After dunking my last biscuit I decided it was time to go back to the room. Melanie opened the door and stood back, rods in hand I moved through the doorway and asked if the room was now free of the spirit. Clink! A resounding yes. I walked around and asked if there were anymore in the rest of this section. No. ‘Okay Melanie, everything is clear in the building now. I’ll go for a spin outside.’ – ‘What could be out there?’ What indeed?
The old road ran between the front of the house and their garage, an old barn. The house itself was high set and full of junk underneath. Bushland encroached on the property on three sides and I didn’t like the feeling that came from the roadway.  Ley lines, or energy lines are all over the place and usually run like grid lines on a map around the surface of the earth. In ancient times people would build their temples and sacred places on the junctions of these lines. Some junctions were more energised than others and often had water running underneath them. I have mapped the lines on our property and an east/west line runs through the centre of our house. Right through the healing room at the rear. I keep the healing table aligned with it. Back to Melanie. Standing in line with the centre of the old roadway I held up the rods and asked where the Ley lines ran. I moved one step forward and they swung back. Okay it runs down this way. Turning, I charted it and followed the rods under the house and they crossed over above a pair of garden ornaments, two Aboriginal warriors holding spears. Hmm, interesting. Going outside I asked a series of questions regarding any elemental influences, and if there were any remnants of Aboriginal ceremonies that may have been conducted here. Surprise surprise, I felt a strong elemental energy, ancient and extremely powerful. I believe that where people have spent a long time praying or indulging in ceremonies for good or bad, they leave their essence. It becomes a palpable, real thing. If we think of the earth as nothing more than a lump of rock, then we won’t be in tune with its many faceted self. The intricate energies of water, air, soil and vegetation, all part of the life force. When we put our thoughts and feelings into the mix then we have this invisible life happening around us. This is where divining rods come in handy.
Just to make sure about the statues I walked away, turned around and asked the rods to lead me to whatever was disturbing the flow of energy. Straight to the statues again. I called Melanie down and told her about them and how the energy line kept running under the house, ‘Oh we had them at our old house, hubby threw them here.’ – ‘Come outside and I’ll show you something.’ I went through the whole routine again, even going further away from the house and showing her another line that ran straight. Then back to the house, ‘How about this? We put a warrior on each side of the road, one at the front gate and the other over by the garage, facing each other.’ She gave me that look. I put them in place, walked about a hundred metres up the old road and started again. The rods stayed in a straight line for another hundred metres past the house. Melanie said, ‘So what are you saying, something was upset about a couple of old bits of plaster?’ – ‘I think it’s what they represented. Look, this is an old land, who knows what’s gone on here over time. All I do know is that something seemed a little upset with where they were, now they’re not.’ I thanked her for letting me visit and do my thing, she tried to pay me but I reckoned a cuppa and biscuits were enough.

So how do these rods work? They are the one thing that anyone can use whether they’re physic or not, with one proviso. They won’t work if you think it’s a load of crap, because you are then blocking off the link between you and the rods. People say that the rods respond to the person gripping them and making them move. Not in my experience. I believe they move independently by minute vibrations from the aura. It picks up on whatever question is asked and the rods move accordingly. I don’t use them for asking personal questions about myself or those close to me, because of the need to ‘get the right answer.’ In other words our desires override the rods to provide an answer we want. Many dowsers only use them for water and deny any link to the aura, claiming their rods are attracted to the water. Some rub metal elements on the ends to find that particular metal. You have to be specific with a question. I find it useful for dating events and getting names for people in spirit who aren’t forthcoming. With a person laying on my table I can check their aura for damage and their chakras to see if they’re functioning properly. Checking out houses for energy blockages, diagnosing sick pets, the list goes on.

A recent case. I write this blog between one Monday and the next, so this event occurred on Friday night just gone. Our nearest neighbours are half a kilometre away on each side, two kilometres away at the back and nothing for two at the front. We don’t get people walking up to the front door. I was typing away about the spirits in Melanie’s house and Lorelle was on Facebook when something slammed against the screen on the front door. We looked at each other thinking, kangaroo? I clambered out of my chair and walked down the hall, switched the front light on and opened the door. Nothing out there at all. I checked the fly-screen, nope. I thought it could have been a night-bird hitting the door, or a bat. Hmm, it would have to have been bloody big. With the fire on our house is a constant 24° Celsius, I walked back into the hallway near my writing room and the temperature dropped considerably. Hello, we have a visitor. I dug around in the healing room cupboard and found my spare rods, they’re aluminium and a little battered. I told Lorelle what was going on and returned to my room. Bam! Something hit the divider between the hallway and the room. Lorelle called out, ‘Was that you?’ – ‘No.’ Certainly not bats neither. Standing, holding the rods out I began my usual dialogue and came up with the spirit of a man in his eighties. It seems he had passed about 1955 and didn’t know he was dead. Sometimes when using the rods it can actually get the spirit to connect and talk, ‘Not dead, I’m not dead.’ Just what I needed another cranky old bloke in the house. I asked if anyone was present who could help. A big clink, yes. Apparently guides don’t go away and someone who I worked with in the 90’s was still around. I managed to convince the old bloke that someone was here and that if he went along he’d be fine. Gone. What a relief, the last thing I wanted was someone wandering around in the house all night.

Next week: It will be a case of wait and see. 🙂

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A blatant plug and some pics at The Writer’s Room.

It is the writer’s room so I must have a blatant plug for my books now and then. 🙂 This is what my foldout banner will look like and it will stand at about 6 foot. Instead of doing one for each book we decided that putting all five on would be the way to go. River of Death is the latest release. Cape is finished and is in the process of being edited and Bay is about half way through being written. Hence I don’t have artwork for the covers yet. I have bookmarks and postcards with the book covers on for those who will want to buy eBooks on the day. The blurb for each book is on the reverse and it’s printed out just like a real postcard.

banner for death series
It’s been a rough week so I’ve resorted to doing a little art on some pictures.Peacock painting

I dug this one out of the old computer. Luna Park in Sydney right on the harbour. Taken in 2005 on my Kodak Easy Share camera. The entry to the fun park is right under the teeth.Luna Park, Sydney

Reflections in a car park. reflection

Beautiful homes in Newcastle, New South Wales, given the old artistic reworking.newcastle, Sydney

It looks like the red flower is trying to photo bomb the rose. ‘Hey, you, yes you the rose move over.’yellow rose

You stop the car at your peril here at the Smith’s place. The horses believe that food will magically appear from inside and they try to mug you.horse in mirror

An update on the little wild deer herd that lives down the road, they have babies.red deer

This mob didn’t seem to fazed when I stopped on the way to the house to pick up some kindling. I like the one scratching himself at the back. he’s saying to the one sniffing him, ‘No, up here, it itches up here.’kangaroos

This portrait hangs in an old stone house turned café at Silverton, near Broken Hill, New South Wales. I took it with the Kodak Easy Share. What attracted me to the picture? Her eyes actually. She looks neither happy nor sad and appears to have been photographed at a wedding. Her dress has faint pink tinges to it and the flowers in the basket are a giveaway. The frame is silky oak and beautifully made, especially with the artistic cut-outs. She must have been a well-loved child of wealthy parents I think. The area boomed in the late 1800’s until the silver ran out, and it would have been quite expensive to produce and frame such a large photo. The frame would have to be about 2×3 feet. I love old photos and can look at them for hours. It feels to me that a part of them is looking back at you.portrait of girl.

That’s it for this week, I’ll endeavour to liven things up again next week. Until then, take care.


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A Medium, or just well done? Excuse me Nurse! He papered the walls with what? More haunted houses.

Excuse me Nurse! Hospitals are places we don’t want to know about until we really need them. Many people leave this life via the emergency room or a lonely bed in an even lonelier ward. I’ve been into a few hospitals over time either as a patient or in my work and never saw a spirit at all. I was living the bachelor life in the late 90’s while my ex-wife visited our son in Canada for a couple of months. I know how to cook, actually I’m pretty good at it but having better things to do I began eating TV meals, meat pies and takeaway. My gall bladder decided to rebel one night and for anyone who has had an attack then you’ll know how bad they are. Intense pain, projectile vomiting, farting like an elephant but oh the pain. The upshot of it all was I ended up in hospital for five days, nil by mouth for the first three and a half. Believe me I really didn’t want to eat. Nights in hospital can be lonely and the visit by nurse to take your temp and blood pressure is a welcome break. The other patients in the six bed ward were zonked out every night, so I would lay there and watch nurse as she did her rounds. No, not perving I was watching the man in spirit as he walked about two steps behind her. He’d stand at the end of the bed while she wrote on the chart and gaze over her shoulder. I’ll call her Nancy, she had a run of about four night shifts and I would chat with her. After the second night of watching the man follow her every move I asked him who he was. After getting over the shock that I could see him he said, ‘Oh, I’m her Dad. I passed away last year and I get worried when she works night shift.’ Nancy left the ward and Dad followed. I went to sleep and Nancy came back a couple of hours later to perform the obs. I had to ask, ‘Look Nancy, your Dad. Did he pass away last year.’ She gave me that look and I went on, ‘Seriously. Look, there’s a man following you around the place, he reckons he’s your Dad and he’s not happy about you doing nights.’ I gave her a description and she said, ‘Oh. Well it sounds like him but I think you’re too sick and you’re seeing things. Now go to sleep.’

He papered the walls with what? An old workmate, John rang me one night and asked if I would mind coming over to the house he’d moved into the previous week. Something was happening there and it scared his wife and if the truth were known, him too. Having nothing better to do I drove over to see what calamity had befallen them. John met me at the door and ushered me into their spacious house. His wife waved at me from the lounge and retreated to the kitchen, no she didn’t return with a cuppa tea. I looked around from where I stood, trying to pick up some indication of what the problem could be. John said, ‘Where do you want to start?’ – ‘I’ll do a walk-through Mate, see what I pick up.’ The house was in an L shape and I started at the far end of the corridor. It didn’t take long and I stopped outside a room near the front door. Sometimes a house will speak to me, whisper its secrets and tell me its deepest feelings. The arguments, the love, hate, good times and bad. This house brooded and sulked, its displeasure became obvious when I opened the door. The air felt stale, heavy with an odour of old clothing and an unwashed human. John hovered behind me and said, ‘Are you going in?’ – I turned and said, ‘Are you?’ – ‘Well, I don’t want to but I should.’ – ‘Damn right you should, come on.’
Have you ever had a room try to choke you? Suffocate you and push you back out of the door? This one did. I walked straight over to the far wall, leaned against it and looked back at the doorway, ‘Close the door John.’ The look on his face was priceless. I closed my eyes and felt two things, the source of the anxiety and choking and the fear of the previous owner. John hung around the door and said, ‘When we moved in the house felt okay until we stuck this bed and dresser in here. It was when I looked into the walk-in wardrobe here, well, didn’t I get a shock. The bloke who owned the house was a copper, his wife left him and he went a little crazy. He moved into this room and apparently went really crazy. He told people someone was trying to get him in the room and drag him away.’ I looked at the mirror on the sliding door of the wardrobe, it shimmered and darkened, ‘So, what did you find in there?’ – ‘He finally moved into the wardrobe to sleep at night and because he couldn’t get away from whatever’s here, he papered the walls with pages from the bible.’ I took a look into the wardrobe and patches of paper were still stuck to the wall. John had given up on trying to get them off. ‘Okay John, how about this, you stay by the door and I’ll tune in and see what’s going on.’ Feeling a little overconfident I returned to the wall, leaned back and closed my eyes.
The creaking of mooring ropes were a constant as the sailing ship moved up and down against the wharf on the incoming tide. The ever-present seagulls hovered amongst the sails, fighting for a place on the spar, waiting for the cook to come out with his bucket of scraps. A short, thick-set young man came from below decks carrying a duffel bag and swag, slinging the swag over his back he made his way down the gangplank. First stop, a public house where he could spend some of his coin, then the long trip to Ipswich and from there south, to northern New South Wales. For a few drinks and some tales of life at sea he found himself a ride on a bullock dray heading to Oxley, camping there that night. Then he went on by foot to Ipswich the following morning. Stopping at a hotel on the southern outskirts of Ipswich, he drank his fill and staggered into the night to find a place to roll out his swag. He didn’t notice the two men who followed him, and soon settled into a deep sleep. They waited until they heard his snores before pouncing on him. Overenthusiastic with their clubs they shattered his skull. After  slinging his body into a cart from the back of the hotel they drove further out into the bush. They removed his clothes, stuck his body under a dead-fall tree, piled as much dead wood around him as they could and set fire to it. His death went unnoticed and his bones were long gone by the time the bushland was cleared for a housing estate over a century later. His grief, pain and misery seeped into the new house and found a like-minded soul waiting to be tormented.

imagesCAA3MQSNPicture courtesy of Wikipedia commons.
I gave John a rundown on what I saw while keeping an eye on the mirror. It grew even darker and I gave my usual speech, ‘Do you know that you’re dead Matey?’ It darkened even more, ‘You were murdered.’ BLACK. ‘You’re upsetting the people who live here, they haven’t hurt you.’ BLACKER. ‘There’s somewhere you need to be and it’s not here. Have a look behind you.’ The mirror shimmered and grew lighter, ‘That’s it, there’s a light over there, go and have a look.’ The mirror flared briefly with light, and slowly brightened as whatever lived there faded away. I believe the sailor’s spirit was disturbed when the house was built over his resting place. Being murdered while asleep and drunk must have been confusing for his spirit, then having a house and people move in would have angered him. The only thing left in the room now was the lingering emotions of the previous owner. I asked for the whole house to be doused with healing white light and to go through every room and wash out the negativity. Simple really. Fear is what keeps many spirits earth-bound and I felt for the sailor who found himself locked in a new world. Oh yes, I did get my cuppa tea.

This is what you get for putting three old buildings together.  Whenever I went into town I would drop into a local crystal shop and have a talk with the owner. Tony and his partner were mediums who worked the spiritualist churches. If they were short of a psychic reader I would hop in and do readings for them. In between clients I’d stand at the counter and chat with customers. A woman, who I’ll call Melanie came in and the subject arose about haunted houses, ‘My husband and I are presently putting three buildings together and there’s something odd going on.’ Never being one to hide my light behind a bushel I volunteered to have a look at the home for her. I arranged to meet her at Forest Hill a few days later and she led me out to her property. It wasn’t far off the old road from Ipswich to Toowoomba, which is now only passable by horse or motorbike. I parked outside the fence and stared at their home. A magnificent old Queenslander stood there with something resembling a community hall on one side and half a Queenslander on the other. They were right into old collectables, farm machinery and statues. Each to their own I thought as I followed her into the house. I’d brought my divining rods in case I needed them. I made mine from brass rods and used them for many things, one of which was locating spirits that don’t want to be seen.
Melanie led me upstairs into the main part of the house and we stopped inside the front entrance. Sticking the rods in my belt, I knew I wouldn’t need them here, I moved slowly into the lounge room. What a house, everything was pre 1900. The place virtually hummed with psychic energy from just about every piece of furniture in the place. I looked at Melanie, raised my eyebrows and said, ‘You certainly weren’t kidding when you told me about the activity. I have to move out of this room. it’s like listening to a hundred radio stations at once.’ We returned to the corridor and went into the master bedroom. Three different sets of spirits resided here. I’d never seen anything like it in one room before. Two sets were what I call holograms, a part of the spirit, usually made up of emotions that stays in a recognisable human form. Locked into a place they repeat an act or feeling over and over again until they eventually dissipate. The first set comprised a man and a woman who stood next to the huge canopied bed. I believe they came with the bed, like pillow cases and sheets. I told Melanie about them and she felt better when I explained they couldn’t see her. That they were basically something like a TV show. The next set was another man and woman who stood just inside the doorway, next to a large, antique dresser. They were in garb that put them in the late Victorian era.
The girl standing in the corner was in spirit and came with the house, I would have put her at about 16, she was dressed for bed in an ankle length nightgown with a ruffled collar. She didn’t want to communicate at all and stared at me as if I were haunting the place. I felt she was so involved with the building that she didn’t want to leave. I told Melanie that if she wanted the holograms gone then the bed and dresser were the things to get rid of. The girl? Well, if they don’t want to talk then there’s not much you can do. I think she felt as if she were still alive and everybody else were ghosts. I always ask for white light and some form of guidance for spirits like this, to come forward and help take them to where they need to be. If she felt this way towards me though, I didn’t hold much hope for any spirit guide sent to help her.
Next stop, the hall. We stood at the end of the veranda and Melanie said, ‘Do you have any ideas on what it was used for?’ I thought about the inside and felt around, it’s like sending a little bit of yourself on a recce, ‘Hmm, a lot of sick people died in there, hospital?’ – ‘It was a community hall used after a breakout of dysentery in the 1800’s I believe and they put the sick children in there.’ Bloody hell, why would you buy a building like that? She opened the door and I walked slowly inside. The windows were boarded up on the far wall and a layer of dust-covered the floor. I must explain here that even though I white light myself before walking into people’s haunted houses, it doesn’t stop the barrage of emotion that oozes around such places. It eases the impact of the calls and cries of those who have died in pain and despair. Standing in the centre of the room I asked for white light healing for those souls caught up in such pain. It’s like pouring love into a place. Sometimes human interaction with spirit guides and the dead is needed to help them move on. I don’t like to see anyone suffering in spirit, so I spent half an hour in there channelling healing and light.
Next week: Melanie’s house continued and using divining rods for locating spirit and other energies.

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What a collection from The Writer’s Room.

This is what’s called ‘in camera’ art. The only thing I did to this post production was to level it up. The subject is a Poinciana bush in the front yard. How do you do it? Easy, I set the shutter speed to 1 second, focused at the top of the bush, pressed the shutter button and moved the camera down releasing the button  when I reached the bottom. Viola! Something arty.camera art

Two looks at the one scene. We’ve had some heavy mists lately so I thought why not do a comparison shot. The monochrome looks a little eerie but the colour has more body to the mist. Yes, there are two kangaroos in there.views from the house

I do like flowers. A little collection from my wanderings around the place.flowers

I know, ducks again but they have babies.ducks

Lorelle couldn’t escape my happy snapping in a park at Toowoomba.Toowoomba

Same park but around the corner from the above pic.Toowoomba park

Some impressive street art in Brisbane.street art, Brisbane

Two views of the inside of the house from last week’s post. Monochrome adds a little mystery.old windows

Here’s a few more. I thought the dark, gloomy look gives it a certain street appeal. The piece of briar growing into the wall is indicative of the house’s condition. I made everything sepia except the vine and a tiny piece of leaf. There are plenty of bottles and such lying around. I do like the face on the book cover staring out from under the rubbish. I played with the door picture a little, making the background more mysterious and highlighting the doorknob and surrounding timber. The bolt is sticking out from the front veranda. I left it be and applied sepia to the timber.old house

Finally a view of the sky off to the left of the house. The dead shrubbery is Lantana.sky

That’s your lot for this week. I’m off to format my River of Death manuscript for the printer and put a spine and back cover on it for tomorrow afternoon. (Friday) I hope you’ve enjoyed the offerings today. See you next week.


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A Medium, or just well done? Some chat. About ladders and inventions, oh and other stuff.

