You are communicating with a soul who chose to return their human aspect to the universal field of consciousness.

From whatever plane of existence, or whatever aspect of John’s expansive soul communicates with me, is beyond my human comprehension. I know he doesn’t have access to the all of what is, whatever that means? His perception now contains the breadth of his multitude of lives. He communicates with me through my familiarity with his personality — of John.

A couple of posts ago, The Flowering Moon, I shared some of John’s extraordinary signs; his double mirage in the Xmas baubles and the photo outlining his blue aura. I also included a clip of one of his signature signs, the swinging of the blinds; the other being the repositioning of the feather on his hat. What I forgot to mention in the conclusion of my last post, Whispers Of Wisdom, was the extraordinary disappearing feather act, which I now understand as confirmation of what I had shared in the Flowering Moon post.

At the completion of the first sitting of drafting the Whispers Of Wisdom post, I left the study and noticed the feather was missing from John’s hat. I checked the table’s built in shelf, the floor, the shoe box underneath — nothing. A panic spread. I walked into the bedroom and picked up the wee urn on his altar. Cupping it in my palm, I asked, Can you please show me where the feather is? I walked back out into the main room of the house and there was the feather, returned to its usual position on the crown of his hat.

Was something missing in the post?

A week later, on the Tuesday Blue Moon, I arrived home to find two small feathers moved from the brim and repositioned on the table. I left them there. That Saturday was punctuated with blind swinging affirmations and confirmation of the telepathic messages that were to-ing and fro-ing. Out came the cards and rods to gain clarification on John’s pokes about our writing — whether to shift the possibility of mapping these seven years into a post death memoir into a probability.

Peace by piece, John smiles as I write.

Wednesday I dashed to Melbourne for two nights. Upon returning home Friday, I noticed the barn owl feather had been moved from the hat’s crown, flipped upside down and placed behind it to rest on the table. It was a poke. With a blind swinging acknowledgement of my agreement I headed in for a mid-afternoon meditation, it being the beginning of a long weekend public holiday. It happens to mark the occasion where John and I came to union in this lifetime — 36 years ago.

Saturday — our union day, I received this message:

All Earth’s sentient beings are multidimensional aspects of consciousness — how else could you feel into the whispers of wisdom from the trees? These understandings are carried in the body — an integration of frequencies that blend their emanations with kin. Trust your path; the soul-full led spaces between life and lives.

Labels and storylines are shaped by human parameters of conceptualisation, which can inadvertently foster attachments. In their necessary surrender and release is a paradox, the possibility of creating others. It’s a matter of perception.

An open curiosity and imagination are enablers — of a soul led, human exploration beyond time and space.

Call it what you will, though call what it is ...

It was a meditative day, I sat with the pinch of loss, and gratitude for feeling the presence of John’s energy. I often come out of dream state communication with snippets, like little hooks to later anchor more meaning, when John clarifies with his other modes of messaging. I had received:

Soul/Heart - Body/Mind - Throat/Bridge — our channels of communication.

The silent connection brings coherence, feeling into listening opens the channels of knowing — truth — communicating in a language of integration, came this elaboration in the writing. Trust in one’s internal guidance of soul is key; curiosity, not for answers — for accepting realities that branch beyond our perception — here as there — John adds. Our writing can offer a bridge to hope, he gently pokes.

Feel into what your soul wants you to remember ...

Sunday night I went with specific intention for meditation. As you are aware, I am an advocate of past life recall, for the benevolent healing energies received from our own expansive soul and team. Those I have accessed are documented in previous posts. However, I was keen to be given a glimpse into a life that John and I shared; one he has mentioned to two mediums, where I was widowed to him in WW11. John, telling Moira in our first reading a year after he died, that he has a deep gratitude for me enabling him to die at home in this life; because in his previous life he died frightened and alone. That is when he revealed he went down as a pilot in the Battle of Britain.

My question was simple, can you show me something about that life? John had a total fear of flying in this life and a keen interest in war history. I have mentioned this before, I would tease John-the-skeptic that he probably went down as a pilot in a war. He would laugh and tell me to bugger off and bother the fairies.

As often happens, I fell asleep — and when my mind woke I was observing a scene. I first noticed the vision was floating in a yellow sepia. In prominent view was an open pantry style cabinet. Tall, narrow and white, the door was ajar and the shelves housed a scanter of neatly folded clothes.

An awareness filtered in, that I was observing a scene from that WW11 life.

It faded as a familiar pattern emerged. A pin prick; a luminous white dot appeared front and centre, and an enveloping yellow pulsing cloud of vibrating energy rippled its expansion across my internal field of vision before contracting. Repeat. I knew it to be confirmation of a protective energy, a nod to explore while my body remained in sleep mode. The scene reappeared.

I was watching myself, as if through an imaginary security camera in the corner of the room. It was at close range, slightly behind and to the side; a top down slanted view. I couldn’t see all of myself, though I recognised I was in an army uniform. I could feel its crisp freshness. My leather laced shoes were on my stocking clad feet, I was finishing buttoning my shirt and tightening a leather belt around my skirted waist.

As observer, I intentionally looked about the room. It was bright yet small, a single cast iron bed was nudged against a wall under a window. There was a small table and chair and a free standing mirror; I sensed I was in some form of nurse’s accommodation.

My head remained tilted downwards, my dark chestnut hair was rolled in the style of the era, ready for my hat. I was an army nurse, and I was dressing for an occasion that was sombre. I felt forlorn.

I was only 20, we had ‘just’ met in the scheme of a lifetime, came a clear drop in from John.

Can I have a hug?, Simone observer asked John, and in response I saw and felt us, the uniformed couple, hug in that room — though it was a silhouetted image, a sensation rather than a happening in that scene, if that makes sense? It wasn’t part of the picture, it was our souls in the energy of love in the now — presence. And with that, I came out of the fleeting moment of that life.

If I cast myself back 36 years, was it a concurrent life? Assuming I was a similar age to John, was I, the young army nurse war widow, still alive in England and approaching 70 years of age when another aspect of her soul reunited with John in this current reality? Quite probable.

Just fascinating, though I am not attaching any expectation, nor will I intentionally seek anymore information about that life. What I know about our short time together in that life contextualises aspects of this lifetime. I have written before about what John and the team have relayed re human choice and free will; that our human choices reflect soul’s free will when they indeed liberate us from the shackles placed upon our very be-ing; by self and other.

John has also shown me in the writing of this post that any choice that seems to free us while restricting others, is not free will — May the patriarchy and capitalism fall on their filthy arses and skid in their own shitshows, he drops in, at this moment of writing. I pause to laugh out loud, so indicative of a John-ism, I can see and feel the quirk in his smirk.

Comic relief aside, what does interest me is how the emotional energies of our previous experiences, and those of our ancestors, are born into our bodies — the what and how of traumas — including those known by our souls yet unknown to us, its human aspect — those shaping our soul’s path?

I have mentioned in previous posts, the link between John’s bulbar onset of MND severing his capacity to speak early in the 17 months he lived post diagnosis; and of my hypothyroidism, the autoimmune disorder diagnosed as a result of the related stress.

It is intriguing that these circumstances broadened the scope of our communication to the ways which continued to expand after his death. Of course, this wasn’t apparent in the devastation of the moment. I can see the patterns now, and how this relates to or ongoing soul collaboration, including giving purpose to the writing that has evolved on this platform. Our legacy perhaps?

This storm — the shutting down of our throat chakras speak of lifetimes of ancestral and intergenerational dysfunction, in the context of the societal norms of those times. None of this is about karmic comeuppance; I subscribe to the thought that karma is more or less instant, in the moment of choices, decisions, actions, thoughts — when the emotions are expressed. Negative patterns repeat until we first understand their source and from there, consciously choose to change the aspect of self that contributes to the story — those emotional energy shifts I often mention. Those that ripple across all timelines, to all of our kin.

Should love remain the common denominator, we will get through the shitshows of life, with or without outcome based resolution. We both brought some of the usual baggage into our partnership, ranging from the relational dysfunction of our childhood wounds, failed adult relationships including the open wounds of exes, and the shitshows of our own imagination and creation — the classic narrative arc of humanity.

I have said it before, we had not met the depths of love until his diagnosis — the energy shifted. I can only understand it as unconditional love; there were guiding energies around us. It was greater than us, and we shared a deep love throughout our partnership — it’s not like I suddenly realised I loved John in the diagnosis that I was going to lose him.

It was a shift from a deep love to an expansive love — in the unconditional love of our soul teams.

The lingering threads of hurt from unresolved or broken relationships, all the extraneous shit — like work — just simply didn’t matter anymore. His terminal diagnosis and rapid-slow decline of all motor function was the opening of a portal; to align soul/heart, body/mind — to bring a coherence where the throat provides voice, a bridge to truth. Still it expands, with every instance of communication. It is eternal.

This does not bypass the need to undertake the inner work. Understanding the distortions of projected judgements, on self, other, and of others can reflect the very nature of our duality and multiple realities. Cultivating the conditions where I can access the guiding wisdom of John and the team help keep me grounded in my aspirations for the remainder of this life. Furthermore, the insight into other past lives is for this healing in this life, and it vibrates those frequencies across all lives.

A friend commented last year, you are living in two worlds. At the time I thought that may well have been the case, I couldn’t think of any other way to describe it myself. There is a hint of the extraordinary about that phrase. I now know that this communication; this guidance from our teams can be quite ordinary.

Our bodies are built for it, and our souls celebrate it — this remembering.

It is a compassionate path to embodying full responsibility, with a grace and acceptance that our lives really are a gift. Listening to my soul and team has brought coherence — Soul/Heart - Body/Mind - Throat/Bridge — a discernment of truth, John adds.

Our graduated in death kin have not reached any illusory finish line; they have attained another growth ring; the wisdom of another cycle of a human life. It is as much about the soulful spaces between lives, as it is the soulful spaces in the silences that punctuate any one life. Silences that call us to feel into remembering we are eternal souls simultaneously exploring, in all probability, more than one life experience — in this, and other realms of existence.

We — souls — are the epitome of curiosity.

The final edit of this post was done with John — to the accompaniment of his swinging blind.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

To this community — I am so very grateful for the connections, thank you for reading and engaging.

And so it is.

For John — on this, our union date — June 9, etched in my heart. Our souls know. Until then. 🥰

The spirit of these trees speak in an ancient tongue of remembrance — our teams comprise of multidimensional aspects of consciousness, reaching across vast realms of existence. The discourse of the soul is palpable — feeling into listening opens portals in each of its expressions of love.

Thus came this message the morning after returning from a 12 day camping and hiking expedition to Ikara-Flinders Ranges National Park with beach and brunch buddy, Di. Not an ocean wave in sight, though sinking into a slumber each night under the sea of stars, ran a flow of energy through my body so present that when I closed my eyes I could feel a gentle, inner rocking motion, as if I was floating on water — a current amongst the stars.

Ikara translates as meeting place for the Adnyamathanha people, traditional owners of this land. The eucalypt trees are said to be between 500-1000 years old — ancient.

John’s essence was present in the van. It’s reciprocal; we poke each other through the energy of intention; thought. As the QHHT training confirmed, driving can induce an alpha state of receptivity. It is common for John and I to converse while driving and he is, after all, in charge of the playlist. (Here is a link to a post written nearly two years ago about our journey into the Outback ten years ago, Ready Please Mr Music: A Synchronicity of Song).

Slow and steady, came his reminder at the first sight of rapid waters rising to fill the dips where the curving road crosses creek beds.

We arrived on the fourth day of travel, on the end of a moderate 40mm of rain. Swollen rivers had claimed bitumen and unsealed roads. The red dirt had transformed to a boggy mud, effectively cutting access to Rawnsley Park Station, site of the second half of our trip. Cars were lined up on the unsealed road, waiting to get out to the main thoroughfare — to where we were driving past just a few metres away. The gushing river was preventing their planned departure. Relatively speaking, the water recedes as rapidly as it rises, and within 24 hours the entrance to the station was again accessible.

Three nervous water crossings later we gratefully arrived at Wilpena Pound. Unseasonal heavy rain in March had left Ikara-Flinders Ranges transformed; the vegetation was vibrant and the wild life abundant. Our encounters with emus and other birds are particularly memorable. Though, what most drew me from the moment my feet planted on the rusty red ground were the trees.

They welcomed us, glowing and dripping from the saturation of rain; their vivid earthy colours inviting touch. I placed my palms on their trunks, to feel their pulse — lightly tracing the textured layers — burnt out hollows, gnarled and split branches, peeling bark, shoots of new leaves. I could feel their collective aura — whispers of wisdom wrapping around old wounds — theirs, mine, ours.

The walking tracks from the camp site require hikers to pass a clump of ancient gums; a gathering of guardians in counsel — wisdom keepers deeply grounded in presence, holding the all of themselves; limbs touching their kin, hollows hosting birds, possums, other wildlife and the elementals — the fairy realm.

We connected at the beginning and end of each hike; those ancient Gums, those Mother and Aunt trees — as I came to feel them — whispered in understandings and knowings.

Their fresh sprigs of new green growth rooted in old wounds were an offer ... a remembering of future selves in the presence of holding past wounds.

Just as the trees have inner and outer layers of bark, our patterns of being are multifaceted. I understand that what is received from John and the team is directly related to what has been integrated by my human aspect; Simone. Came this conscious stream of a morning message the second day home:

Remember, your soul is Captain — the team offers guidance from the energetic realm of ‘unconditional love’, as you understand it; that which you met when everything else ‘fell away’ in John’s illness — of souls’ known exit plan.

The ‘mysticism’, your call of what enveloped you and John, was the felt essence of love stretching beyond human conception. This is what you ‘felt in your waters and your bones’ and with each cycle, this is what you found you returned to — love. From these shifts in perception sprang the felt truth that love is multidimensional and eternal.

What remains to be understood by the mind is already present in your body, and that of your ancestors ... you can feel into what your mind may never fully understand — this, we call ‘knowing’.

Knowing is trusting what the soul remembers across all lifetimes; understanding the ‘what’ and ‘why’ of those memories received — for they are healing messages with intention; realising the responsibility that comes with sovereign-truth, to shift what no longer serves you-us.

As an ancestor you are energetically re writing the timeless-ness of the future with possibilities and potentialities. This is the inner-work of the team in dreamscape collaborations.

To know Love, is to meet Truth in the other planes of existence where your soul dwells — to see is to remember — beyond the scope of one individual experience. Each individual life is a collective of the all; to serve self, serves all.

Of wounds? Continue to go within and greet your soul with your human grounded-ness. Your capacity to witness your willing participation in pattering across lives shifts energy, and opens appropriate modes of healing contexts for self, for the ancestors — across all timelines.

This work knows not of competition or completion. In the Earth realm it is finding peace in the beauty that duality can offer. Healing cultivates hope. This is the fuel of our soul expansion and evolution; our human purpose. All is well, and so it is.

I see cycles of seven. John and I shared 28 years in this life, and we have completed the first cycle of seven since his death. What I noticed about the trees was their capacity to hold their seasons of existence, wrapping new growth around wounds aided their purpose in the ongoing emergence of self, and other sentient beings.

This is how you ground into your Earth experience, they whispered ... weather the whether-ing of wounds through the portals within your body — the mind on its own, will resist.

John reminded me that walking on sacred land is also healing for her, Mother Earth. Our intentions, touch, and whispers are felt and heard. This too changes the energies around her timelines, her wounds — the destruction; the taking of her people and resources. Remembering the wounding from a perspective of love has healing properties because compassion breaks cycles — our teams guide us, though our human aspect must commit and take responsibility for self in this, sometimes, polarising realm of duality.

Waking on the Friday morning of our last day at Rawnsley Park Station, a poem that had been poking finally found its way onto the page in the predawn; an ode to the wisdom offerings of the ancient trees of Ikara-Flinders Ranges.

Central to John’s guidance over this, our first 7 year cycle of our post death love story, is grace. I have come to understand that holding grace in life’s challenges requires a handle on one’s own fear — of whatever is pertinent to the relational context.

It is through the love centre of the heart space that I have learnt to harness a grace in the speaking of truth; including the necessity of sometimes needing to refute distorted storylines — and that includes my very own. Compassion is grace’s companion and grants acceptance, with or without approval.

The wisdom of the soul offers a bridge between realms where we can choose to participate in human evolution of our soul group. Any healing we undertake ripples to also include wounds we may not know of, yet are carried in our bodies — ancestral wounds can lie dormant until we activate their potentiality with a behaviour/decision which triggers a particular timeline in the current life — the nexus of human choice and soul’s free will.

Our ancestors across the veil harvest our healing energies to further guide us. Feeling into listening and other intentional work such as past life recall have been preferred modes of healing for me; they offer insight into how other life experiences have influenced the dynamics with individuals in my family, in this life.

From my perspective, being able to locate myself as both participant and observer brings me back to my heart centre — this is how I find grace. It is in the full witnessing; the feeling and acceptance of all emotions, that I have been able to make shifts, and dress those wounds in ways that I saw reflected in those ancient Mother-Aunt trees of Ikara-Flinders Ranges.

I continue to learn … to heal.

Whispers Of Wisdom

Whispers of wisdom

wrap around our wounds,

gleaning warmth

as the gilded dawn

blows a gentle grace;

a reciprocity of

the soothing solace offered

beneath the moon’s

silver edged, star lit gaze.

Remembering our cosmic

soul origins;

seeded amongst the milky spill

of stars,

split — not separated,

eternally entwined

we tether our roots

deep into the rocky outcrop

of the red dirt riverbed.

We stretch into the sacred

holding space;

in each grounding place

in Earth’s evolution.

United, we etch a landscape

so ancient in its presence,

so simple in its brevity,

to be — present.

Witnessing the all of each

sentient experience,

mellows jagged furrows

with our fluidity of being.

In weathering the whether-ing

flows undercurrents of devotion;

a recognition

of the eternal,

reflection as one.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

To this community — I am so very grateful for the connections, thank you for reading and engaging.

And so it is.

As I headed out the backdoor on the morning of Tuesday, May 5^th, I noticed the feather skewed on John’s hat. Are you moving the feather, I poked. When I arrived home a few hours later the feather had been lifted and intentionally resettled from crown to brim.

PS: Don’t forget to mention the feathers — plural, I felt John laugh.

In its usual position, the barn owl feather rests on the crown with the quill pointing at the wall. The repositioned quill was now pointing towards the front of the house and the little feathers that typically sit on the other side of the brim had been relocated to the table, towards the back door — as if someone had blown a gentle whisper on them.

I felt John’s confirmation, re sharing a couple of extra-ordinary miracles ...

I was in the middle of editing the draft of this post and a bit reluctant to share the photo of his mirage, another of his blue aura, and an edited snippet (minus my spoken words) of the loungeroom blind swinging — because there’s an intimacy about them. The visitations come with a message.

What is intimately personal about our reciprocity remains private — the courageous step into the vulnerability of sharing what is here, is with the intent to cultivate hope:

The extraordinary-ness of interdimensional communication with our teams of guides has the potential to become routine, with the belief that it is possible.

Our soul kin are not as far away as is humanly conceived. It is the creative consciousness of one’s imagination that opens portals, just as it is imagined lack that keeps them closed.

To call John’s blind swinging and feather arranging ordinary is not to underestimate or take it for granted — they are a gift; an offer of unconditional love. Always a WOW. As ordinary a sign as any other routine-ness about our heart centred habits when he was in physical form.

My gratitude and love is not only expressed in words, though they are important. As with thought, they carry the energy of their intent. Besides, there are many signs that are non-verbal energy exchanges in the multidimensionality of unconditional love. The body being of the Earth is a portal for our human aspect to access its own and other’s expansiveness.

Sometimes I summons John’s energy — to connect; to blend — other times his energy drops in, just as he sometimes did when he came from another room to the one I was occupying — just checking, he would smile. As I emailed the recording of the poem to Geraldine early Sunday morning, the bedroom blind started to swing. An acknowledgement; an invitation.

