Portals (part 1)

I pulled the covers up under my chin and watched my moonlit breath escape in a misted sigh.

That was odd. Even in my half sleep state I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be a particularly cold night. It was March in Brisbane after all. First month of Autumn. And I was alone in the old farmhouse with my kids at their mother’s and my partner on a retreat in Guatemala.

Worse still. Rising moisture in that old house had forced me out of the master bedroom to sleep on a mattress on the livingroom floor.

I stirred, rousing myself into a more lucid state. The air bit at my cheeks with icy teeth.

I shuddered and let another stream of mist blast out over me.

Then I heard it.

A soft shuffle of feet and a sigh to echo my own.

Like a seven year old child, I peered out over the covers to the entry way from the hall. Ordinarily, with the moon this bright, I should’ve been able to see across the small hallway intersection to the white door of my daughter’s bedroom.

But not that night.

Instead, a dark silhouette filled the archway with a darkness that spilled back blacking out the rest of the hall. My breath caught in my throat.

The fighter in me insisted I leap off the mattress and attack this intruder, but my instinct held me in check. This was no normal intruder.

It stood there, watching. Its malintent seething forth in a tide of putrescence making my skin crawl.

When my partner left for Guatemala she had told me that if I ever experienced anything untoward to just tell it to go away and leave me alone. That it wasn’t welcome. In those moments as I peeked out from under the covers those words seemed somewhat dismissive. But short of calling for a priest with an African dig site, they were all I could think of.

“Get out! You aren’t welcome here!” My voice was strong, unwavering and commanding. I felt conviction and powerful facing this rising fear. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but what happened next was not what I had been hoping for.

The shadow moved. Puffed up. And the room was filled with thunderous foot steps as it rushed forward to stand over me. I had time to draw in a gasp of breath before it pressed down on me with a silent scream. I closed my eyes, but its pale face was still there. Its yawning maw about to consume me.

Then it withdrew. The weight upon my shoulders lifted and it was back in the hallway. Only now I could see the ghostly smudge of white that was its face lurking just beyond the moonlight. Not knowing what else to do I did something I had not done since I left private school. I recited the Lord’s prayer and Hail Mary over and over, projecting my voice with conviction as I sat up.

It chuckled.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Staring at each other as a pair of adversaries across a battlefield. But it wasn’t until Mitchel, our rooster, crowed that I realised the sky was lightening to the deep blue of predawn.

Slowly, I toppled over onto the pillows and fell asleep.

The Emperor's New Cloak

We dodge our way through the throng of shoppers like a dance through a china shop. I can feel my client getting agitated and he's ready to explode.

His shoulders stoop lower than usual. Simmering fury glares up from beneath a furrowed brow.

Shifts with him are draining. I get to the end of ten hours feeling like I’ve done twenty. Managing the anger of someone with so many triggers is a fine balancing act.

I tip toe along a taut cable, over a chasm of angst and rage.

This isn't good. Not here. Not in such a crowded place. The tightrope begins to wobble. The china on the shelves are about to topple.

I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder and almost snatch it back. Not because of his reaction or any flinch response on my behalf.

No. In the instant my palm falls upon his pullover, I see a flash that makes my head swoon.

The light shoots down my arm, directly into his chest and is swallowed by a churning vortex. A black hole of emotion, seething with a need to consume all around it. 

My stride falters.

I marvel at this obscure event and instinctively let the current rise into a tsunami that crashes down and closes the rift instantly.

My client relaxes. His head rises and a soft smile touches his lips.

I let my hand drop away and feel the force of a prime mover smash into me. It’s time to get him seated in the cinemas so I can recover….

Opening up to spirituality has had numerous unexpected benefits. One that made the biggest difference to me, as a mental health worker, was learning how to cloak my energy from the unwitting energy vampires I work with.

The process is relatively simple, but like all “simple” processes you can make it as complicated as you like. I find that the more intricate I make the process, the more focused I become.

The greater the end result.

My cloaking started with the suggestion that I imagine I am enclosed in a mirrored bubble. The bubble’s surface reflecting any low vibrations back onto the person they emanate from.

But invariably, what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for another.

Every time I envisioned the bubble, it would morph into a composite armour with mirrored plates. Those dynamic mirrors would move around me to meet each etheric challenge as it was presented.

Whilst effective for a time, it was too labour intensive. Required too much focus and if my attention wavered in the slightest, all effort would come undone.

There had to be a better way.

It was during a kinesiology session that I was instructed in, what would eventually become, my “go to” defence.

The energetic cloak.

The essence is to imagine a cloak draping over you. The purpose of this energetic field is to shield you from low vibration energy and indeed help you become less noticeable (as I will explain in a later post).

Your cloak can be made of anything you desire. Be it fire, water, earth, smoke, cloth.

Anything!

My mentor in this had several, one of which was chainmail, and all sounded extremely cool.

When starting out, it doesn't really matter what it's made of. What's important is to establish the cloak and a seamless routine of donning it.