In last week’s post I talked about babies and healing. A couple of days later I received this message from the mother of the baby who went on goat’s milk. Hi Laurie! You probably don’t remember me, I’m K. I had a little boy that you helped me with. I never got a chance to thank you, it helped at the time & still to this day. Anyway I just wanted to say a BIG THANK YOU! You changed his life! That folks, is why I like doing healings, making a difference in someone’s life for the better. I’ll get to the subject of this post soon, I just want to natter on for a moment. It’s been a busy week, dental/medical appointments, car servicing, taking photos and then visiting the old, derelict house. To say I was surprised to see, what I believe are the spirits of the old couple who once lived there, is an understatement. The following day Lorelle and I gave two healings. Both clients were appreciative and gained some benefit from the experience. We had two more today, one was a young, pregnant woman. Babies seem to be everywhere lately. I must say that the experience for all concerned was wonderful. For some reason I get terribly gooey around babies. Dang it, they make me cry sometimes. I don’t know why but I tear up when I hold them. Today was no exception. I have mentioned in other posts about my lack of belief in a god. I do however believe in an afterlife, a way station as it were for souls on their journey. I can only imagine that someone needs to run things. Standing at the side of my healing table I laid my hands on this woman and an angelic being appeared opposite me, filling its side of the room. I could see individual feathers. It stayed long enough to gather my attention, show me a set of majestic wings and give me a severe case of goose bumps. Then it vanished. I’ve seen one before but that might be another story. I’m used to seeing all manner of things from budgies who have passed on to horrendous deaths. This shook me, not because I don’t believe in mainstream religion but because of its attachment to the unborn child. There was a determination and I knew it stood guard over this baby. Perhaps because of the prevalence of artwork depicting winged beings guarding the young, this being could have been a construct of the mother’s mind. Or, they have been brought into existence by the thoughts and desires of mankind. Huge birds in early times were thought to be messengers between the gods and mankind. Maybe just as simple an explanation is, they exist. In regards to the healing, baby kicked up a storm, mum relaxed and lost the pain from her lower back.eagle

About ladders and inventions. Alan came from the Darling Downs to see me one Saturday morning. A tall, young man in his late 20’s he gave off a sense of hard work and determination. After he’d been sitting at my table for 15 minutes he gave something else off, fear and desperation. The usual state of affairs occurred, basically Laurie jumping through hoops and keeping 6 plates spinning at once. After I’d told him his marital status, how many kids he had and where he worked he seemed content. I know people need to be reassured but it eats into valuable time. Yes, the psychic should know certain things but by then I’d been doing this work for three years and came highly recommended. Rant over. Alan worked for a company that bought, stored and shipped wheat. His job entailed working right inside a silo. I checked his lungs and said, ‘Have you had a check up in regards to your lungs?’ – ‘I have, that’s why I’m here. They’re being affected by the wheat dust. What I want to know about is a project I’m working on. Can you tell me about it?’ – ‘We’ll get to that, what you need to do is calm down about your health. I feel that once you stop working there, you’ll feel much better.’ He looked at me as if I’d grown another head. ‘Leave there? That’s my job, I can’t leave.’ – ‘So why are you so wrapped up in this project then?’ – ‘Well, it’ll give me more money and I’ll have security.’ – ‘True but you know your chest won’t handle that dust,’ I thought for a moment and went on, ‘aren’t you supposed to wear masks?’ – ‘We are but I can’t stand them and take it off.’
This was like pushing boulders uphill, hard work. ‘Okay, let’s have a look at this project.’ Closing my eyes I sat back and cleared my mind. The information trickled in, at first it came from Alan and then from someone else. I couldn’t see them but I saw what they were doing/thinking, It was the same as Alan, working on a system of Aluminium ladders that could be turned into various lengths, configurations and into trestles. ‘You’re working on making a set of ladders that can be turned into different things.’ Silence. I opened my eyes, Alan looked from me to the closed door and whispered, ‘Not so loud.’ – ‘I get the feeling you’ve been working on this project for a while now?’ – ‘Yeah but there’s nothing like it out there.’ He went on about how he’d thought about it the previous year and began making prototypes. They all worked perfectly and were rated for quite heavy weights. He had the paperwork ready to approach a patent attorney, who would then guide him in his application to the patent office. ‘So, tell me Allen why haven’t you done this already?’ – ‘Well it costs money, I have it but I’m…..’ – ‘You’re scared it’s not going to be accepted, or that they might even laugh at you?’ He looked a little crestfallen and said, ‘Well, yeah, you’re right.’ – ‘How about I do a layout with the cards and we’ll see what comes up. Oh, hang on, I also saw that somebody else is working on the very same thing. Right now.’ – ‘You’re joking, it’s my project, how would they know what I was doing?’ I told Alan that over the years many major discoveries were invented or researched at exactly the same time and even patented. It didn’t seem to do him any good at all.
I gave him the cards to shuffle, he handed them back and I laid out 3 cards. I can’t remember what they were but it went like this, ‘If you want to succeed here Alan, you have to lodge your application as soon as possible. No messing around or worrying, just do it. Time is extremely short now and this other person is close behind you. Basically Mate, pee or get off the pot because if you don’t lodge your patent you’ve wasted a lot of time and money.’ I let him soak it all in and said, ‘Just how fair dinkum are you? Do you want this or not? Look here,’ I pointed at a card, ‘see this, it means you’re on the start of a successful journey with this project.’ I delved deeper and saw a ridiculous amount of money out there for him even if he sold the rights to his invention. Fear is a killer. It stifles us and makes us impotent, unable to move forward and seize what is ours. I could see it in Allan’s eyes. I knew he wouldn’t move with his ladders. I still had to give it a go and try to show him the future he would have. A future without having to work in the silos. Time up, he left his money on the table, we shook hands and I went out to his car with him. A 10-year-old Holden sedan, it looked a little worse for wear, I said, ‘Think about it Mate, if you move forward next Monday and get that paperwork in you’ll be upgrading the car before you know it. You’ll be upgrading your whole family life.’ He climbed in behind the wheel, gave me a laconic grin and said slowly, ‘I don’t know Laurie, it’s a big risk you know.’
I watched him drive off and thought, no matter how clever or talented you were, if you let fear get in the way then you might as well walk away. It wasn’t as if he would be a flop, he had time to put in his patent and his Dad would have helped with the money. Sad to say Alan didn’t go ahead with his ladders. The following year the adverts came on TV for a wonderful set of ladders that could fold every which way. They almost walked up the walls. The man promoting them was also the inventor and it wasn’t Alan.

Other stuff, Maria. There were times when a man had to be made of iron to put up with some clients. The fire forged iron of restraint and the ability to stop ones tongue from lolling out like a breathless Labrador. Maria rang on the Saturday night and said, ‘Do you do readings on Sundays?’ – ‘Of course, if I have time.’ – ‘Can you read for me tomorrow, it’s important?’ I checked my diary, ‘Sure but it has to be at 9 am. I’m having the rest of the day off.’ – ‘Okay but aren’t you afraid you’ll be cursed if you read on Sundays?’ I thought the only curse around me was that of clients who wanted to play games. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She turned up on time in a little pink car and parked in the driveway. Naturally I went out to say hello. I am only mortal, a mere male and the vision of loveliness that slowly climbed out made my legs a little wobbly. Think of a young Selma Hayek dressed in a low-cut top, and wearing a mini skirt about the width of a belt and you have some idea. I shook her hand, it felt soft and warm. Her brown eyes reminded me of deep pools of molten chocolate. Enticing, beckoning me to fall into them and swim away. I stammered a greeting and being a gentleman I let her walk ahead of me. I directed her to the room at the end of the hallway. My son looked out of his bedroom and raised his eyebrows at me. Once in the room I held out a chair for Maria and closed the door. Taking a deep breath I sat down and put on my professional face. All I can remember of the reading was her deceased uncle coming through and talking about her returning to Spain. Maria played the vamp for the whole reading and her plunging neckline prevailed. She’d sit forward breathing slowly her lips half-open, tongue touching her top lip. At the end of the reading she thanked me, laid her money down and left. I couldn’t figure out at first why she acted like she did, until the following day when several of her friends made bookings for the coming week. Maria must have ‘tested the waters’ so to speak to see if I could be trusted.

Latecomer.  I may be a little old-fashioned but if I make an appointment to be somewhere, well I turn up on time. Most clients turned up early and hung around on the footpath or sat nervously in their cars smoking furiously. Not so Heckle and Jeckle. Heckle made an appointment the week before for a 9 am reading, then one for her friend Jeckle at 10 am, they would be turning up together. By 9.15 am I figured that they were delayed by traffic. By 9.30 and in the absence of a phone call I changed clothes to go out. The ex and I were heading out to our car at 9.55 am when they turned up. I said, ‘I’m sorry but seeing you didn’t turn up or even call I figured you weren’t coming. So we’re going into town.’ Heckle bristled a little, ‘Hang on, we made an appointment.’ – ‘Yes but you didn’t keep it.’ – ‘You’re the psychic you should have known we’d be late.’ – ‘Maybe I should have tuned in and deciphered your whereabouts but I have a life. So why didn’t you ring, would you have done the same with your doctor or dentist?’ – ‘Why should we, you’re only a psychic? We came late to see if you were any good. Now do we get our reading?’ The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, ‘Listen lady, my time is just as valuable as anyone else’s. I’m not doing your reading today or any other time.’ Jeckle stepped back and looked at her watch, ‘Hang on, it’s 10 am now. It’s time for my appointment.’ – ‘I’m not doing your reading either, we’re going. I’ll have to ask you to leave, right now.’ They left muttering to each other and casting nasty glances, yeah lady that frightens me. I didn’t need the money that much that I’d let people treat me like shit.

Next week: I don’t know yet, so it’ll be a surprise.

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A Medium or just well done? Special supplementary post.

It’s not often I jump in and post out of sequence. After seeing the photo you might understand why I did so. Lorelle and I visited friends at their home for the first time on Wednesday, after an invite to come out and photograph the old house on their property. As you can see the house is old, unliveable and falling down but hey, who’s that on the veranda? Yes the sun is on the right of the photo and isn’t it odd that it just happens to create an image of the old couple who used to live there. I’ll be putting up some ordinary pictures from inside next Friday. This picture definitely needs to be opened in a new window to be viewed properly.Haunted house


Until Monday’s blog, take care and remember, somebody is always watching. 🙂

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Is it time for The Writer’s Room again?

I call this Sunrise Roo, for obvious reasons. I leapt out of bed the other morning and took a look out the back door and there she was. A mad scramble for the camera, carefully open the door and viola. I wonder if they look at the beauty of a sunrise the same way we do?sunrise Roo

Happiness is a flower, a Dahlia to be precise.Dahlia

I thought Peeking Duck would be an apt title for this male Wood Duck. I sat out on the veranda waiting for the wallabies to come up and he kept running back and forth just over the embankment.Duck

Taken out in the front yard after I snapped Sunrise Roo. We actually had a wee drop of rain too.hills

Another early morning visitor is this beautiful Kookaburra. He usually sits in a tree down from the house. I watched him swoop on something in the grass, then he came up nearer the house. The sun gently kisses his feathers and makes them shine.Kookaburra

Another early morning visitor is Jack Frost. In last week’s post I showed you the dam with a little frost around the place. This is where I was heading, the front gate to put the bins out. The horses were miserable, they expect food when they see a car.froty morning

Sick of taking pics other people’s flowers I decided to shock Lorelle and buy some plants. This pansy looked to be a good subject with a few raindrops on its petals. (No, I didn’t water them) The two on the right are the same but the lighting is slightly different. You’ll get the full effect if you open it in a new tab.pansies

If you wait long enough they’ll stretch and scratch and pull faces.Wallaby

I shot these roses on my walk around by the hospital last week.roses

Luscious, is the way to describe this petunia.petunia

This house is on Denmark Hill around from the hospital. It’s a great example of a colonial dwelling. Could do with a good coat of paint too.house

This is my favourite, another pansy and those raindrops look like diamonds. Nature can be generous giving us delightful little things to wonder at.pansy

Well, that’s it for another week, something a little different to be sure. I hope you enjoy viewing my offerings as much as I do sharing them. Until next week,

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A Medium, or just well done? ‘Cross my palm with silver,’ Psychometry.

‘Cross my palm with silver,’ Psychometry is the art of ‘reading’ objects and places. Gypsy fortune tellers would say, ‘Cross my palm with silver.’ Their client would hand over the coin not realising that a little piece of them went with it. The fortune-teller would pick up on that energy. In a previous post, Eddy’s Place and other haunted houses I wrote about doing psychometry on some aboriginal artefacts he owned. The physical effect on me was quite alarming, this is why I don’t like surprises. Not the surprise of what I may discover but the suddenness of a revelation. About seven years after leaving the police I visited a still serving colleague for lunch at his home. We sat out in the BBQ area and talked about old cases, workmates and his job, that of scenes of crime officer. I’ll call him Jed. The conversation came around to my burgeoning psychic skills and psychometry in particular. Jed snorted, got up from the table and disappeared inside. He reappeared in the doorway, and said, ‘Catch this.’ A small, silver object arced through the air and I raised my right hand and caught it. Of course I gripped it tightly, not wanting to drop it. Will I ever learn? The imagery was instant, along with the sudden pain of a huge impact to the back of my skull. I saw a bearded man in a green, chequered shirt standing next to a large gate post, a rolling valley of green grass and an open grave. Then the man slumping into the grave. I saw petrol being poured on him then his body was set alight. I gave Jed a filthy look and said, ‘This belonged to a murdered outlaw biker, he was shot in the head and buried somewhere north of here. Oh and they burnt his body.’
Jed stared at me for a moment and said, ‘Well, I guess you weren’t pulling my leg.’ I opened my hand, a silver ring with an Indian chief’s head on it sat there. I didn’t feel comfortable holding it and handed it back to Jed. ‘You keep it Smithy, I don’t want the bloody thing. It was bad enough recovering his body from the scene.’ The ring was the real deal, not one of those cheap metal ones you can buy. Shrugging I slipped it in my jeans pocket. That evening at home I took it out of my pocket and placed it on the bedside table. My dreams were nothing if not uneasy that night. The following day I decided on a little experiment and put the ring on. I felt as if someone was watching me and my demeanour changed. I felt angry, disoriented and downright mean at times. That evening one of my old clients came over for a healing. I’d taken the ring off before starting and she asked me about it, I filled her in and said I was going to throw it out. ‘I’ll have it, it’s a nice ring.’ I gladly handed it over. Two days later she rang, “Okay, I believe you there’s something wrong with the bloody thing. I threw it out yesterday, and it’s back in my bedroom this morning.’ – ‘Bring it back to me.’ She dropped it in the letterbox the following day. I took it into my workshop, put it in the vice and worked it over with a hammer until it became a shapeless blob of silver. A quick trip to the river and in it went. The ring’s original owner, I believe, remained firmly attached to his ring. The suddenness and ferocity of his passing embedded a part of himself in the metal.rings

More Rings. When a client rang to make an appointment I always told them as a backup measure to bring a piece of jewellery they normally wore. This was in case the client became uneasy about being read. Everything we wear, sit in, or touch leaves a little bit of us behind. Don’t worry it’s never-ending, you wont disappear. One woman came for a reading and asked me to read a ring for her. ‘Is it yours?’ – ‘Oh yes it’s mine.’ I took it out of the box and held on. Nothing at first, zilch, nada then, heat, a relentless roaring inferno type heat. ‘You haven’t worn this ring, it’s been in a fire.’ – “Well it’s mine, I own it. I bought it from a jeweller’s shop that burnt down.’ Gawd help us.
Another lady brought a beautiful antique ring along and wanted me to read it. I held it and said, ‘Look this is really old and it’s obviously had a few owners.’ – ‘I know, it belonged to my great grandmother.’ – ‘You do know that the wearer of this ring who had the strongest energy field will come through don’t you?’ – ‘Of course.’ Well it wasn’t hers that came through. Luckily she had photos and letters of her g/grandmother and knew about her. Because everything that came through was relevant to gran.
Odd stuff. I love going into antique shops and museums, then slowly walk around touching things. Sometimes I feel a presence and find out it’s only a memory of a person. This usually occurs around old chairs and beds, places where people spent a lot of time. Some objects give off vivid images when touched, showing faraway places and people of old. I made the mistake one day of touching an exhibit in a whaling exhibition at the South Bank Museum in Brisbane. Like the rest of the world up until the early 1960’s whaling was commonplace, with whaling stations on the islands and coast around Moreton Bay. So, what did I touch? A huge iron pot used for rendering the whale blubber. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. I felt the emotions of thousands of dead creatures and I cried. I couldn’t move my hand, it felt welded to the pot while wave after wave of sadness kept coming through. I won’t be doing that again.
The Family Portrait.  I’ll call the lady April. I spoke to her on the phone and she asked, ‘Can I  bring a photo? – ‘No worries.’ I used to go out to the gate when a client turned up and greet them. April struggled to get a huge picture frame out of the boot of her car. (Trunk for those over the pond) I went out and carried it back inside the house for her. With the preliminaries out-of-the-way I said, ‘What can I do for you today?’ – ‘I want you to read this picture for me. I don’t want the cards, just tell me what you can about my family here.’ She flipped a cover from where it hung over the glass.  Even though the picture had been taken at least 15 years previously, I recognised April sitting next to her husband and three children. Two boys and a girl. The girl would have been 17 in the picture and the boys in their early teens. I felt drawn to the girl first then went to the husband. I can’t remember a thing about the reading I did for April, with her husband everything was tinged with sadness and guilt and the boys? I couldn’t tell you. I know that after I finished each one I kept saying, ‘I’ll leave her to last.’ I touched the face of the girl and held my finger there for a moment and said, ‘Now I know why your husband feels so guilty, she died in a crash and he was driving.’ April cried for a little while and her daughter came through from spirit. Naturally she took me through the crash and her ejection from the car, she didn’t have her seatbelt fastened. I know one thing, the years don’t diminish the pain and guilt when a child dies, especially in a tragic accident. April left feeling lighter and happier knowing that her daughter held no animosity towards her Dad. That she was happy and to her, still alive.
A photograph creates a link to the person whether dead or alive. I have used a date of birth and a first name scribbled on a notepad as a link to a person. It’s like dialling a phone number although it can take a little longer to make the connection. The best items in order of my preference are: The client, a piece of jewellery worn constantly, an item of clothing or footwear, a photo then the written d.o.b. Did he say read the client? Yes he did. I know this may sound a little confusing, so bear with me.
Psychometry on the Aura. I’ve talked about reading the client’s aura which contains everything that has ever happened or will happen in this life, preceding lives and lives to come. Most of the information is definitely on a need to know basis. Yet it can be accessed by using psychometry on the aura. Ideas come to me about these things and I broached the subject with Janice, a 65-year-old member of a meditation group I ran. I figured that if the aura stored the information then it would be in fine slices, from the feet upwards. Then came the problem, where does one start? I concluded that starting around the heart centre would be as good a place as any. Janice stood still and closed her eyes as I began rubbing the thumb and forefinger of my right hand in her aura. The aura spreads out six feet from the body, like an egg made up of a fine filament of energy. Janice was an excellent psychic and made a fine subject as she quickly felt the intrusion into ‘herself.’ Her aura retreated to nothing and I asked her to let it out again. Then I began seeing a previous existence, sometime in the early 19th century. I moved my hand up slightly and rubbed again, late 19th century, another move then I came to her present. She had no trouble with me talking about it and asked me to move forward. Fortunately I wasn’t shown her ending in this life but was taken forward to her next incarnation. I felt a little uncomfortable because I couldn’t see her next life as anything to be happy about. She still lived in Australia although life seemed harsh to the extreme for her. I told her this and she shrugged it off with, ‘I obviously have a lot more to learn.’ I went back for three other future lives and believe it or not, on the last one I could see nothing earthly at all. There was something harsh and unyielding about the place. It could have been anywhere. Actually I don’t think I really wanted to know. Did I do any from the area around the feet? Yes and it shook me at first. If you really want to know, email me. I might sound looney enough as it is without  writing about what I saw then.
Babies. I love reading babies up to about three months old. They’re fresh from spirit, their crown centre is wide open and they remember who they were and where they come from. They’re easy to talk to and have a lot to say about their parents, surroundings, life and diet. I held a baby at three days old and he startled me. So much so that I nearly dropped him when a man appeared in front of me, yelling his anger and frustration at being back here. You may mock me about what I’m going to say but hey, I’m used to it so I’ll go ahead and write it down anyway. He was dressed in a cotton shift, bald, brown-skinned and stood in front of a wall covered in Egyptian hieroglyphs. I could see it was a tomb and the man, he wasn’t happy at all. Above the noise of baby yelling his lungs out and this angry man, I gathered that he was some minor official/priest who found himself buried alive. I don’t know exactly what baby had to learn but I still have contact with him and he’s had a tough 20 years to contend with. Mainly to do with his attitude.
Baby 1. Her mother brought her along to a reading 19 years ago, she was breastfed and Mum didn’t want to leave her with anyone. After the reading Mum asked if I could read baby. No worries, so I stood up, held the little darling and tuned in. What an experience. Her guardian came in and told me about all of the highlights to come for the following 20 years. I recounted them and Mum scribbled furiously. She left and I thought nothing more about baby. Roll forward to 2006 and who should I see working in the local chemist shop? Yes, baby’s Mum. She was very pleased to see me and blurted out that everything I’d said about her girl had come to pass, then, “She’s going to Uni and doing law, what do you reckon?’ – ‘Nope, she’s going to change. She’s met someone and will be doing the arts.’ – ‘Oh no, she’s wanted to do law.’ – ‘Was that what you wrote down years ago?’ – ‘Hmm, no.’ A few months later I saw her again, ‘You were right, she’s changed her mind and doing arts.’
Baby 2. A couple of years ago we were at a birthday party and a lady had her baby with her, the poor wee thing was terribly distressed. I asked to hold her ( the baby ) she handed her over and I walked away. Putting a hand on her tummy I asked what was wrong. I was shown a bottle of milk and then a paddock full of goats. Easy-peasy, I took her back to Mum and said, ‘Give her goat’s milk, she’s suffering here.’ – ‘They told me at the clinic she didn’t need it and that I should try another powdered formula.’ – ‘It’s up to you but what have you got to lose by trying goat’s milk?’ Apparently she had nothing to lose, she called us a few weeks later extremely happy that baby took to the milk with a vengeance and settled down.