The poem had started appearing on paper the night before, just prior to sleep — I had woken twice during the night to scribble a scratch of John’s itch:

What was not said is irrelevant — that I couldn’t physically speak. What wasn’t spoken was felt; in the same tongue as now — soul to soul.

I left my body in an abundance of love and gratitude — and here we are — and so it is.

The portals were already open ... I lay with you in my lifeless-ness, for I had not lost my being-ness ... and now we feel into our complete expansive-ness ...

When we meet it is in the eternal current of our present expansion — in a fluidity of bliss.

John, the pragmatist — a smile emerged as I wrote. And so came the reiteration of his answer to the fundamental question posed in the previous post, Does what was not said during John’s illness matter in the context of now — or then?

I had been on a full moon walk at the labyrinth with a couple of other local women Saturday evening. We are on the cusp of Winter here, so I was back home early, before darkness swallowed our landscape. Time enough to continue my quiet contemplation — such stillness opens portals. An invitation.

I would never have dreamt — in our millennia of lives — that these posts would evolve with our continuing love story. I imagined at the beginning I would be posting a handful of poems that had flowed onto the page; wee odes to our comparatively new-ish state as interdimensional lovers.

Here’s the poem from our first post on Substack, February 2024, The Healing Heart:

Archangels’ galactic, silent descent …

Navigators of helpers and healers,

Suspended in the timeless present …

Guardians of the Eternal.

He came in the night …

Behind closed eyes, in illuminating light,

Riding the slip stream of Angel dust …

Seeds of love strewn across the Heavens.

Surrender the myths of the dream …

Archangel Michael’s harmonious wings,

Shields of protection nurturing our embrace …

In synchronicity of peace, of love.

It’s one of my favourites because the experience remains distinctly vivid; its glow flows in my veins — a whole body sensation.

It was Christmas morning, 2021. I was waking and in a lucid state of dreaming. I could feel the whoosh of wings against my skin. John and I were cocooned in an embrace, tucked deep underneath an angel’s colossal wing. I had a sense of knowing that it was Archangel Michael. I was both observer and participant.

The backdrop was the vantablack, star studded sky that I often visit in meditation. I feel this galactic landscape to be home. There are symbols that are repetitive, and since have become part of the library of signs that John and the team share in their messaging and guidance.

These meditative and lucid dream state remembrances are similar in reveal as the past life recalls I have experienced. An akashic library of memories where our soul chooses the most relevant to share with their human self. We write the records with our emotional being-ness, thus, our healing ripples energetic shifts across all timelines. It is a concurrent collaboration.

These experiences are as real as any that are solely in our physical reality. How they manifest is of our creation; of our imagination. My soul delivered a visual representation based on my cultural context, what Simone perceives angels would look like if they had form, and/or, how angels represent their energy in whatever form necessary for human kind to understand their presence.

Whether Archangels have huge white wings is irrelevant; what is truth is that John and I were being held in the protective angelic energy of unconditional love — in the eternal present.

As the team communicated in the illusion of the afterlife:

The afterlife continues the evolution of the soul; bringing the past into presence with an alchemy of memory that blends timelines into — just being-ness. We energetically go wherever and whatever dimension our soul wants to traverse — within our field of vibrational resonance. We enter each other’s realities just as we do on the Earth plane — we are multidimensional. The afterlife is simply another realm in which you use your imagination for creation — as viable a reality as any other.

Perhaps a paradox that I credit the discipline and rigour of two research degrees for maintaining a collection of field notes; electronic folders and files of photos, videos, and annotated personal journals that link the synchronicities of daily happenings.

As stated in a recent post, John sometimes shows his blind swinging presence to others because we share a purpose; to cultivate hope that post death communication is possible and that we can therefore continue our relationships with our soul-kin, the ancestors.

We are a multidimensional consciousness and thus built for interdimensional communication.

The year after John died, I joined Moira’s Women’s Circle. I have mentioned these in previous posts, so as a quick recap, she would have us participate in mediumship type activities. John had come through on a couple of occasions, when Moira invited present spirits to make contact with their person via another in the group.

One of the women receiving John’s energy — he had already confirmed it was him through relaying an explicit detail about how I dressed him for his cremation — put her hands to her temples because they were throbbing. Moira explained that spirits are often so keen to get their message across that they do not realise the intensity of their energy.

John told Moira he was learning to manipulate energy.

Besides John’s routine ways of communicating, he has in other instances shown me something quite extraordinary. I now understand that the following two manifestations of John demonstrate that this illusion of material density is exactly that.

In December 2020, I took a photo of what we colloquially call a woolly bush — a native shrub that is commonly potted and sold as an Aussie Xmas tree. A friend had gifted me one so I placed a few token baubles on it and sat it on the front porch. The second anniversary of John’s death was approaching and it was my first Summer holiday period without him or Mum. She had died in March that year. I took an obligatory snap to send to my friend.

The photo is dated December 15^th, 2020 at 10.22am. For context, the space between the front porch and front gate is about 4 metres. I was on my own ... apparently.

I live on a cross intersection on the wide main road that runs through our small town. I opened the photo to send to my friend, and see two images of John. A mirage of the same man standing in two different positions, dressed in the same clothes. They are not crystal clear, though the stance and shape is John. The windproof black jacket, the shorts, the hat, the workboots — John. In the top bauble he is looking out over the side street. In the left hand bauble he stands facing the back of me; his right arm pointing down Main Street with his head turned in that same direction.

I immediately sent the photo to my sister instead — look into the baubles, what do you see? Billy-Bob, her reply; her nickname for John-Boy. Followed by something like WTF?

2020 was the, one day at a time recovery year. I didn’t give it any analytical thought any more than I do now — these are communications of love through intuition, not the property of intellect and academic debate.

I trust that his decision to show me how I knew him in form was for the healing benefit of what it brought me at a time of deep grief.

I also unwittingly took a photo of John’s aura on January 4^th, 2025. I had taken a photo of my mother’s rose; the one that decorates the privacy screen on my deck. There, in front of the leaning gum tree is John’s blue aura — it holds the echo of his physical form and he appears to be walking towards the front of the property. He often wandered around the garden and for many months after he died, I would look up expecting him to walk through the glass doors at any moment. Reassurance.

His presence has been a type of graduation; from form to knowing his energetic signature in formless-ness — a continuing love story. The blinds, the feather on his hat, the music — the confirmations and affirmations of what is telepathically received — a poke, a laugh, a nod, an invitation to meditate and blend energies — all acts of intimacy, of love.

And this is how I continue to receive John — his energy is palpable, like a liquid honey ... and combined with both memory and imagination — in meditation and in other dreamscapes — we experience a euphoric fluidity of bliss; in an expanding energetic portal as one.

The following poem is dedicated to Geraldine Hughes, for all of her love and support beyond the public pages of this platform. Thank you sister . We love you.

The Flowering Moon

I sense his rousing

as I step with ease

into the budding evening;

his rise palpable

in the warmth of a flowering moon.

Hovering on the horizon,

a summons to witness

the unseen — yet known,

beauty in another season.

I wandered the labyrinth

cloistered in the contemplative

shadow of clouds;

harbouring a promise

of another illuminating night.

Still — I swayed in the headiness

of the return journey;

sensual are your swooning whispers,

spoken with a velvet tongue

that resonates a grounding vibration of love.

We dream in a stretch of stardust,

an opening of the folds,

a thinning of the veil between our worlds;

a blooming expansion,

in this, our union of souls.

John swinging the loungeroom blind on March 8th, 2026. His messages here were informing “We Are The Feather And the Wand” post.

I send our gratitude for the connections and readership on this platform. Thank you for being here. Sending much love.

This time next week I will have headed off on a camping trip with beach and brunch buddy Di. We are ditching the waves and driving our campervans to the red dirt of the South Australian Outback; off to explore the Flinders Ranges.

I do not expect I will be posting for 4-5 weeks, until I return home and get into the slower rhythm of bunkering down for Winter. In the meantime, when I have reception, I will continue to read my favourite Substackers over my predawn coffee, and catch those magic sunrises as the magpies warble in the beginnings of another day.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

The intensity of intimacy does not dissipate with death, it merely changes form — our connection is a valediction of the vulnerability in love ...

Came this message as I woke on Sunday morning, April 26^th. I had been resisting a poke to write a post about intimacy; it began with a poem that John passed through my pen a couple of weeks ago. It flowed in on April 11^th — just prior to the family visit, the subject of the last post.

As I wrote the word valediction, John Donne’s poem came to mind. I smiled, from John Prine to John Donne, you’re not too bad John, I laughed my return poke — with a flutter in my heart:

There is love in vulnerability; there need not be fear or discomfort surrounding it.

This was part of the morning note on April 16^th, the departing date of the family visit; when I chatted with 7 year old Harry about death while spreading the remaining remains of my father. When he asked whether I had John’s ashes.

On April 22^nd, I woke up with a tune and lyric playing in my head, words don’t come easy. Despite not knowing the artist or any other words to the song — we both found 1980s pop music particularly grating — or because of it — the accompanying question held that same energy.

Does, what was not said during John’s illness matter in the context of now — or then?

Obviously, his diagnosis was debilitating in all of the ordinary relational ways of being, and it wasn’t apparent why these memories were again, being triggered — hence my reluctance.

Difficulty chewing, swallowing, and enunciating words; muscle cramps in his shoulders and weakened hand grip meant the intimacy of preparing and sharing meals at the table — gone — with the intimacy of associated small, and big, future talk.

I would soften my words to hold his vulnerability — I did not burden him with speeches come lectures about my own insecurities. I was terrified to lose him. To see John so vulnerable; each loss in motor function was another splinter in the heart.

Typing conversation was not an option for a man whose barely functional right arm was utilised to support his head, for his neck alone could not bear its weight and a neck brace further impeded his breathing.

Music held us both with an intimacy that continues ... and we started to communicate telepathically before he died. It was love that opened these portals. I have said before that I had not met the depths of our love until John’s illness — I now understand it was our souls collecting our broken bits; our hearts finding another way.

His legs were last to go; I sometimes wonder if it was the piston like strength in those solid bike riding thighs that helped him limp to the line ... the one that kept shifting.

This poke to write about intimacy; to understand ... words don’t come easy.

What, in my grief, have I not yet fully witnessed?

The emotional intimacy; the connection that sparks physical desire and its sensual expression was crushed with the weight of a non-negotiable terminal diagnosis. More unspoken devastation; aside from the loss of sex — the culmination of the most profound and private of our intimacies — that he could not lift his arms for a simple hug was excruciating.

I have not yet fully witnessed; to grieve the emotional trauma of losing the intimacy of touch and its significance in the ordinary business of tending to our other daily needs.

What remained and intensified during John’s degenerative illness was the energetic rise of spiritual intimacy, culminating in the mysticism surrounding us on the night before he died. I have written of this before; dying is an act of intimacy. I remember so vividly, washing his body before the directors came to collect him — the intimacy that grew in the silence of his illness is what continues to expand.

Intimacy transcends physicality — just one aspect of our intimacy compatibility, he playfully pokes as I write. In form, his one-liners would have landed with an intimate, gentle poke to my ribs.

As is so often the case, it is in the picking up of the pen that what my soul and team deems I need to understand unfolds.

The intimacy in our vulnerability was the catalyst; this was the unconditional love that opened portals for this continuing expansion; in our multidimensionality. It didn’t need words, it was in the intention — it held the loving energy that is creation.

In our intimacy was alignment — the seeding of the unseen.

My daily meditation practice is an intentional act of intimacy. My body holds the frequency of love that is the bridge of connection — for giving and receiving.

Intimacy is sensory; emotions felt by the body. Do not fret what wasn’t or couldn’t be said, we arc beyond this one lifetime.

What I have learned is that I came to know myself intimately, in grief.

Often in meditation the image of an eye presents in view. In and through I float, to experience the vast vantablack star studded sky of what is unseen — imperceptibly infinite. What follows is a knowing that this universe is contained within my body — it is a visceral, warm and sensual fluidity; its light vibration the source of a tingling which flows throughout, radiating its heat to collect in my feet and hands. Quite sublime, I linger there — one hand over my heart, the other over the sacral — in the intimacy of vibrational touch.

Imperceptible

a subliminal dreamscape

invokes a remembering;

an arc back,

into supreme consciousness.

a grinding, grounding, transposing,

of a ‘once upon a tim- ing,

nod to our eternal evolving;

natural ways of being.

erotic — ecstatic,

euphoric — esoteric;

expanding ...

sensual is the sigh

of song

that spills the seeds

of light and sound.

buoyant are the portals

vibrating — creating;

an energetic attunement

of our multidimensionality.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

Geraldine, thank you for your love and support. We love you.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

From Donne to Prine — Just for fun; intimacy with all its quirks — with love from John 💖. I think I have shared this song before — play it again, he says. And so it is.

Locating and witnessing the vulnerability in storylines continues to energetically collapse ancestral wounds into a healing presence — acceptance and willingness to attend to one’s own, in relationship with other.

Do you want me to bring up some of dad’s ashes to sprinkle in your garden ...

popped the banner on my phone a few days before my sister was due to arrive with the crew: her two daughters and their collection of children — 2 boys and 2 girls, aged between two and seven; to spend a couple of nights whilst on school holidays. Granddaughter number 3 is due in August, so the excitement is gathering for two year old sister, Frankie — and the rest of us.

It was the first time we sister women have spent days and nights together since before grandchildren; back in 2017, whilst on a girl’s trip — on the cusp of John’s diagnosis ...

On the first night Levi came in with a rose he had plucked from the climber that decorates the privacy screen on the deck. He presented it to his grandmother. It is our mother’s rose. Sonia made a vase of a long vodka shot glass and placed it in the middle of the table ...

The oldest grandchild, Harry, was born in October 2018, just 4 months before John died. Our mother, Sandy, met Harry, though none of her other great grandchildren. She died 13 months after John — on the cusp of pandemic lockdowns ...

It was a reciprocal gift, both John and Mum dying at home; and both are the primary supporting force of the team. Other ancestors are in the throng, including grandparents and my father Ivan who appears as a quiet presence — sitting off to the side fishing; his validating sign of being in his happy place. He died in 2015 after a decade in care.

The ashes.

There was quite the collection by 2020: Dad, John, Mum and our two cats. Mum wanted her ashes spread on the bayside beach suburb where my sister and I grew up, and John’s, I don’t care what you do with them, I’ll be dead, approach — means that the bulk of him is waiting for me to decide what to do with our ashes. For whenever my soul’s exit strategy eventuates.

Dad’s ashes? My sister was with me when I scattered Mum on the shoreline of her favourite patch of Elwood Beach; on her birthday, Summer solstice, 2020. My portion of Ivan went with her ... and a bit more further up the road, near Station Pier; his first steps in this country, in 1953. My sister chose to hold onto her half of Dad, undecided what she wanted to do.

Initially I planned to take his ashes back to Sarajevo; to scatter in the river of his childhood, where he learned to fish ... and fight. To also lay a bit of him to rest on his parent’s graves. He claimed to have no interest in returning; consistently feigning a disinterest — until the trigger of volatility that was the 1990s war — in the political and religious divisions that led to him being declared, persona non grata.

Ivan reflected the complex and complicated narrative that is the history of the Balkans. When I invited him to travel with me to Croatia to visit his sister in 2000, I met his vulnerability; he was frightened — he held a near 50 year old fear that he might not be permitted to return home, to Australia. This time.

5½ year old Levi has his inherited his great-grandfather’s physique and looks, runs the line in our family. The girls, we joke, exhibit traits of their great- grandmother, Nanny Sandy’s temperament; 3½ year old Molly is strong willed, while 2 year old Frankie can cut a convincing sardonic stare look — we laugh — in the recognition of patterns embodied in all of us; the all of it.

Jokes aside, what we perceive as challenging traits in a person may well reveal a location of vulnerability; and in the witnessing comes an understanding — empathy and compassion. I am not dismissing the presence of childhood wounds manifested by another’s own vulnerability and set of circumstances; those inherited patterns that repeat, and those born from other versions of dysfunction.

He wants you to also remember the good times, Moira once reported Ivan as saying in a mediumship reading a year or so after he died. It was something he dropped in towards the end, when she asked me what the shot of vodka he was showing her meant. It was validation; Sonia, myself and the girls had shared a shot of vodka on the anniversary of his death, of which we were all present.

He wants you to know that you made the right decisions about his care …

Understanding releases the emotional attachment to the wound, thus opening a pathway to heal self. Besides, I have replicated many of those wounding patterns passed down by both parents in my lifetime; and a significant amount of the inner work has been in accepting full responsibility for my choices; those that did not serve self and other — to hold my own shadows in their energy of love — for they were also generous, kind people who welcomed everyone into our family home.

To witness is courageous; to seek to understand the complex emotional landscape of vulnerability and its duality. To suspend judgement.

How do I know this inner work transforms wounded patterns embodied in my ancestral line? Through feeling into listening the emotional body. Healing frequencies ripple beyond the veil to reach our ancestors.

The epicentre of which is this current generation. The children are our ancestors — what emotions we infuse in the telling of the stories, how we use the family narrative to build our children’s capacity for emotional regulation — works towards healing wounds.

Events are factual — emotions reveal the truths of multiple realities. Offer and be open to varying perspectives — accepting all emotions allows for natural shifts as understanding develops.

As the girls packed up to leave, I remembered Ivan’s ashes on the desk in the study. I better go and tip out Ivan, I smiled in offer. A slight pause before they resumed their busyness restoring order in the chaos.

At 8.10am that morning, while coordinating breakfast requests, I caught sight of the blind swinging in my bedroom. With a directional nod to alert the girls, Hi John, came the chorus. I could feel him laughing; he doesn’t want to miss out on the fun, the chaos, Cloe smiled.

Harry and Levi were outside running laps, chasing each other around the house to expel excess energy before the 2½ hour drive home. There was a metallic tinge to the yard; the sun was intermittently breaking through a thickening grey cover of cloud and painting a silvery blue hue on the plant foliage.

Harry noticed and joined me in the semi-circle of native garden that is growing around the — happy — 6 month old, grafted lemon scented gum; the new fairy tree.

What are you doing?

Continue as you speak, dropped the message.

I am going to spread your great grandfather’s ashes on the fairy garden.

He stood still, head down, arms to his side. I was bending over, opening the beach scene decorated cardboard urn I had purchased for our mother’s ashes. I tilted my head to notice his pensive expression. I remained silent. Wait till he asks ...

I poured some onto magpie, Piper’s grave. Both Harry and Levi had drawn Piper and Gracie on the birthday cards they recently made me; they know I still grieve the loss of the birds — their daily visits and song. The boys had encountered them on previous trips.

Too much volume for one pile; I started to weave a trail of Ivan’s ashes around the semi-circle of plants. Harry moved closer, drawn to their appearance. Is that ashes ...

Just keep what you’re doing ... you can tell him.

I pointed out the texture of the remains, how the grey dust and white specks are ground bits of bone. I paused, giving him time to consider — Do you have John’s ashes, he asked. His sombre look deepened. Yes, I smiled.

Levi appeared on the scene, bopping and jumping about; Don’t stomp on your great grandfather, that’s his ashes. Harry felt the lightness in my tone and looked up to meet my eyes. Levi twirled around, skipping and jumping around and over the plants, skilfully avoiding them.

Harry mirrored my smile. I acknowledged the sadness in death — of course — and told him that, when we die we leave our body and go to another world, where we don’t need it ... where we can see everyone again. Our energy is greater than our body, I finished.

I could see it reflecting from his eyes ... his tinkering with the idea.

Both boys took turns in filling and pouring the watering can; to dampen the ashes, to help them blend into the protective layer of mulch — of the previous fairy tree — the one they used to climb during earlier visits. Watering done, the boys resumed their play.