As long as it covers your entire body and you can envision it clearly, then you are off to a good start.

The routine that I was first instructed in was as follows:

-   Imagine yourself going to a wardrobe
-  Open its doors
-  See you cloak hanging there in all its splendor 
-  Take the cloak out
-  Examine it, noticing the details and any decorations you have used
-  Drape it over you
-  Feel your energy push out against it and close any gaps
-  Feel the confidence and security it gives you
-  Have faith that it works

With practice it will become instinctive.

These days my cloaking process is short. It simply flows over body, expands from the outward pressure of my light.

My energy activates runes and light codes in its surface.  These differ depending on the circumstances.

If, like me, you still need people to feel your light, then develop a cloak that permits such. Just remember it also needs to allow the energy of the universe IN, to replenish that which you let out or you will end up depleted.

Have some creative fun and I’d love to hear how you go.

The Fascination of Light Codes

What are these “Codes” you are doing?

First of all a simple summary of what Light Codes actually are. They are the physical representation of sacred geometries, sound waves, energy patterns, light patterns, frequencies and colour emitted from the very fabric of Creation - that is including but definitely not limited to our 3D world. They manifest as sigils, glyphs, runes, line work and colour blends.

Light Codes are recognised by Spiritualists and Occultists the world over and have been used/recorded since we were dropped on this wondrous mud ball hurtling through space and time.

How does it work and what does it do?

Due to the very nature of Light Codes they activate parts of our “higher” mind. Indeed our subconscious not only acknowledges them, but understands their meaning. Think of it like a segment of the Matrix as it’s plugged into your head - your own code is being updated. Does that mean you’ll become a Kung Fu master after viewing a particular code? Maybe, I’ve been playing guitar for two weeks now and smashed out the rhythm of Zeppelin's “Kashmir” just by ear the other day after doing some code work. So who knows?

During my experimentation with Light Codes I have found that I have been able to draw on them with “intent”. That is I sit down with pen and paper, meditate on the recipient of these codes and let my hands do the work. I don’t premeditate any pattern. What comes through, comes through there and then. The resulting code is often what you NEED at that time, not necessarily what your heart desires.

Can these codes magically make me rich?

While I haven’t tried to use them to win the Lotto, I did channel a code when my partner was waiting on a wire transfer of funds from the US. Said funds were projected to take several days to be drawn and then several more to be transferred and cleared. I set the intention to speed the process along with this particular code, as the best scenario we were looking at was 6 business days. Upon completion of the code I sent it to her and before I could explain what it was she replied, saying that the funds had been drawn. Not only that, but the funds were transferred and cleared by the next business day.  But this was for money already in motion. So can it make you rich? I will let you know when I pay cash for my first Lamborghini.

I think the better question would be, will they help make you feel more complete. To which I answer with an emphatically “YES”.

Bottom line is the codes, at least as I have discovered thus far, are more about energetic and spiritual alignment. That is, alignment with your higher purpose. But that being said, if you are aligned then the 3D novelties will come to you faster. The negative energy, the muck that weighs you down, has been cleared from your path to success.

The Second Son

It’s a crisp Saturday afternoon in June when I find myself climbing from my truck into a quiet Brisbane suburban street. The sun barely takes the edge off the air and I hesitate long enough to pull my hoody on before venturing up the driveway of the nondescript house.

The place is so inconspicuous that had I not been told to keep an eye out for the white Toyota in the drive I’d have driven straight past it. In fact I did drive past to make a u-turn, but even then I caught myself wondering whether I had the right place. It’s odd.

I am looking at the house.

I can SEE the house.

But it’s like it doesn’t WANT me to see.

I scoot around the Toyota and rap chilled knuckles on the screen door. Beyond the threshold I see the collapsible massage table draped sheets and pillows. So this is where the magick happens, I muse.

My percussion driven enquiry is replied to with an enthusiastic head popping around the corner from an adjacent room.

“Just a sec,” she says before disappearing again to the scrape of a chair across the floor. “Did you find it ok? Most people drive past.” She sweeps into the room and lets me in

Smaller and younger than I imagined, Cass introduces herself and leads me to her dining table, catching my lingering gaze at the massage table as we leave it behind.

“Take a seat, I don’t really do much kinesiology with adults, it’s more intuitive healing. We have a chat, Identify the problem and then guide you back to the source, usually something from a past life. But if we need to get you on the table we can.”

“No, that’s cool. I’ve had kinesiology before and it was awesome, but I am always open to a new experience.”

We chat a bit more as Cass explains her method and what I should expect. “Some people freak when confronted with the core problem, so I just don’t want you to be surprised if emotions start running away.”

“Oh, I’m pretty attuned to what’s holding me back at the moment, that being said I am open to whatever we find. Have a very open mind.”

“Ok, cool.” She leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. I do likewise as she instructs me to get comfortable. Only seconds pass before she starts talking.