Next week; About ladders and inventions, oh and other stuff.

Featured post

It’s bare at The Writer’s Room.

I took this in Ipswich yesterday, it’s outside a house near the hospital. For those who don’t know, all the orange is a Pyrestega vine. Hint, never grow one near where you run horses, they’ll eat all the flowers.garden ornament

This is Serafina, a friend’s cat. She spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping on top of cupboards or sitting on windowsills. She has cute down to a fine art. The cat that is. 🙂black cat

Yes, I’m desperate for subjects to photograph, this is a small plate.fish

This magpie was sunning himself out front of the dental surgery last week. It was a cool day and he sat there while I took my camera out. I think the rock was warm.Magpie

A display using split rail fence posts in a friend’s garden.garden

We had a few frosts last week, I took this on the way to the front gate to put the rubbish bins out.dam

I’ve featured a Glossy Ibis before, this is the female I think.Glossy Ibis

Yes, we’ve seen a Miner Bird here before but I thought his feathers looked good in this one. He’d chased the Rosellas away by the time I neared the tree so I took him instead.Miner Bird

A couple of views in Boonoo Boonoo National Park. I like the white branch coming out of the water, somewhat skeletal. All the time I was there, I took a few photos around this lake, the feeling of being watched was overwhelming.forest

I think it’s a Red Necked Wallaby, they haven’t featured on my posts at all because this is the first one that’s come anywhere near the house. They’re very easily spooked and she took off after I took the shot. I’ve seen a couple on the road near the front gate.wallaby

I featured Jorja after Christmas last year. She has a classic face that is a pleasure to photograph.portrait

That’s all for this week, I’ll have to hit the streets again to get some diversity for future posts. So until next week,





Featured post

A Medium, or just well done? Crystal healing and readings online.

Crystal Healing. When crystal healing is mentioned most people tend to think of a client’s body bedecked with a huge variety of crystals of all sizes. Amethysts, citrine, rose quartz, carnelian and hematite etc. They would be right, practitioners use a huge variety of crystals in their work. Today I’ll tell you about three healings where I only used or recommended the use of clear quartz crystal points. In my quest to give everything a go I finally found time to learn about crystals. I tried a variety of them for various healings and noticed that some people reacted quite well with them. With some others it was a case of, Ho Hum. A family friend came to visit one day, a woman in her mid sixties who we’ll call Freda. We sat at the kitchen table having a chat and I noticed her playing with her wedding ring. She kept trying to pull it off but her knuckles were larger than normal. I nodded at her hand, ‘Problem?’ – ‘Yes, I have arthritis and it’s become worse, I have to get the rings cut off.’ – ‘Hang on.’ I nipped down to the healing room and returned with a few, small clear quartz points. Sitting down again I had her place her hand on the table palm down, with her fingers spread. ‘Now, I’ll put one of these between your fingers.’ With three points nestled between her fingers we continued with our cuppas. After ten minutes there came an audible pop from her ring finger. Freda looked at me then back at her finger. ‘You’re joking, was that you?’ – ‘No, try taking your ring off now.’ She flexed her finger and it popped again, then she slid the ring straight off. She put her hand down again and I replaced the points. After ten minutes she could fully flex all the fingers of her left hand, without any pain.
The piece of pottery is about 3 inches across, so it will give you an idea of how small the points are.crystala

My ex-wife and I were visiting her sister’s house to help her move in. While we were unpacking in the kitchen Wendy went downstairs to the laundry with some washing and fell over. She landed on her left wrist and broke it. We took her to the hospital where it was x-rayed, showing a spiral fracture, Staff placed the wrist in a back cast and bandaged it, telling her to return the following Friday to have it placed in a full cast. We stopped at our house on the way from the hospital and I placed four crystal points on the bandage over the fracture and taped them on with micropore. She kept them on and when she returned to the hospital the nurse removed the crystals and laughed at her, intimating that it was a load of crap. She had another x-ray and they couldn’t find the fracture. They accused her of basically stuffing them around until they checked against the previous week’s images. For all intents and purposes the fracture had healed. They put a full cast on anyway and she stuck the crystals back on.
A couple of years before Lorelle and I became an item a 79-year-old family friend of hers was involved in a serious traffic accident. We’ll call him Sol. He was a passenger in a car hit by a red light runner. Sol suffered several injuries that during his stay in hospital were healed by normal methods. Not so the compound fracture to his left fibula. Whenever I dropped into her shop I would inquire about Sol. ‘They’re on top of everything else Laurie but his leg isn’t healing. Any suggestions?’ I nipped out to the crystal shop further in the centre and returned with four clear quartz points. I dropped them into her hand and said, ‘Here you go, put them around or near the injury like the four points of a compass. The longer you can keep them there the better it will be.’
She visited Sol that evening in a major Brisbane hospital and put them on the cage around his leg. The following night she turned up and the staff had thrown them away. She brought more the following night, taped them up in the desired shape and put them in Sol’s short’s pocket. Staff threw them away again and when Lorelle confronted them she was told, ‘Although we respect a person’s right to their beliefs, we don’t condone the use of crystals.’ She bought another set and told him not to let them know he had them. Sol spent six weeks in that hospital and returned to Ipswich hospital for rehabilitation covering ten weeks, never letting the crystals off his person. Twelve months to the day he had his final visit with the specialist who said, ‘I don’t know what you’ve been doing Sol but whatever it is keep doing it. Your leg has healed far better than an eighteen year old would have with the same injuries.’ So there we have it, something happened and I believe it’s down to the crystal points magnifying the body’s energy system.

Readings online. No, this isn’t an invitation to have a reading done. I’m showing that nothing can stand in the way of a good psychic reading. When my son left home and moved to Canada his computer stayed behind, and being a gent he let me use it in his absence. He spent most of his time recovering from spinal surgery on various chat rooms, mainly those looking for friends. After he left I used it to chat with him at various times. I finally managed to create my own ‘handle’ and spent a couple of hours a night online. In the area marked hobbies I put psychic pursuits and thought nothing more of it. One evening his friend Alice took over and she asked me if I could see anything about an old friend who had died a few years earlier. Being open to anything new I said I’d give it a go. The system didn’t need to be changed, I sat with my fingers on the keyboard and opened my mind. Like any other reading I needed a connection with the client and typed, ‘Okay I’m ready.’ – ‘Can you tell me if he’s around?’ – ‘Hang on.’ Within half a minute I found myself looking down onto a land based oil rig. Several men were on the platform, one of them a native Canadian looked into the pipe then, Blam! My vision became obscured by a huge splash of blackness, oil and then burning gas. Nothing. A pause and I felt myself being taken over. My fingers fairly flew over the keyboard and I didn’t have a clue what I was on about. I barely saw what Alice wrote as I typed like a man possessed, which I was. It finished abruptly and I typed, ‘That’s it.’ – ‘OMG, that was him, Alan, he died in a oilwell explosion and all those things you wrote. It was him, the way he wrote, the words he used. Oh, it was him.’ I took a little time and read what I’d typed and had to agree with her, it certainly wasn’t me. Alice asked if I could speak with Alan’s mother. I closed my eyes and let the old mind wander. A forest of Birch trees appeared, the sun slanting through the trees took my gaze for a moment then a woman appeared. Dressed in traditional native dress she walked from tree to tree pulling bark off the trees and putting it into a bag. Nothing more. I typed all of this down and Alice came back with, ‘That’s his Mom, her native name was Birch Bark Woman.’
I’d like to see a sceptic come up with an answer to that one. No eye contact, no mind reading. It’s funny how everyone uses that excuse. They don’t believe you’re talking with spirit but jump up and say, ‘Hey, you read their mind.’ Doesn’t this strike you as just as fabulous? There’ll be more about mind reading after this section. I liked hanging out in the chat room and interacting with people from all over the world, there are certainly some characters out there. A message notification popped up and I clicked on it, ‘I see you’re a psychic, I don’t believe it at all.’ – ‘That’s fine, I do. So you want to chat?’ – ‘Yes, about my father, he’s dead.’ – ‘I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff?’ – ‘Well show me.’ I sat for a moment and a vision came into my mind’s eye.
The rusty, battered Dodge pickup truck rattled along a gravel road. Huge buttes stood up in the distance, silhouetted against a cobalt blue sky. The road became a swayback track as the pickup bounced over the corrugations. The driver, an elderly man wore a huge Stetson hat, it almost obscured his thin, drawn features. His passenger appeared even older and his face showed his Apache heritage. The truck kept going down towards the group of trailer homes and shacks clustered near a stand of stunted trees. I heard, Rabbit and Red and the scene faded. I passed this on to the girl and nothing came through for a few minutes, then, ‘You heard Rabbit didn’t you?’ – ‘Yes I did.’ – ‘That was my father’s name and the passenger would have been his brother, Red. They lived on the Reservation.’ I guess she believes in something now.

Mind Reading: A friend’s sister, Elga dropped in to see us one morning for coffee and a chat. We hadn’t seen her for a few years, she’d been back and forth to Germany and had finally settled down and married. I explained that I had a couple of appointments that morning, clients would be turning up and I couldn’t hang around. ‘What do you do?’ – ‘I do psychic readings, medium work, that type of thing.’ – ‘Oh but that is silly, it’s fake. You are mind reading.’ – ‘So, you know all about mind reading do you?’ – ‘Well, I don’t know but it must be fake too.’ Never one to sit back and have someone sneer at what I did I threw down the gauntlet, ‘Okay, I will read your mind. the only thing I ask is that you are honest with me about what you’re thinking at the time.’ She gave a little smirk and I stood up and walked behind her. Placing my hand on her head I said, ‘Whenever you’re ready.’
I had never gone out of my way to ‘read’ someone like that before. This was different to looking at the aura and checking out the past, or future. She would be bringing up a thought and I would be looking at it. Nothing vague, blurry or indistinct here, a beautiful, high set house floated into view set amongst a backdrop of tall eucalypt trees, all in stunning high-definition detail. I described it and said, ‘You’re thinking about the trees around your house.’ – “Yes I am.’ The view faded and a breakfast counter floated into view, I saw a bowl of muesli, a cup of black coffee and a glass of orange juice. I said, ‘You’re thinking about what you had for breakfast this morning.’ – ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Another image appeared and I saw her swimming naked in a pool. ‘You’re doing laps in a pool behind your house and you’re naked.’ – ‘Err, you saw that?’ – ‘You thought it.’ – ‘I did.’ I had a sneaking suspicion she was playing mind games now and trying to see how far I’d go. A scene appeared and I couldn’t believe it at first. Elga, naked on a bed having an extremely vigorous round of intercourse. It fast forwarded and she changed position three times. I took my hand away and sat down. She smiled, daring me to say something. I told her what I saw and she started to turn a little red. ‘Well, yes I had sex with my husband this morning. How much did you see?’ – ‘You’re very athletic.’ I saw her in town one day a few months later, she stopped and said, ‘Oh, it’s you, hi.’ Then she took off, that was 20 years ago. I haven’t seen her since.
I must add that I don’t go around checking out people’s minds or thoughts. The human mind at play is a nasty place at times. There are a lot of things happening in there and unless invited or considering my safety I keep well away. Besides a person’s intentions can usually be seen in their eyes and other facial expressions. Other times their persona cracks and their true personality breaks through. I mentioned a couple of posts ago about working for the Air Force as a civilian guard. My duties involved issuing security passes for entry onto the base. This could be a busy task, especially when up to twenty people turned up at once. We had two windows operating this day to move the backlog. The visitor would hand their credentials and any paperwork through the window, they would be checked and a pass would be issued. I sat at the spare window and anyone to my right was blocked from view by a public telephone booth. I felt the familiar pulling feeling at my mind, as if someone were tugging at my grey matter. A sense of blackness followed and I felt as if I were being drawn into a sewer of vile, sickening, cloying feelings of lust, debauchery and pain. I finished writing the pass out for the person in front of me and held out my hand for the next set of credentials. I only saw an arm at first, he stood with the booth hiding his face. I took his license and looked at the name. I recognised it, he’d been tried and convicted for the murder of a baby girl in Ipswich in 1973. Freed on appeal and then charged later for perjury. You can read all about it via the blue link. I found it difficult to interact with him, he may have been able to appear normal but his true persona leaked out everywhere.

Next week: ‘Cross my palm with silver,’ Psychometry.

Featured post

A bit rushed at The Writer’s Room.

Life has been a little hectic this week and I haven’t had a lot of time to organise things, so I threw a few pics together. This is a flower from a tree locally known as a powder puff. The bee was far too busy to bother about lifting its head for a pose.bee and flower

We pass this old barn on the way home, so I decided to take a pic the other day and turn it into a drawing. There are a few deer at the fence.old barn

Another statue in Anzac Square, Brisbane. This one is in memory of the Nurses who served in WW2. war memorial

This little bloke was quite happy to have his picture taken in Newcastle last year.schnauser

A colourful assortment of waterfowl at Lake Apex, Gatton on Thursday morning. It was a cold morning but it didn’t deter this lot from coming for bread. I like the Purple Water Hens, they add a splash of colour.ducks

Nature isn’t subtle in its display of floral abundance.succulent flower

Joey is checking out his blade of grass before chewing on it.wallaby

What can I say? It’s a beautiful rose.rose

This is Siobhan, a friend’s daughter. We were visiting yesterday and I convinced her to be a model for the afternoon. So we tried for that wintry, windy look. I think it works.Siobhan

That’s all I have for this week, I hope you enjoy and remember the pictures look better opened in a new tab or window,













Featured post

A Medium, or just well done? Guru.

The Guru and his tiny band of followers entered my orbit via a recommendation from Betty, the lady from last week’s post. They lived a Hippy existence in the north coast hinterland, growing sage and other herbs. He rang a week after the pups were born and booked out the whole day. There would be six of them and they all wanted a reading and a healing. No worries at all, they were bringing lunch too. They arrived in due course and after the introductions they set up out on the veranda and the car port. You may have guessed by now that being a psychic/medium left one open to many and diverse clients. The Guru, we’ll call him Rodney had an air about him. A big man, he wore his black hair long and had a well-trimmed goatee. His wife, Sadie was a stunner in her cheesecloth dress, with honey blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. She gave me the impression that she put up with him and tolerated his position as clan leader. If I remember rightly there were four others but I can only recollect two that stood out. A man with that much facial hair it looked like a coir mattress had exploded out of his mouth. Built like a screwdriver with a voice made hoarse from too many cigarettes and scotch, he would turn out to be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I’ll call him Kevin. Finally a girl. She seemed new to the group, something about her screamed danger, madness. It’s a wonder Spirit didn’t send a large billboard to hover above her head saying, ‘Abandon all hope anyone who comes near.’  Rodney had a good eye for the ladies I think and this girl, Tiffany resembled a young Maria Schneider, a la Last Tango in Paris. She hardly left his side and kept her head down, avoiding my gaze.