Back inside the girls asked about the conversation they observed from behind the glass wall. Out on the deck, Levi was collecting petals from the climbing rose; throwing handfuls of them over Molly and Frankie as they ran past, chasing each other.

I looked at Lizzie and started to laugh, Nanny is saying, what about me? The climbing rose — I spread some of Mum’s ashes around its base back in 2020. The girls had slept in her studio, while Sonia and the boys had stayed with me in the main house. She probably poked Levi.

Regardless, the team were about, as John had validated with the blind that morning; the coming together of the family, the girls in the studio, spreading Ivan’s ashes — the energy of fun and frivolity; love would have rippled right through to the team of ancestors.

As stated earlier, the children are our ancestors. Our relationships continue to evolve between lives; across dimensions. What we are healing now — in the eternal present — influences how our souls concurrently collaborate to design their next human experiences.

This knowing fosters healing — we are on each other’s team, in this evolution as One.

Came this drop-in as I close this post:

Choose your words, for they carry the energy of intent — respond to children through a lens of love, so that they know they are worthy of it, in all of their vulnerability — in yours, with yours. This takes courage, practice and presence. And so it is, and so you are — love.

The following poem sprung from an initial comment John dropped in while I was responding to & ’s brilliant poem, At Risk of Trespass:

... the blending of words and worlds, vulnerability is not so much hidden as contextual — what is private is shared consciousness ...

We truly are all interconnected.

Vulnerability

we speak our vulnerability

from the shadows

of individual circumstance;

yet, what is private

is a shared consciousness.

Ofttimes,

otherness

is

otherwise

Oneness.

common is the comfort

of claiming our ambiguity;

compassion and empathy,

foundations

for healing.

so,

perhaps the paradigm,

love yourself before others

is at best

a misnomer ... for

the wounded child,

whose essence is

unconditional love;

and just maybe,

upon being received as thus ...

naturally comes home,

through the portal

of their heart,

to responsibly parent

their adult self.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

To my family; the ancestors — thank you, I love you.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

This titular message came during my annual visit to Moira; the medium whose women’s circle I attended in the interludes of the 2020-2021 lockdowns. Moira, whom I met back in 2016 through my dear friend — mad mate, Bronwyn, having gifted me this reading for my 60^th birthday. Thus, the March 30^th session rounded off the festival of Simone, as another friend had announced it; kicking it off by taking me to the magical Gillian Welch and David Rawling’s concert on March 1^st.

For someone who avoids being the centre of attention, who refused requests to have a party, it became a month of opportunities to individually catch up with friends and family; lunches, dinners, surf, golf — Darwin with my sister. I am grateful for the love.

Moira is a 90 minute country drive, conducive to embodying a relaxed calm; where one can notice the subtle energies moving through the body — of presence.

John’s been here already, Moira announces as she opens the door. Everywhere, all at once, Mum pops in. What is it about his hat? ... (laughs). He just said, “more of the same”. What ‘it is’ about the hat are the feathers — of course, and it’s prime position in the open living space of our home. This is how our dead kin relay messages to a medium; hints, as codes for the client to recognise.

And we can achieve this direct communication ourselves, with intention and attention — as our evolving soul connection attests.

Are you taking notice, John teases as I write.

Since the pandemic, the annual visit is the only occasion I meet with Moira. She knows of it; the writing — of course, though hasn’t read any of it. I view the annual catch-up as an opportunity to receive affirmation from John and the team; confirmation and validation. This is sought prior through meditation — of course.

The readings have morphed into more of a conversation between Moira, myself and whoever else from the team has decided to present. This visit it was John and Mum. My father was in his usual position, sitting to the side observing.

Your Mum loves the last word, Moira laughs, she stirs John up all the time.

And with the opening validations of love and laughter complete before I planted my backside in the chair; the jovial, more of the same, tenor of our conversation was established.

Clearly, he’s one of my guides ...

He said he’s the chief guide, he’s got a top role ... he’s funny, (Moira lightly coughs) he wants to swing his foot ...

The validations are in the small details. When I first started using the rods with John, my breathing would become a tad constricted and I would lightly cough, like clearing one’s throat. Once I understood that the poke was to intentionally draw a deep breath into the heart space, to open the portal in the body, the rods began to swing more freely, and in degrees. I now know when he is laughing (wide swings), affirming drop-ins (tapping the points), agreeing-affirming (mid-range crossing). If I am off the mark re paraphrasing or if it is a question he cannot answer, the rods remain vertical.

The rods work in unison with what I am feeling into listening with my body.

I now understand the shifts in the throat as blending energies. It makes sense that the signal to indicate readiness to converse would manifest in the throat chakra and this is particularly poignant for us given that John had bulbar onset MND, robbing him early of his capacity to speak. Simultaneously, my thyroid lost all function. With our spoken language shut down, we honed the other ways to relate; embracing the energies of unconditional love enveloping us. That was the ultimate gift — the opening of portals that have continued to expand into multiple offerings.

We have, from either side of the veil, manifested possibilities into potentialities into probabilities, into the daily reality of being. It has been intentioned and disciplined inner and interconnected work. It is multidimensional.

The same shallow cough presents when I begin facilitating a QHHT session; when I feel the presence of other soul energies enter; my team, the other person’s team. I breathe into that as well, integrating the presence. John verifies this actuality with his blind swinging; he has done this prior, during or after each regression.

And of Moira mentioning John’s want to swing his foot? When he was in his playful story telling mode he would assume a relaxed position; crossing his legs in preparation for swinging emphasis of his foot. This was his to cue for an imminent punchline — his right pointer at the ready to assist directing his captive audience. He loved a good story, and he was good at it.

And of the blind swinging? John clarified with Moira what I sense — sometimes a hello to me, to others, a call for me to meditate; to connect through blending energies, confirmation of drop-ins, affirmations re QHHT sessions, and so forth.

Sometimes, simply presence, he pipes in.

Moira went on to confirm that John is indeed actively learning, and that, — as he has previously dropped in — the afterlife is of our creation; our reality. Metaphorically, he occupies the ample universal libraries of creation — more signs of validation; particularly of the recent soul origin past life regression. As in this life, he maintains his avid engagement with history.

John informed Moira that he participates in spoken and written conversations, taking notes and dropping information related to the questions — his contribution in building the field of knowing.

This [ongoing] connection has also expanded his awareness ... you two ... this has been developing over many, many lifetimes, it’s not just this one.

The subject turned to our writing collaboration and the QHHT sessions I have started to facilitate. Moira surmised John’s emphasising message: Love has no barriers. I received this simultaneous drop in:

We are cultivating hope. Everything became inwardly quiet; Moira’s voice trailed off in my moment of understanding ...

Your soul has a job to do, she was adding when my attention returned, you’re healing and expanding, your words are food to your soul ... you two are still so strong ... he wants people to know that death isn’t the end, there’s so much more ... and he also wants to validate you.

He enjoys it when you have those “A-HA” moments; he wants to show others [across the veil] that ... communication ... that there are other ways to get “stuff” across. He’s found his voice again, and he’s found his voice through you. You’re his ...um ... you’re his sort of advocate ... um ... [laughs and claps] ...

He’s just said you’re his ‘muse’.

You’re soul mates and it’s a collaboration ... you can help others ... he still has a role to play in assisting others, and he likes that. He’s not just learning, he’s teaching ... and he’s teaching, through you, here too ... for growth of soul, growth of heart ... opening people’s doorways to communication ... to your own language and symbols; whatever.

His goal now is to say, there is more ... he didn’t think there was going to be as much as there is.

He was very intelligent and also very practical ... he had to experience things to believe it, experience the loss of his human self to awaken his spirit self ... and now he wants to tell you everything that you can jot down; just to communicate to those who are open to it, and to also give them hope, because hope is such an important thing.

With no hope seems nothing to cling to; it was a devastating despair, his incurable, terminal diagnosis. The courage of the man — this is my cross to bear, he had said at the time.

I swallowed, to quell the stinging impulse to cry. His death also awakened my spiritual self, not from a point of disbelief; a shift from a place of no hope to — we are cultivating hope.

When the neurologist sought John as a participant in new drug trials, it was never going to be in the wishful hope of saving his life — and besides, on both occasions, by the time the researchers were ready, John’s lung function had deteriorated, resulting in being no longer eligible for inclusion.

It was in those moments of rejection that I realised we had both harboured some hope that a trial drug might buy him a further few months before his limbs lost all mobility. His speech had already gone.

Ironically, the hope simply deepened the despair — such was the pace of his slow paralysis.

So, John donated his brain and spinal cord, in the hope that researchers will find a way to tame the MND beast — offer people some hope.

Within the context of this experience, hope seemed somewhat futile. It was the lack of hope that shaped the deep angst around the abyss of anticipatory grief.

Regardless, even in its apparent passivity of wishful thinking, hope is a comforter. My tenderly planted kiss and whisper, send me a sign that you’re OK, in the moment before he sighed his last shallow-shallow breath, was — hope. Perhaps with intention? A signal for our angelic guides to widen the etheric portals they had guarded in the mysticism that was our last night together — potentiality for this ongoing communication?

Unbeknown to either of our human selves — the universal life force was waiting for our readiness; intention, purpose and willingness to commit to learning the ‘how’ of interdimensional collaboration.

We all have the power to transform hope; to bring the act of intention to transmute the passive wish — to action a desire — in continuing the evolution of our being-ness. We don’t cease to be when we die, we flourish in the knowing of expanded awareness.

And that is the crux of what we want to convey. There are no fixed ways to feel into the being-ness of your expansive self and team except to say that we all have the capacity should we feel the call or pull or hope to do so. Our way is a way, not the way. Your soul is sovereign; trust it will show you the path relevant to the context and content of all your human existences — you are already an aspect of the Oneness; home.

Trust relinquishes the human desire to know all; an open curiosity brings the joy and gratitude of discovery — the remembrance that we are inconceivably vaster than this gorgeous dimension of our physicality.

Do I miss the man John? Everyday. I made friends with grief years ago, she is welcome when she calls. She helped me recently spill some of John’s ashes off the wharf in Darwin. Grief is an aspect of Love.

When I arrived home from Moira, the bedroom blind was swinging; a call for a confirming meditation.

I sit here in the very early predawn; after an extended Easter camping trip wth beach and brunch buddy Di, and her posse of friends for this annual surfing event. We are across the other side of the state, near beaches that command the skills of seasoned surfers. I am content to make do with my child sized boogie board; after all, it is the eight year old self that guides this 60 year old into the waves. Good for the soul, they say. I agree, given the child self is soul’s essence in human form.

Healing and hope? This is my experience; my learning and healing — for people to feel into what resonates, or not.

When one understands that the soul is observer and recorder of every intention, thought and action, of every incarnation, in whatever dimensional reality — in the space of unconditional love; then, somehow the inner work, as emotionally fraught as it can be, becomes a release. The soul does not participate in emotional bypass — that is the limiting choice of the human aspect — unwilling, not ready, unsupported; whatever. This is a no judgement call; it is not a race, nor is it a competition.

We have said before that human choice is not necessarily free will when it doesn’t align with the essence of the soul’s intent.

In accepting that I am greater than the gift of this body and a life experience on this majestic planet, comes a natural deference to noticing, seeking, feeling into listening — to my soul, my team, John.

Healing as soul learning? I do not subscribe to the notion that healing equates with being complete; I struggle with conceptual finish lines to be-ing, when I know that we are eternal. I understand healing as learning to take responsibility for self, and given our interconnectedness, this also empowers our kin. Am I healed? I continue to shift energetic patterns that do not serve me, my soul kin or the collective consciousness. Everything is interconnected in this infinite evolution; expansion.

It is reciprocal; this is an energetic flyway of love — those across the veil continue to learn to heal too, they just have access to other tools of service — to self, to other. We bring this collective consciousness into our next arrangements for shared life experiences.

Finally, John is aware of this community as any other I share familiarity. We are grateful for the connections and friendships formed here. I use my daily meditation practice to shoot the energy of love, gratitude, and good will to those I encounter — as much part of the routine as connecting with John and the team. Not being religious, meditation has become my form of prayer.

He is part of it; the man has long left, his magnificent soul continues to expand and thrive — not as far away as we humanly conceive.

With love and gratitude, our learning continues.

From Me, John and the team; thank you. We love you.

And so it is.

Darwin, Thursday March 19 — l was sitting up in bed, in our twin Queen hotel room in the predawn. My sister was still, in a relaxed slumber; her breathing a consistent rhythm, a quiet snoring. The sounds of a shared sleeping space are foreign after seven years without John.

For a moment I was transported to the last bedroom my sister and I shared as children. Though older, she would often fall asleep before me. I used to whisper, are you still awake? She would became annoyed and refuse to answer.

Nightmares were common when I was around 7-8; I would try to nod off before her, thinking it would keep the monsters at bay. I can still recall the ghoulish faces that would float across the corners of our room. I was frightened to be awake — on my own.

I hadn’t travelled with my laptop; we were gone for only three nights. I woke my iPad to jot a few notes. The three metres separating our beds was suffice, so that the light emitting from the screen didn’t disturb her. Time to write.

It was the morning after the day before, my 60th birthday. We had flown up to tropical Darwin; moist and muggy — on the end of a flooding third wettest wet season on record — a vastly different habitat to the southern part of the country where we live four seasons. My sister’s first trip to the city known for its edgy quirkiness.

Unsurprising was the cloudburst that coincided with our arrival; it was overcast, 31 degrees and 80% humidity. We waited in the undercover queue for a taxi. The turnaround was quick; the city of Darwin is our smallest capital and only a ten-fifteen minute drive from the airport. Her vibrancy is as much in the diversity of her people as the physical landscape; colourful, intense and salty. Lush. Sometimes messy.

I remember our first trip to Darwin back in 2006. John, was … round it up a few months … 10 years older than me. We would take off in the year of the ‘big 0’ birthdays, on the back of some long service leave, and head somewhere camping in the outback. Time permitting, the NT became our go to escape.

We’d spent four hours and twenty minutes flying up to Darwin, with 90 minutes taken off the clock. Time certainly is an illusion. After checking in we headed for Stokes Wharf. I slipped the small metal tin into my pocket; one of those teeny sample pot sized containers that is often strategically gifted by retail outlets.

I had placed a couple of teaspoons of John’s ashes in it and stowed it in the sturdy red toiletry bag that my mother always kept packed and ready for her regular hospital visits.

Completing the last checks before leaving home the day before, March 17, l felt John’s energy. Within seconds the blind in the lounge room started to swing. I thanked him for the affirmation, asked him to protect his ashes, and told him how much I loved him. Gratitude.

The swinging blind; his timely confirmation, and a poke to remember the essence of the light activation l had received on March 11. I had purposefully chosen the date; it being the 60th anniversary of my maternal grandmother’s death, one week before l was born. The birthday escape to Darwin with my sister had been planned, and I knew Mum would be with us. My intention for receiving the activation was for further healing of the maternal line.

I hadn’t any expectation of what the experience might bring other than arriving with open curiosity and trust. Lying on the massage table, eyes closed, I felt a strong tether and could visualise a thick rope anchoring its root from the base of my spine, deep into the earth; a belonging. I was aware it was my father’s energy.

The session was facilitated by Paula, she had guided my recent past life regression; where I was an indigenous woman shown the natural order of the divine masculine and feminine. She remained silent throughout the activation except for when her voice reflected the frequencies of light; a coded language that is understood through the energy centres in the body.

This light language can initiate body movement; I felt my hands rise to rest on my lower abdomen, the sacral area. There appeared an image in my mind; a circle of women. Another night time fire ceremony.

We women were standing side by side, shoulders touching — women’s business. As with my father’s presence, I was initially surprised when l noticed men standing directly behind us, their backs to ours. We women had joined hands and were gently swaying. The men remained motionless; shields.

My hands again rose, above my solar plexus and sacral area. The energy was palpable, like l was cupping a pregnant belly. I knew it to be symbolic of the womb nurturing all life. My heart space expanded.

We are protecting the sacred and divine feminine energy. The divine masculine holds sacred, the private rituals of women.

John appeared, and stood next to me for a moment before being reabsorbed into the outer circle of men. A synchronous tie to what I had seen in the past life and how it has informed my growing understanding that awareness of our own consciousness and associated practices — the inner work — empowers us to be primary healers of self. This energy vibrates and ripples amongst our soul kin; everything is connected.

I hadn’t informed my sister about the ashes l had smuggled in a disused sample tin because I didn’t have the required documentation to carry it. Just before l left home I slipped a certified copy of John’s death certificate in my carry-on — in the event that they detected him — that hopefully, with due compassion, they would let me keep that bit of him.

I’ve got some of John’s ashes in my case, I declared to my sister as we retrieved our bags from the carousel.

I wanted to sprinkle some of him in the sea where we had chased the elusive barramundi during our 2016 road trip. A brief ritual; a moment, a goodbye to that bit of the dream.

Funny, how triggers find their mark.

Our plan for when I retired/reached 60, was to drive a lap of Australia with our friends, a couple we had known for 20+ years. They too had fallen in love with the red dirt when they had flown up to meet us in Darwin on that 2016 trip. They leave soon for that lap, on April 1. I was, of course, still welcome to join them, and as grateful as l am, it is not for me. l am not the same; nor are the circumstances — physical, emotional or spiritual.

Feeling the pains and pangs of loss are cyclic, part of the stinging being-ness of grief. Timeless. Emotions filtered through the heart always bring me back to love; an acceptance to feel the rises, each time, every cycle. There are only beginnings. We are never alone.

So, off the edge of the pier he went — straight in with the salties, l smiled through a tear. I had ordered one of his favourite beers and some oysters. I noticed that the barmaid gently rolled the stubby on its side before opening it, to disrupt and evenly distribute the sediment of yeast. John would make a performance of this practice, often rolling the stubby along his arm — not all bar staff attend to this necessary requirement prior to opening and drinking a Coopers. Doesn’t taste the same, he would lament.

Within a couple of months of John dying, l sent 500g of his ashes to Switzerland to create an uncut, rough diamond; to make a ring.

He knows about the diamond of course; he was interested to observe the process, he informed Moira during an annual reading. She didn’t know about the diamond; this is how souls validate their presence with mediums; tell them something factual that they couldn’t have otherwise known.

Nor to let the opportunity for a laugh to pass, how does she know it’s me, he poked after I had shown Moira the ring. Perfect timing; I was smiling, showing her how I kiss it each day. Souls communicate in the ways that reflect their human personality; a confirmation in itself. The ring brings me comfort; l often find myself twirling it around my finger.

Darwin was a looping affirmation; a release, a beginning, a cycle — a stacking timeline of openings; portals of possibility. A reclamation; a nod.

It was fun sharing my dream escape destination for the first time with my sister, who usually prefers the more polished resorts you find in Q’ld. Not that the NT is all grunt and no glamour; our borders after all, are just imaginary divisions. A little bit like life and death.

Sunday morning, after a day travelling home, I sat up in bed organising the notes from Darwin for this post. With a swing of the bedroom blind, John piped in:

Each of us are diamonds, regardless of the cut … shine as you will and remember you are all attached to the One reflection of being.

My sister and l felt our mother’s energy about us over the wee dash to Darwin. I post this on the sixth anniversary of her death, March 23rd. The healing of both the maternal and paternal lines continues.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

Thanks for coming to Darwin with me Sonia. I love you.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

Soul’s discernment is sovereign. Tales are sought and [re]told ... residual memories reflect the reality of one’s consciousness — the shaping mirroring the intent of the teller and receiver. Memories are transmutable. Feel into listening your soul perspective — protect energetic boundaries.

The role of memory in our human experience and its function in our evolution continues to intrigue me. Our existence is orchestrated towards remembering we are an expansive soul. It communicates directly through memory and other modes of messaging. These are primarily received in the body; whether we notice to interpret the signals is incidental. When we do, our responses are indicative of how we emotionally relate to the circumstances.