“You have a strong sense of not being good enough. You know you can do things,  but you let this feeling hold you back from stepping into your power.”

“Yep, that resonates,” I reply. “I have this sort of discussion with my partner all the time. What’s she told you about me?” I laugh.

“Nothing in this regard,” she smiles. “We haven’t been conspiring.”

I open my eyes as Cass shifts in her seat. “Ok, now I am going to walk you through a guided meditation. We’re going to go back to the lifetime that is the source of this feeling. Are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

I close my eyes and sink down into the chair, my head lolling to one side until my chin drops down onto my chest.

Her words are hypnotic. I have come here just for that, so I have allowed myself to be hypnotised.

Images flash before my eyes as I follow her instructions.

Rapid fire scenes of people throughout the world in their day to day lives. The scenes pause long enough for a blonde to look back over her shoulder and laugh at me. Then on again in a cascade of revelry and tears as the spectrum of human existence unfurls before my eyes

“Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring.” …

Her words sweep me away. Hers, not Stoker’s. And yet there is some credence to the reference, for after leading me into this state she breaks off from the guidance.

“I see an opulent chamber. It’s somewhere in the 1400’s.”

Well it’s 1447, actually and this is an Ottoman solar. I catch myself. Where the fuck did that come from?

“Oh wow, you are a crowned prince, 18 or 19, around that age.”

A prince I may be, but this isn’t my home. I see myself, dressed in Ottoman refinery with my jet black hair freshly combed, standing before a young Turk much the same age as me. But there is little of pleasantness that passes between us.

I notice I am tenderly rubbing at the raw manacle marks on my wrists. To my right my younger brother sits amongst cushions, dressed and made up like some harem whore.

The sight of him alone is enough to set my blood boiling.

“You are readying to petition your father for permission to marry, but know that such a request will be difficult.” She pauses, trying to lever the information from unwilling currents. “It’s difficult and frowned upon to marry a low born woman.”

Even more so when she’s a lowborn Turk and the only reason you are doing it is to get out of this God forsaken land.

“But you are dealt a blow when you are informed your father has been killed. You aren’t ready for this. You can’t fathom that the mantel should fall to you. This isn’t how it is supposed to be. You aren’t ready for this. How can you be?”

No. Because if I am in line for the throne, it means my older brother has been slain too. I know of no current wars. Yes the political games play out behind tightly monitored borders and in the bed chambers of sycophant boyars, but open battle?

No.

That means they have been murdered.

Betrayed.

She pulls me from the scene and I doubt whether she realises I was so embedded. That I knew what was unfurling before her words slipped past her lips.

She guides me further through halls and stairways, common imagery in many guided meditations, yet with her own flavour of delivery.

At the foot of a long flight of stairs I come to a blue door. Cass instructs me to open it.

But there’s more to this than she has articulated, for seated at a desk beside the door is a bearded man. His dark fringe splits in disarray to reveal amber eyes peering out from golden flesh. In one hand he holds a quill and in the other a single sheet of parchment.

He regards me for a moment, drops the sheet and holds out his hand with an impatient gesture. I blink and realise I too hold parchment, three in fact. I glance at them and shuffle until I can pass him the second sheet.

He looks over the paper, which appears to have nothing written on it, then signs off on it with the quill, leaving no trace of ink.

As I reach for the door I glance back. I am by no means a religious man, so it surprises me that I should have come across Jesus like this.

He gives me an impatient smile to send me on my way.

The door swings open and Cass’ guidance echoes around an expansive chamber within a pyramid. Golden light beams down onto a stone altar in the middle of the chamber. She guides me to run my fingers over the glyphs etched into the granite.

“You see your past self enter from the opposite side of the chamber as he comes forth to ask your forgiveness.”

Her voice slips away as he enters.

He moves forward with the grace and ease of a serpent. Fitting really. After all, he was The Son of the Dragon. At the foot of the dais he drops to one knee, head bowed. I tentatively reach out to him, cupping his stubbled chin in the palm of my hand.

His dark eyes rise to meet mine.

Tears well for both of us.

“I did not mean for all this to be.” His words are English, yet accented strongly towards Eastern Europe.

“I know.” I nod with understanding. “We are as one.” And with those words a sea of imagery flashes through my minds eye. Forests of Beech, Spruce and Oak. Then even denser forests of poles with impaled bodies, men, women and children. An ocean of screams floods my ears.

“Forgive my sins.”

“Few accept you for who you truly are,” I reply. “You did what needed be done.”

The understanding and acceptance breaks his demeanour and he lets out a cry and in that moment it is a young child’s chin I hold in my hand. The boy sobs with fear and relief. I move to embrace him and his tiny arms grip me as fiercely as a grown man.

“Ok, you are going to come back now,” Cass chimes. The boy turns to smoke in my embrace and the chamber fades. I open my eyes to find myself once again sitting in Cass’ dining room. She smiles at me, “Wow.”