IMG_0112Sadie went first, Rodney didn’t want a reading, in his words, ‘I have my head together, I don’t need anyone to tell me anything.’ Whoopty Doo, he did however want to sit in on the card reading for his wife. It didn’t bother me, the whole crew could have sat there but it can be a distraction for the client. It also has a tendency to draw in too many people in spirit at once. Sadie gave him a dazzling smile and said, ‘I’m a big girl darling, I’m sure I’ll be safe with Laurie.’ They exchanged glances, had a tiny battle of wills and he left. I had an idea now who really pulled the strings and mentally pumped the air, ‘Yes, I’m a threat!’ It was a treat to read for her she understood the process, listened intently and asked clear, pertinent questions. I don’t remember a thing about the content, although I felt that I gave her some great insights into their business and relationship. The rest, except for Tiffany came through for their readings, then we stopped for lunch.
I’m a people watcher and the interactions in this group while we ate were quite a revelation to me. Rodney came across as the consummate Guru, whose followers would obey his every wish. If I asked one of them a question, they would look to him first before answering, except for Sadie. It turned out Kevin loved photography and he showed me some of his work, all of them were great. He used film and I could see that he had an eye for detail. I started the healings and Kevin went first, of course Rodney sat in. At this stage I used to sit at the client’s feet, while they were stretched out on the massage table. This gave me a good view straight up through their aura and connected me firmly on an earth level. It also showed a multitude of events and people in the client’s life, past present and future. Imagine looking through the glass wall of a Sea World aquarium. Then instead of different species of fish you are seeing people coming and going, and they vary in density from ghostly to fully formed. You may see motor vehicles, animals and if you look deeper, above the silt of the aquarium floor you catch glimpses of past lives. What intrigued me with Kevin was the single, long, blue tyre tread running from his left ankle, up his leg, across his torso and fading in the distance over his right shoulder. You’ve seen the cartoons where a character is run over and they’re left with a tyre mark on them? Well, I thought, this is just a little strange. Do I say anything, have I finally lost it? No Laurie, remember the lady with the Roman spear sticking through her chest. She didn’t bat an eyelid when you told her.
‘Err, this may sound a tad strange Kevin but you have this long tyre mark, through……’ They both laughed and Rodney said, ‘So he should he fell off the tractor and it ran over him.’
Rodney convinced Tiffany to come in for her healing. She didn’t want to lay on the massage table so she sat on a chair opposite me. Rodney sat on the floor in the corner and for once kept quiet. I asked Tiffany for her hand, she looked over to Rodney, he nodded and she placed it on the table and I held it gently. I felt overcome by a huge wave of emotions, anger, fear, hate, loathing, both for herself and others. Then her mind tried to probe mine. You may think this is strange, or even stupid but I have felt it on many occasions from clients who, for want of a better word want to play mind games. This wasn’t a simple, oh hello, who are you type of thing?Tiffany’s mental self came at me like a rabid dog, with the above emotions working overtime. This, on the surface, sweet, pretty girl tore at me on the inside. I looked at her face and it showed nothing, her eyes were those of a survivor of great horror.  They were dead, hollow, with a glazed look about them. I didn’t have to be psychic to know something terrible had happened here. Taking my hand off hers I placed it on her scarred forearm, several years worth of self harming was evident.
The girl stood next to the bus stop sign on the edge of the gravel road. Dressed simply in a light, floral midi dress she kicked at the battered suitcase at her feet, more in frustration than anger. She flipped a bird at the car speeding off in a cloud of dust and yelled, ‘Well fuck you too Dad.’ The gravity of her situation descended on her and she flopped onto the case and cried. After half an hour she heard another car approach, standing up and smoothing out her dress she stuck her thumb out. The car stopped and she approached the passenger side. The driver leaned across and wound the window down. She stared at him for a moment and thought, He looks nice, I hope he can take me to Sydney. ‘Can you give me a lift, I’m heading for Sydney?’ The driver, in his early thirties took a longer look and said, ‘Sure thing, hop in.’ The following three days were punctuated by pain, humiliation and what seemed like endless intrusions into her body.  She had few recollections of the driver, only the pain of being tied down and his constant dialogue of hate and bile aimed at her, as a human, as a woman and being stupid for accepting a lift. When he’d used her up, he dumped her outside of a small town in the north coast hinterland. She wandered into the town and sat outside the small grocery store. Luckily for her she stopped Sadie in the street and begged for some money for food.
Still holding Tiffany’s arm I could feel a change in her. I’d seen these events from the perspective of her memory but the memory was held in her arm where she’d been bound. I believe that the body can hold the memory of events, especially injuries. Naturally everything is stored in the brain yet the injury site holds the memory too. Tiffany began to scream, terrifying screams that set my teeth on edge. She pulled her arm away, rubbed it and yelled, ‘He raped me,’ she looked at Rodney, pointed at me and screamed, ‘Him, it was him he raped me. Stop him, stop him.’ Then – right then I thought, Thank you for being here Rodney, thank you.
They left not long after and I begged Rodney and Sadie to get some help for Tiffany. The girl clearly had huge mental health issues brought on by her ordeal, she was a danger to herself and any male who came into contact with her. They assured me that everything was under control. Rodney invited us to come and spend a day or two with them with the proviso, ‘If you stay you have to work on the farm, you can’t do this, or that, or blah, blah, blah.’ – ‘I’ll call, bye.’ I have to say it was one of the more interesting days I have spent in this line of work. The highlight of the day? Meeting Kevin and Sadie. The downside seeing one man have so much control over people, especially vulnerable ones like Tiffany. Kevin left the group a few months later and visited me several times before moving to northern Australia. I asked him why he left the farm. ‘Well Laurie, there are some places where a man has to be for a while and the farm isn’t one of them now.’ He told me that Tiffany left not long after the reading and there seemed to be some disruption in the group.

Now for something completely different. This occurred a few years ago, long after I’d given up my work. Lorelle’s hairdresser worked from home and I would accompany her on appointment days. They would be in her studio and I would sit in an alcove and read a book. That is until Lorelle told Danielle what I used to do, then I didn’t get any peace while we were there. Both her parents had died and they would pop in for a chat. Danielle’s Dad actually came through very well and was able to explain in detail what had happened to her inheritance, and other family matters. We were between haircuts and travelling home from Ipswich early one Friday evening, when the conversation turned to, ‘What’s for dinner?’ That’s easy, fish and chips. There were two routes to the small town where the takeaway was located. If we kept on the highway it would have taken us a couple of minutes longer to get there. It didn’t seem to matter until I received ‘a strong feeling’ to drive via the connection road. We arrived at the car park located at the small shopping centre and pulled into the only spot left, right next to a familiar looking car. We saw Danielle and her daughter coming out of the takeaway laden with packages and waited at the rear of our Utility for them. We had the usual, how are you going, what’s happening conversation then Danielle said, ‘Laurie, I lost my engagement ring a week ago, it’s worth about  ten grand, can you find it?’ Without saying a word, I looked down at my feet and saw something glittering in a crack in the cement. Taking out my pocket knife, I opened it, crouched down and lifted out a gold and diamond engagement ring, ‘Is this it?’ I’d never seen her speechless before, I don’t think she would’ve been anymore surprised if I coughed it up in a fur ball. She took it from me and began to cry, ‘How did you…? It must’ve been here since last Friday night.’
She stuck the ring down her cleavage, hugged me and left. Lorelle and I looked at each other, both amazed at what had happened. Was it a case of synchronicity? Had the planets aligned, was the moon in Pluto and Danielle was a lucky bugger? Or something simpler,  did her dad who it seems kept an eye on his girl latch onto me while I was driving home? Normally I would have taken the highway. I believe that Danielle’s dad stepped up and gave me the hint, leading me straight to the lost ring.

Next week: Crystal healing and readings online.

Featured post

Art is Art at The Writer’s Room

This is for my followers in the US of A, happy 4th of July. Also for any Canucks, Happy Canada Day for the 1st July and for those of you who like fireworks, enjoy.fireworks

A stairway at Spring Bluff railway station with leaves from a London Plane tree.Autumn leaves

We were driving home late Wednesday afternoon and this Red Deer and her baby were right next to the fence. By the time I tumbled out of the car and went for a shot they’d run further into the paddock.  Although it was a well focused image I felt it to be too grainy, so here we have a watercolour. Oh yes, she let out a huge bark after I took the shot, warning me to stay away. Yes Virginia, some deer do bark.Red Deer

I haven’t picked berries in 52 years so I don’t have a clue what these are, only that they look nice. Update, this is Rubus Rosifolius the West Indian Raspberry. Dang, I could have had a feed.berrys

A water feature behind the platform at Spring Bluff.water feature

This long dead forest giant is decaying happily away at the entrance to Bald Rock national park. Nothing wrong with the photo but I thought it has more character as a painting.hollow tree

Peach blossoms at our neighbours place.Peach Blossom

This street art is in an alley off Margaret Street in Toowoomba. It’s on the wall next to a camping and army surplus store. You’ll notice I said art and not graffiti, this has obviously been commissioned by the store owner.street art

I kept walking down the alley and found this behind the shops.street art

Pretty maids all in a row. These wallabies were sitting by the side of our track the other day, we stopped, I rolled down the window and click. They don’t come much prettier.wallabies

‘Was it something I said? Don’t go, I’ll change my deodorant, I come in peace.’ Some days kangaroos just don’t want their picture taken. Taken down near the front gate.kangaroos

Andrew McSweeney owner of ScuzzTrans container transport kindly allowed me to photograph his Ned Kelly truck. All the truck details are in the link. This photo needs to be opened in a new tab to be truly appreciated. The drawing on the end of the siege at Glenrowan Inn is inside the cabin of his rig.Ned Kelly Truck

This brings us to Sean Ferguson. Lorelle and I were having a cuppa at Christopher’s, outside Toowoomba when I saw him behind the bar. Camera in hand I said to him, ‘Mate, you have an interesting face, mind if I take your picture?’ I took a couple and this is the one he wanted posted. The interesting thing is he bears a resemblance to the famous Bushranger, Ned Kelly.Sean Ferguson

There we have it for another week. I hope you enjoyed the offerings.




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A Medium, or just well done? Dogs really are man’s best friend.

Dogs really are man’s best friend. They have been loyal companions for thousands of years, helping man to hunt in return for a place at his fire. Guarding his herds from predators, protecting his master’s family, carting his goods and as time went on working as tracker dogs. They have come into their own as animal companions and sniffer dogs. They are without doubt, man’s best friend. So it takes no stretch of the imagination to accept that they take their family’s safety seriously. I’ve mentioned in earlier posts about the spirits of dead pets often accompanying their masters into a reading. I usually saw a tiny blue light at first then received a mental image of the pet. Funnily enough there was a preponderance of service dogs that came through, Labradors and German Shepherds. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know. They looked at me and laid down next to the table, gave their tail a wag and put their heads down on their paws. I used to find it touching. Yet I have had more warnings from living dogs while doing readings. It usually goes like this, deceased dog first.
The room’s quiet, a little dark actually and there is a lull in the conversation. We’ve discussed the reason for the visit and delved into the intricacies of alternate paths for the client’s future. I feel a little niggle at the edge of my awareness, a pulling sensation then I see it: first something ordinary a chewed up toy, or a ball covered in slobber. Then the big, sad eyes, a black, shiny  nose, twitching and a little moist. Quite often I’d hear the panting then I’d see a place from the dogs point of view. I’d say, ‘The dog that came in with you, did he have a blue and black rubber ball, always covered in slobber?’ – ‘Hmm, yes he did why?’ – ‘Hang on and I’ll have a look.’ Seeing a backyard from a dog’s eye view is nothing if not interesting. Rover did the rounds of a cluttered back yard in a zig-zag pattern. First the kennel, then to where he kept his bones, a quick sniff around and a scratch. I saw the children’s swing and playhouse and then, zoom, we’re heading straight to a pile of timber in the back corner of the yard. I can feel the dog’s anxiety and hear a low growl. A snake’s head appears from between the timber, an eastern brown snake to be exact, deadly. A child could definitely die from its bite. The dog growls and the snake slithers away.
My client is looking a little aggrieved as I’ve said nothing during this period, then I tell her what I’ve seen. ‘Well that’s absurd, dogs don’t talk.’ (Here we go again) ‘I never said he talked, he showed me that there is a danger in your backyard. There’s a snake there that could harm your children.’ – ‘Okay, I’ll get my husband to check. We’ve never seen one there at all.’ Fast forward a few days and the expected phone call comes. ‘You’re right Laurie, Sam found a 6 foot brown snake under the timber, the kids have been getting wood for their playhouse from there.’
Now from a living dog and this happened last year. It raises the question of how did the dog do it, a psychic link via its owner or just tapping into the ether? Lorelle and I were in a local toy store shopping for birthday gifts, no, not for me. I hung around near the counter checking out the remote-controlled cars (I really want one) when I felt the old familiar tug at the mind. Within seconds I was being shown a back yard from a small dog’s point of view. By the range of swings, trampolines and large toys I saw, it didn’t take a huge stretch of the imagination to realise the yard belonged to the lady manager behind the counter. The dog, which I believed to be a Tamworth Terrier gave me the obligatory tour of the yard before zeroing in on a hole beneath the wall of the lowset, brick house. Yes, another snake and a bloody big one to boot. The view changed and I now saw the yard from my perspective.  The dog ran around in circles yapping his little head off, stopped, stuck his nose in the hole, growled and ran backwards. Yep, a big snake alright. A red bellied black snake, well over six-foot long slid out. The dog kept running at it and the snake would raise up and strike. I’d seen enough, this little guy was going to end up dead. The black snake, although venomous wouldn’t kill a healthy adult but little kids and dogs would be in danger.
To my way of thinking if I receive something like this, then I’m meant to know about it and pass on the warning. I waited until the manager was free and said, ‘Hi, you may not believe this but I think I’ve been contacted by your dog.’ This could be a great opening chat-up line. 🙂 She said, ‘You what?’ – ‘Before you think I’m really crazy bear with me. You live in a lowset brick house, the backyard looks like a playground and your dog is a Tamworth terrier, he’s black and white.’ Her eyes glazed over and she gave me that, you’re a stalker look. ‘I could have, why?’ Thankfully Lorelle turned up, I told her what I’d seen and she said to the lady, ‘Don’t worry he does this now and then.’ I smiled and went into my spiel, telling her what the dog had shown me, as I talked and made contact with the manager I began to receive more general information and said, ‘The thing is that snake should be removed, it’ll get your dog soon, or one of the kids. Oh, I’d tell your hubby he’s going to lose his grey utility on the corner if he keeps doing those drifts on his way home.’ That got her attention, ‘I’ve told him he’s going to flip it over and the dog is giving me the shits with all that barking.’ We chatted for a while and left, I wonder why people who have dogs don’t go and see what they’re barking at. We dropped in the following week and the same as the previous story, they found the snake where I’d said it would be.

Meet Red and Chopper, a friend’s dogs. I think they believe that if they sit in the truck long enough they’ll get to drive it.Dogs

A reading where a dog boosted the old credibility factor. I’ll call the lady Betty, she’d been referred by a friend and asked me to come around to do the reading, as she couldn’t leave her mother on her own. I pulled up on the gravel road in front of the thrown together dwelling, sat for a moment and took in the front yard and paddock behind the house. Checking my notebook to make sure I had the right address, I looked again and thought. No, it’s the right one. The place looks like a wrecking yard. Just how many truck and car bodies can you fit on twenty acres? More importantly, how many old washing machines can you use as a garden feature? I knocked on the door and it was answered by a large, young woman with a huge smile. An obviously pregnant Staffordshire Bull Terrier stood next to her leg, wagging its tail so hard its whole body wobbled. Betty and I shook hands and she invited me in, picking our way through the stuff littering the floor she directed me to the kitchen table. A woman sat in an overstuffed lounge chair in the corner of the open plan room. Her unkempt, long white hair stuck up in all directions. Clutching the front of her cardigan with one hand she swigged from a bottle of scotch clasped in the other. The reading went very well, except for the occasional drunken interjection from mum. As Betty showed me out of the door, I stopped, crouched down and patted the dog. She rolled on her back and gave me one of those wide-mouthed grins that only Staffies seem to give. Betty said, ‘Okay Mister psychic, show me how good you are. When is she going to whelp, how many pups is she going to have and what sex will they be?’ Putting my hand on the dog’s belly I tuned in and saw eight pups. They looked like peas in a pod in the womb and were there in two ranks of four. Standing up I took out my notebook and said, ‘No worries, I’ll even tell you what colour they’ll be as well.’ I drew a diagram with an arrow coming from each pup and wrote a brief description, giving order of arrival, colour and sex: 1. dog, brown and white. 2. dog, brown. 3. bitch, white with brown ring around eye. 4, bitch, black and white… and so on coming to the last pup, 8. bitch, orange and white Collie X. I gave her the piece of paper and she laughed at the last entry, ‘No way, we put a friend’s pure bred Staffie over her.’ I shrugged, ‘Well you asked me what I could see and that’s what you’re going to get. It’s Friday today, I reckon she’ll whelp on Tuesday evening.’ After saying my goodbyes I made the perilous journey through the yard and returned to my car. I’d pressed hard enough on the notepad so that what I’d written showed on the following page. After going back over it I drove home.
I received the expected call on Wednesday morning. Betty’s voice gloated as she said, ‘Wrong, you were wrong Laurie, there’s only two pups.’ I waited until she finished chuckling then said, ‘Hmm, so she had them last night?’ – ‘Well, yeah.’ – ‘They were both dogs and the colour I said?’ – ‘Well, yeah. But I took her to the vet and she said there’s only one more pup, so you’re wrong.’ – ‘Look Betty, she hasn’t finished there are more to come.’ She gave a hearty chuckle and hung up. I felt a little deflated, I knew there were eight pups there.  The phone rang again Thursday morning, yes it was Betty, ‘Hmm, I have to apologise Laurie, the rest of the pups came out last night. We had to go back to the Vet and she was surprised when the eighth one came out. All in order and as you described them, even the last one it was…’ her mum called out from the background, ‘I told you that bloody Collie from up the road was chocker block up your precious bloody dog didn’t I? But no, you don’t listen to me……’ Betty cut in, ‘”She’s right, she told me but I didn’t think they could fall pregnant after they’d been served.’ – ‘It’s a strange world Betty,’ I said doing a happy dance, a la Snoopy and Charlie Brown, ‘A strange world indeed.’

A dying dog. This is a personal story and one that still brings a tear to my eyes. My ex-wife and I had two long-haired Chihuahuas, George and Monty. They were litter brothers, we bought Monty as a pup from a breeder, he didn’t meet the criteria for a show dog. Then George came along after his show career ended, another competitor deliberately stood on his foot, breaking it. The little paw ended up crooked and he couldn’t be shown again. Weren’t they happy to see each other. No one can tell me that dogs forget their siblings. They were never fed processed, wet pet food and ate chicken, beef, vegetables and top of the line cat biscuits and they lived for fourteen years. As they became older we would give them Reiki every night but sadly everything has to die. We had to take Monty to the Vet when his time came as he was in great pain. The trip out to the surgery and back home with his little body was one of the longest I’ve ever taken. George was devastated and moped around the house. Not long afterwards it became obvious he wouldn’t be with us for long.  We took turns sitting with him through the night, he didn’t whimper or show signs of pain. We’d been taking turns to sit with him. My wife came out and I gave up my position by the fire and returned to bed. I felt he didn’t have long but would be there for a while longer.
When I dream of someone dying, or of some terrible event with a large loss of life I see them on a train. The carriages are usually modern but are always hauled by a steam train. I settled under the blankets and found myself at the local railway station. Standing on the platform I watched as a huge steam engine passed, drawing several modern, steel carriages. It came to a halt at the end of the platform and I stood in front of the last carriage. The doors slid open and a much younger, perky George leapt in, turned and sat looking at me, giving his usual cheeky grin. Throwing the covers aside I leapt out of bed, ran to the lounge and sat next to our little dog. I put my hand on him and he passed away. We buried him next to his brother in the back yard. The good thing is they never really ‘left.’ We quite often felt them jump up on the end of the bed, do the usual three turns and flop down. Even after our divorce they would turn up, it felt comforting to have them visit me on odd occasions.  People and pets might physically die but I believe there’s a part of them that come back when we need them the most.

Next week: The Guru and his crew.

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Autumn colours and other bits from The Writer’s Room.