Memories may seem past to the mind, yet they are present in the body.

It seems memory permeates each aspect of our being and the cycling timelines that we perceive as linear. This illusion is of our creation. The blind swung gently as I began this post on Monday, March 9. Prior to writing, I’d had a prolonged meditation and session with the rods; opening portals to receive. Such as the message beginning this post.

Monday, March 2^nd, the day after my sister-in-law Lynn died, I spent eight hours drafting the previous post. Twice, I had noticed the smell of cigarette smoke. The whiff of tobacco is a sign I usually associate with my mother. I could sense it wasn’t her, though I did not pause to, take notice, as John often pokes. The following day , while editing, it happened again. And again, I gave it no further notice until after I hit send.

On Wednesday 4^th, the blinds were swinging after an early afternoon meditation. As well as being part of my daily practice, seeking guiding support during meditation prior to facilitating past life regressions has become routine. A friend had scheduled a QHHT session later that afternoon.

I took the opportunity to use the rods for some clarification.

Yes, the smoke was Lynn.

The memory of the initial hospital visit to Lynn popped in; when brother David and his son were present. It took a few seconds for Lynn to recognise me; she only had peripheral vision, it was probably my voice and touch that sparked familiarity. Her eyes deepened with mischief and her smile broadened as she claimed, you smoke. You want one, an agreeing offer in my tone. No point trying to explain to a person who is delirious anything otherwise, and her memory was correct — depending on which version of Simone had presented in her emotional body, in her mind.

I remembered a message, and located it in a November, 2025 post titled, The Illusion Of The Afterlife:

The afterlife continues the evolution of the soul; bringing the past into presence with an alchemy of memory that blends timelines into — just being-ness. We energetically go wherever and whatever dimension our soul wants to traverse — within our field of vibrational resonance. We enter each other’s realities just as we do on the Earth plane — we are multidimensional. The afterlife is simply another realm in which you use your imagination for creation — as viable a reality as any other.

Not all souls go into what you deem as “recovery”, it depends on your beliefs and what you imagine you need, adds John. There is no lack here. Lynn is with her vast team. And obviously “smoking a cigarette, nine miles long”, I added, singing a line from John Prine’s quirky song, When I Get To Heaven. This is the general nature of my communication with John; playful.

And then came the poke to revisit pertinent points from two other posts; from November and December of last year — to bring some coherence to where you are being guided in our expansion, John confirms. This, from, An Alchemy Of Memory — Soul Wisdom:

The energy of memory is present and therefore malleable. While one is prone to think of memory as an event, it is in the emotion where shifts pass — what transpires is a healing release of attachment and identification with beliefs.

This from, A Sabbatical Of Love:

Our cycles of remembrance take many forms, they are energetic patterns of timelines and lives. To end one cycle is not to finish, it is to begin. Endings are not erasures of memory, as sure as death is not the end of life. To observe from a soul perspective is not to deny the feelings of human emotion or expression, it invites compassion and grace for self, for other. This love, as you experience it, is gratitude.

And this from our last post of 2025, Bearing Witness To Our Stories:

Courage is the currency of compassion. We do not need to die to undertake our life review or to heal wounds that cross generations. Meeting the damaged versions of self and other, in each story — assuming responsibility for acceptance and release — shifting emotional energy does change those realities, to reflect the aspirations of the soul, the team; the oneness of our be-ing — of this, our shared humanity.

It is through working with the presence of memory that we can access our consciousness across realms, and feel into the universal field of oneness. Such energetic resonance is part of the pull that led me to train as a past life regressionist. Our memories create our realities; how we perceive the past, how it shapes our present and how the possibilities we imagine create future probabilities. Our potential to heal comes in recognition that our soul is sovereign; its connection and collaboration with its team, powerful.

Friday, March 6^th, I spoke with brother David about final arrangements for Lynn. It was the beginning of the long weekend in Victoria, to commemorate Labor Day. John’s wake was held at home on the Saturday back in 2019. Returning from the General Store, I noticed the tiny feather dangling from John’s hat. Not the usual Barn Owl feather he manipulates — I don’t know what bird it belonged to; I had picked it up from the drive way of his family home a few years ago, during a visit to Lynn and David. Underneath John’s hat lies a wand; I had whittled it from an elm branch while sitting with Lynn in the garden.

Saturday, March 7th, the wee feather was again moved; flipped upside down and positioned as if it was poking from the wand. As a side note, many of the wands I have whittled and decorated contain drilled holes so that feathers can poke from them. The barn owl feather remained on the crown of his hat though askew and heading towards the other direction. I didn’t — still — to take notice of the message.

In the calm of Sunday morning, on the way back to bed with coffee, I paused to return the feather to its place on the brim of his hat. Thank you for weaving our magic, dropped in.

Sometimes the lounge room blind and bedroom blind swing in unison, as they did Sunday around noon. I got out the rods before going into meditation: We are the feather and the wand, came John’s drop-in — our interdimensional collaborations.

Memories resonate and ripple across all timelines. They are the foundations of our beliefs and therefore underpin the choices that we make. An amalgamated memory; its presence, and continuing connection and partnership with John and the team was impetus in advocating for the most appropriate care for Lynn. It was a heart centred choice — soul memory, a unification of our collective human experience and the emotions that gather around events. It is through the emotional field; our heart centre, that we give and receive with gratitude, compassion and love — that which reflects our integral self.

I understand that soul’s discernment brings balance to the varying perceptions of emotional expressions of self. Considering the soul has access to every memory of each incarnation; the energetic imprint of every thought, decision and action — it is reasonable that we collaborate with others across the veil, as we do on this plane. As I commented during discussion of the previous post:

... it seems that death is a birthing and l wonder why these two ‘home’ portals can be so diverse in relation to how the person experiences it. It is sometimes said we are born and die alone, l don’t agree with that at all ... We don’t cease to exist behind closed doors because we cannot be seen.

There are journeys between life and death because our soul is having simultaneous experiences on other planes. John has given me a bit re what he is experiencing, l understand that the soul has access to all of its lives and so the learning continues between lives — we are an accumulation of all our experiences, including those we don’t remember ...

There is an element of us creating, imagining, dreaming that experience as well … depending on our needs.

I spent a sizeable part of the day drafting this post on Monday, March 9th. Upon leaving the study I noticed a repositioning of the barn owl feather. Consistent is this sign of flipping the feather upside down from the crown to the brim — message received, resume position, he laughingly dropped in, with a poke to write a poem.

The Owl And The Wand

He — The Owl,

guides with gentle grace

feathers of otherworldly wisdom,

his language of light.

She — The Wand,

Wistful and whimsical,

bridges into the veil of

eternal consciousness.

We — Our Human Aspect,

Gaia’s sovereign children;

curious and creative seekers,

architects of multiple realities.

They — The Silent Seers,

Alchemists of soul memory;

courageous, compassionate,

discerners of truth.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

Singing “Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind
Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind, Bessie
Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind no more

Said it’s a mean old world, heavy in need
And that big machine is just picking up speed
And we’re supping on tears, and we’re supping on wine
We all get to heaven in our own sweet time
So come all you Asheville boys and turn up your old-time noise
And kick ‘til the dust comes up from the cracks in the floor

Singing, “Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind, brother
Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind
Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind no more”

(Gillian Welch, Hard Times, 2011)

I spoke with John’s two siblings on February 5^th, the seventh anniversary of his death. David had rung to inform me that Lynn was in hospital; in a town near the border of NSW. A near 800km return trip from where I live in the south west of our home state, Victoria. I immediately rang Lynn; the situation was dire and they were expecting to move her in the following days to Melbourne for surgery. I’ll be seeing my little brother soon, she flatly remarked. Being the oldest of the three siblings, she wasn’t talking about the youngest David, she was referring to John. I could hear the vulnerability of an exhausted body and spirit.

I first met Lynn in September 1990, at her 40^th. I retain a vivid picture of walking down the dark side driveway towards an illuminated garage decorated with party paraphernalia. The game of pool paused momentarily. Her friends retrieved their cans from the crate sized speaker boxes that flanked the wide entrance. As one, they squinted into the night to see who was approaching. Oh, John’s here, sang the women excitedly; everyone loved him.

John and I had hooked up three months earlier. Lynn was living locally in Brunswick for work. She was a barmaid, and John would stop by the pub on a Tuesday on the way home for a couple of pints with his sister. Lynn moved around a bit, though she was back living and working in Brunswick when it was my turn to reach 40, in 2006.

My sister and I still laugh about my wee party that night. Lynn’s partner, Mandy, was hilarious, her dancing the highlight. John, Lynn, Mandy and I shared many laughs over their years, and typically over too many beers. John and I both felt Mandy’s absence when she and Lynn split later that same year.

By 2010 Lynne had moved to Phillip Island in the southern part of the state. I only know that because we went down there for her 60th. Physical distance had thinned the opportunities for visits. It was where John and Lynn had their last beer together in January, 2018, a few months after his MND diagnosis. Lynn remained there until circumstances lead her back to the family home in the foothills of the Alpine region about five years ago.

Being in the north east of the state, the town blisters in Summer. When John and I weren’t interstate camping over the annual Xmas Summer holidays, we would head that way for a few days between Boxing Day and New Year. We probably got 4 or 5 of these in before Jean died in 2002. Lynn spent every Xmas with their mother and the times that we were able to make the trip were full of anticipatory laughter between brother and sister.

The annual five day Boxing Day Test was the background hum; with coverage on TV inside, and the radio, outside. The iconic cricket match would dominate the lazy pace of the week. The family banter was light and the mood carefree.

The portable card table would reappear in the back yard each morning, ready for the commencement of the day’s play. Covering its surface waited an unfinished jigsaw, Jean and Lynn’s challenge for the week. They would hover over it while remaining attuned to the cricket commentary.

John and I would be reading; he resting his elbows and book on the garden table, while I usually lay on a towel on the lawn. The mustard coloured, fringed umbrella would be pushed up into place, ready to be strategically angled every so often to maximise the shade.

Any questioning cries of — WICKET— inspired an animated dash inside to catch the replay. These playful moments punctuated the friendly repetition of family stories.

Around 11am — precisely, [thanks John], he and Lynn would lock mischievous eyes. Esky duty, was a shared performance; to elicit commentary from Jean. Their procedure, measured: tip out most of the melted ice making sure to leave enough slurry; the required base to maintain an icy temperature. Stack cans neatly to maximise beer storage. Top up with fresh ice. There is a science to it, John would smile; the crescendo of new ice hitting the plastic ice box the cue for Jean to enter the scene.

The shade’s approaching the shed, one would defensively laugh; the other supporting with, we’re just getting ready. Come midday — when the shade was over the shed — John and Lynne would bait each other; who would be game to crack the first beer? How many you up to now?, Jean would enquire on the hour. She knew the score and she loved the banter.

The predictable routine ensured that we could factor in some respite. Sometime around mid-late 90s, Lynne needed to drive a 100km round trip to pick Mandy up from the Wangaratta train station. Make sure you go straight there and come straight back, was Jean’s instruction. Oops, Lynn took umbrage, and I accepted her invitation to join her for the ride. John’s knowing expression as we left is etched in my memory; we would be gone for hours. There’s a few country pubs to pass — or not — along that route.

It seems John’s company, a sense of humour and an esky of prawns that Mandy had in her possession soon smoothed Jean and Lynn’s rustled feathers.

Any skeletons whose wounds were carved deep into bone were always left for night time conversation, after Jean had retired for the evening. Despite her bedside radio being on all night, her bedroom door remained ajar — for the cats. There was a shared respect and love of Jean.

Lynn was transported to Melbourne and underwent high risk surgery on Saturday, February 14^th. Further post operative complications meant that by Wednesday 18^th it was apparent that she was dying. Despite this recognition in conversation initiated by the surgeon, contradictions within the system meant that appropriate and timely care for Lynn kept being delayed. It became necessary to support her and David by advocating for a more compassionate approach.

On Monday, February 23^rd, I rose early for a repeat return trip to Melbourne. As I prepared to leave the house around 6.30am, I noticed the feather on John’s hat. He had moved it to standing position — Go gently, be firm, it’s a fine balance.

At the hospital by 9am, a new nurse tending Lynn listened to my concerns and promptly sent an urgent message to the nurse in charge, palliative team and doctors. She knew Lynn’s levels of pain were extreme. Returning to the room, she spotted the palliative team on their rounds, went out and got them.

Go gently, be firm, it’s a fine balance.

After addressing my determined list of questions seeking clarification and explanation, highlighting the apparent inconsistencies between departments, the palliative team escalated Lynn’s case to department directors. When they left, Lynn took my hand, I love you because you are my friend. She was otherwise incoherent.

I left Lynn when she fell asleep, after a heart wrenching, excruciating change of the bandage, sheets and sponge bath. I kept reassuring her during the ordeal, cupping her face in my hands and whispering repeatedly that she was safe. The two nurses tended her as gently and swiftly as they could. It was 11.30am. I sent David a message. He and his son were running late in traffic, due to arrive at the hospital within 30 minutes of my departure. It is a seven hour return trip from the family home they shared with Lynn.

David rang at 1.30pm, while I was on the train to Geelong. Lynn’s transfer had been finalised and she was due to leave Melbourne at 3.30pm. She would arrive at their small hometown hospital six hours later.

I arrived home at 3.10pm. The bedroom blind was swinging, an invitation to meditate.

On Sunday, March 1^st, I woke at 4am. As with many of us, it is routine for me to stir in the hours when the veil is thinnest. I put on a meditation, thoughts went to Lynn. David had rung me Saturday afternoon to report she was close. When I woke a couple of hours later, Gillian Welch and David Rawling’s, Hard Times, was playing in my head.

Checking my phone, I noticed a message from David, Lynn passed on about four o’clock this morning. I felt an immense relief for Lynne and equal measures of sadness and gratitude — a fine balance.

Early afternoon, post meditation, I picked up the rods; I could feel John’s energy. Yes, Lynn had arrived safely, and yes, he had connected with her.

Sunday evening I attended the final concert of the Australian tour of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. The photo that heads this post is from that concert, Gillian singing the above mentioned song.

Monday, March 2nd, a writing day. At 8.30am, David rang to inform me that Lynn’s body had been transferred to the Coroner in Melbourne.

Summer’s end — Hard Times — A Fine Balance.

A Fine Balance (For Lynn)

Dawn draws the stillness of night into day

as his wisdom flows from quill to crown.

Our silences speak in humming rhythms;

vibrational frequencies of light.

A tender touch is the ethereal feather

that transmutes time and space.

Gentle is the heart of discernment;

intuition and insight, procuring protection.

Portals of transformation upon the wings of angels,

to the eternal; a homecoming.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

Lynn, you landed safely. Enjoy your homecoming. Bless You. Thank you for 35 years of friendship. I love you.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

The ritual fell into place as a natural part of my meditation practice; a process — intention, gratitude and trust — knowing that whatever is revealed is benevolent. The soul knows its human limits — including those that are unrelated to what our ego has been conditioned to project as lack. Soul’s guiding discernment is felt — through listening to its expansive wisdom; to your team, to self:

We have many lives; from the soul perspective they are simultaneous — in human reality lives are linear. It is a truth that Earth is a dimensional realm where the soul can choose concurrent existences.

Beyond the biological limitation of human expression are other existences of the soul. There is no lack; it is part of the grand design of perception. Imagination is creation; all part of the illusion — this is how intuition opens portals.

So came John’s confirming drop-in as I mused over some of what the subconscious has revealed in QHHT sessions over the last two months. I looked up from my place at the dining table to gaze at his photo on the wall above the altar where his hat rests. My fingers kept tapping, and as my eyes skirted back to the laptop screen, I noticed John had repositioned the feather from the crown of his hat to almost exactly the same place — as what I had noticed twelve hours earlier. She of little faith, dropped in. I smiled — see, sit and the words will flow. I had been resisting the poke to write for some days.

I had arrived home a couple of hours earlier to a swinging bedroom blind — a call to meditate.

I don’t usually write at the dining room table except that I wanted the nurturing warmth of the late afternoon sun on my back. It had been a long Wednesday — a return trip to Melbourne to meet with John’s brother and his son. They, from the far NE corner of the state, me from the SW — met to visit our very ill, hospitalised sister/aunt/sister-in-law. An affirming visit, though not easy emotionally or physically — the distance a challenge for regular visits and a seeming barrier re direct communication with the medical team. My brother-in-law had spent 6 hours the day before trying to get clarity re her post op complications and steady decline.

We met in the hospital restaurant-foyer area, first acknowledging our nervousness about what we might find, before focusing on how we might best support her care during this threshold space of time. Accepting the what is — so important to feel into and share our emotions so that we could be centred and — present. We rose as one in the claustrophobic box of a lift to ward four-south.

Of the ritual that fell into place?

Over the last eight weeks I have facilitated 7 QHHT sessions. Some are familiar with interdimensional experiences, while others profess to have not done anything like this before. They are curious, open and positive about the healing properties of their remembering. And I am extremely grateful; for the trust, the learning and the deepening connection.

Before facilitating a session, I meditate to give gratitude to both my team and the person’s team of guides and ancestors. I trust and know that they will be present. I also know that the soul/subconscious of the person has already chosen the life that will be revealed. Agreement between our souls to collaborate is given.

I can feel the energies congregate about the room as we converse before the session. John has swung the blind for each I have facilitated; be it at the beginning, during or at the end of the regression. Hi John, smile the women who have noticed. He doesn’t stay long, just enough to affirm what I sense; all is well. I also meditate post session, to thank the teams for their guidance, for the learning.

All sessions have been at my home, except for the regression of my sister, Sonia. And there was an affirming swing of the blind just before I left home that morning. Sonia jumped across three lives before settling into the one that was the focus. While the details are not for my telling, she brought forward confirmation of something I have noticed about my own past life reveals — there is an overlap.

Sonia entered the past life at high school graduation somewhere in America. She and her class mates were celebrating on the lawns at the front of the school — Class of ‘64, read the banner. She went on to have a successful career in biochemistry and died in old age. My sister Sonia was born in 1963, and if I guesstimate that she was born sometime around 1948 in that other life, she might possibly still be alive despite having viewed her death during regression. Fascinating!

Similarly, while my past life reveals are in linear time — quite possibly not to overwhelm my human self — it is probable that there was overlap. The life where I was married to my father (from this life), was in late 1700s Poland. The life where I was mistress to John, was mid 1800s in England. I am not sure when I died in that life as I viewed it during two separate meditation sessions.

The next life, I was a suffragette who was widowed during WW1. I also viewed that life in two separate meditations, though I did see my peaceful death in a hospital. I was elderly. John has informed two mediums that I was widowed to him during WW11, stating he went down in a fighter plane during, The Battle of Britain.

From a linear time perspective, it seems probable I would have still been alive in the WW1 suffragette life when I was born into the life where I was again widowed to John during WW11. Given that I do not know when I died in that life, and assuming I was born around 1920, I may well have still been living that life in England, when I was born into this current version of myself in 1966.

The mind boggles, because this time-space paradigm is beyond the full scope of the human brain — it is a limitation by design.

I understand that our expansive energetic field of consciousness is too vast to be housed in one physical body, and that our soul creates other physical and non-physical experiences. The few regressions that I have facilitated have already reinforced that understanding. Beach and brunch buddy Di was a powerful universal energy body of protection before she dropped into a past life human expression, and it became blatantly clear that my sister appears to be in concurrent human existences.

When I perceive how this all relates to other members of my family, it soon escapes traceable boundaries — for example, my father was born in 1921, I was probably born around the same time given I was widowed to John in 1940, during WW11. It’s all just a wow really — this wee scratch on the surface already showing our eternal interconnectedness — to all beings, all at once.

And of pokes — what of the relationship between karma and ancestral healing?