We took a trip to Stanthorpe and then into New South Wales last week. I wanted some autumn colour for a change and found it behind the local tourist information office.Maple tree

I said hello to this lovely old couple and thought how great it was to see them out and enjoying the weather. The track goes for about 4.5 klms.old couple

There’s also a lovely pond and the grey skies added a certain atmosphere to it.Stanthorpe

More views, in the bottom one you can still see the couple striding out.Stanthorpe

Okay, so I like boulders. These are in the Bald Rock National Park and they show quite well that a rolling stone gathers no moss.boulders

On the way out from the Boonoo Boonoo national park I spotted this termite mound. It’s about 7 feet high and looks okay as an oil painting.termite mound

No spraying water here, it was raining. We stopped at a lavender farm and while waiting for my coffee I nipped outside and snapped this.flower

Sometimes a flower looks better as art, especially with a little embossing.flower

This statue commemorating the Vietnam war is situated in Anzac Park, Brisbane. It was posed like this to show a soldier guiding a chopper down to pick up his wounded mate. So what better way to show it than from above. I gave it a newspaper photo effect, I think it adds to the drama.vietnam war statue

Finally a negative view of a forest track. it reminds me of how filmmakers show the alien’s eye view of their surroundings. Even in normal view the track didn’t look inviting.trees

That’s it for this week, nothing dramatic or outstanding just another week at the Writer’s Room.

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A Medium, or just well done? Part 2 and Reiki and the Trucker.

Part 2. The blue light comes back stronger, mixed in with red and streaked with black. I’m shown  incidents from Claire’s childhood and think, ‘That’s why she’s feeling so out of sorts.’ I say nothing to her and continue on with the healing. Placing my hands on her heart centre, which is tricky on women with large breasts I concentrate on what’s coming from there. By now I’m all to aware of the people helping from the other side. There is a tiny Japanese woman who stands opposite me and watches intently.  A man, dressed casually and looking like he’s stepped from the pages of Oscar Wilde’s, The importance of being Earnest,  stands nearby. He’s the more animated of the two and points out where I need to concentrate more of the healing. Claire stirs a little and mutters, ‘Why can I feel someone else’s hands on my head, and you’re still on my chest?’ – ‘It’s okay, just someone giving me a hand.’ Moving my hands to her solar plexus I start to change my pattern of breathing. Placing the tip of my tongue on the roof of my mouth, I breathe quickly in and out a dozen times. This stimulates my pineal gland which raises my consciousness level. With it slightly elevated I can see more of what is going on around me and gain better insights to the causes of Claire’s condition. My room has disappeared and I seem to be in an old-fashioned doctor’s theatre. There are large lamps placed around the room, each one emitting  a different colour or shade. Some are brighter than others and a tall woman is directing a red light onto Claire’s lower abdomen. I look at her and ‘hear’ her say, ‘I’m Claire’s aunt, I passed ten years ago from cervical cancer. I’m trying to help her.’ My room reappears and Anne is still sleeping in the corner.
Claire is restless as her soul centre is starting to open slightly, with the aid of the small lady. Claire begins to speak softly in a little girl’s voice, pleading and crying. I silently ask for her to quite down and the lady  shakes her head, ‘No, she needs to see this.’ I don’t argue and Claire begins to settle down. When I move to her lower abdomen, she begins to move a little and I say, ‘It’s okay, you’re safe here. It’s only memories and they won’t hurt you.’ – ‘Right but why do I hurt where your hands are now?’ – ‘The whole area is sluggish, the energy is like cold porridge but if it’s okay with you we’ll do some extra work here?’ She nods her head and grimaces. I don’t blame her as I move my hands above the chakra and pull at the energy, moving it, pulling away the old rubbish. I’m aware of my helpers again and Claire’s aunt, who is directing red light at Claire’s lower abdomen. As the light shines brighter I see that Claire has given birth once, about ten years previously and has had three abortions since the birth. I must add here that I believe that every woman is in charge of her body and reproduction, it is her choice. Sometimes there are circumstances that others have no knowledge of, there are always reasons. I cannot judge another person’s decisions and choices in life. I believe that the human soul doesn’t ‘take up residence’ until a short time prior to birth. If the woman miscarries at any stage the soul of the child pulls away and waits until another, or the same mother is ready.
I keep moving my hand through the sludge of Claire’s chakra and as it clears more imagery is revealed. A prolonged state of sexual and physical abuse from four years of age until she ran away at fourteen. Life on the streets seemed far safer for Claire, even if she had to sell herself to survive. She lived rough until her aunt found her and they moved interstate. Unfortunately Claire married a man who treated her deplorably, and after their first child, a girl he insisted she abort the following three pregnancies. For awhile I felt out of my depth. The emotion involved felt overwhelming and resonated deep inside of me. I’ve found with healing that often clients with similar conditions are attracted, especially on the emotional plane. Many ailments begin as unresolved emotional issues and over time settle into the physical body. The emotional and physical effects of Claire’s abuse as a child settled in her womb, and the subsequent abortions left their mark. Fortunately she was free of cancer, which I saw a few times in women with similar backgrounds, unfortunately she couldn’t conceive again. Remember Claire is a construct client here, I’ve made her up from two women who came to see me. Both were similar in their backgrounds although Claire stands out because of her need to conceive another child.
She must have felt my anxiety and said, ‘Are you okay?’ Shifting my feet to get comfortable I replied, ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s… well there’s a lot of things happening here and I need to talk to you about them.’ She opened her eyes and glanced at Anne whose head had fallen forward, ‘Don’t worry, when we’ve finished she can go out and get a coffee.’ The healing began to wind down, my helpers had done their bit, Claire’s aunt faded away and I began to make a sweep of my hands through her aura. There are two things I need in my room, water and tissues. I woke Anne who looked a little stunned, and sent her out of the room. I pushed the door closed, sat down and said, ‘This wasn’t a run of the mill healing, as you know a lot of your early life came up.’ She looked away, ‘Don’t be ashamed, it happens to a lot of people.’ We spoke about what I’d seen with the abortions and she began crying. I handed over the tissues and said, ‘Look, I know you want to have another child with your new man,’ she stared at me, ‘you’re aunt told me, yes she’s been here all along. the sad news is, well, I’ve been told it isn’t going to happen.’ – ‘Am I being punished for the abortions?’ – ‘No, it’s just that the last one was difficult and there seems to be an issue with scarring.’ I handed her the tissues and she cried, between sobs she asked about what I saw in her childhood. I said, ‘Have you sought some professional help about your past? Because I can’t give you the support you need to go through it again.’ She shook her head and slid off the bench, ‘No I can’t, my boyfriend doesn’t know. Even Anne doesn’t have a clue. I can’t.’
Herein lies the problem, a healer can only do so much. The client has to take control of their life and make decisions about their future with the information they’re given. I could have lied and told her that all she had to do was try and she’d get pregnant, it’s not my way. I offered her another appointment and she declined. I know that after such a full on healing she would be on the way to having some issues resolved. Her guilt over the abortions and not seeking counselling over the abuse would hold her back but we have free will and that is what she wanted.Truck

Reiki and the Trucker. You don’t have to be stretched out on my bench to receive healing, it can happen anywhere. I think the next story shows this adequately. Lorelle’s daughter-in-law gave birth at 29 weeks and her baby, Imogen died hours later. A few days later we left for the funeral in Lismore, Northern New South Wales and decided to take the inland route. We drove along the Mt Lindsay Highway and turned off onto Summerland Way. This is a hilly, rural area with intermittent traffic. We were both dressed for the funeral and had left early to make sure we arrived on time. We’d been on Summerland for a few minutes and drove down a steep slope, there on the right hand side of the road lay an overturned semi-trailer. (Tractor trailer for those over the pond) I pulled up a hundred metres down from the scene and walked up to semi. The trailer, loaded with sheepskins lay half on the road and the cab was resting on its roof in a deep ditch, with the driver’s side door facing the road. The smell of diesel fuel pouring out of a ruptured fuel tank hung heavy in the air. A couple of cars were parked opposite and two men were trying to prise the rig’s door open. I stopped next to them and asked, ‘Is the driver still inside?’ They both grunted, ‘So is anybody with him?’ They looked at me as if I’d grown another head.
I’ve attended a few accidents as a police officer and know full well the distressed state people are in when trapped in a crashed vehicle. I was aware of how the driver would be feeling, especially with the amount of fuel leaking. Getting done on my hands and knees I crawled through the half-open passenger door and came face to face with the driver, hanging by his left ankle from the steering wheel. A quick glance showed a few cuts on his hands and face. You didn’t have to be Dr Ben Casey to see that his ankle was fractured. Legs don’t usually turn in that direction. Keeping the injured party calm is a top priority and I said, ‘G’day Mate, how’s it going, just the leg giving you strife?’ – ‘Yeah Mate….. ahhh, yeah I think so, maybe my ribs too.’ – ‘Great, let me get under you here and take a bit of weight off that ankle.’ Bracing my feet against the windscreen, I leaned back, held him underneath his back and took the weight. ‘Is that better?’ – ‘Fuck yeah.’ – ‘My name’s Laurie and you are?’ – ‘Ken.’ – ‘Hi Ken.’ I looked around our cramped quarters. Everything that would have been on the dash and seats now littered the roof beneath us. Neither of us mentioned the spreading pool of diesel fuel, ‘So I take it you’ve had better days then?’ – ‘Yep, much better, arggh, shit that hurts.’ – ‘Look Ken, perhaps I can help you with the pain. I do healing, Reiki to be exact. Want me to give it a go?’ – ‘Fill your boots Mate, it bloody hurts.’
Getting comfortable, well as comfortable as you can in an upturned, broken, leaking, semi-trailer I took a firmer grip on Ken, visualised the healing symbols and felt the energy flow from my palms. Almost instantly he began to relax and so did I. A feeling of calm settled in the cabin and I could hear the two men bashing away at the driver’s door. The noise faded again and our world shrunk down to two men in a little metal box, ‘How’s it going Ken?’ – ‘Not too bad at all Mate.’ – ‘Good, it won’t be long now.’ I hope. I knew fire and rescue wouldn’t be coming anytime soon and I wished those two blokes outside would hurry up. Thoughts about people being incinerated in vehicles kept popping up, putting them to one side I concentrated on the healing. Crank! The driver’s door was dragged open and a bearded face filled my vision, ‘You blokes okay?’ – ‘Yeah Mate, we’re fine.’ Changing my grip on Ken, I shifted my feet, ‘Can you get his foot out of the wheel?’ – ‘No worries.’ Ken flinched and I hung onto him as Mr Beard eased his foot out from the steering wheel and lowered it gently. I felt the healing energy crank up and said to Mr Beard, ‘Can you come in and help me get Ken out?’ He took another look inside and replied, ‘You’re joking, right?’
No, I wasn’t joking. Moving my left arm along Ken’s leg I took as much weight as possible, crouched down and tried to shuffle out of the passenger door. Nope, that wouldn’t work. Imagine a Greyhound humping a tennis ball and that was the position I found myself in. Lowering Ken so his head was out on the ground, I moved up to his feet, held them together as he dragged himself into the ditch. Lowering them down onto the ground I managed to crawl over him, hold him under the arms and while he dug his good foot into the ground pulled him backwards. Laying him down for a moment in the shade of the trailer looming over us, I stretched my back. Looking up onto the embankment I saw Mr Beard and his offsider with a blanket, “Bring that down here, we’ll use it to carry him out.’ – ‘No way.’ He threw the blanket to me and I managed to roll Ken on to it, and then dragged him up the bank. That’s when the eager beavers came to help. We took Ken down the road a ways and made him comfortable. A woman stood on the other side of the road amongst a little group of gawkers, and called out that she was a nurse and I should be doing this and that, ‘Well come over and help me then.’ – ‘No, it’s dangerous.’
With Ken comfortable I kept the Reiki going. A quick check revealed a few more scrapes on his ribs, man he was going to have some bruising. With his leg supported and Lorelle by his side I returned to the semi, picked up his wallet, mobile phone, GPS and log book and took them back to him. I started the Reiki again and waited. An ambulance turned up ten minutes later and two paramedics approached us. I said goodbye to Ken, walked up to the first paramedic and said, “Mate, I don’t care whether you believe it or not but I’ve been doing Reiki on the driver. He’s not feeling too much pain right now but I reckon his left ankle is busted badly and he has a couple of broken ribs on the right.’ I walked off, jumped in my Utility and we drove away. Lorelle chatted for a while then said, ‘You know another semi pulled up when you were in the cab? Well, when I said you were in with the driver, he said, better him than me, diesel fuel is way to volatile these days and he drove away.’ So there we have it, Reiki can be used anywhere at anytime. Oh and we were early for the funeral.

Next week: Dogs really are man’s best friend.

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A little something for everybody at The Writer’s Room.

Another week and another sunset at the Writer’s Room. They never bore me with their beauty and more importantly, their daily appearance.

 My young brother paid a visit and we went for a walk around the property, taking in the sights and looking at things from a different perspective. This tree was struck by lightning a couple of years ago and died quickly. The white ants took over and then the bark fell off. Hmm, I know exactly how it feels. It stands at the end of a dam and appears to be reaching for the sky. All the grooves and marks are from where the white ants chewed through the sap under the bark.Dead tree and sky

The order of the day was to look at the unusual. We found this claw from a Yabby or freshwater Cray underneath a piece of loose bark on a log. The only way it could have ended up there is probably via a Butcher Bird.Yabby Claw

I moved away from the log and my brother said, ‘Laurie, take two steps to your right.’ I did, turned and this is what I saw. About a metre and a half of Red Bellied Black Snake making his way towards the dam. We’d obviously disturbed him. They’re venomous although not in the same league as the Brown and Taipan. If you look closer you may see his neck starting to flare, so he was ready to strike or slither.Red bellied black snake.

I put a picture of our home up a little while ago, although the grounds didn’t look as neat as this. Thanks for the help Bro.Our home

This group of Roos didn’t like being disturbed when we were driving up to the house. It didn’t stop lover boy on the right from chatting up a sweet young thing though.kangaroos

At least I got a smile for my efforts in the Queen Street Mall in Brisbane.ueen Street Mall

Yes, another Polocrosse picture but take a look at that tongue. Concentration at work.Polocrosse

It’s a red Bougainvillea in the background. We went to a friend’s place for lunch and of course I began taking pictures. This Wanderer Butterfly gave me some enjoyment for a while.Butterfly and flowers

 Gazanias are so beautiful. These were growing next to the footpath in Ipswich.Gazanias

 I found this feather on the footpath and took a photo. A little bit of contrast and viola!Feather

That’s your lot for this week and I hope you’ve enjoyed another look into my part of the world. If you’re new here don’t be afraid to jump in and have a look in the archives. You’ll find more photos, poetry, updates on my novels and some, hopefully insightful peeks into my careers. I’ll be starting a regular Wednesday post, naturally called ‘Whacky Wednesday.’ It will be a vehicle for some fun, guest posts, the odd funny pic, cartoon, poem or anecdote that doesn’t fit into my current posts. So stay tuned.




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A Medium, or just well done? A healing that will have you thinking and Reiki.

 A healing that will have you thinking. I have an enthralling story to tell of healing. Not because the person recovered but because of what I saw while channelling an absent healing. Yes, absent. You don’t have to be in the same room as your client or even the same house, let alone the same country. Although my client was in another city, it didn’t diminish the power or wonder of healing.
My night shift at the air base finished and I drove out to the guard box, Bruce kept the boom gate down and peered in through my window, ‘Laurie, my brother Darryl went into the cancer ward in Brisbane yesterday, he’s got biliary cancer and won’t be coming out again. Can you do your voodoo stuff for him?’ – ‘No worries Bruce, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Driving home I thought how funny it was, most of the blokes I worked with didn’t believe in what I did. After I gave Bruce three Melbourne Cup winners in a row, he sort of had a grudging respect for my talents. Actually I gathered quite a following, especially amongst some of the service police. There always seemed to be a strain, backache, headache and such that vanished after a few minutes of hands on healing. I arrived home, slipped out of my uniform and set up my room. For absent healings I would light a candle, burn a little incense and sit facing a blank wall. Then I would concentrate on the person in question.
Within a few minutes I found myself hovering along a rather dismal, dreary corridor in the Royal Brisbane Hospital. I’d been to this ward 10 years previously on a visit. At the start of the corridor and on the right there were some treatment rooms, then a curtained off section. I could see other beds further along the wall. What made me stop were a huge pair of feet, about a size 12 and they were propped up on the foot of the bed. The soles reminded me of the bottom of a camel’s foot, all porous and thick. They were knobbly, and the toes were fat with hard, yellowed toenails. I couldn’t go any further so I stayed where I could look through a gap in the curtain. I only ever saw Darryl from the knees down and his skin looked yellow. There seems to be some conjecture amongst healers in regards to giving healing to someone who hasn’t asked for it. I don’t have the answers and believe that if it isn’t taken on board it’s for one of a few reasons. 1. The person doesn’t want it. 2. The soul has its own plans and healing isn’t one of them. 3. It may be part of the person’s karma that they don’t receive the healing. So where does all this channelled healing go? I’m not sure, probably back to the source.
I usually gave half an hour to an absent healing, if I had more than one on my books I would share it around. I’m going to state here that I’m not a follower of religion. This doesn’t make me a bad person, I still believe that there is something more powerful than us ‘running the show,’ and I’ll leave it at that. What I’m about to describe, I think is amazing but it tends to provide more questions than answers. From where I hovered I could see a nurse at the bed next to Darryl’s, she wore a white gown and seemed to be prepping her patient. I quite clearly saw a man wearing a white gown, sitting next to Darryl’s bed. He had long, thick, black hair that reached his shoulders and was clean shaven. I have never seen such a handsome man, before or since. He looked in my direction and smiled, then turned his attention back to Darryl. He never spoke a word, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. I asked for the healing to come through and it entered Darryl’s feet. The man sat still and for some reason I thought he may have been a strange visitor. Strange indeed as the nurse stepped back and moved through him, and then walked away. I took another look and saw what appeared to be the same man sitting next to other beds, or standing at the head. I felt the healing slow down and found myself back in my room.
I think the term, Gobsmacked might be an understatement here. Putting the candle out I made my way to bed. The image of the long haired man stayed with me and for once in a long time I slept peacefully. The following morning I stopped off and spoke with Bruce on the back gate. I told him about the huge feet and he laughed, ‘That’s funny Laurie, Darryl hasn’t wore a pair of shoes in his life. He’s a dairy farmer and winter and summer he goes bare foot.’ I didn’t tell him about the man and promised to keep up the absent healing. Every morning I sat in my room and every morning the man sat by Darryl’s bed. I could never get any closer than the foot of the bed and those big feet. The man would smile, I’d start the healing and still wonder. I couldn’t communicate with him, although the sense of peace and love that came from him uplifted me. After a week I stopped the healings, I tried to go back but nothing happened. I figured that what needed to be done was done, besides, the yellow tint on his skin had vanished.
I didn’t see Bruce for a fortnight and when I did bump into him he took me aside in the office, “Sorry Laurie, I should have told you earlier, Darryl went home last week. The doctors were amazed, they hadn’t seen anything like it before. My brother’s well enough to spend the last of his time with his family.’ This heartened me no end and I felt a little chuffed that he may have that extra time. Darryl lived three months longer than the doctors gave him. Virtually pain free and able to talk with his family almost to the last. Did my channelled healings extend his life? Or was it the dark haired man who made the difference? I don’t really know. What I do know is that someone who went into a cancer ward to die, walked out under his own steam ten days later to spend valuable time with his loved ones.
I want to remind you that only if I travelled did I take payment for a healing, which paid for fuel. Absent healing, healing at my home were all free and this brings up the old chestnut, ‘If it’s free it can’t be any good.’ Clients would say, ‘You don’t charge for doing a healing, yet you charge for a reading. Doesn’t it all come from the same place?’ I always replied with, ‘A healing is a gift from spirit, which heals me and you. A reading may come via spirit or deceased loved ones but I’m the one who has to put up with all the bullshit from clients who want more for nothing. I put five hard years of reading, studying and practicing to get where I am. So you’re paying for my time, which is just as valuable as yours.’

Reiki Healing. A Reiki master joined the spiritualist church and all those who were interested attended a weekend of learning and were attuned to Reiki level One. This gave us all we needed to embark on a career as bona fide Reiki practitioners. (The blue link at the beginning of this paragraph will take you to Wikipedia to give you an overview.) I thought everyday spiritual healing was good. Well I have to say Reiki blew my socks off. For the first two weeks after my attunement, the palms of my hands stayed hot and sweaty, to the extent that the first two layers of skin peeled off. To counter the unbelievable amount of energy that coursed through me, I had to perform a daily self healing to keep it under control. It came with two warnings, 1. It will change your life. 2. You have to keep using the healing energy. It changed me, I felt like the energiser bunny. My senses were heightened, every healing turned into something special and I found I possessed a greater range of ‘seeing,’ in the sense of working with the human body. One or two people who were attuned at the same time stopped working with the energy. They found themselves feeling tired, rundown, heavy in the chest. Let me say here that how I work with Reiki may not be the same way as others do. I know of people who do it strictly by the book, others sit there like robots not even interacting with their client. I’ve had no complaints from either side, so I continue to do it my way.


Life changing? Part 1. In a way yes, it brought me into contact with many people and allowed me into their lives for a short while. It also took me into a realm of wonder where I saw things that are normally hidden from our view. I’ve never been one to accept that life is only what we are aware of with our five senses. The best way to explain this is to take you through a healing. People always asked when they turned up, ‘Do I get to leave my clothes on?’ – ‘Sure you do, I’ll be the one not wearing them.’ They’d look at me and I’d give them a wink, ‘Oh, you’re joking right?’ – ‘Of course I’m joking, I like to lighten the mood a little.’ I’d still get a few funny looks but it took the tension out of the air. Look, I’m not a caftan wearing type who wanders around casting blessings. Staring deeply into people and connecting with them in the hope of wringing funds out of them, or drawing them into their little club. (I’ve met a few like that though) I’m just me, who happens to have a talent and a need to look beyond the veil. Half an hour prior to a healing I would make sure my massage table had clean linen, pillows and a blanket. The room temperature can change quickly during the healing and the client usually descends into a deep sleep. So they need to be warm. I always light a candle, light a stick of incense, I like the smell, and play some soft music. These aren’t necessary, it’s more of a ritual for me and to lighten the feel of the room. As a level 1 practitioner I would stand in the room and ask for the healing energy to begin. Now at Master level I draw the symbols in the air above the table.  Let’s create a client, we’ll call her Claire, she’s 35 and feeling sluggish, worn out and depressed. She brings a friend, Anne. A large percentage of my clientele fitted the age and gender profile and many brought a friend. I encouraged women to bring someone, it gave me a sense of security.
Ann, feeling nervous sits in a chair in the corner of the room. Claire climbs onto the table and lays down. I put the blanket on her up to the waist and she makes herself comfortable, ‘Now close your eyes Claire and relax.’ – ‘Yeah right, why do I need to close them?’ – ‘It will help you relax and I can assure you of a colourful spectacle.’ My hands have warmed up with the healing energy and I go through my own style of prayer for protection and healing. I hold my right hand a foot above Claire and move it over her body, at first along the line of the chakras. If any one of them isn’t giving off a good feeling I note them for further attention. If there are problems with the limbs I’ll feel a pull towards the one in question. Satisfied I stand at the table behind Claire’s head. We’ve discussed my touching her body and she’s agreed, if not I would hold my hands above her. Starting at the crown I place my hands on the top of her head and close my eyes. I do this to better see what is happening and to focus on what I’m being told. I give each chakra about five minutes, then if there are any problems I have time to work on them. The crown is the connection to the soul and I’ve found it to be an uplifting experience, especially when you see the pure white light that shines from it. That and the information that sometimes comes, to pass onto the client, quite often when they are in a time of doubt about life and their place in it.  I’ve found that many people have a limited connection to the soul, why? I can only imagine that it has to do with where they are in their life. What they want and how immersed they are in the physical plane. Then I move to the third eye centre on the forehead. One hand on the front, the other on the back of the head. This is when the colours really begin to emerge and depending which one it is I can ascertain where the problem lies. Claire is half asleep and says, ‘Hmm, look at the colours, all those blues and reds.’ I hear a little snore, open my eyes and see that Anne has dozed off in the corner. She’s getting a healing too, along with me. I return to the task at hand and place my hands gently on each side of Claire’s throat. The blue comes back stronger, mixed in with red and streaked with black. I’m shown incidents from Claire’s childhood and think, ‘That’s why she’s feeling so out of sorts.’

Next week: Part 2 and Reiki and the Trucker.

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Googly eyes and stuff at The Writer’s Room.

A sunset for a change this week, a dramatic sky taken from the front lawn.Sunset

For those who like kangaroos we have the metal roos from George Street in Brisbane. I’ve shown these before singly, this is a view from across the street. They appear to be begging from passers-by.metal kangaroos

What do you do with a red light camera that’s begging to be photographed? You turn it B&W and give it googly eyes.traffic camera

I like the way the light reflects off these buildings, plus the palm tree gives it some style.buildings in Brisbane

We went to a credit union function so I decided to take a few pics from the third floor. The wind blew these grass heads to and fro. I like the way the light filters through them.grass

Nobody seems to notice the tree growing up on the roof, taken in the Queen Street Mall.queen street mall

Somebody has to make characters out of balloons.balloon man

I reached the end of the mall and saw this old gentleman walking towards me, I took the snap and kept going. When I looked at it again I saw a correlation between him and the young man walking beside him. Both are in step, heads down and deep in thought. Each marching to the beat of their own drum. street photography

I seem to be drawn to horse events lately. Last Sunday I went for a drive and saw a sign for Polocrosse at the Laidley show grounds. Signs on the gate said it was a private event, so I hung around outside and took a few shots, then a woman invited me inside. Once inside I took a few more and an official told me to go up between the two main fields, so I could get better shots. I think I did. Right amongst the action I snapped madly away, taking shots on both fields. I only had to dodge out of the way once.  The first picture is my favourite, the woman looks ready to clobber her opponent with her racquet. It reminds me of one of those paintings of a cavalry battle in times gone by. I think the women gave as good as they got in the matches I saw played.polocrosse at Laidley

Polocrosse at Laidley

Polocrosse at Laidley

That’s the lot for this week, thanks for stopping by and sharing my week. If you want to view more photos of the event follow this link and it will take you to my Facebook album. You don’t need a Facebook account to view it. For the kangaroo fans, follow this link to see a kangaroo and joey on our veranda. Until next time,





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A Medium, or just well done? Let’s take a look at healing.

Healing can occur on many levels, physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. As this series works on the basis of, ‘I write when I remember it’ then it may come across as being a little ad hoc.  While attending the spiritualist church, I involved myself in healing. During services in the spiritualist movement, healing consists of hands on healing, normally by placing the hands on the person’s shoulders.  There is a tingling, warm feeling in the hands and this flows into the receiver. Some feel it as a warmth, an electric sensation or nothing at all. Over a couple of years I became attuned to Reiki Master but that is another story. My first official client as a healer was, a stallion. This came about via a client from a psychic reading. she’d brought along a photo of her boyfriend and I had ‘read’ a few problems that ailed him. The photo was of him sat on one of his horses and I picked up a few things about the horse too. I’ll call our man Tex. He wasn’t the nicest human being I’d met but his cutting horse was having problems moving from the hips. Tex took me out to the yard and I met Bobby, 16 hands of Quarter Horse-cross muscle. Bobby stood still while I took a look at his aura, everything seemed fine except for an area near his groin. After feeling around his hip, stifle and flank I felt guided to go further. To boldly go where no man has gone before, I placed my hand in between his groin and testicles. I know, we’d only just met and hadn’t even shared a drink. Poor old Bobby was sore. He let out a little snort as my hand touched the lump of muscle, high in the groin. I kept my hand there and asked for the healing energy. The warmth flowed and slowly increased in temperature. I received impressions of Bobby having overextended himself, when turning swiftly to stop a cow going past. That and a busy season standing at stud. Tex didn’t seem overly fazed when I asked if he’d sought attention from a vet, ‘Can’t afford it, do what you can.’ – ‘Well I can’t promise anything here Mate. It feels like a corked muscle, he needs some rest at least.’ I felt sorry for Bobby and spent another half an hour with my hand on the muscle. I could feel him relax and in turn the muscle started to loosen. I made two more visits to give Bobby a healing and told Tex that it was the best I could do. He rang me a week later at some indecent hour of the morning and hollered into the phone, ‘You did it, Bobby’s moving like a young un. I can do anything with him.’ Tex didn’t treat his horses or his woman well at all and both of them left his life within a year. Dare I say, for greener pastures,
A cat became my next client. I attended a woman’s home for a reading and her cat came and sat by my feet. After the reading the cat, Tiddles, jumped up on my lap. Judy said, ‘I’ve had her for a little while and she’s been off lately. Can you tell what’s wrong?’ My hands had warmed up while Tiddles sat by my feet and were positively burning by the time I held her. It may come as no surprise to cat owners, that cats think differently to everyone else.  With Bobby I received a sense of trust and a need for food. Tiddles filled my mind with abstract shapes and a feeling of ‘go away,’ quickly followed by imagery of a car wrecking yard, from a cat’s perspective. I told Judy what I was seeing, ‘Oh, how clever, that’s where I found her. She lived in the spare parts shed. Now why is she sick?’ Closing my eyes I let the cat show me the problem, and it was easily fixed. Judy had changed the brand of tinned food. Tiddles gave me an image of two different cans, simple as that, she didn’t like the new brand. Dog owners can rest assured that their favourite pooch is quite psychically aware, loyal and often concerned about members of his/her family. In future posts I’ll discuss a few instances where the family dog has warned their owner through me.

‘I can’t get pregnant, we’ve been trying for nine years, spent tens of thousands of dollars and still nothing.’ Eve sat across the table from me, looking as forlorn as she sounded. I was her last resort, and they didn’t want to adopt. ‘Can you tell me if I’ll ever have a baby?’ She’d done the rounds of psychics and been given different versions from, never going to happen, to I can help you but it’s going to cost you. Eve wasn’t gullible. She’d been recommended by one of the ladies from the chemist shop. I laid out the cards and began my usual routine of looking and tuning in to the symbolism of the cards. I was shown a man and felt that he was one of her specialists, I described him and she nodded her head, I said, ‘This man will be able to help you with the in-vitro procedure.’ – ‘Are you sure?’ – I nodded this time, I didn’t speak as I was being shown a reason why she couldn’t get pregnant.

 Baby The black, landau style coach rattled and swayed along the rutted, dirt road. Ancient oaks hanging heavy with wisteria and old man’s beard flashed past. I saw Eve hanging on for dear life, her belly swollen, visible as it pushed against several petticoats and a white dress. Blood oozed onto her white stockings and her broken waters stained the leather seat. I could only see the rear of the man with her, as he stared helplessly at the frightening spectacle before him. Eve screamed and fell to the floor, her face became whiter than her dress. Scrabbling weakly at her petticoats she drew them up to reveal a tiny pair of blue legs sticking out from her. Before the coach reached the small township she passed in great pain and regret at losing her third child. ‘Do you believe in past lives, Eve?’ She stared at me for a moment before answering, ‘Sort of, I guess. What’s it to do with me not getting pregnant?’ I told her what I’d seen and went on to impart more information, ‘Look, I don’t pull this stuff out of my bum to entertain people. I’m shown it for a reason and in this case you’re reason for not getting pregnant could be as simple as being afraid.’ She gave me the look. ‘Bear with me for a moment and give me your hands, I can channel a healing for you and it won’t just be on a physical level. There’s a spiritual aspect here that can be put right.’ She held out her hands and I took them in mine. The healing began swiftly, a rush of tingles through my hands and into hers, then the heat came. I closed my eyes for a moment and watched the blue colour travel up her arms and down into her torso, stopping at her ovaries and womb. I opened my eyes and she sat staring at me, as if I’d grown another head. I smiled reassuringly and asked her to close her eyes and feel.
It stopped and she opened her eyes, this time with a smile on her face, “I actually felt that Laurie, I could feel it right down there.’ – ‘That’s good, now you’ll be pregnant by July this year (it was mid May at this stage) and I’m told that you’ll have another child next year.’ She stood up and held her handbag close to her chest, ‘Thanks, it’s been nothing if not interesting.’ I received a call from Eve in the October, yes she was pregnant. She returned the following year after giving birth and becoming pregnant again. I channelled another healing along with a warning, ‘This child will be fine but whatever you do don’t go for number three. You’ve got what you wanted.’ She gave me a condescending look and left feeling happy with life. I never heard from her again and I don’t know if she went for number three. What I do know is a woman who had tried for nine years to fall pregnant, did so after having a spiritual healing. Was it a placebo effect? If it was she still gained the two children she’d been longing for.

Psychic Surgery. I wanted to learn everything I could about the art of healing and didn’t let anything stand in my way. Doubt is the silent killer of success. If I read an account of someone doing something in the arena of psychic awareness, then I’d give it a go. When I read a few books on psychic surgery I thought, Well this could be interesting, if they can do it why can’t I? My first real victim  client, was actually Lorelle. This was long before we became an item. She complained of terrible pain and had been diagnosed with Endometriosis. By this stage I began noticing people in spirit around my healing bench. One or two were regulars and there would always be a relation to the client there as well. This is how the procedure went, after helping Lorelle onto the bench I covered her up to the chest with a light blanket. Placing one hand on her forehead and taking hold of her right hand I would silently ask for protection and healing. within a few moments the heat would come and she entered into a light, half sleep. After a couple of minutes I removed my hands and asked her to raise her arms. She couldn’t, then her legs, nothing there neither. Good. I informed her that she was safe and that nothing would harm her. She might see strange coloured lights, people and even departed relatives. She nodded and I began. Moving my hand through her aura above her lower abdomen, I made a cutting movement. Then I put my hand in and began to pull at the clotted energy there. She started to groan a little and I asked that she be helped to calm down. More pulling until it didn’t feel like working in a sticky, heavy sponge then I asked for healing light. When I saw the light fade I made a sewing sensation through the area with my hand, applied more light and let her lay for a while. Throughout the whole procedure I was shown the actual womb and fibre like tendrils of Endometriosis.
Let’s move forward a few years, Lorelle and I are together and she starts complaining about erratic periods and some pain. She decides to check it out with the Doctor first, who sends her for a scan. After the scan the specialist working there calls us into his examination room and puts her scans up on the wall and says, ‘Now when did you have your last Caesarean section?’ – ‘I’ve never had one, all my children were born normally.’ – ‘Well, according to the scan here you’ve had internal stitching near the neck of your womb, look, it’s plain as day.’ We both looked and there it was a perfect line of stitch marks showing up blue. Happy to say her discomfort was menopause and nothing sinister. Hmm, well that depends….

Healing hand prints. So, I hear you ask, is this energy real? My son has a medical condition that affects his spine. It manifested when he was about 12. On the Friday he was booked in for a full body x-ray at the Children’s Hospital. On the Thursday night he called out and asked if I could help get rid of the pain in his lower back. Kneeling by the bed I placed both my hands on each side of his spine in the lower lumbar region. The hear generated became intense and he had to ask me to stop. The pain subsided and he went to sleep. We arrived at the hospital at 7 am and waited. An orderly turned up with a gurney and wheeled him up to x-ray. He returned about an hour later and we waited to see the specialist. I saw them go into the examination area and after a little while there came a, ‘Who ruined this x-ray, look at it? Aren’t they supposed to be professionals up there?’ The nurse called my son in and I followed. There was his x-ray hanging against the wall, a full skeleton with two, life-sized, golden handprints over the lower lumbar area. Flares of light speared off from the fingers, beautiful indeed.
Next week: A healing that will have you thinking.

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Something’s upside down at The Writer’s Room.

Good morning, yes it’s Friday in Oz and it’s writer’s room time again. I took this burst of fireworks at Crows Nest, north of Toowoomba. The mist came in as the show began and the effect is quite eerie. Here is the link for the  Crows Nest Rodeo for those who are interested. You don’t have to be on Facebook to view them.fireworks at Crows Nest

A view of Cunningham’s Gap, on the Great Dividing Range taken near Aratula.Great Dividng Range.

This rural scene is on the opposite side of the road from the red barn picture in last week’s post.Rural

Yes, it’s upside down. Taken at Nardia Lagoon in Laidley.Nardia Lagoon

A rather large hibiscus taken at a friend’s place. While I snapped the picture on the right a flower lower down caught against my jeans and covered my front in pollen.Hibiscus

Yes, I do get off my bum and do something now and then. One of three dead trees I felled for firewood. In the bottom picture you’ll see a Butcher Bird perching on the wood. They turn up within a minute of the saw starting up. There’s a regular feast of bugs  living on the wood and they swoop in and grab them.Tractor

I took a break and sat with the camera, waiting for him to come closer. I got the feeling that he wanted me to stir up more food.Butcher Bird

If something stays there long enough without care, then nature takes over, at Mt Mort.gtave

I’ll toot my own horn here and say that this is a pretty good night shot of a fast horse. The barrel racing ladies certainly put everything into their sport.barrel racing

I had to drag myself from a comfy seat to take the pic on the left at ground level, I’m still picking sand out of my teeth. The pic on the right needs no introduction, lovely lady on a beautiful horse.horses

The show’s over, the fireworks fizzle out and three lovely ladies stopped to have their photo taken.cowgirls

Okay, here are the Roos. ‘Mum, that man’s taking pictures of me.’ Dad turns up and solves that problem.kangaroos

Definitely something for everyone this week. I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit. Until next week,

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It’s Wednesday and you get to see me on Seumas Gallacher’s blog. Oh and a couple of Roos.

#TBSU is short for The Blog Scratcher’s Union, of which the redoubtable Seumas is the founding member. A self confessed media tart and inmate of Facebook’s notorious lockup, (he still has the outfit with the little arrows on it) the lad from the Govan Docklands put out the call for fellow scribblers to become guests on his blog. Many have answered the call and my offering went up yesterday. To keep in with my, *cough* rigid schedule I am bringing it to you this morning. So don’t be bashful, pop over and see what the man has to offer. I can truly say you won’t be disappointed with the reception. He is quite the writer with three crime/adventure novels to his credit and take a look at where he lives now, it’s a long way from Glasgow. So without further ado follow this link → To Laurie’s Guest Post.

Kangaroos for the aficionados.  🙂

The following two pictures are from the big kangaroo fight in the paddock last year. The chap on the left looks a little apprehensive if you ask me.kangaroos

I do think they’re into Simon Says in the left pic.  That’s one big claw on the right, a real handy back scratcher. Ouch.kangaroos

Yes, it’s Marilyn Munroo and she has an eye for big, bruising Kangaroos.page2

I hope this fills the gap until next time.

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A Medium, or just well done? There’s no hiding from them and If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.