I have an aversion to using the term karma when from a mainstream spiritual perspective it is associated with notions of punishment and debt, because I view such terms as judgement. I understand karma as taking responsibility for one’s own actions, and that includes assuming the inner work to heal those wounds inflicted by other, and self.

It takes courage and compassion — gratitude for connections, and grace, when establishing energetic boundaries.

Spiritual projections reflective of other institutional dogma simply do not resonate with my intuitive discernment — it is by universal design that our human aspect has limited knowing of all that is; it becomes part of our experience to seek, to remember.

Besides, our experiences with other souls are not confined to the one life — so, what of healing familial and other relational wounds across realms? If I was estranged from a parent, why would I imagine that I had to wait until another human existence to try and release stuck emotional energy? If I have access to the team and direct contact with the energy of the soul of that person, why couldn’t we resolve those patterns in the eternal present?

And what if I am experiencing parallel lives, overlapping with some of those same souls in my group? These possibilities and probabilities considered, it seems a rather limiting spiritual-mind-thought to posit that unresolved challenges from one life need to be repeated in subsequent lives.

However, it is important that we focus on the one life, the one version of ourself that we are living — to be present and take responsibility for reflecting the true essence of who we are. No spiritual bypassing; the duality of our human experience is by design.

And, as with birth, death is a sacred portal of transition. We must accept the pain emotions central to the human experience of loss and the grief — as simply as we do with the exhilaration expressed when we celebrate birth. Each are gateways into the vast ways of being that our soul chooses in its expansion of the source that created it.

As my sister-in-law’s soul unveils the final act of this human incarnation, I reflect on the joy and laughter and love we shared over a 35 year friendship. I reach for her in meditation and vow to again hold the space of presence when I see her tomorrow. My crown tingles as I punch through the final sentence of this post — I look up to see a gentle swing of the blind.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

Link to Part 1: A Reciprocity Between Soul And Self

And so it is — that glimpses into a past life as an indigenous woman confirmed nudges about Creation; the seeding of our souls and the universal lore of One.

Clarity also came in noticing a thread running through snippets of other lives I have observed. My soul has chosen to reveal experiences where I am a woman struggling with the perceived weight of expectation, of self and other — victim and perpetrator, be it a farmer’s wife pushing away her husband and consequently being alienated by her adult children and community, the shamed mistress of a landowner who chooses to punish her lover by severing the relationship and thereby inflicting an unanticipated emotional burden for both, or a widowed suffragette who shifts the focus of her writing during the pause in that movement that was WW1.

Challenges with patriarchal societal norms were prominent in these lives.

All bear relevant messages to experiences in my current life; my father being my husband in the first and John being my lover - husband in the other two. From a linear time perspective, these three lives were in that consecutive order. John has also informed two mediums that I was widowed after he went down in a fighter plane during WW11 — preceding this current [past for John] life. (I have mentioned before, his fear of flying in this life and obsession with war history.)

And despite feeling resistance in the most recent reveal as an indigenous woman, the distinguishable message from that life — that which was lived thousands of years before the others — is, the natural order of the divine masculine and feminine energies is universal lore.

It took Simone time to find her feminine aspect and accept it. She experienced it in that lifetime and is integrating it in this lifetime — the wisdom of the divine feminine is VERY POWERFUL ...

It was important to show her the [natural] cycle for women ... [and men].

So came the reason my subconscious (my expansive self/soul) gave when regressionist, Paula, asked why it had shown me that life as an indigenous woman?

My current life’s ongoing disdain for the patriarchy and its hierarchical conditioning — and my subsequent experiences, both in my upbringing (sparring with my father) and the broader culture of the institutions I studied and worked in, fuelled a second wave feminist rage that shaped my warrior-esque approach in fighting for those maligned by the system; primarily the refugee students I served.

... about the patriarchy … the impact in this life, in her upbringing and how she thought she needed to conduct herself in the power struggles in her work.

THE divine unfolding is ... Universal Truth.

By the time I reached 40 and middle management, I was apathetic about the system, and by 50, cooked. A feminist, I was disillusioned by how I perceived I needed to function as a leader in the education system (schools and university) — at 48, effectively self-sabotaging my career over a 12 month period by repeatedly refusing to submit to system coercion when in an acting Principal role. An industry where as many women as men perpetuate the patriarchal ways of manipulation and control. I struggled with the multi faceted, micro-macro deception.

Emotionally, I wasn’t fit to fight in the ways of the patriarchy. I don’t want to mislead you; I was, as a colleague often reflected, intellectually fierce; I did not shy from expressing an opinion or challenging the evidence base of dubious policy and practice. However, the system itself endorsed ruthless strategising by those wanting to hold power over those they labelled a threat. Bullying was rife.

I drew a line that spelt integrity. I walked away from educational leadership with gratitude for the safe harbour of the classroom; teach to learn encapsulated my disposition and approach, as feeling into listening captures my collaboration with John and the team.

And John, the beautiful soul who watched and waited — always there when I slipped or tripped. He supported the strength inherent in my independence. We left Melbourne in 2016 for our tree change; 2017 delivering the devastation of his diagnosis.

Now, as I approach 60, I sit at my desk to start this post the day after the date marking 7 years since his death — after an early morning swing of the blind, and I feel into the presence of his energy: Natural Order has nothing to do with the patriarchy, he confirms as I type.

And as mentioned in part 1, the messages from the life as an indigenous woman continued to expand in their clarity over the following week. Further reveals in the days after a QHHT session are common. It is recommended to listen to the recording several times as this invites the subconscious to extend its guidance.

The first drop-in, rod swinging confirmation I received from John in the days that followed was that — we are of the same batch — that indigenous life being our first human experience after the seeding of our souls. He was the man I married. Repeat messages over several days:

Trust what you feel, the past life reveal was to mark our creation within universal lore. We came into existence as souls prior to that life.

There is a divine natural order of the masculine and feminine energies.

This also brought clarity to what I have struggled to articulate. In an August 2025 post, John dropped in:

Your soul is not your higher self, it is the rest of self. Locating self in the Oneness of the team is healing for all.

We are twin souls, not split souls.

The energy of the team is about me as I type, confirming what I have been feeling into listening:

We are origin souls, he suggests as an addendum to twin soul — the same batch, he reiterates as I type. Adding, soul groups [teams] flow in a frequency of coherence due to vibrational resonance. Teams are comprised of souls from various origins.

During the QHHT session, my subconscious had continued:

Writing brings joy and is a portal for emotions ... and brings clarity to what transpires ... deeply healing ... writing is a VOICE ... she needs to give it more PATIENCE. We told her yesterday there is no expiration date [re the writing – collaboration with the team]. The possibilities are infinite.

And of healing? One of the questions that Paula asked the subconscious on my behalf was how ancestral healing — core to my inner work — was received on the other side, particularly the maternal line?

It heals everything ... the ancestors observe. The mother and grandmother are part of the healing, they give their energy to it ... they collaborate for that purpose. They [ancestors] step forward when they are needed.

My mother dropped in at this point, I could see her standing with one hand on a gate. She was laughing. “It helps to call.”

This message was affirming as it offered more specifics. My grandmother and mother are collaborating to answer the calls from my sister and I, this also heals the wounds related to their relationship; in what was this life — and across all timelines. And of the function of memory in ancestral ties?

Well, she knows she has had other lives with John, her mother, father, grandmother ... she knows the wounds. She knows that emotions are energy, she knows the shifts are emotional ... there is a contract with her sister. Simone needs to let go of the grief she feels around familial wounds ... she’s doing it ... it’s happening, she’s releasing it.

Yes, memories bring the past into present ... past memories are related, so when you remember something joyous, it can help to remember the lineage ... to help in times that weren’t so. It is up to the person to make that link.

Not all signs are related to memory ... they are just presence. Sometimes they are a poke or a nudge to pay attention to something.

Paula asked my subconscious why I was drawn to QHHT:

She is drawn to it because it is a way to find truth. She wants to help others find their truth ... She wants to serve ... the writing is serving her and other people. She doesn’t want a big community ...

And writing helps her with boundaries ... to give her the space that she needs ... She’s not looking for external validation, she just wants connection ... She just wants to be who she is.

And my subconscious’ final advice to Simone, her human aspect:

Just stay open ... she’s experienced enough to know to keep working at it ... it is a devotion and a commitment [healing] ... it is a way of being, and people choose what they commit to, so our advice to Simone is to keep with her commitment.

She doesn’t take responsibility for it [others healing] anymore but she still feels it. She processes the emotions around it daily, she knows what she’s doing — she knows that the team is there ... her connection with the team has helped her trust herself.

Everybody has teams, that’s what she wants to show people.

A key aspect to the second part of a QHHT session — the conversation with the subconscious about the life shown and its correlation to the current life — is the energetic healing that it instigates in the body. Paula later informed me she could see the yellow energy flowing from either end of my body, meeting in the solar plexus area before intensifying into a golden light. I could visualise Uluru, as if she was nestled in my solar plexus, behind my rib cage. The sensation was sublime, a light-weightiness that had a pulling quality about it, like when I experienced my soul leaving my body in that life. My subconscious reported:

We are in her solar plexus area, and her hands and her feet ... She is very attached to the earth ... she is very grounded ... we are moving the energy of the red dirt ... she is receiving that energy right through her body now ... the divine feminine ... she is of the red dirt. It is never too late ... just remember who you are.

I now understand the love of the red dirt that John and I shared — the destination of many trips. When John died, I chose Darwin for a week respite with a friend. It also explains why, in the ensuing months, I had an urge to go and sit in the red dirt with aboriginal women. I didn’t understand why, and I would say it repeatedly to my mad soul mate Bron, in our regular check-ins. It also explains why aboriginal song lines of creation resonate in my being. Perhaps also accounting for why in 2012, when I accompanied 6 teacher candidates on a two week placement in Arnhem Land, I rang John telling him I didn’t want to come home, imploring for us to move up here for a few years, so I could work in a homeland school community.

It might also relate to why I have a small gallery of indigenous art work, all featuring women artists and their stories, purchased during trips to the red dirt. I will be adding to the collection when I visit the Northern Territory next month, to quietly celebrate my 60th birthday with my sister. A trip planned before this regression.

Which brings me back to the universality of One. Perhaps most profound is the feeling that has lingered in the three weeks since; the knowing that I was returning home to the stars; nestled back into the energetic forcefield of One — that which envelops the planes that encompass and protect this planet. The upward pulling sensation, the stars dinging and shimmering as my soul left the body, a return to the one-ness of be-ing.

What a gift. In the post death experience of the two formal regressions of 2014 and 2026 — in the first, I was greeted by my mother and grandmother from my current life despite that life being in the mid-late 1800s. Confirmation that they are of my soul group and indicative of patterns showing we are greeted by ancestors when we die.

To this past indigenous life and the ultimate return of the soul to its star origins; to the blended aspect of One. The in-between spaces; the extraordinary and infinitely expanding nature of the Universe — how presence, curiosity, exploration, knowledge and wisdom — know no bounds or endings. Just Wow.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

Early January I acted on a poke that started in November; to embark on Quantum Healing Hypnosis Technique (QHHT®), Level 1 training. The motivation is implicit in its name. However, that past life regression is central to its mode for helping people heal themselves — was the clincher for me.

The prodding coincided with the release of Lifetimes: Spiritual Explorations of Earth and Galactic Past Lives, by Adam Apollo, which includes my story of the life explored in a 2014 regression, where I was married to my father from this life.

The past lives I have glimpsed appear in previous posts on this platform; that mentioned above, to those I have experienced in mediations and women’s circle — including the guided welcome home death party back in a 2020 circle, where I was greeted by John and the team.

I have already professed that I know scant about the quantum field and John has nudged me to delve a little deeper into the multidimensional nature of the Universe. Perhaps this training is introduction to a deeper dive into the mechanics of how this phenomenon occurs?

How our collaboration continues to expand these portals into existence?

The curiosity and mystery is enticing. I remain unattached to any outcomes other than wanting to help people access their more expansive self; the sovereignty of their soul and its gifts in building human agency. With willingness and intent; commitment and devotion — going within inspires the courage and capacity to take responsibility for healing self. It is from this solid grounding of belief and trust in soul’s benevolence that we can choose those other services that most resonate with our human point of need. For me, this is clearly somatic in nature.

Curiosity lead me to that first session in 2014 and given that I had completed Level 1 training, I thought it best to seek a QHHT practitioner for a regression; to remember how it feels to go through the process.

What follows is part 1; a synopsis of my January 20 past life regression. Part 2 will be the next post detailing Paula’s questioning of my sub conscious (what I refer to as my expansive soul) about the purpose of that life’s reveal, its relevance to my current life and — further depth in understanding through clarifications and confirmations received from John and the team in the week that followed the regression.

As a side note, I had facilitated my first QHHT session three days earlier, as part of the required 10 practice sessions as an internee. I am grateful for the friends that have volunteered — for their trust, willingness and open curiosity. Belief and willingness are prerequisites for regression. To date, I have facilitated four sessions. All have been fascinating from the perspective of being facilitator, with positive outcomes for those experiencing a past life.

Paula came to my home to guide my regression. I sensed that the life I was going to visit had already been determined by my soul, in the spaces where my expansive self collaborates with the team. I was going in without expectation of who from the team might be in that life — I knew they had received that intent because I could feel them in the waking of the day.

As I often state, I only need to know what I am ready to be shown — layered. This drops in as I type:

And this layering is a spiritual exchange, it is a frequency that is received through the body — the heart, and reflects the open willingness and intent of the mind — its readiness to receive — to continue the chosen modality to heal. It is a collaboration, it is reciprocal, it permeates ancestral timelines and lifetimes. It is multidimensional.

As per protocol, Paula and I had a lengthy chat before the regression. As I pulled the blinds down around the open room of the house, John started to swing the front one. I nodded for Paula to notice, and in that moment her hands went to her chest, announcing it had suddenly become restricted; accompanied with an anxious feeling. That’s strange, I thought, thinking it was related to John swinging the blind.

As I came out of the bathroom it dropped that it was Mum’s energy, which Paula confirmed. Paula is also a psychic medium. It is common for those passed to identify who they are through showing the manner of how they died. The sensation left Paula as quickly as it had entered. I felt comforted by John and Mum’s presence, and took it as confirmation that the life I was about to be shown was as I had felt-thought — a collaboration with the team.

As Paula directed me to a relaxed state, I noticed I was floating backwards from an initial beach scene, drifting inland across outback Australia. What seemed just a few hundred metres beneath me was the magnificent monolith, Uluru. I marvelled at her colours and contours before turning and drifting north east where I found myself landing on an estuary in what I sensed was Arnhem Land.

At this juncture it is interesting to note that my mind was resisting a little — what I was seeing and sensing — the knowing. This can occur as one slips into deeper relaxation — my expansive self was nudging her mind to rest, to feel into listening, do as with meditation. I released.

The other point of interest is the process that my sub conscious utilised in the reveal. The visual accompanying each scene was like a moving image; a contextual snapshot, while clairsentience (feeling) and claircognizance (knowing) were prominent in receiving. As Paula asked the questions, I felt into them — clairaudient drop-ins (hearing) brought clarity; thus resembling how I obtain messages in mediation and other dream state expansion — in the act of writing, driving, paddling/surfing, and so forth.

I was a youngish indigenous woman standing in the mangroves looking out towards the ocean. I could feel the damp humidity of the wet season and the nakedness of my feet in the soft swamp. I was on the cusp of an initiation, and feeling some resistance about the ensuing responsibilities of womanhood. I had a woven dillybag on my back. I was meant to be collecting food except I was quietly contemplating the inevitable; a ritual that required me moving further inland along the river, away from my childhood and beloved sea.

I am just going for a walk along the beach now, I can see the sea ... there are pointy shells poking out of the ground that I sense is a food source — I am probably meant to be collecting. My bag is empty.

The next scene is a gathering of two clans. It is night, and in my central view is a fire. I observe the scene from a distance and note:

It’s some ceremony ... there’s two clans ... I am feeling resistance ... there’s an expectation ... it’s a complicated kinship system ... I am going to have to marry into that group. I don’t feel ready ... it’s just that really ... it’s like I don’t want to go into this womanhood bit, I just want to stay as a child... youth. I’m just sitting amongst the people, but it is like I am on my own. There is an older woman ... I am sitting in front of her ... a grandma or something. I think the expectation is coming from her ... it’s not a resentment; I know that it’s time, I just don’t want to do it. That’s all ... it is what it is.

Some men are standing and dancing off to the side, next to the women and in front of the fire. The features of people are not clearly definable due to the distance in which I am viewing the night scene. I notice I cannot hear any aspect of the ceremonial dancing. The colours and texture of the fire are dominant.

In the following scene, I am now married and attending to the daily tasks that are women’s business:

I am on a river now, on the banks ... the bush is denser. I am just gathering stuff ... collecting ... long leaves. I belong to that other clan now ... it’s ok ... I am just doing what I have to do ... I have access to my people ... these people are my people, we are of the same group ... we are just different skin. So, I have moved further in but I am still in the salt ... I can feel it.

Our shelters are in the bush ... they are basic ... they have flat roofs ... they are not permanent. There are a lot of people there ... there are many shelters ... there are only women there, we are processing the grasses; drying them and sorting them to make things with them. Different grasses have a different purpose, so the men must be off doing something. It’s like we branch off into smaller groups, the shelter might be for during the day, for that purpose. I am just with a couple of other women, we are just doing what we need to do, they are your people.

It’s like it is what it is. I don’t understand — doing what I have to do. I want to do other things that women can’t do, I am very dark skinned. I want to do things that the men do ... you know, like catch fish and things. I think that is more exciting. I think that was part of my problem, taking me away from the salt water. It feels boring.

The third day I visit shows I am an Elder woman:

I am an older woman ... I am just sitting in the dirt ... with lots of women around me, and children, and I am laughing. I am laughing because I am listening to them ... they are doing what I did ... I have a wisdom ... and I cry because I can feel how they felt, I am telling them, everything is alright, everything will be OK ...

And there are young girls rolling around in the dirt, laughing and squealing about me ... I am telling them stories because they have to do it too. It’s a cycle, through the women. They can keep their sense of what they have through the story line (song line). To remember where they came from. Yep, they are laughing, the 8 year olds ... the 15 year olds know what’s coming. I can’t see the intervening years other to know that it worked out. They were my people.

There’s a reason and we don’t always know what it is ... the reasons are the storylines, because the storylines are Truth. I am just sitting there laughing, the little ones are pushing me ... laughing ... come in, to being nestled ... and then roll around and laugh again ...

I can see the other woman from the fire ceremony ... I am her now.

I lingered in this energy for a while ... it was a very calming and nurturing energy.

Witnessing the death scene in a QHHT session is a required stage of the process. I describe the scene as my soul exits my body and where I dwell — home:

Its night time, I am just lying there under the stars. There’s people there but I am on my own. They are waiting. I am quite content ... I am just waiting for them to take me, the ancestors in the stars. I am just blanketed by all the stars in the sky — that’s where I come from, the stars. It’s just like a gentle pull ... just as I am pulled, it’s like the stars ding ... it’s the transition, the out ... it is like a shimmering. The body just stays with the dirt ... I am hovering in that going space, it is nice.

Wow, it’s just an expanse ... it’s like you’re just everything, it’s like you are a layer, like a force field ... but you are still located in it, like a star. It’s like a buzzing ... it’s a buzz. It’s like a bliss, I can feel it ... I can see this forcefield, like a thick perspex of energy, like a layer around the whole earth. I have just gone back into the field of Oneness ... it’s like a bliss state ... it is like I am in blackness but in the peripheral I can see colours of light, like the colours of the outback ... it’s a sphere, I am part of the forcefield that wraps around it ... I have no body, but I can feel my energy body in it .... like a bubble ... just a bubble.

I identify the lesson in that life as:

Not to resist, just to accept what it is ... see the gift in what you’ve got, who you are ... well, there’s no lack really ... I couldn’t see what I had for want of not seeing ...

The encompassing energetic field of the actual death and return to Oneness was a magnification of the healing energies I have experienced in mediation. My body felt like it was going to levitate, there was a light-weightiness about the pulling sensation. I simply wanted to dwell there, and the energy healing that was part of the next stage of the process was palpable and visceral.

As stated earlier in this post, the next one will detail how my subconscious (expansive soul) responded to questions Paula asked on my behalf — the second part of the QHHT session, including the profound energy healing alluded to above. And, further clarity on how that past life has informed this current life, including the expansion of messages received from John and the team in the week that followed.

Until then ... next time.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu (1971- 2017). Australia’s most sublime voice 🖤💛❤️

We have experienced a polarity in weather in my patch of South West Victoria. After a week of uncontrolled blazes running rampant in pockets of the Great Otway NP, a rare downpour of 180mm in 6 hours inundated some seaside towns that are adjacent to the park; those along the iconic Great Ocean Road.

Being mid-January, it was over populated with holiday makers. For many the last hurrah of the annual Summer break before going back to the grind this week. It is a miracle no one was swept into the ocean with the dozens of cars, tents and caravans that were washed away from those beachside camping grounds — those nestled amongst the rivers of the rainforest that is the Otway Ranges.

That Friday, one of the two fire trucks from my town sped past, lights and sirens screaming. My thoughts went to John. Part of the pull for moving to a small town was community. He had plans to volunteer with the Country Fire Authority and might very well been part of the crew heading out to serve others. I felt a rise of sadness for what might have been, and though fleeting, I imagined him in Birregurra 1 fire truck.

Later, I woke aglow from what began as a mid-afternoon meditation. There was a weighty-lightness about my body and being. The blind was swinging gently; a poke to pick up the pen:

With surrender, what you are really attesting to is trust in your own expansiveness, belief in the benevolent guidance of your soul. There is a peace that comes with the receiving energy of not needing to know what might unfold. There is however, a knowing that this energy will manifest as healing. This may require challenge, for the soul only knows Truths — delivered how you need them; determined by your choices. Feel into listening — we can poke, though with your invitation, we can clarify what are soul led aspirations. Everything is grounded in love.

I have written before about the team’s advice re choices and free will. When vibrationally aligned to the aspirations of soul’s purpose, the human exercise of choice liberates and unifies as One — thus reflecting free will. However, not all choices are free-ing will. John reiterated in that August 2025 post: Your soul is not your higher self, it is the rest of self ... Remember, healing is a private, not solitary pursuit. As I write, this drops in:

A sovereign soul serves you to see the all of it — this opens portals to feel into the knowing; the getting of wisdom.

The synchronicities are validation of alignment. Soul holds space for her human aspect to process and shift — she patiently waits and nudges, and waits — and pokes. This encompassing love translates as compassion. Her human expression adds to her library of wisdom — that’s the gift of human choices that may not necessarily reflect soul’s will. The gift for the human aspect is the peace that comes with the release of resistance in the navigation of the emotional field of human existence — our lives; our stories. In re-membering our eternal expansiveness, in relation-ship; in service to self and other. The soul does not seek to bypass its kin; our ancestors. It’s energy work.

And with this understanding — death becomes a portal home to self; where collaboration continues in the spaces in-between — for whatever next time we choose. This does not diminish the gravity of losing those we love through death — grief is an aspect of being, she knows every emotion of the heart for that is where she resides. She holds open the door for healing. She is present — and she requires presence because that is how she transmutes pain to gratitude.

Viewed from a soul perspective, our human fear of death is abated as we understand its function as another portal for healing — the bridge to eternity; to knowing. As expressed in a previous post: John’s illness was an initiation in unconditional love ... I better understand this mysticism; the sacred and continuing soul connection.

In February 2024, around the same time I started writing on this platform, I undertook certification as an End Of Life Doula. While I have not and do not intend to work formally in this role, the course offered new insights and confirmed my lived experiences of observing death and dying — it is an intimate, personal and sacred passage home. Being comfortable to hold silent space is paramount.

To hold space is presence. And really — what does that mean? How do we enact presence in the complex dynamics of fluctuating emotions — when communicating with those who are dying, and with their kin? How does our relationship with the person dying and people around them impact how we navigate the complications that are implicit?

To be present for someone means you are emotionally available — to self, to serve other. Ultimately, it is our relationship with self that determines as much.

It is in the continuum of birth to death — and the spaces in-between, where there is opportunity to continue relationships with ancestors. This can offer scope for clarity and an authentic presence in the now of human experience. For healing.

I don’t aspire to tame emotional tides — I feel into them, listen to the body for those rooted in fear. Revealed are attachments to beliefs that need to be released — shifts in perspective. Each exposure requires attention and intention — courage to sit with the in-between. When we understand our own emotional states, we have the capacity to hold the space they need and take appropriate, soul led action. I continue to be touched by death, to bear witness to self and other.

In a November (2025) post, The Illusion Of The Afterlife, John confirmed that we create our reality across the veil, as with any other plane of existence:

Death offers renewal for the soul ... being in the after-life doesn’t mean that souls know all the answers ...

The afterlife is about checking-in with the wisdom of the soul and team. How that manifests is for the choosing ... those experiences we observe and those possibilities still beyond our awareness. They all exist in the universal field of shifting and expanding realities.

So, what does that look like? Having known about the afterlife since childhood — first through belief imparted by my mother and backed with experiences, such as with The Black Lady, The White Lady, and my grandmother Betty Rita (see October 2024 posts), meant I have always had an open curiosity about our eternal existence. Naturally, my library of books grew over the years; some of which resonated, while a good deal didn’t — particularly the projections around fear and punishment.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I am practising using the rods with John — to seek further clarity. When I was reviewing the last two year’s writing, the November post stood out — for the core message above and its link to the purposes of past life recall, an empowering mode of interdimensional soul communication. It has me wonder that the afterlife may possibly be one of countless portals of in-between spaces.

So, I asked John about his reality; to see what he is manifesting. I am honing my questioning skills and I am keeping it light — for curiosity, entertainment purposes only, he laughingly drops as I type. My questions were framed around the messages in that November post. I asked the question, paraphrased his drop in, and repeated for validation — she of little faith, he smiles.

The following is what I have been able to confirm about the afterlife and the in-between spaces, from pre this life, to this ongoing collaboration. While it might not seem much, I am keen to keep it as I received it, to not extrapolate. Of course, the context of everything else that has come forth in these last two years of writing gives it deeper meaning.

Many people who work in the field, such as mediums, mention that souls choose to continue their learning. John confirms that this is part of his reality and that he participates in opportunities to extend his knowing. Service, through collaboration and guidance is the impetus.

Frequency determines what levels of learning are accessible. Souls can access others at alternating levels. It is formless, there is no physical reality. Yes, we knew pre this life that he was going home first — the exit point. Our current soul connection across realms was not planned; it is a result of the circumstances — one of many possibilities that became probable due to our human choices. The terminal diagnosis opened that portal of potentiality and the manner of how it played out set this current trajectory. Everybody has access to their teams. Everything is a choice.

And of past lives as an in-between space? In that same November post, I offered this perspective — and there presented over the Summer break a poke; an opportunity to learn and practice another modality of service to soul.

A psychic medium offers a bridge to your soul — a past life regressionist facilitates a resting intellect, so you access your own self — wisdom keeper. That’s powerful for human agency — soul sovereignty.

Until then … next time.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

Five months ago, when I wrote a post titled — Tis The Season Of Lasts, I was ignorant of the significance of the year of the Snake — shedding what no longer served it before the beginning of the Lunar New Year in February 2026; the year of the Fire Horse. The first since 1966 — the year I was born under the western astrological sign of Pisces.

Despite my scant knowledge of astrology, I could see the connections and synchronicities with what was and is happening in my life. I knew that in numerology 2025 was a 9 year — also indicating endings. This all peaks my curiosity because I believe there is complimentary guidance across these systems.

I also believe the indigenous storylines that teach our origins are in the stars — the cosmos; where we were all seeded.

I have been experiencing significant releasing shifts these last few months — not all complete — yet. Nor do all shifts stem from needing to be rid of what arose from fear based origins. We also shed because we are ready ... what we leave behind can indeed be the roots that continue to nourish us.

This is why guidance from the team is layered. Nudges come in many modalities, from multiple realms and dimensions. What I receive resonates with Simone, this evolving personification of the soul’s collective human experiences.

As I have written many times — with intention and willingness — healing shifts can transcend time and space, as we experience it. Being grounded with the ancestors, I perceive the eternal as present. Accessing the benevolent wisdom of the soul opens portals of conscious awareness where communication across dimensions can become part of lived reality.

I cannot explain all of what I experience because I am yet to fully understand it; nor do I feel the need to defend it. I trust that the layers will continue to unfold because I believe there are an infinite number of possibilities and probabilities in life. We are of our own creation.

The gaps are a welcome part of the puzzle. I wondered how all of this, including the collaboration with John and the team, conspired as the Universe calling me home — and how it relates to these past two years of writing on this platform ...

Communities that collaborate sweep the collective into one ushering momentum of be-ing — the transmutation of belief to knowledge — knowledge to wisdom.

Simone’s part of this collaboration is to keep attuned and filter messages with authenticity and discernment. With acceptance; knowing they are not for picking and choosing — they are truths. This requires trust: commitment, courage, integrity, grace, gratitude, laughter and love. Always love and kindness — particularly in the realm of emotions — where we manifest our reality through choices. This is the complexity and purpose of the human experience — our curiosity to explore.

The quiet time in the Xmas-New Year lull was spent in an energy cocoon at home. The beaches are frantic with swarms of tourists desperate to get their dollars’ worth of exorbitant Summer holiday splashings. So, bar for a couple of visits, I chose to bunker into be-ing at home.

After 3 days of subtle pokes, John took advantage while I was having a morning phone conversation with my sister. The blind started to swing — a hello, to Sonia. In the liminal space of waking that morning, the repeated message was to revisit the last two year’s writing.

The bridge to knowing suspends time and space. Its expansion extends to what is not yet created — there is no final destination ... infinite realms and dimensions continue to open portals for exploration.

Resistance is futile. C’mon Grumph, get back in the saddle, trust the process; new beginnings, the writing collaboration continues — in the revisiting comes further clarity — wisdom offerings ...

Reminding me that I had asked about the direction of our writing before heading into meditation a few days earlier. I could sense a shift — Is there a book embedded in these essays? Obviously, I hadn’t remembered what transpired.

This is likely why there is significant overlap in the messaging — it has to do with how I receive them. They are contextual, extending my concurrent experiences; passions and purpose. Messages cannot come quicker than I am ready to receive them. My soul is observer; decision maker. John and the team instigate pokes and help deliver the guiding wisdom; the collaborative messaging.

From a sole human perspective we may believe we are alone, from the collaborative soul perspective we are never alone. That’s a powerful truth — the collective One.

The function of the body triggering and receiving particular memories and messages is to bring the past into presence. This is an empowering enabler for healing — when the multidimensionality of our stories can be observed from the soul perspective. When our human choices reflect soul’s free will.

The subconscious prod to pick up a pen upon coming out of meditation is related to the often patchy memory associated with dream states. Other times dreams remain vivid. Either way, the notes are probably akin to automatic writing. I can discern who is whispering through feeling their energetic signature. The longer scribed messages are from the team/my expansive soul — similar in language and tone to the morning message after waking from night’s slumber — the phrasing is distinguishable from the shorter messages which are usually John. His are telepathic and conversation like, responding directly and in turn. The form distinctly reflects his personality traits of this life.

Sometimes the messages are subtle and further meaning can drop-in unannounced, such as in the car, in the water etc; or during more relaxed states like lucid dreaming or meditation. As with this transitional period of coming into a new year — John’s function is gatekeeper of the bridge connecting into the veil.

He backed up his morning poke on Dec 30 with other signs that day; to take notice. There is a narrow side window in the bedroom and I spied that blind swinging. Not unusual, though not as common as the main window. What was unprecedented was the discovery of three photos of John; they were lying next to his altar on the sideboard and positioned in ways they couldn’t have fallen had they been able to dislodge from the wall bracket where they were wedged. Rearranged, as his want with the feather on his hat — which had also been moved from pointing in an east-west position on the crown, to a north-south position on the brim.

On the 2nd, I woke up feeling John’s energy — I’m getting in the saddle today, I laughed. Mid-morning I was greeted with a swinging blind. I settled to skim read the 2024 posts, highlighting and noting key themes. It was reminding me of organising chapters for the research degrees I had undertaken; now I knew the source of my initial resistance. 2025 would have to wait until the next day. Early afternoon, I went for my routine meditation.

Windows take the majority of wall space in the living room, so I close myself into the darkness of the bedroom rather than the lounge for day time meditation. As with the swinging of the blinds, John is able to manipulate energy to make a thumping banging on the roof — both often accompany the beginning of meditation. You’re ready, I smile. Other times the swinging blind or banging invites me to meditate. The team are present of course, mediation is the cue to connect. The calling is reciprocal.

I slipped straight into a relaxed state; temples pulsing while waves of violet and gold light rippled upwards to exit through my crown. Appearing in view was a circular window; it looked like a brass porthole for a ship. It zoomed in and through the window I viewed the familiar vantablack sky full of stars. It zoomed out and back in again. The second time I went through the porthole. I felt comfortable floating in the expansive universe.

In what I remember as a sudden switch, there in view appeared a close up of an elephants eye; enough to see the surrounding crevices of skin and the beginning of its trunk. It zoomed right into the eye and while I couldn’t see it, I knew it contained the same vantablack sky and stars behind it. When it zoomed back out, it was enough to notice the elephant had raised its trunk. In that moment I felt my mother’s presence.

With that came an ultra bright white light, the one I associate with healing. It flapped gently like sheets do when you make a bed, and as its movement settled a blackness enveloped me; I drifted into sleep.

As I woke up, I saw a portrait of myself at about 35 years. I was smiling. I do not remember anything of what I may have dreamt with the team. I estimated I had slept about 90 minutes. I do not labour to recall or overthink what the initial symbolism suggests in the moment. I trust what I need to know will come — it is a process.

Later that afternoon I was poked to get out the rods ...

The following morning the living room blind was swinging when I got out of the shower. I read the 2025 posts, adding to our list of repeat themes. I noticed another repositioning of the feather on John’s hat. A mid-afternoon meditation was accompanied by the swinging of the bedroom blind and a poke to start writing a post ... and to get out the rods.

Sunday, January 4^th, I started this post. Mid-morning I ran a few errands and returned home to a swinging loungeroom blind. A mid-afternoon mediation was again accompanied by a swinging bedroom blind and a post meditative poke to pick up the rods ... our writing collaboration will continue, extending the bridge of wisdom ... of learning.

Over the last 3 days, I have answered the poke to pick up the rods. Breathing through the heart space is how I integrate the energy necessary to feel into listening John’s guidance; to ask questions, to simultaneously receive and confirm drop-ins. It requires focused attention and at this stage my concentration lasts about 15-20 minutes, enough to glean and clarify what has been communicated. Much of what I have confirmed with John has been repetitive; I want to make sure what I am receiving is the intent of his messages. I am learning to use my discernment with the rods — it is a collaboration.

Finer details about these three sessions will come in a future post, including information about what he confirmed re his current experience of the after-between lives. Details about why our interdimensional soul collaboration is — a bridge beyond ...

It also became apparent why John poked me to initially skim read the last two year’s posts. I have written before about my concerns over fading memories of our 28 years together. John tells me this is a natural process; the bridge to expansion — how we came to transform grief into a portal, thus transmuting pain into wisdom.

I now better understand this miracle — the sacredness of the continuing soul connection. I love the man who was John deeply — the love has shifted, not lessened. If anything, it has strengthened. It is soul to soul.

John’s illness was an initiation in unconditional love. I have written of the mysticism that enveloped us the night before he died.

Grief shows when I feel a yearning and gratitude envelops those periods of sadness, with grace. One’s heart can be full in the expression of grief. It is intimate and personal. It is contextual. It is transformative. It is human.

We are eternal souls.

As with many — writing here was a deep dive into a pool of vulnerability. Not only has this opened portals for healing, the connections forged and support offered within this community provide impetus to keep writing. Thank you.

John shares my deep gratitude for this community with a confirming thump on the roof as I conclude this post. A knock for a mid-afternoon blind swinging meditation.

And back to the beach — tomorrow.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

Mum — thank you. I love you.

And so it is.

This light hearted song, a nod to Jesus’ missing years, dropped in again as I sat at my desk mid-afternoon on Wednesday — a post meditation embellishment, accompanied by the rhythm of John’s swinging blinds — a resolute poke to start writing.

John’s energy had flowed as syrup during meditation; honey hued currents of yellow and lavender rippled upwards — exiting through my crown. Simultaneously, a molten potency seeped down through my legs, exiting via my soles. Grounded, my expanded heart space soon enveloped my torso in a nurturing warmth. This meditation was a cohesive, energetic connection — a full and beyond body experience with the team.

There is always a playfulness about John and Mum’s presence. Their souls carry the unconditional loving essence of their complete being — exuding the knowing oneness of existence.

Spirit nudges us — to remember who we are, to feel into listening to our lightness of be-ing; our universal and multidimensional consciousness.

Everything is relational — the strategic movement of the barn owl feather from John’s hat, the smell of cigarette smoke mingled with perfume when I sometimes enter Mum’s studio, the dancing blinds for people John knew and those who he didn’t — like the recent visiting cousin who became the latest recipient of his blind swinging antics ...

John had, materialistic, scientific tendencies, while in physical form. Clearly, it amuses him, to now provide evidence that consciousness does survive the demise of the body — it’s a no-brainer, he pokes. Not funny — too close to the bone, I retort — he had donated his brain and spinal cord for MND research.

He continues to swing the blind as we write — he knows ...

I feel his laughter and see his mischievous smile when he performs. Oh, look, John has dropped in … to say, Hi, my voice falters, reflecting a momentary awkwardness with Cousin (how she likes to address and be addressed). WTF are you up to, it is not part of my welcoming repertoire to tell ghost stories — an inward smirk transports my thought projection. He knows — I know. Tick.

The songs, the drop-ins — the gratitude, the love, the laughter; they all punctuate the grief. They bring presence to the stories, and it is with awareness that I continue to learn about releasing stagnant energy attachments — to stories.

It is in understanding the versions of self embedded in the stories, that we can harness a healing compassion — for others — for self.

John’s taken over the playlist this week. I woke Wednesday morning with Jesus The Missing Years, one of a myriad of quirky John Prine songs — to temper the intensity of a busy and emotionally taxing week, to lighten-up, Grumph.

After a couple of sleepless nights ruminating, I had woken in the wee hours with a sense of calm; the angst had left my body, thus validating a decision. With gratitude for the soul confirmation, I fell back into a relaxed slumber.

The song, a smiling reminder from John to keep a good humour about perceived challenges of the holiday season, choices energetically manifest our stories into physical reality.

On Dec 5, I celebrated Xmas with my sister Sonia, her crew, and our visiting cousin from interstate. These were Cousin’s first introductions to this branch of the family. She is the same age as my nieces, actually born the year between Cloe and Kate, 1990 — the year I met John.

For the last decade or so, it has been custom for John, Mum and I — now me, to spend Xmas Day with an Afghani Hazara family. Actually, since we purchased the original house here in Birregurra in 2012, when Mum gave us a cute Swedish, Wooden Jesus Set.

As per habit, I pulled it out on December 1 — during Cousin’s stay — and arranged it on its central location, atop the wood burner. I smiled — on the lid of its cardboard storage box, written in my mother’s hand is, Just take the wooden figurines you like and want, and remember, Jesus loves the little children. She wasn’t sure I would display it, given my discord with religious dogma. And just for the record, I do have a deep respect for the man, Jesus. He knows.