 There’s no hiding from them. ‘That’s my daughter over there you know. She’s a lovely girl.’ The American accented voice faded and I saw something resembling an old shed, with hens scratching around in the dust. The scene vanished as the long line in the bank moved slowly forward. ‘You have to tell her I’m okay. She wasn’t there when I passed over.’ Another few steps forward and I could see a tall, slender woman with long blonde hair standing behind the glass partition. This was in the days before key card accounts, if you wanted your money you had to stand in line. Of course with nothing better to do, my mind wandered and the woman in spirit ambushed me. The voice became a touch strident and demanding and I said, ‘Look, I don’t walk up to people and say your dead Mum’s here you know.’ The hens became clearer, ‘What’s with the chickens?’ – ‘You’ll see, now please tell her, she’ll understand.’ My turn came and I leant on the counter, looked from the teller’s, very pleasant, smiling face to her nametag, Mary Chicken. The penny dropped, hens, chicken pens. I looked around at the three other lines and the people behind me, shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘Look, I don’t usually do this but while I was waiting a woman who said she’s your mother wanted me to tell you something.’ Her face brightened up and she said, ‘Well go on, what did she say?’ – ‘Well, that she’s okay and you weren’t there when she passed over.’ She struggled a little as she counted out my money, then pushed a pen and paper over to me, ”Give me your phone number, I’d love to see you and talk to my Mom.’ Maree came for her reading and to be honest I can’t recall what came through, only that I saw an awful lot of bank tellers over the following weeks.
I must have been a bad lad, because it’s said there’s no rest for the wicked. There’s no sense of time in the spirit world, Yes they know when to turn up but it’s before hand when there’s something important to say and they can’t wait. For example, in the shower. Shampooing away, yes I had enough hair to wash, and then a voice pops up, ‘She has to get her car checked. The front left brake is dodgy, you have to tell her.’ – ‘Tell who?’ – ‘My daughter Ally. She’s driving that heap of shit her boyfriend calls a car.’ I’m shown a green Holden sedan and say, ‘So how am I supposed to tell her? If you haven’t noticed I’m having a shower. Besides I don’t have an Ally in my book?’ – ‘You will.’ He disappears and an hour later the phone rings, ‘Hi, my name’s Ally and I’d like to make an appointment.’ – ‘Well don’t drive the Holden.’ – ‘Who said that?’ – ‘Your Dad I believe.’ At least she didn’t whinge when she turned up.
Fast asleep in bed and a hand rests on my foot. I move it and two Chihuahuas and a grey cat whinge and snort as I disturb them. Hmm, it’s not them. ‘Can you help me?’ For a moment I forget that I’m a psychic and let out a girly squee. A faintly luminous form shimmers at the end of the bed, ‘I’m lost, can you help me?’ – ‘Can you hang on, I need to pee?’ I didn’t before but I do now. I returned to bed and climbed under the covers, ‘Okay, what’s happened?’ A vivid image forms in my mind, I recognise London. There’s a red double decker bus, a 1950’s vintage, a crunch and my nocturnal visitor is sprawled dead on a wet street, ‘It’s been awhile, why are you here now?’ More imagery and a woman briefly appears then fades away, ‘I’m really lost, I saw your light and came here.’ Sitting up quietly not wanting to wake the wife, I sat on the edge of the bed. A brighter light begins to form up in the corner of the ceiling, it grows bigger as I watch. She’s still facing me, ‘Turn around and head for the light that’s in the corner.’ She turns and begins to fade away. I close my eyes and watch as the light brightens, there are others there, waiting. She vanishes, I felt a rush of warmth and love and the light is gone in an instant.

If you don’t want to know, don’t ask. This one works until you get THE question, ‘Does my bum look big in these jeans?’ I leave that one to the likes of Socrates and Plato to answer. I had to work with such questions as, ‘Is my husband cheating?’ A quick delve into the cards, then focus on hubby. A vision of him appears, giving some healthy chested lass a good seeing to in the back of his van. The client is a slender woman, ‘Err, well yes he his actually.’ She sits quietly fuming for a moment then gets stuck into me, “Why did you tell me that. My husband wouldn’t cheat on me. You’re lying, blah, blah, blah.’ Or this one. A woman of Middle Eastern appearance came for a reading. She’d been referred by Carly’s Mum and seemed quite eager to hear what I had to say. I’ll call her Sarah. We went through the usual routine and I said, ‘I can do a general reading or you can ask pertinent questions, it’s up to you.’ – ‘I want to know about my son, he’s five.’ I always felt uncomfortable looking into the lives of small children. If I saw something dubious or dangerous the parent often became upset and abusive.’ – I want to know.’ – ‘Look, I can go ahead about seven years. After that there are too many variables, free will comes into play.’ – ‘I don’t care, I want to know.’ I spent the reading going through the minutiae of her lad’s life. This took place in 1995 and I reached his 25th birthday in 2020.
A shimmering heatwave flowed upwards from the desert sand in the deep valley. A stripped down, brown Land Rover rattled along the flint strewn road that wound down from the mountains. Two men sat in the front and one, Sarah’s son stood in the back hanging onto a swivel mounted .50 calibre Browning machine gun. A feeling of great conflict came to me, the valley clouded over and the shimmer turned black. Nothing. I felt quite sick, the thought of another war in the Middle East depressed me. Gathering my thoughts I told her what I saw, emphasising that I didn’t see anything happening to him, that 20 years was a long time. She stood up and screamed, ‘How dare you tell me my son is going to die, he’s my son and you tell me this. What are you, why do you do this?’ I couldn’t reason with her. The thought that he might die became too much for her. She refused to pay and stormed out. I didn’t tell her that he wasn’t fighting for Australia. If you don’t want to know, please don’t ask.

The unexpected death. Michael came to see me the day after he flew down from Cairns, in North Queensland. He’d been referred by a satisfied customer, not that it ever seemed to make much difference, and seemed eager to get started. Sitting back in his chair he soaked up everything I had to say. There wasn’t anything outstanding about his reading, all seemed well in his life and near future. I sat back and a man appeared next to him. A large, robust, round faced happy man. ‘I’m really dead you know.’ – ‘I think you are. So, I take it Michael is your grandson?’ – ‘Yes, he saw me a couple of days ago in Cairns.’ Sitting up straight I said to Michael, ‘I have a large man in spirit for you, he says he’s your grandad.’ – ‘What? Bullshit I saw him the other day. No Mate you’re wrong, he’s alive.’ Grandad gave me some information only Michael would know and I passed it on. ‘Nope you’re reading my mind.’ – ‘Go out to the kitchen and ring home, they’ll tell you.’ He returned five minutes later, ‘Shit, he’s dead. They found him a couple of hours ago. Mum just found out.’ I gave myself a mental high five.

IMG_0199The Missing Professor.  I’d never done a reading for a university professor before, didn’t really expect to neither. He rang me after being recommended by Rory, the first thing he assured me of was, ‘I’m not gay.’ It didn’t matter to me. The man was a pleasure to read for. he listened, wrote notes and asked pertinent questions. His main one being, ‘Will my book be published?’ After some in depth looking around in his aura it came to me that writing was one of his main reasons for being. I gave him some information on his upcoming holidays overseas and voiced my concern about his health, especially his stress levels, ‘I’m fine, fit as a bull.’ Well he certainly looked it but there seemed to be something amiss with his mental state, ‘It’s only stress,’ he assured me, ‘I told you, I’m fit.’
A few weeks later he popped back with a copy of his book for me and he brought a new client. I looked at him and said, ‘You’re the bloke on that TV current affairs show.’ He nodded and sat down, looking a little uncomfortable he said, ‘You won’t tell anyone else I’m here, will you?’ – “No Steve, you’re fine here.’ He wasn’t hard to miss, with his chiselled good looks, tanned skin and thick black hair. The professor left us to it and waited in the lounge. I dealt the cards and away we went. What a happy, well balanced individual. After reading his family I went straight into his career. I began getting quite lucid visions of events to come around the Brisbane area, At first they appeared to be about him, then I realised I was seeing news stories to come. He took copious notes in shorthand and I managed to read him for the following 10 years. We had afternoon tea, a good talk about world affairs and away they went.
A few months later Steve rang and made another appointment, ‘Look Laurie, it’s about the Professor. He’s still overseas and nobody has heard from him since he left.’ I had that afternoon free and Steve turned up right on time. No cuppa this time, straight down to the room. We settled in and I sat back and began taking deep breaths, slowed them down and went into a meditative state. Keeping an image of the Professor in my mind’s eye I began.
Voices echoed down long corridors. Cold, harshly lit corridors that seemed to stretch forever. I wandered along looking from side to side. Heavy wooden doors with thick glass windows in them appeared and faded away. The voices were high pitched, vibrant with terror and frustration. My arms were folded in front of me, they felt restricted and I pulled to get them in front of me. Nothing. A room materialised around me, three large men stood around the Professor. My bonds fell away and I could see him strapped into a straight jacket. Head back, mouth wide open he screamed long and loud. Spittle hung from his scraggly beard and the muscles in his neck strained, ready to split. He looked in my direction and his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets. I opened my eyes and slowly rubbed my face, Steve sat forward and asked, ‘Well, did you find him?’ – ‘I think so, he’s still overseas and alive.’ Steve sat back and hung his head for a moment, ‘So where is he?’ – ‘Hang on.’ Closing my eyes I returned to the corridor, thankfully the screaming had stopped. Letting the mind roam I picked up a tune, it was an ABBA song, Dancing Queen. ‘He’s in Sweden.’
I heard from Steve the following week. They’d found the Prof, alive and not so well in a Swedish mental hospital. He’d suffered a total mental breakdown, apparently he’d been plagued by nervous breakdowns from when he was a young university student. The professor never fully recovered and I lost track of Steve after he switched to another TV channel.

Next week: Let’s take a look at healing.

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There’s even more diversity at The Writer’s Room.

Greetings from the Writer’s Room, and we have another car from the Prenslau car show. You need to open this in a new tab to appreciate its style and beauty.Antique Roadster

This is Nardia Lagoon on the way into Laidley. Autumn mornings are quite bright.IMG_0018

 A collection of snaps from the Ipswich Show. I love the challenge of night photography.Ipswich Show

Clockwise, at the car show and the car is still on the road in original condition. Milk cans make great letterboxes at Roadvale.  The derelicts in the bottom picture are slowly rusting away when they could at least be recycled through a metal merchant.oldthings

 A Billabong or waterhole near Mt Mort.Billabong

A Dandelion head ready to go forth and multiply. I took the pictures at sunset, then in the dark and I picked it early the following morning while there was still dew on it.IMG_0580-horz

Back to the show, a couple of movement shots of Go Kart racing. The blurring is intentional. I like the top one, the man with the flag has his eyes shut, ‘I don’t see any winners.’ In the bottom shot. ‘What’s that Fred they all went past?’ The cart driver goes, ‘He, he, he, they can’t see me.’Go karts

This lumberjack was part of a comedy act at the show, he played around 50 feet off the ground. With all the fun and planking, at the end of it all he was a photographer.Lumberjack

A peaceful country scene, even the cows posed.RedBarn

Back to the show. This motocross rider performed well, I managed to get these shots regardless of a man’s large head, two girls who kept jumping up and very little light.Motorcross

 He wasn’t that sure about having his picture taken at all.Kangaroos

 That’s your lot for this week, hopefully I’ve catered for Team Roo, those hardy souls who love cute. Until next week,

Click this link and it will take you to my Facebook album for the Crows Nest Rodeo even if you don’t have Facebook you will be able to view it.

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Kangaroo Wednesday.

Due to unprecedented requests for more kangaroo pictures, I gave way to mob rule. (Actually two people said, ‘We want Roos.’) After massaging my twisted arm I put these pictures together for your viewing pleasure. – This fine specimen of Roo-hood is new to the front yard. I sat out on the veranda and took these a few evenings ago. He kept eyeballing me the whole time and actually made me feel a tad uncomfortable. I don’t censor my pics, yes that is his penis.  The bottom one was having a good scratch, when you open these in a new tab you’ll see the midges flying around their heads.

The little joey appears to have been orphaned and the Roo he’s with is a juvenile male. They interacted almost like mother and joey. They were both quite comfortable when the big fella turned up.kangaroos

Everyone wanted to have their portrait taken next to the strange heads in the garden.kangaroos

I hope those who felt deprived have had their fix and remember, they look much better opened in a new tab or window. Until next time,

PS. Sorry about the odd post with html code that popped up last night. I was trying to do something new and it didn’t work.


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A Medium, or just well done? It doesn’t matter how many times you’re right. They come in groups.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’re right, people will still pick you up on one thing. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts a psychic/medium has to prove themselves with every sitting. I’ll call her Tammy. She came to see me on a wet, wintery day. I put the little electric heater on in the reading room and made us both a cup of hot Milo. Like many clients she didn’t know exactly what she wanted other than, ‘Tell me what you see.’ This can be fraught with peril as what you see might not be what they want to know. Luckily things were taken out of my control and a man came through in spirit. His presence was quite strong and he gave me a name straight away, Eric. No formalities here, he appeared in my minds eye larger than life. He lay propped up in a large bed. Dark haired, handsome in a rugged way he smiled broadly at me and said, “So, you can actually see me?’ (Let me say here that when they speak it comes into my mind like a thought.) ‘Yes I can.’ – ‘Good, now tell her I’m okay.’ Those in spirit have a huge need to let the living know that they’re okay, that there’s no more pain. I passed this on to Tammy and she nodded, giving me the old, you’re trying to con me look.
Eric, her Dad, felt her negativity and began to show me exactly how his life went until he passed on from lung cancer. I felt as if I were watching a 3D movie and saw every item in his room. Because he didn’t want to spend his last few months in hospital, his family set the room up with all of his treasures. There were shelves of books, some of which I described to Tammy. Photographs adorned the walls, of family members and friends. Collectable items sat on shelves, he had a TV and record player and I told her about everything I saw. She agreed that what I saw did indeed adorn her father’s room. He showed me his friends who visited and gave me their names and what they talked about. I must admit, I was stoked. This was by far the best reading I’d channelled. He showed me where he worked and the route he took to the station. There were his pets and hobbies, the list goes on. He ended the reading by showing me a Blue cattle dog, which he patted daily. It sat at the entrance to the suburban railway station Eric commuted to work from. He would stop, pat it on the head and give it a treat.

IMG_0003Well, Tammy’s reaction was quite a surprise. She pushed her chair back, stood up and yelled, ‘You’re lying to me, he never owned that dog. He never told us about it. You’re full of shit.’ She flung her money on the table and left. Hmm, I thought, that didn’t go to well at all. I sat back and thought through the reading, trying to see where I’d gone wrong. Oh well, it takes all kinds. Let’s fast forward six months and I’m in town paying a bill. I get off the escalator and head towards the bank, when I hear a woman calling my name. Yes, it’s Tammy. She came closer, stopped about ten feet away and said hurriedly, ‘The dog, it used to wait for Dad every day when he went to work. I told Mum about the reading and she said it was true about the dog, and everything else.’ Then she turned and fled. I felt rather chuffed after that. I knew the reading was good, she did too, deep down. Perhaps I’d frightened her with such a vivid portrayal of her father, who knows? What I do know is this, you can tell 99 truths and it only takes one doubtful piece of information to ruin the whole thing.

I still can’t win. Darkness, utter, complete darkness. I could hear the pinging of cooling metal and smell burnt paint, fuel and cooking human flesh. The darkness retreated and a long road appeared. I stood there trying not to look down into the gully at the twisted, blackened metal. Instead I kept looking away, at the cat’s eyes glimmering on the white line and the lazy flash, flash, flash of blue lights coming from the police car parked further up the road. Her voice cut through my vision, ‘Well come on, tell me how he died.’ – ‘You know how he died,’ I said slowly, part of myself still stayed with the vision, ‘he died instantly in a car crash.’ – ‘That’s not good enough, what was his body like?’ I knew what his body would look like. As a police officer I’d spent hours waiting next to a burnt out car for it to cool down. Then removed the bodies of a man and a boy, burnt and roasted beyond recognition. I didn’t need to see her brother, Peter in that condition. Looking at the car again I saw a perfect, unblemished, white male body, hanging half out of the driver’s window. I said, ‘He was drunk, speeding and lost control. Sliding off the road the car rolled, burst into flames and landed against the fence. He had brown hair and was well built.’ – ‘I want to know what his body looked like.’ Opening my eyes I rubbed them and stared at Rachel. I couldn’t understand why someone would want a description of a charcoaled relative. I’d given his name, description, job, type of car. Still not good enough. ‘Look,’ I tried to keep my tone even, ‘the reason I’m not being shown his burnt body is because of my earlier experience with death by fire.’ She still wasn’t impressed, I went on, ‘Why is it so important that you need a description of the burns?’ – ‘Because if you can’t tell me everything, then you’re a fake.’ I could live with being called a fake. Although I don’t know if I could’ve lived with her knowing that he hadn’t died instantly like the police said. They wanted to save her from the trauma of knowing that he had burnt to death, screaming and wailing while hanging halfway out of the car.

They come in groups. She stood naked in the doorway of a small bedroom. Flicking her long, black hair away from her face, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Then slid her hands slowly down over her breasts, coming to a stop at her lower abdomen. Turning she stared at the man propped up against the silky oak bedhead. His thick beard couldn’t hide the grin on his face, though thankfully the damp sheet hid him from the waist down. Raising his hand he beckoned her back into the room. The scene changed and I heard a voice say, ‘It’s her sister and her boss.’ Sitting back I took another look at my client and thought, Hmm, it’s not her, her hair’s a different shade and short. Not wanting to beat around the bush I said, ‘Your sister and her boss are having an affair.’ She looked at me for a moment, shook her head and replied, ‘I, well I couldn’t say.’ I described the boss and the scene being played out in the room. Her face turned a little white, ‘Oh, well, maybe.’  Sally, still dressed in her uniform from the chemist shop, primped at her neat hair and asked me for a card. We finished the reading and she left. Half an hour later I received a call from Amanda wanting a reading the following morning.
I held the screen door open for Amanda, she blushed brightly as she squeezed past me and said, ‘I, hmm, think you might recognise me.’ – Keeping a gentlemanly air about me I replied, “I’d know your, err, face anywhere, now come in and we’ll get started.’ She sat down and tried not to look at me, I put on my best, understanding face and said, ‘Look, I don’t judge anybody here. I’m no saint so let’s get started.’ – ‘Thanks, look I, we don’t do it anymore it was…’ I put my hand up, ‘It’s fine, now let’s see what’s happening with you.’ I know she was impressed with the reading and she passed my number around to just about every friend she had. I experienced a burst of calls that went on for weeks.