How all of these circumstances came about are another suite of stories.

Back at the desk Thursday morning, amongst the swinging of the blind, I was poked to scan the previous post and drawn to this, we exist in polarity, resistance has much to offer re accepting responsibility for our own harmonic flow — choices ... feel and observe, cocooned in the loving totality of the life we shared, to not isolate and hence exacerbate, escalate or intensify the emotion of any one event or experience. And not to negate or bypass them either — transmute them.

John further pipes in — healing comes with presence — it invites a compassionate lens with which to feel into listening to the story — to self, with other. All versions — including the missing years.

John was present for those conversations, those stories shared with my cousin over the week. And I know my mother was present, I smelt her cigarette smoke and perfume — and I have no doubt our grandmother, Betty Rita was present. All energetically, sitting at the table.

Cousin’s curiosity about Betty Rita’s story — the yearning for identity and belonging, was impetus for her search to find me during the pandemic. This ultimately lead to a 2023 meeting, our first physical contact in twenty odd years — the others being chance meetings whilst on the annual visit with Mum to see her father, in Tasmania, including when Cousin was in her mid teens. I also recall seeing Cousin at our grandfather’s house on one or two previous visits when she was a toddler.

On Cousin’s request, we visited Betty Rita’s grave Sunday, on the way to drop off for the airport bus — Dec 7, also being our grandmother’s birthday. We placed roses from both Mum and Betty Rita’s climbers next to her plaque. During the initial post pandemic visit, I gave Cousin a third of Betty Rita’s wedding ring. How one arrives with a third of a ring? Another story!

So often our inner journey to self-recovery begins with childhood wounds and the consequent adolescent-adult estrangement — be it chosen or imposed. Those patterns inherited and cycling through generations — where lines can begin to blur — that which is familiar to us all — what connects and separates us — victim and perpetrator; estrangement and abandonment — stagnant perceptions of reality. Choices — to harbour, to release. To recover — to heal the inner child.

And from my soul perspective — opportunity for intergenerational and ancestral healing.

The intimacy found in sharing our stories brings comfort and belonging — acceptance. These nuanced understandings of our human expression and its vulnerability — the complex emotional field of relationships; what we inherit, what we create, what we continue to circulate — those that fracture, crack, break — heal — are common to us all.

How to heal the trauma wounds lurking in the shadows of the missing years? Perhaps the foremost estrangement is from self — the victim; perpetrator. A disconnect from our soul — our team?

It is gratitude for the gifts — of the guiding wisdom, that has situated my recovery beyond the time-space reality of one human form — this is a collective soul story. And what I know about the universe is minuscule …

Meanwhile, portals continue to expand — an energetic outcome of commitment to service. All of our stories are an important contribution to our soul’s evolution and its place in the collective endeavour. Discernment — soul’s free will — is a matter of the heart.

Wednesday, when I came out of meditation I was poked to pick up my pen:

Courage is the currency of compassion. We do not need to die to undertake our life review or to heal wounds that traverse generations. Meeting the damaged versions of self and other, in each story — assuming responsibility for acceptance and release — shifting emotional energy does change those realities, to reflect the aspirations of the soul, the team; the oneness of our be-ing — of this, our shared humanity.

Thank you for being here, I am so very grateful for the connections and friendships formed on this platform. May you all stay safe and enjoy a relaxed holiday season, however you celebrate. Sending love to you all. See you in 2026. 🙏🌀💖🌊🌵

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

Happy Birthday for December 21 Mum — I love you,

And so it is.

And I would run all the way from Birregurra to Brunswick if I thought I could see John’s face. That’s how grief can sometimes come barging through the door. Loss can invite lack of what is not, as much as it can invite gratitude, for what was — and curiosity and wonder for what is a present and eternal connection of soul energy — what is.

I keep the same dentist and GP as when we lived in Melbourne — she, the GP, knows the story, so I double up on visits twice a year.

It’s approaching 10 years since we left Brunswick, the suburb where we purchased our wee stamp of land with a tiny, semi-detached worker’s cottage — where we spent 25 years. Entering old home territory provokes stinging memories; something random, an incidental or ordinary part of the day — like the time we went to a new Beer and Burger joint, where the hipsters were overtly entitled, the burger was slop and the beer had nothing craft about it. It is a happy memory, Brunswick was dense with construction to house the newbie generation and we were thankfully, nearing moving out ...

Or another Wednesday hot date dinner night somewhere along the main strip in Sydney Rd. Like the evening we stayed till close, sharing an arak with the Turkish owners. Their toddlers ran free after a night of confinement, weaving around and under the tables as the waiters seamlessly flowed around them, stacking chunky old pine chairs on the red and white clothed tables. Actually, that was so long ago it was probably a Friday, release the work week night. Memories can blend, how can I check — what matters?

It’s OK to feel it Grumph — the ancestors enjoy the energy of being remembered in their form, memory invites us in, or sometimes we spark the memory, a poke to invite ourselves in ...

So came John’s drop-in as I was returning from Melbourne on Thursday. I felt his presence in the car, having put on Heartaches & Highways: The Very Best of Emmylou Harris. Music is a meditation, much like being in the water. As much as I love Melbourne, it is a relief to be driving out of there ... I sang all the way home, I sang out the wave of grief with Emmylou.

It is in our nature to make assumptions. What people don’t know they make up, a friend once said in relation to a traumatic domestic shooting accident. Part of my conversation with the GP went along these lines: I thought coming back to Melbourne would provoke happy memories, she responded when I told her how I was feeling. Yes, the happy memories evoke a sense of sadness, that’s why I don’t like coming back. Pre-empting her next line; an assumptive offer about the generic nature and possible emotional impact of the approaching festive season on my grieving — I said, in an attempt to express the apparent paradox:

I do not wish that John was here, he is not meant to be here. It was his soul who chose to retreat with his essence — it was the right time for whatever the reasons. Despite the messages I receive from him, I just need to give myself permission to feel the grief when it comes, approaching 7 years or not.

And what came out in this writing was an unfolding, another subtle layer, further clarity about the nature of grief and her ongoing presence — unifying timelines into being-ness. When I visit Brunswick it seems another life time away — because it is. Though, at a soul level the memory is eternally present. It feels a bit surreal sometimes, and I am struggling with the language to capture what is beyond the boundary of my imaginings.

Grief was the catalyst for the continuing soul connection after death, though not the total sum of our communication. Grief was and remains a portal for evolution — interconnected to our other soul aspirations ... including those you have discerned from past life memories, came this drop while editing — at this very point, post a Sunday morning swing of the blind.

The waves of grief I have predominantly experienced in the last year or so have shifted. It is grief for the loss of the whole of the human experience, the relationship — not any one event. It can sometimes seem like the specific memories are irretrievable because I cannot talk to John about them; in the ways that we relationally all use memories to corroborate, collaborate and cocreate our stories — in presence.

Our human story in this life time is complete, though the ancestral work continues.

The ongoing soul connection with John and the team is with their expanded soul — the wisdom they impart is of the collective consciousness. We are multidimensional and I trust that there are messages embodied, including those beyond what filters through my brain.

However, it does peak my curiosity and wonder about the planes of existence. I am grateful that our ancestors are accessible, those who guide us from across the veil. They are who I found when I went inwards to start this work. All souls are bonded to their team.

Grief is not an emotion, it is an aspect of being in this plane of existence. There are a plethora of emotions that signal to us what we need to know when grief visits — we can shift emotions, we don’t erase grief. Emotions are messengers. It is through their embrace that we dissolve attachment and harness gratitude.

It is not the sum of grief to flatten her swells. We don’t dare pretend we can change Mother Ocean’s tides or tame her wild waves; she too flows with the energetic patterns of those on her team. Aware of it or not, we are intricately connected. And because we exist in polarity, resistance has much to offer re accepting responsibility for our own harmonic flow — choices. That is what soul sovereignty feels like, came another confirming message from John on Sunday morning.

Listening to music is like wrapping myself in the comfort of memory, it enables me to both feel and observe, cocooned in the loving totality of the life we shared, to not isolate and hence exacerbate, escalate or intensify the emotion of any one event or experience. And not to negate or bypass them either —transmute them, an alchemy of soul memory —wisdom, John pops in, referring to our last post.

Feel into listening to the moment — what is the body revealing to the mind?

I often see number patterns, with and without consciously seeking them. As I count down the days to retirement and dust my library shelves, I notice the education and research related texts that reflect the tenor of my career. There on the lower shelf is a trophy celebrating my achievement as the top female striker for a season of indoor soccer. There is no accompanying medal, we lost the final in a penalty shoot-out to the year 9 girls. I was taken back to 1999. I can see the number pattern of the year and the 10 goals I scored ... anyway ...

I was privileged to work in government schools whose populations reflected the broader community. The majority of students were from non-English speaking backgrounds, primarily refugees or asylum seekers.

Our annual Winter indoor soccer competition fielded teams from each year level, males and females, including two teams of teachers. The students organised themselves based on skill and talent rather than ethnicity. They had been subject to enough racial violence and trauma before arriving on these shores, seldom was there ethnic tensions between them. Their allegiance was to each other. Adults could learn about compassion and cooperation from children. Nevertheless, sport is sport and the tournament was fierce.

Classes held in the zeal of lunchtime soccer rivalry could be challenging to quell. My year 8 English class was no exception.

After opening the door with my usual greeting; individual eye contact, a nod, smile, quick ‘hello’, I would turn my back and face the board as they dropped their books on tables and wrangled with chairs in closing lunchtime soccer banter carried into class. Not to ignore them, I was signalling a trust that they would quickly settle, as per expectation. I understood how gruelling it could be, needing to instantly switch to sitting in a classroom — agency, I wanted them to take responsibility to manage it independently, collectively.

I am writing today’s date on the board, as you write it on the top of your page see what number patterns jump out at you, a strategy I used when I sensed they needed assistance, a post lunch prod to focus. They loved it, they saw it as a game and they knew I would give them just a minute, max. I was simply harnessing the energy which had delivered them to the classroom. Some of what they saw in the numbers was brilliant. Teaching is contextual and relational — as with being; interconnected.

117/77, perfect, exclaims the GP as the blood pressure cuff sounds a soft sigh in expelling a breath of its own ... I am seeing 7 and 5 combinations and patterns. Continuing her questions, she enquired what travel plans I had for 2026. I have cancelled proposed international travel plans, I am retiring and need to give myself permission to actually pause, have no attachment to any outcomes or obligation to opportunity — updating my story.

I am not sure where the next comment came from — possibly considering her own options; the GP is only a couple of years older than me and we have a personal resonance-connection. Our visits are peppered with her updating her story as well. She appeared to suddenly talk about the sabbaticals GPS are entitled to each seven years of service — the link being, imagine how many you would have had, she continued ...

How funny, I thought as my mind drifted, my retirement is an accumulative sabbatical. I would have been eligible for 5 ... the poem accompanying this post had already been finished and recorded, just the day before, on Wednesday — A Sabbatical Of Love.

And as I cycle out of one season and into the next, I understand that memory is an intuitive aspect of our vast consciousness, that grief is an indicator that there remains an interconnectedness that cannot be explained or fully conceived simply by our intellect alone. It requires deep feeling into listening, with a knowing trust in the principles of universal law.

Our cycles of remembrance take many forms, they are energetic patterns that traverse timelines and lives. To end one cycle is not to finish, it is to begin. Endings are not erasures of memory, as sure as death is not the end of life. To observe from a soul perspective is not to deny the feelings of human emotion or expression, it invites compassion and grace for self, for other. This love, as you experience it, is gratitude.

We don’t need to remember we are an expansive soul to fulfill its purpose or aspirations in any one human existence … our souls connect in the dreamscape regardless of a person’s attachment to whatever beliefs.

So came John’s Friday morning note when I switched the lamp on at 4.30am. The poem, while preceding this post, speaks to the number patterns, their role in our understanding of self and the universal laws that guide our soul.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

A Sabbatical Of Love

What a nonsense,

this quantification,

our measurement

of time.

Seven cycles of seasons

marks our Summer’s end;

scratching lines across

twenty-eight years

physical union.

How swiftly

a quarter of our time together

equals time apart.

Linear

planes of existence

invite pain attachments

to a seeming

separation of souls,

multiplying the sum

of human suffering.

Until, with a poke,

we remember,

to feel into listening

the embodied whispers

of soul wisdom.

Alchemising memory

brings permanence

to Truth;

You do not need

to wait for death

to commune with

the expansive formlessness

or your sovereign self,

band of angels

and team of ancestors.

Eternal tethers

transmute and traverse

time-space into

portals of being.

As palpable and visceral

is your energy

as the day

the universe

orchestrated

our colliding hearts.

Five life cycles of

spiralling sevens,

thirty five years later,

we endure another

revolution

of our twin soul journey.

For John, the man I grieve — grateful for the twin soul connection ❤️ . A beautiful love song, written by Emmylou Harris, about her grief around the loss of Gram Parsons. 🎶

I can picture my mother, Sandra, eyes looking up to the heavens, open palms, mischievous smile. Whether in character or not, receiving spontaneous messages from beyond the veil was not an unusual aspect of her day. She had been open to her intuitiveness for as long as I can remember; I have written previously about the white lady — a benevolent spirit who frequented the family home.

Sandra had a healthy and plump brain for her age; the doctors informed us after scans for a possible brain bleed. She’d had a horrific fall, ultimately losing an eye. It was early 2017, the same year John was diagnosed with MND, severing any hope for us growing old together in our newly built tree-change house. We had included a studio for Mum; eye aside, her COPD had reached the stage where she was increasingly reliant on an oxygen concentrator.

Our five-year plan and anticipation of new beginnings in a new house, a new town, had taken a devastating and traumatic turn.

It’s not too hard to visualise Mum, I have numerous short clips of her in character, the improvisations were for comic relief — initiated by her because she felt an energetic presence — an ancestor. Quick, get out your phone, she would direct with a giggle.

Thoughts and words carry frequencies — and invite presence from those across the veil, just as thought or conversation might provoke a call or some other instantaneous, synchronistic communication from those here.

Hastily stretching for a scarf and a quick exaggerated over the lip-line slap of bright red lipstick to mimic her Aunt Elsie’s style — Mum would perform an impromptu skit; like those local 1970s-80s variety shows that had us all cackling.

Upturning Aunt’s heirloom crystal bowl and reaching for another prop or two, her character “Sybil” held her own lexical patterning — and witty humour. She was taking the piss, though with due respect — because she knew exactly who she was sparring with, or performing for, usually my father, Ivan, or her mother, Betty Rita. Both dead — up above, across the veil, in the afterlife. Whatever you want to call or make it — home, being my preference.

And that’s just what it is, this between lives space-place — an illusion. As above, so below.

With and/or without physical form, we continue to create our reality through a collaboration of consciousness with our team — for that’s what we are, a connected web of consciousness — is how I received John’s message when I got home to a swinging blind on Monday and Tuesday after work; a poke to get out the rods and pick up a pen. Another layer.

The afterlife continues the evolution of the soul; bringing the past into presence with an alchemy of memory that blends timelines into — just being-ness. We energetically go wherever and whatever dimension our soul wants to traverse — within our field of vibrational resonance. We enter each other’s realities just as we do on the Earth plane — we are multidimensional. The afterlife is simply another realm in which you use your imagination for creation — as viable a reality as any other.

There is only expansion in the unified realm of unconditional love, though our dualistic human experience is paramount to the evolution of our soul.

The truth can be received in multiple realities; our interconnectedness as One.

There are infinite possibilities in perpetual realms of existence. It is the soul’s natural state to seek benevolent guidance from teams of beings — soul’s sovereign responsibility is to the expansion of the collective.

Everywhere, all at once — in a formless fluidity of bliss, Mum and John’s signature drop-ins.

I remember a reading with Moira, a year or so after John died, stating how much more complete he felt in his formless state, having access to his library of lives. He was a sceptic in this life — a closet believer, my sister would jokingly coax.

A reiterating message came in Thursday morning’s written note.

The afterlife delivers pure clarity, the energy centres in our body simply transform when we die; blend with the other life force energies that we are not yet aware, not until we get here and meet the fullness of our expansive self.

Home — is knowing every aspect of soul as self. The afterlife is about checking-in with the wisdom of the soul and team. How that manifests is for the choosing; truth is not just in the actioning, it is in the imagined creation of how — knowing — we are eternal and connected to every sentient being manifests as aspirations — those experiences we observe and those possibilities still beyond our awareness. They all exist in the universal field of shifting and expanding realities.

We are eternal and the possibilities infinite — we are here to remember and imagine, co-create new beginnings — through the apparent endings. Accessing and understanding truth requires trust — in the universe.

Early Friday, I accepted the opportunity to participate in a zoom meeting with a few other contributors, to meet with Adam Apollo, author of the newly released book, Lifetimes: Spiritual Explorations of Earth and Galactic Past Lives. My copy of the book is still making its way to these southern shores, so I have not yet read it. We each had a few minutes to share; I hadn’t prepared, preferring to respond in the context of the conversation. To briefly paraphrase my offer:

I have been shown by my soul team that past life memories are in our bodies at birth, those that are relevant to the current life. My past life recalls have been for the purpose of ancestral healing. The power of these is that your soul is the guide, and here lies their healing properties.

The ultimate gift in past life recall is accessing your own intuitive voice. Feeling; observing and visualising — grants direct communication with your expansive self rather than relying on a third person’s subjective, albeit talented capacity to speak with the dead. There is nothing to fear — soul guidance is benevolent, even when we are shown aspects of a past life where we have been remiss and callous. We are here to experience the full gamut of emotions; they shape our experiences and are relevant to our soul aspirations.

A psychic medium offers a bridge to your soul — a past life regressionist facilitates a resting intellect, so you access your own self — wisdom keeper. That’s powerful for human agency — soul sovereignty.

Friday’s afternoon meditation gifted more clarification re the seeming paradox of death. My relationship with grief continues to be transformative, because it was the impetus to go within, and there I discovered energetic portals that opened — in grace and gratitude, with love and trust, with wonder, curiosity and imagination. It is in that space where I met my expansive self, my team, and continue to receive the gift of John’s guidance ... and humour; I had to die for her to listen to me, he smilingly pokes as we write.

Death offers renewal for the soul. While John has access to all his lives and a wisdom that is beyond my human mind’s comprehension, he did offer that being in the after-life doesn’t mean that souls know the answers to the universal questions; that is what infinity is, you trust the universe — curiosity and imagination is alive and well; the exploration and expansion continues — there is no end point.

Past life reveals hold ancestral healing properties as they offer ways to understand aspects of self and other, and in further contextualising life’s emotional voids, they can bring grace, gratitude, love and laugher — manifestations of the gifts in loss and grief.

I have ample evidence, in the truth that our soul is eternal. It is not my desire to prove how I experience it — to how it should, could, would be for anyone else. Your soul is sovereign.

Writing it out has opened channels to John in ways that keep expanding — we are on a twin soul journey — his energetic presence, his guidance, the between lives work, the support team — the ancestors. It is a continuous flow — feeling into listening.

We come back with a consciousness reflective of our team’s collective experiences — our human aspect need only remember.

And as “Sybil” recited in the closing of a clip whilst in hospital in early 2020 — yes, she ramped up her performances in the last three weeks. She knew and accepted she was dying, and she wanted to go out laughing — and she wanted to see me smile. A knowing observation of truth:

That’s all I am going to say at the moment, except to remind all of you, that this is not the end of the story.

Thank you for reading and for those who have connected with us here — I hold deep gratitude and appreciation, it is part of our collective experience — our humanity.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

Mum — thank you for laughs, and the story. I love you.

And so it is.

To you, from John — he loved duets, and he loved Gram Parsons & Emmylou. Love rules, even when it hurts. 😊 💖🙏

The body too, guides the evolution of our soul through the gift of a human experience. Given what I have received from John and the team, I understand soul wisdom is imparted via the body — an alchemy of memory, John smiles — a reminder that chemistry remains one of his intellectual pursuits.