With Gay abandon. I have no problem with a person’s sexual orientation, which is just as well as a group of Gay men and women, dare I say, came out of the woodwork.  Rory, a tall, David Bowie look-alike arrived for an early appointment. Dressed in Edwardian style coat and pants he brought an aura of laughter and happiness into the room with him. He’d taken a taxi from Fortitude Valley to my home in Ipswich after a gruelling night of clubbing. I went into my usual state of mind and looked at his aura. Bright, vibrant and pulsing it amazed me with its mix of colours. We went through the usual, job, family, money, home and when I arrived at relationship his aura seemed to dim slightly. I picked up an image of a man in his late fifties. I saw him as an old Queen. (The term used for a much older homosexual man) I told Rory and he sat back and laughed. Flicking his hand in the air with a dismissive wave he said, ‘Oh, that’s old Alfie, he’s such a sweetie.’ I took another look at Rory’s aura and saw Alfie, large as life and very dark. ‘I see you’re in a relationship with him.’ – ‘Well, it’s like this, he….’ I broke in, ‘He provides you with money for your, hmm, lavish lifestyle and you repay him with…..’ – ‘Well you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes Laurie.’ He said with a touch of something in his voice. Shame? Self loathing? ‘Look Laurie, he’s not the prettiest thing you’ve seen.’ I nodded, hoping it was at least a sage nod. We completed the reading and Rory left in a swirl, his aftershave outdoing the incense I’d burned earlier.
The following Friday who should turn up but Alfie. A nice sort of bloke who did his best to hide from the old, prying eyes of yours truly. He had plenty to hide. His aura consisted of faded colours, greying around the edges. Expansive, it seemed to fill up the room, this made it easier to see the multitude of black splotches in it. They were of various sizes from pinhead to fist sized. Taking hold of his hands I picked up more information, he was HIV positive. I looked at him for a moment and said, ‘You’re aura tells me that you are quite ill and that you have…’ he broke in and said, ‘Rory told me you were good, go on say it.’ – ‘You have HIV.’ – ‘You knew before I even came here.’ – ‘I had a feeling when I saw you in Rory’s aura.’ – His voice took on a hard edge, ‘You didn’t tell him did you?’ – I thought for a moment before answering, ‘It’s not up to me Alfie, you’re the one who has to tell him.’ The reading didn’t progress well after that, Alfie seemed uncomfortable and couldn’t wait to leave.
The following week was quite interesting and I met every type of gender variation you could name. Even Cherie, a lady/man who castrated himself because he wanted to be a woman. The health system finally took notice and she received the drugs needed to continue with the transformation. Yes they were different and relaxed when they realised I wasn’t judging them. They had all the same life problems as the rest of us: work, money, relationships, loss, grief. Some were deeply troubled souls who, I hope, benefitted from some channelled wisdom. Quite often in cases where people had no one in spirit they would still get a message. Usually one that resonated with them, that gave them hope about their choices. I’ve not coined the term spirit guides in my writing so far, mainly because it’s a term that is bandied about and often refers to some long dead Native American. I do know that there are those in spirit who watch over us, and give us a nudge in the right direction. Yes and they do try to keep us from harm. I have been pulled from behind by my collar, to stop me walking in front of a semi trailer racing past my parked car in a service station. So I tend to think that yes, we have guidance. Is it some great mystic or renowned spiritual leader? I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m a down to earth kind of bloke who swears, has a drink now and then, used to chase women and writes adult books. Perhaps I’d been assigned someone of similar tastes. 🙂  Whoever it was always came up with the goods for some of the troubled souls that I met. Don’t get me wrong, just because these people were different it doesn’t make them any more troubled than the rest of us.

Next Week: There’s no hiding from them and If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.

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Diversity plus at The Writer’s Room.

Welcome to the Writer’s Room, I know there are plenty of pictures so where’s the writing bit? You can find it via the archives. I take photos so I have a reason to go out. I’ve had a moon up before but I like the dreamy aspect of this one. Taken from the front veranda.Setting moon

 A beautiful Gazania, almost a sunrise in itself.Gazania

Taken last week at the Ipswich Show, or Fair for those living over the pond. I’ll have more next week.Ferris Wheel

Fireworks need no explanation.Fireworks

Mother’s day flowers for Lorelle, so I did a little practice with the flash.Flowers

A close up of a carnation.Carnation

A Tawny Frogmouth at the Show. They’re often called an Owl but are related to the Nightjar.Tawny Frogmouth

I heard the Lorikeets squawking in the bottlebrush trees and went out for a look. This little bloke flew up into a nearby gum tree and gave me a ton of lip, err beak. I like the way the morning sun highlights him.Rainbow Lorikeets

Yes, more cars from the car show at Prenslau. A Morris Minor and a Ford below.Hot Rods

A little fun happening here. The Canberra Jet Bomber was used in Vietnam by the Royal Australian Air Force and were then retired from service. This bomber is on display at the side of the highway at Amberley. The pigeons love it I think.Canberra Bomber

On our little soiree around the district last week we came across Dick and his wife taking the cattle for a walk. Actually he was getting the Arab horse he’s riding used to cattle and roadwork for a client.Arab Horse

Okay, here’s a kangaroo pic for those feeling bereft. She gave a bit of attitude then came across the lawn and sat a few feet away for another shot.Kangaroos

There we have it for another week folks. Thanks for dropping by and looking at the images from my part of the world. Remember the pics look much better opened in a new tab or window. Until next week,


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La Perouse Dreaming, part 4. The Yacht.








The Yacht.
She moved like a lover,
soft and gentle as she danced
on the blue waters.
Tethered to the seabed
you could almost see the
struggle to be free,
like a horse born
to run.
To move with shameless abandon
on the huge swells beyond
the headlands showed,
as she dipped her bow
She called to me
like some latter day siren.
Walking into the sea
I dived under the waves.
The water cooling my
burning skin.
Lungs bursting I
surfaced, then swam.
Each stroke, took me nearer.
She looked faded, used.
I came closer and the sea
pulled at me.
I felt its tug drawing me down.
Down to where a rusting
anchor shackled her spirit.
Kicking, gaining strength
from fear I reached the
taught anchor chain.
Hands trembling I grasped it
and breathed as though
it were my last.
What seemed glamorous
and pure from a distance,
mocked me with its peeling
paint and weathered timbers.
Patched sails hung like
rumpled stockings and
her timbers squeaked
and groaned as though in pain.
Seagulls perching on the spar
mocked me. Disdain in their
raucous cries.
I ran my hand over
her hull as though I
were reading braille.
Reading a story of
the sea. Begging her
to divulge the secrets
of foreign lands.
Leaning back I stared
I could see her age
and mistook it for weakness.
Yet, she journeyed here,
through the swells and the
ancient sandstone cliffs.
Satisfied that I’d met her
I let go of the chain.
I’d never feel her deck
under my bare feet.
Or the ocean spray
against my face as we
sailed the vast Pacific.
Putting the yearning
away, deep in my heart,
I let the sea push me to
Stopping now and then
I glanced at the sand ahead,
it glowed yellow under the hot
sun and I knew I’d finally
come home.

This is a terrible picture taken with a Samsung Video camera on single shot in 2007, above Cong Wong Beach, La Perouse, and well before we bought our current camera. Excuses over. Yes that’s Moi. The yacht would have been anchored at the extreme right edge of the photo and it was high tide. The beach is divided into Big Cong Wong and Little Cong Wong, which is now a nudist beach, with perverts lurking in the bushes. Sad. In 1961 it was a young boy’s paradise, swimming, rock climbing, adventure with a capital A. I swam there winter and summer. Coming from the cold, damp north-west of England to this was a blessing. Yes I had indeed come home.


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A Medium, or just well done? So, you’re dying, what’s happening? I return to a murder scene.

So, you’re dying. I didn’t recognise the room, in the dim light I could only see the bed. Dawn appeared to be an hour away, and the faint sound of surf crashing on the beach nearby, failed to dampen the sound of a woman gasping for breath. From my position near the nightstand I watched in morbid fascination as she raised her hand and lurched upwards. Mouth wide open in a silent scream, eyes bulging, she clawed at the air. Falling back she clasped her hands to her thin chest and began panting. I felt a familiar pull at my back, the room vanished and I sat up in my own bed, pain lancing across my chest.  The alarm clock jangled on the nightstand. I grabbed it, switched it off and thumped it down. Staggering into the bathroom I stood under the shower and thought, What the hell’s wrong with Mum?

Not all Mother – Child relationships are heaven-sent, mine seemed to be somewhere between purgatory, an abysmal chasm of grief and small periods of love. I hung onto the love as much as I could over the four years of no contact, except for a brief visit to see another family member, and zero conversation. Suffice to say we were both hurting. Ignoring my chest pain I dressed, ate breakfast and left for my early shift at the airbase. My head pounded all day, I felt nauseous and kept getting chest pains. I knew what it was, mother. I’m stubborn and said nothing, yet knew something wasn’t right. I returned home, grunted at the ex and fell into bed. She woke me five hours later, my brother had rung. Mother had been taken to hospital, she walked out of the chemist shop mid morning and collapsed on the street, suffering a heart attack.

The trip to Tweed Heads down on the New South Wales border dragged. My pain retreated and I concentrated on driving. This can be difficult when your maternal grandmother and uncle, both deceased are sitting in the back seat. Whenever I glanced in the rear view mirror, there they were. I had no trouble recognising them, Uncle Jack passed when I was about 6 and Nanna lived with us for a while in Sydney. We all arrived at the hospital about 10pm and were led through to ICU. I stood alone at the door leading into the small, darkened room. Within seconds everything vanished to be replaced by a blindingly crisp, white light. The bed appeared and this time there were no machines, only my mother laying on it, dead and wrapped in a crisp, white shroud. It was Monday, I knew she would be gone by Sunday. Moving slowly into the room I sat down by the bed and took her hand. A lifetime of hard work and drudgery toughened it. I held it and thought back through the years. Those hands had held me close to her breast, washed me, dressed me, smacked me, reassured me and pushed me away. I remembered the stories she told of her time working in a hotel at 14, hard, unforgiving work. She’d been a riveter in the ship yards when WW2 broke out and had driven all manner of vehicles in the army. The stories of driving truck loads of American soldiers to the south of England prior to D-day stayed with me. Now, her hands were limp, white and the veins stood out. I whispered, ‘I love you Mum.’ then I cried. She brought her other arm over and held me. I began to pick up images of moonlit beaches and her, walking along the wet sand, alone, deserted. Then I felt myself being dragged there and I pulled back. I spoke with a doctor who assured me she would be up and around in no time and back in the general ward. Lying bastard. I took my ex home, organised time off from work and returned to the Tweed, moving into mother’s unit.

I would sit in the corner of the hospital room by the bed head, out-of-the-way and talk. She either slept or murmured a reply. I contacted my sister in America and an estranged brother; my other brother came up from South Australia. Having spent four years telling myself that my Mum was dead took me through the grief process. I could sit and watch the grief of others, knowing that I had been through most of it. Every morning I would stand at the doorway and look at her aura. From her feet to her thighs a blackness lay there. By the Thursday it hung around her lower abdomen. I knew then her kidneys were faltering. Whenever I stared at the wall opposite me it would vanish and I’d see a large group of people standing together. They all wore purple robes, like gospel singers. Some I recognised. I’d tell Mum and she’d mumble, ‘Oh yes, they were here last night. My mum and grandma are there.’ Then she’d rattle off a few names. The group would sing but mainly they hung around, waiting. On the Friday morning I watched and Carly appeared (the girl from an earlier post) dressed in a ballet outfit she danced and tottered around, smiling broadly. I didn’t say anything and Mum said, ‘Oh that little girl is so nice.’ Saturday and she handed over her jewellery, spoke with us individually and slipped into a deeper sleep. Blackness crept up above her navel and the remaining chakras dimmed. faint glows of yellow, green and blue swirled around her.

Saturday night and we received a call, she’s going. A false alarm and after an hour I drove my siblings to the flat. On daybreak my sister wanted to return to the hospital. I drove along the deserted road leading through Tweed Heads, when a large fish fell out of the sky. A metre away from smacking into the windscreen a huge sea eagle, claws extended swooped down, grasped the fish and beating its wings flew away with its breakfast. We looked at each other, she said, ‘What does that mean?’ – ‘Mum’s going to die today.’ As an aside, Mum had a picture in her unit of a sea eagle with a fish in its claws. I checked her aura when we went in and it seemed steady. Satisfied we left to get breakfast. Early in the afternoon we returned and began the death watch, the nursing staff left us alone and I took up my position. We sat around talking quietly amongst ourselves. A few friends turned up and we spent the evening reminiscing. Mum’s breathing changed about 8.45pm and I noticed a white shape hovering near the ceiling, above the bed. Her aura seemed to glow and her breathing became heavier. Mum loved classical music and someone mentioned how nice it would be if we had brought a cassette player and tapes along. An advert for coffee at the time featured a man singing opera. A television in the nurses station came on and the coffee ad could be heard loud and clear. As the ad faded Mum’s breathing became laboured. I gripped her hand and watched as the white shape lay a few inches above her. The remains of her aura, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet rolled up into a ball and sank into her chest. The form vanished, her throat rattled and she stopped breathing. A thin stream of mixed colours poured out of her forehead, coalesced into a large ball up in the corner of the ceiling, paused and then vanished. I felt a tugging, as if she were trying to take me too. The nurses came in and led us out, I glanced back at the bed. My Mum had gone, all that remained was the shell of a woman who brought me into the world.

We hung around in the family room, a nurse came in and said we could go and see our mother. We took turns and I stood at the door to her room. The machinery, screens and bedside table were all gone. Only a bed and a body in a shroud lay there under the bright light. By 3am we were back at the unit, I put the kettle on while the others sat around the table and talked. Mum’s padded kitchen chair stood in the corner. I kept glancing at it and then I noticed the globs of blue light. They were forming into the shape of a woman, sitting with her legs crossed. I said, ‘Oi, have a look in the corner.’ They all saw it and stared quietly until the lights faded and vanished.

She hung around at her funeral and stayed in the corner while I read the eulogy. I didn’t cry. My grieving stretched over four years. I cried while typing this though, for myself, her and the vagaries of life that lead us to shun each other. She was who she was, none of this becoming some sainted being because she’d died. I’ve come to grips with the terrible events of my childhood and her hearty dislike of my first wife and my friends. It was her way or the highway. What I hang onto and cherish are the faded memories of my early childhood,.. when we loved each other.

I return to a murder scene.  Sixteen years on from this event and I’m working in the pass office at the RAAF base. Two women turn up, one a service member I know, who I’ll call Zelda and the other a civilian. Zelda gave me an address for her friend, I sat back and said, ‘Well, I know that place, it would have to be haunted surely?’ The women looked at each other and Zelda said, ‘How do you know?’ I told her about attending the murder scene when I was a copper, and that I’m now something of a paranormal buff, ‘Well come on over after you knock off, I’m sure it’ll be interesting.’ I have to say here that Zelda was an extremely friendly woman, quite the social butterfly. I rang home and told the ex I would be home when I finished investigating the house.

Zelda must have heard my car, she stood at the front door in her silk dressing gown waiting. pausing at the door I relived the hot summer night, the howling dogs, the blood, a mangled face. taking a deep breath I walked in. Nothing, only Zelda hovering too close. Stopping at the entry to the kitchen I said, ‘Well, the kitchen’s different, the table was here and the wall there. Now it looks to have been extended.’ Feeling a damp chill on my back I asked if I could use the toilet. I stepped down into the laundry and found the toilet. That’s when I felt her, no, not Zelda. I forget the woman’s name so we’ll call her Julie. I felt her hovering behind me, a huge, aggravating presence determined to scare me out of the house. When that didn’t work she leaned on me while I peed. Now that’s spooky. I tried to communicate to no avail, the only thing that came from her was, pain, fear, jealousy and grief. Returning to the lounge room I asked Zelda what she felt in the house, ‘Aggro, nothing but aggro. Every married couple who have lived here broke up and there have been a lot of them.’ She pointed at the main bedroom, ‘Come in here and I’ll show you.’ I know, an opening line if ever I’ve heard one.

We sat on the bed and the room became chilly. Zelda laid back on the pillows and the room became colder. Making myself comfortable I laid down and listened, a niggling, droning sound, faint but oh so annoying filled the room. Zelda rolled on her side and faced me, ‘Whenever someone’s in here with me the room gets all funny.’ She moved a little closer, her gown slipped open and Julie stepped up the aggro, ‘See what I mean? It’s worse when I start to…’ I stood up and said, ‘Look, I have to get going. Nothing I do here is going to move Julie on. I get the feeling she’s locked into the place. If it bothers you that much my only suggestion is to move out.’ Zelda slid off the bed, slowly I might add and followed me through to the back door. I stopped next to an open bedroom door, her housemate’s room, with huge posters of male bodybuilders on the wall. I said, ‘Those blokes are really cut.’ She muttered, ‘I thought you might be gay.’ Not wanting to contradict her, she’d tried all of her womanly wiles to keep me there, I smiled and bid her goodnight. Ah, the dangers of paranormal investigation are many fold. Driving home I could still feel Julie’s presence. Gone the scared, gentle spirit I interacted with in the morgue after her death. Instead she’d become jealous and devoted to ruining relationships. Driving men out of her home seemed to be her reason for being. With Zelda living there I knew she would have no shortage of victims. I’m not judging Zelda, she loved men’s company.

As an aside I drove past the house last weekend and saw a man erecting another extension. I thought about stopping and asking about any  strange happenings, I even pulled up in the driveway. Then I noticed the aggravated look on the man’s face and drove away. No Laurie keep away, just drive on.

Next week:  It doesn’t matter how many times you’re right.  They come in groups.

Looking back and wondering.

Blogging is an interesting pastime, you get to write about what makes you tick, the things you’re passionate about, or even your favourite recipes, photos or events. I’ve had a great time since January 2012, the ups and downs in life, the excitement of writing and publishing novels, the interaction with and meeting a lot of nice folk. During this time I’ve opened up and poured my heart and soul out to the world, maybe a little too much, I don’t know. After going back through some of my posts, especially those of a deeply personal nature, ie suicide, I noticed a fall off in likes and comments. Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m not complaining just observing. It seems that mental illness, suicide and abuse are still taboo subjects. I’ve brought this up because I have one part of my life that hasn’t been aired in any real detail, my childhood. Even I have a sense of trepidation about the subject. Do I write about something so unpalatable? Is it confrontational? Has it been overdone? Should I just let it go and post happy snaps? Then I read a reply from a dear lady friend on here and she told me about the sexual abuse of her grandson at the hands of a youth pastor. So in the maelstrom that is the world at this moment in time, does one add to the ongoing horror, or write about the survival of a child? I just don’t know. For now I’ll amble along, share a photo or two and test the waters of the WordPress community.

Cheers Laurie.

Green Parrots enjoying a cold morning swim.

A couple of birds and stuff at The Writer’s Room.

I haven’t started off with a sunset in ages, so here we are. There’s a certain delicate feel about the clouds.Sunset

While I was slaving away on the rock pile the other day this young Magpie began squawking and carrying on for a feed. His overworked mother flew away and it sat like this for about 20 minutes, didn’t move at all. Magpie

“I don’t know what it is but every time I bend over I feel like I’m being watched.”Kangaroo

A buggy at the Harrow homestead, it’s nice but I still prefer my SUV. 🙂Buggy

At Harrow homestead.Garden at Harrow House

Obviously we have a camera shy Bee here but her full load of pollen looks impressive.Bee

Absolutely no trouble taking this picture, the Cicada shell just sat there. 🙂 I noticed it on the fence while taking the pics of the Magpie.Cicada shell.

The Corellas are still hanging around and upsetting the locals. This one made its presence felt.Long Billed Corella

I couldn’t straighten this pic otherwise I’d have lost the Lorikeet flying away. I’d hate to be bitten by the Corrella.Corella and Lorikeets

Struttin’ his stuff.Corella

“Sir, Sir, excuse me Sir, can you let me in? This wire’s a bit sharp and the grass looks so nice in there.”Kangaroo

I don’t think much more can be said about this pic, other than it’s a beautiful Lorikeet.Rainbow Lorikeet

Well, that’s your lot for another week folks. I hope you’ve enjoyed my offerings, if you have come back next week to see what’s happening at The Writer’s Room. For those who are new here there’s plenty to see in the archives, poetry, novels, more photos and a collection of stories from back in the day.