It is an indelible memory, that after John died, there was an urge to wash and tend his body — to worship for the last time the human form that housed an aspect of his soul; the body of the man I loved. As I write, this pops in:

The energy of memory is present and therefore malleable. While one is prone to think of memory as an event, it is in the emotion where shifts pass — what transpires is a healing release of attachment and identification with beliefs.

Beliefs are not necessarily reflective of universal truths — beliefs belong with the human experience. And that’s OK.

Beliefs shift — truth is permanent.

I didn’t fully understand the urge at the time; what was foremost in my mind was that he had peacefully released his body — the paradox of time — how he had slowly yet swiftly lost all motor function over 17months, was present. In death, finally able to lie straight, I could see and feel his body in the form that I knew intimately.

When I went to view his body two days later — he had been promptly whisked to Melbourne to have his brain and spinal cord harvested for MND research — he looked no different to 30 minutes after his soul had retreated. His body was no less because his soul no longer animated it; his expansive self was overseeing the ritual return of what is sacred to our human experience and soul evolution — in John’s case, the cremation of his body. Again, this drops in as I write:

My soul knew the gift that having a human life meant to its own evolution. In death we vacate the body because it has served its soul purpose — in that life.

When his soul withdrew, the memories that were held in his body, those born into him and those created in this life, retreated too. What memories are relevant for his next human incarnation will be born in the next body. They are determined collaboratively at a soul level; between lives. As it is for all of us.

I have written a few posts which allude to the importance of our body, and I am grateful for every nuanced offer from the soul-team, and John’s confirming signs. The body is the primary interface, with the mind providing context and language to express what is essentially of the soul.

I had a wee weeks nourishing break in stunning New Zealand, and took the time to ponder a couple of tentative travel arrangements for 2026. Uncomplicated decisions can became a bother to a mind who invites rumination. I released my imagined burden to the winds, hills and waters of NZ, I knew she would echo the sentiment of the Australian landscape — no judgement, go within.

Friday, the morning after returning home, I woke with this message:

Do not attach obligation to opportunities — seeking the opinion of others can dilute the energies of manifestation — discern the intent and purpose when sharing.

A sunny Friday was beckoning. I published a post sharing a past life memory that had been accepted for publication and ventured out to the garden; to tend chores and mingle with the fairies, check the progress of the newly planted gum and companions — and to see if I could catch sight of resident magpie Gracie, hoping she was ready to introduce the new Piper. She had been a lone presence at 6am, when I crept into the kitchen to make coffee. Easing the blind aside, she was standing next to the baby gum singing her soft warble, willing me to understand why she needs to keep her distance — for now. Perhaps she too, had felt my questions and was offering her counsel.

Mid Saturday morning I paused — pick up the rods — was the poke. It takes a minute or so of imagining that I am breathing through the heart space — the need to draw deeper breath indicates our energies have blended. This coincides with the tips of the rods shimmering their gentle vibration. John confirmed:

· That the past lives relevant to the current incarnation are in the body at birth, being part of the between lives collaboration.

· As with other forms of communication, past live memories are soul alchemy.

· We collaborate with our teams during dream-sleep state.

· We have shared a multitude of lives — whether our next incarnation is one of them will be determined when my current human life is completed and I have returned home. This is absolute soul sovereignty.

· Emotional shifts are imprinted in my body during sleep state — the vibrations that sometimes rouse me from sleep — soul alchemy.

And this drop in:

Emotions, manifested and embodied in each life are energetically carried back to the non-physical realm — home, where those that are deemed relevant will be born into the next life. All past life memories have benevolent intent — what is shifted emotionally, in one life resounds in all other relevant and related lives; for one, for all. And so on.

In the early hours of Sunday there was a flurry of different dream state activity and lucidity. I woke and reached for my daily morning note book. This flowed in one movement:

The soul collaboratively designs each incarnation from the accumulation of its collective experiences. You bring within you, the resources to meet your challenges — they are for the human choosing.

As John confirmed last night, past life memories are stored in your body because they were manifested in physicality. The formlessness of your soul observes every aspect of each existence — all at once. That is how she holds sovereign her free will in any one existence — and how you feel into listening intuition.

So, John delivers this truth; whether your eternal union manifests as a joint human experience in the next life — will be determined when you come home.

Current collaboration with the team is in relation to what has been energetically-emotionally shifted, and what your soul aspires for in the remainder of this life’s experience — in the now.

You soul — are a body; physical form is an embodied aspect of your expansiveness.

You don’t hug a tree and reject its form — that is what attracts you to it in the first instance. To know the tree is to feel into its wisdom — consciousness; the multidimensionality of its aspect. The same can be said for your body.

Spiritual practices that condemn the body as an ego attachment are energetically reflecting what they are refuting. You are not an either/or being. Free will — remember — is soul sovereignty — free from attachment — human choice can be conscious or not.

In awareness, your body discerns when you feel into listening. Your mind processes and arranges language to what is intrinsic to your soul — that which is innate. You cannot un-feel what you intuitively know as truth.

Curiosity of the soul is reflected in the inner child. A child’s curiosity is imbued with wonder and excitement; the unknown is welcomed. A fear of the unknown is steeped in the conditioned confines of the mind, and without soul’s guidance, is subject to external manipulation and control.

The soul knows no fear.

A pause — a poke, around notions of karma. Prior to John’s death I accepted the widely held belief that karma was a loop where we repeated experiences with others until debts were cleared. I now know that this belief stems from fear based judgements that circulate in mainstream religious and spiritual thought, and it does not resonate with the understandings I have reached through communication with the team.

We can clear stuck emotional energetic patterns across realms and timelines — we do not need to repeat the experience/event. This is in part, the healing that I have been undertaking with the team — this is my inner work. This is soul alchemy.

Our beliefs are not necessarily soul — universal truths. As with any discourse community, beliefs underpin the language to frame key concepts, not to mention juxtaposition within similar communities. I recognise part of the challenge is to shape, with language, what is beyond language.

This is why I hold the belief that we are led by our soul on the path at our human point of need — to the same truth. How they intersect in the collaboration at a soul level is beyond my human comprehension — however, I know that trust energetically resonates with the team, and this is what opens portals. It is nuanced, layered and multidimensional.

My collaboration with the team revolves around intergenerational and ancestral patterns. These energy shifts, from my human perspective, are emotional transformations that come with observing from a soul perspective. This is not to bypass the human experience — contrastingly — it is to integrate the knowing that we are an expansive soul. I understand that inner work is centred around shedding beliefs that no longer serve ourselves and the collective. I feel the gift of this human aspect, for the soul and team. This is how responsibility for self comes into fruition — the all of it.

This is to realise the totality of our human expression; the bliss to the shit shows — thanks John. Having the courage to surrender — accept, release and take responsibility for self does impact all timelines. Past life reveals claim a share of the process; they contextualise in part, the events, inclinations, decisions and so forth of this life — the all of it.

Their healing properties are in the reveal, it is for the human self to enact the message in continuing the inner work. They cushion the shadow work — the soul does not bypass, there is no fear of judgement. This is why I often baulk at the assumptions behind the notion of forgiveness; its strong attachment to human sensibilities of right and wrong — victim and perpetrator. In this reality of duality we are all of it, we created it. All at once — thanks Mum.

From what I can ascertain, going within, is how we access truth — through conscious awareness I continue to challenge my own attachments to limiting beliefs and related identities. This work is eternal. We humanly imagine it as a solo endeavour — to go within. John’s death was clearly the catalyst — going within granted access to the soul team that are my kin.

You soul, are Captain; this is why I don’t indicate no with the rods, comes a drop-in from John — we are not about right or wrong, we are here to help you transmute your intuitive sense to human knowing — in the soul led asking is the receiving. An alchemy of soul wisdom.

And as is his want, John swings the blinds both during the writing and editing of this post. Tuesday after work, I came home to find he had moved his scarf, just keeping you on your toes, he pokes. See the photo below.

Thank you for reading.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

An Opportunity

When I came across the opportunity to submit a story for a new book in the Common Sentience series with Sacred Story Publishers called, Lifetimes: Spiritual Explorations of Earth and Galactic Past Lives, by Adam Apollo, I drew on the second part of one of my Substack posts from December 2024 — describing a 2014 past life reading. I adapted it for submission and am stoked that it was accepted. This is the unedited version. The book is due to be released on November 11, 2025.

A Farmer in 1800s Europe

In 2014, my father, Ivan, was in his ninth year of care in a psychiatric geriatric facility for people with advanced dementia. My sister Sonia and I would visit him every weekend to feed him lunch. Visits usually included an array of emotions, ranging from tears of anguish to the thrill of laughter.

As Ivan’s cognitive decline deepened we would often reminisce, repeating stories of our childhood — those narratives that thread the juxtaposition of both harmony and complications familiar to many families.

Verbal sparring was a popular past time for Ivan and growing up our mother wryly called our family evening gathering at the meal table, Senisin happy hour. Yet, despite the cognitive degeneration of his brain, his eyes reflected in fleeting moments, what we knew as understanding. We believed his soul was a constant and present observer of his human experience — as with all of us.

I have only sought the one past life reading from a qualified practitioner, which was with Glenda in that same year. I went into the experience yielding an excited anticipation as I was not too sure of what to expect. I was inspired by a previous reading with an evidential medium, where she noted that my maternal grandmother, Betty Rita, had in a previous life been my mother and that my current mother and I had been sisters in that life.

The past life reading opened with Glenda talking me into a relaxed state, asking me to, recall a happy early childhood memory. From an observational view point, I watched 5 year old Sonia chasing my toddler self in the shallows of Melbourne’s bayside, St.Kilda beach. Our mother was standing ankle deep in the water watching us. She was in a checked bikini and was sporting a teased, bee-hive hairstyle. Our father was inattentive, sitting in a deck chair reading a newspaper.

Glenda then took me to the anticipation of my birth whilst in utero. I expressed feeling content in the nurturing warmth of the womb, I was wanted. However, I could feel my mother’s anxiety, a bereft emptiness in the wake of her mother, Betty-Rita’s unexpected death, a week before I was born.

Hopping onto a cushioning and comforting cloud to travel further back, Glenda proposed that upon exiting, I would enter a past life of my soul’s choosing, one with relevance to my current life.

A visual promptly appeared of my 50-ish year old self standing in what I described as, a large field of tiny green shoots sprouting. Experiencing the scene rather than observing, I was feeling immense pride in this lone accomplishment.

Glenda then averted my attention to notice what I was wearing. Looking down at my feet I had leather slip-on shoes, a heavily pleated full length skirt with a three-quarter apron wrapped around my stout and ample waist. I had short silvery-blond greying hair.

Across the field stood a solid rendered, white washed brick or stone house with a tiled terra cotta roof. Behind the house stood a thick of deep green forest. I sensed it was somewhere in the early 1800s Eastern Europe. Poland came to mind.

I felt an uneasiness — the house should have had people in it — but it was empty. I preferred to be outside in the field than in the house, citing a strong connection to the land and place. I sensed I was part of a small rural village community. Despite my achievement there was a pervasive sense of loneliness. The house was cold, dark and empty.

The regressionist asked me to go back to an earlier time in this current life.

I was transported to a kitchen scene, perhaps ten years earlier. It was evening and the warm amber glow from an open fireplace in the kitchen meant the dissipating light in the peripheral parts of the room was flittering and hence, dimly lit.

It was a double storey house and the ceiling was quite low by modern standards. Heavy wooden beams added to the enclosed feeling, though the hues offered a comfortable intimacy. Dressed as I was in the field, I was lifting a roasted bird from the oven. It rested on an oval platter which was adorned with vegetables, thus the making of an enticing centrepiece on the long, yet narrow wooden table. I declared it — a time of abundance, a festive celebration.

Standing around were perhaps a dozen members of what I identified as community people. They were all adults and the atmosphere was of ample merriment. This sizeable room was flowing with conversation, with people drinking wine from caramel coloured ceramic goblets.

Those that were seated around the table were members of my family, including two adolescent children, a male, female and my husband. Strangely, I could not see him, he was a simple grey silhouette — like a cardboard cut-out. I did note that my attention was drawn more to the community members than my family. It was a happy time, I concluded.

With nothing else to report, she prompted me to go back to an earlier time in this life, and my wedding day presented. Reporting as around 23 years old, I was sitting on a bench next to my husband. We were leaning against a rendered dull dusky pink wall.

Observing myself from approximately 3 feet, I could see I was in a simple white summery type of dress with loose and longish auburn hair. My face was in profile as I was facing my husband, except he was a silhouette — just a shadow sitting next to me.

A strong inkling emerged as I announced, I have no emotional connection to my husband ... we are from the same village ... there was no coercion to marry him ... I feel absolutely nothing for him ... I got married because it was just something that we did.

And with that, it dawned on me that my husband in that life — is my father in this life.

With no further detail on offer re the wedding day, Glenda asked me to, go to the day of my death. My soul transported me back to the opening scene. As the specifics of my death were not revealed, Glenda asked me to identify who met me when I died. There appeared my maternal grandmother of this life, Betty Rita. I asked her where Mum was — my mother in this life — and a 15 year old version of Mum appeared. In that moment they enveloped me in total acceptance and love. I felt absolutely fine about leaving my body — I probably dropped dead in that field, I don’t sense I lived to an old age, I laughed.

And herein lies the confirmation of soul groups incarnating across multiple lives, those which weave across decades of synchronicities for this one human life time of experience — this contribution to my soul’s expansion.

And of my father Ivan?

It occurred to me that I had driven my husband away because I suppose that I did not give him the love that he needed. I further understood this resulted in an estrangement with my adult children in that life. I had lost connection with my family, and whilst I was proud of my independence; surviving as lone woman with a successful crop sprouting, the loneliness was an unexpected emotional endurance. The house was now empty and cold because it was devoid of people.

I identified empathy as a key lesson of that life.

This past life reveal spoke to me about emotional complications Ivan and I carried through to this incarnation. I continue to collaborate with my ancestral team and guides to energetically heal wounds — across all our lives, in all timelines.

And so it is.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

On Wednesday morning I attended the assembly to farewell and celebrate the year 12 student’s milestone achievement of completing school. Hyped and happy is simply what their collective energy exuded.

Not being a regular work day and with formalities had, I was home late morning; just in time to escape the horizontal rain and thrashing wind. Clearly, I had prematurely cleaned out the fire on the weekend, optimistic that the wintry start to Spring had fled. Alas, the fire was re lit and I retreated for a meditative pause.

As happens, I dozed off for a while before coming back into awareness, encompassed by a humming and palpable bliss. I knew I was with John and the team. Noticeable was my lightness of body; pleasure sensations were pulsating from my abdominal area down through my legs. I could feel the energy shooting out through the arches of my feet; it was almost ticklish.

I wanted to dwell in the reverberating glow of lucidity except I was poked to pick up my notebook:

Confirmations bring clarity and transparency — to stand grounded in your human form, as a sovereign soul. This is the authentic self.

The guiding source is not thought — it is the culmination of soul’s experiences and exists within — the physical, spiritual and emotional self. The past is present because it is born in you.

Discernment is bringing thought to translate the vibrations. Notice where the energy radiates its messages in your physical body.

Telepathic guidance directs you to intuitively access the wisdom that is already in you.

What is emotionally transformed; healed in the human aspect — vibrationally crosses timelines and is carried in the physical body of yours, and our next incarnations, and so on. We are altering and shifting patterns; for all of us.

This is expansion — all at once.

Another ancestral healing; connecting the sacral to the heart, came John’s confirming drop-in. I smiled, the concluding all at once, is contextually pertinent to my mother, and in that recognition came this poking joke from John: getting her bit in, as per her want — so below, as above, I felt his laughter.

It is common for ancestors to confirm their energy through identifiable personality traits from their human incarnation. Mediumship 101, I laughed, before remembering that John and I were communicating telepathically before he died; when MND shut his voice down.

The ancestors — what else might I feel into, with regard to what I need to know?

On the cusp of retirement, I am being encouraged to lean into the human discomfort. Thoughts of the mind, when presenting as fear of the unknown, can dilute the energies that manifest possibilities and opportunities. The unknown is safe, came soul’s guidance.

Devoid of attachment to outcomes, discernment can bring an intimacy of connection amongst the multidimensional aspects of self – soul. It is as experiential as this universal field of multiple realities.

It is by soul design that I am drawn to meditation. Clarity, transparency, flow, healing — pop onto the page. John has a blue energy; the colour of the throat chakra. In the months after his death, I would often see a blue orb, outside, in and around the flowering gum. He also has a predominantly blue aura; I unwittingly captured it in a photo.

John’s loss of speech and the subsequent collapse of my thyroid during his illness, coupled with the on-going collaboration across realms — has a purpose that I haven’t fully realised — yet, other than knowing this is all connected; this layered unveiling. This shared voice.

As outlined in the previous post, we both adopted a warrior-esque identity in defence of other in our professional work, and were silenced by the system, institution — self. The power of intention drives what we manifest in our creation of being — our human experiences.

I prioritise punctuating my day with meditation because it is how I met my expansive soul, the ancestor, and angelic consciousness energy that found me in the depths of grief. It is how I transmuted pain into wisdom; a collaborative exchange of energy that infiltrates the collective. Meditation is a routine practice in awareness — bringing presence into the present; granting access to the intuitive wisdom of the soul group’s collective human experiences.

There needs to be a harmonic flow in meditation for the body to receive messages — everything is energy. Such flow is initiated through intention that resonates with the heart space.

The state of our emotional body is fundamental re shifting ancestral patterns for future incarnations. What we take with us when we retreat from a human life contributes to the aspirations of the soul group. Our souls pool their experiences in designing new lives. When we collaborate between lives, we negotiate what roles we agree to play with respect to our soul purpose.

I am yet to fully assimilate aspects of my past life reveals into the present, because I have been mindful not to give them further thought than what unfolded in the immediacy of the recall. There is a nudge to go back into those memories.

Just as there are calls to ground myself in nature. Our human form is an aspect of the Earth’s multidimensionality; her creative consciousness. She too, will guide us when we feel into her sentience; her vast source of wisdom.

Our imagination is a valid reality — the inner child — the superpower that connects us to the etheric realms. Gratitude is the glue.

Our soul is always home; this one human fragment of self is just like being in another room. Whatever filters are in place are part of the design for the human self to discover and explore; it is the intent driving the curiosity, wonder and imagination, that manifests possibilities.

In the ensuing couple of days, late morning meditations revealed additional layers of information. Some came as knowings, others were telepathic drop-ins — about the nature of the soul group collaboration and the between lives energy work. Further clarity about how our souls function for the collective expansion.

The soul exists in a constant current of unconditional love. Soul observation and subsequent guidance draws on the collective wisdom to assist the emotional evolution in the human experience.

It is through bearing witness to full emotional expression — the cycle of acceptance and release — that opens portals to the multidimensional nature of consciousness. The body being first responder in our human form. A soul’s blueprint is of its own creation, including entry/birth and exit/death points.

We are connected to a plethora of wisdom keepers; including self.

My story is just one wee example of a thread in our cosmic web of Oneness. We don’t need to understand quantum mechanics to access these portals of being. It is with an open heart and trusting mind that the universal field reveals what you are ready to energetically receive — from within.

People sometimes liken it to living in two worlds — I tend to understand it as an infinite plane of existence, where anything is possible, in matters of the soul.

I let the mystery be, until the mystery wants to find me. The door remains open.

And as per John’s want, there comes a confirming swing of the blind at the completion of this post. So, with a full heart, I sign off on this we(e) post. Wednesday I am off to beautiful New Zealand for a wee week — see you on the other side. Take care, and thank you for being here.

With love and gratitude, my learning continues.

John and team, thank you for the guidance. I love you.

And so it is.

(From our playlist — the fabulous Iris DeMent)